#and no one was doing more than acting like everyone knew what it was like

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  , @fizzled-phoenix ,  @phobophobular  , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo    , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl 

[pinkyqil]

Flirt // Jenni hermoso x r

Jenni was a flirt least to say she could flit with anyone as long has it as lips head and a body anything else wouldn't matter to her. So that why you felt really confused with your "relationship". with her cause she always gave you mixed signals that rarely made any sense to you.

One day she's all over you complimenting you, making you blush and all as it the usual Jenni package. next thing you know someone else is getting the same treatment that she gives or how she likes to call it "her delicate taste".

That made absolutely no sense to you but one thing you knew was that you were done. with anything that had to do with Jennifer hermoso you didn't want a part of it unless it was something serious. But it didn't look like it things where going to change with her so you thought.

You started pulling away from jenni it went from you two always partnering up to you straight up ignoring her and picking someone else as your partner.

To dismissing her and canceling plans that she made cause you knew it would be some different by tomorrow.

Slowly a hole formed in your friendship you both couldn't even spare each other a glance or a simple greeting.

The only time you would actually say a few words would be around game days where you needed to communicate with jenni but that wasn't something you both could do outside of work.

It honestly broke your heart to be pulling away from her like this. You missed her smile silly jokes that she would make trying to lighting up the room.how she would be there whenever you needed something or that you weren't feeling well she was always by your side like your order half.

Least to say jenni also felt the same way her heart felt incomplete like the other pieces to it was missing. but she knew one thing and it was to make it up too you for whatever she did cause her heart couldn't take you acting like she didn't exist.

The last few days you noticed Jenni putting in some efforts but you would always denie her and.

still continue shutting her out she tried everything from leaving notes and your favorites chocolate in your cubby opening the door for you. helping you carry heavy equipment without calling out for help but you wouldn't come forward.

It wasn't that you heated what jenni was doing you loved it all but your heart wasn't ready for what would happen if you guys where to talk it out.

Would things go back to the same way with how she was treating you or would you two become something. Was what you wondered.

Jenni's act had been going on forever but still she didn't get any improvement from you side always the cold shoulder and nothing more for her.

Today she jenni had planned to conner you when everybody as left as she knew you loved taking your time.

Your day went on with how it usual was Jenni still left you some notes and perfume in your cubby for when you arrived but you hadn't seen her anyway around the training grounds which was quite weird as she hung out with her group of people. But needless it was none of your busses.

You were tye last one to shower as everyone else had left or that what you think.you quickly dressed up and started existing the building until you felt a strange but familiar hands grab you by the waist.

It was none other than jenni she looked broken and hurt. All you could do was stare at her.

"What do you want hermoso". you asked her as you tried pulling your hands away.

" I just want to talk to you it would only take a few minutes". She said

"Well get talking cause I didn't have enough time to spend with you in my way".

She took a deep breath before speaking.

"I know that lately have been giving you on and off signals and just acting out as if you aren't important to me which is false so I just wanted' to tell you that I love you so much more than a friend we've both been through anything".

anyone can imagine and I just can't keep living like this knowing that j hurt you instead of protecting you so I just wan to apologize for that". She said as she took time to catch her breath.

"oh jenni you don't understand how long I waited for you to tell me how you feel cause I' also share the same feelings as you, I love you more than anything else that you can imagine"

and it hurt me a lot seeing how you would always treat me I love you jenni hermoso". You told her not expecting all that to come out of your mouth.

"So will I be able to treat you out to a date". She asked

"Yes you can have honestly seen the way that you've improved and I love it". you told her before tip-toeing and leaving a peck on her lips.

"You deserve it". You said

"I guess I do". She replied back

"So I'll see you saturday for dinner". She asked

"Definitely". You told as you walked away holding the notes that she had been living for you onto your chest.

Maybe luck was on your side after all and jenni wasn't just a flit after all.

A/n: hope y'all enjoy this read and if you see any mistakes no you don't cause I just finished writing this at 12:18 so mistakes shall be fixed later. anyway feedbacks, request and comments or if you want to chat with me inboxes are always opened and everything else is appreciated and don't forget to take care of yourself 💗

[moviecritc]

like the movies ⋆ max verstappen

bonus track of my bewitched department

pairing: max verstappen x actress!reader

summary: even though you've been all your life acting, you never experienced a love like the movies, until max appeared in your life

word count: 1.7K

warnings: none, just pure fluff

a/n: I'm going through a max verstappen phase, so if you have any requests for a blurb or something cute, send them <3

english is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

"Are you breaking up with me over the phone? While I'm on my way to your parents' house? Are you stupid or what?" With each sentence, Y/N's voice grew louder.

"Y/N, I'm really sorry. But…"

"But my ass! Don’t you have any common sense?"

She could hear her boyfriend sigh, and she sighed four times louder than him.

"You are too… cold-hearted for me," he finally said from the other end of the line.

Y/N stifled an exclamation. Cold-hearted? How could she be if she was an actress? She was the warmest person he had known.

"You're always focused on your job and yourself, I need someone…"

"Idiot!" Y/N interrupted him. "Just say you don’t have enough self-love to date an independent woman. You worthless piece of shit."

She hung up after her sentence, not wanting to hear her ex-boyfriend's response. She parked the car and ran her hands over her face. She looked at herself in the little mirror of her car, touching up her lipstick and reassuring herself that she was a good person worthy of love.

She got out of her car and went directly to the bookstore in front of her. She still had quite a few books in her apartment to read, but she didn’t mind. It was her third breakup in four months, and she was starting to wonder if she really was the problem, and the only thing that could distract her from that was spending money she didn't have.

She began to pile books on her arms, and by the fifth manuscript, she started to wobble.

"Do you need help?"

Y/N blinked and peeked her head out from the stack of books, meeting a blonde with a very un-London-like accent and skinny jeans who looked like anything but someone who worked in a bookstore. She didn't know that strangers were now offering help out there.

"No, thanks," She took a step and added a sixth book, enough for all of them to fall. "Shit!"

Y/N felt so embarrassed she even blushed. She knew everyone in the bookstore would be watching her, and that terrified her.

"May I help you now?"

Y/N looked up, having completely forgotten about the presence of the stranger, who was looking at her with a kind smile.

"If you insist…" She smiled a little while rolling her eyes, which made him smile too.

They picked up the books together, which were a bunch of rom-coms. For a moment she thought he would judge her choices, but he didn’t make any gesture.

"I'm Max, by the way"

Y/N blinked. She had no idea what was happening, it seemed totally unreal that a stranger would help her pick up her books and suddenly introduce himself.

"Do you like Sally Rooney?" he asked, holding the last book she'd picked.

Y/N realized that this guy wanted to keep a trivial conversation with her, like those you have in nightclub bathrooms with girls. But this time was a bookstore, not a library. And not a girl, but a Max.

"I’ve never read her, but I saw Normal People, the series, and I was left wanting more," she explained, with a shy smile. "Y/N, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," he showed her a gorgeous smile. "I read the book, I haven’t had time to watch the series yet."

"Oh, it's really good,"

The conversation flowed too easily. She wasn’t used to talking so normally with someone she had just met a few minutes ago and moreover without it being awkward, but that was how it was. Y/N told him about the books she planned to buy and the one she was reading now.

"Excuse me, we're going to close," an employee informed them. In London, shops always closed in the mid-afternoon, for lunch, and although Y/N had arrived around eleven-thirty, the clock was almost striking one. "Are you taking the books?"

"Sure, yes," said Y/N at once and turned to Max. "Hold on a sec."

Max waved his hand, telling her not to worry, that he would wait. She paid for the books and quickly returned to Max.

"Do you have plans for this afternoon?" Max asked directly. Y/N loved the confidence in his voice.

"No, I don’t,"

"Can I invite you to lunch?"

"I'd love that,"

Y/N went to leave the bag of books in her car and she and Max walked to a nearby restaurant, continuing their conversation. It still seemed extremely surreal to her, in what universe does she break up with her boyfriend and moments later meet the nicest guy she had ever known?

"What do you do?" Max asked, once they were seated in the restaurant.

"I'm an actress," she pursed her lips. She was still in the phase where it was hard for her to admit she worked in that field.

"I'm not much into movies," Max commented, scrunching his nose.

"Great because I do theater,"

"Really?" he leaned back in his chair, impressed. "I don’t frequent the theater either, to be honest."

They both laughed softly and Y/N sipped her drink. "And you?"

"I work with cars,"

Y/N furrowed her brow, waiting for him to specify a bit more. "In a repair shop or how?"

That caused a small laugh from Max, leaving Y/N even more confused.

"Yes, exactly. In a repair shop," he continued with a wide smile.

"Well, if you like cars, there's some Prix thing here this weekend. There are tourists everywhere, it's terrible," she complained, rolling her eyes a bit.

Max gave her a goofy smile. That was perfect. Simply perfect.

"Really?" he arched his eyebrows slightly. "I had no idea."

"They do it every year. A silly thing," Y/N shrugged, letting the topic pass.

They continued talking for a long time about how Y/N once almost knocked down the shelves in a bookstore.

"Just like in the movies!" Max said, laughing.

She nodded, also laughing. "I swear things like a character in a tragicomedy happen to me."

They continued laughing for a while, then Max squinted a bit, resting his head on the palms of his hands. "And don’t you think it’s very movie-like that someone picks up your books for you?"

Y/N looked around, with sudden terror. "Where are the cameras, Max?"

He threw his head back laughing with a soft scrunch in his nose. The sound of his laugh felt really warm for Y/N.

"I hope nowhere," Max was right. Too good to be true. Too good to happen to her. Her look darkened a bit, and Max noticed it quickly. "Something wrong?"

She looked up and shook her head a little. "It's just… Is this weird?"

"I don’t think so, unless you want to make it weird. I’m pretty good at that,"

Max got a small smile from her.

"It's just that I’m used to…” Y/N thought about that sentence. “To things like this not happening to me. I haven’t been doing too well in love this past year,"

"Oh, me neither," Max didn’t mention the part about being a famous person and everyone wanting to be with him out of pure interest and not because they really liked him. "It's complicated."

"Quite," she pursed her lips. "Anyway… I have a performance at a theater in Soho on Thursday, you could come by. If you want, of course."

Max bit his lip; he had his first free practice that day and likely several meetings and driver duties.

"Oh, I'd love to. What time?"

They exchanged phones after the meal, which dragged on quite a bit, so that Y/N could send Max the location of the theater. And to exchange several messages throughout the day. They didn't see each other again until the day of the performance, but in that time, they had written dozens of messages. Y/N would tell Max about the series or movie she had watched that afternoon and recommended that he watch it, even though it was more than likely that Max hadn't turned on a TV in months.

Thursday arrived, and Max managed to sneak away from a meeting, arriving just in time for the play.

Y/N was nervous, and her co-star wasn't helping.

"Y/N!" Her co-star approached practically running. "I just heard that a famous driver is watching the play."

"Really?" She didn't care too much. She had been without news from Max for hours.

Luckily, he appeared at the door with a kind smile and a bouquet of roses. "Hi,"

Y/N flashed a smile and went up to him, instinctively wanting to hug him. Max, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, left a short kiss on her lips. She instantly blushed.

"Hello," Y/N greeted, with a silly smile. "Gorgeous flowers."

Max looked at her co-star, who was completely astonished.

"Lily, are you okay?" questioned Y/N, still hugging Max.

"Why didn't you tell me you were dating a famous driver?"

Y/N turned to Max instantly.

"What do you mean, 'famous driver'?"

Max pursed his lips slightly. "Aren't you going to call her out on the 'dating' thing?"

Y/N paused for a moment, trying not to laugh at what Max had said.

"Y/N, this is Max Verstappen. The Formula 1 driver!"

She lifted her chin and looked at Max again. "Formula 1 driver?"

Max scratched his neck.

"I think so…"

Y/N paused again for a moment. "And you let me mock your career just like that?"

"It's because you're strangely nice, what can I do," Max shrugged, causing Y/N to laugh.

"Well, I'm not one to deny it," she smiled a bit, then kissed Max's lips a second time. She placed a finger on his chest. "Though we're not dating, huh. We need to have a second date before we throw it all in for each other,"

Max burst out laughing. "Like they do in the movies?"

"Absolutely."

taglist; @theseerbetweenus

[bbyobbyo]

Everyone thinks Vernon is always at your place because you feed him. While you can agree it's mostly true, there might be more to it than meets the eye.

content: fluff, f2l, mentions of food

wc: 1.6k

notes: me taking a stab at writing lol. i also don't know how tumblr works. inspired by the fact that this man will eat everything in sight regardless if its someone else's food or not. i'd love to cook for him someday ❤

6pm on the dot. You don't even have to check to know who it is.

"Hey, Sol." You look up from the pot you've been stirring to greet your visitor who let himself in. Your apartment's passcode was practically muscle memory at this point.

"Hey, smells good in here," he comments while taking off his shoes, "I mean — it always does but you get it." You give him a little chuckle in response.

You hadn't been friends with Hansol for very long, but when a mutual friend decided to introduce you two to each other, you instantly hit it off. The whirlwind of a friend group you now shared was filled with strong personalities and quirks: Seungcheol was the self-proclaimed "dad" of the group but you'd swear he would whine and complained more than the rest of them combined. Seungkwan, the one who always had a sassy quip to share, but would be the first to cry at Disney movie nights. There was Jihoon, who showed his love exclusively with acts of service but is so tsundere he would rather die to admit he had any kind of emotions besides annoyance. Not to mention Soonyoung, who made it his mission to convince everyone that he was a tiger. No one knew how this bit started but everyone finds it entertaining nonetheless.

Amongst them all, Hansol was just a dude. A normal guy. As funny as it sounds, that's what made you two click so well. Not that he didn't have his own aspirations (and his own fair share of quirks!), but he had always been the sort of person that was along for the ride. Although a little bit clueless at times, you could tell his heart was in the right place.

"I brought dessert, by the way," He plops a plastic bag onto the kitchen counter, his cheekbones pushed all the way out in a smug grin, "hope you like it."

"Aww, Sol you didn't have to!" delight in your eyes as you wipe your freshly washed but still wet hands on your pants and scurry over to peek inside the bag. "Oh my god, this is that tiramisu from that bougie place, isn't it?! I heard the wait times were, like, over an hour. You're insane for this, thank you so much!" You're practically beaming as you put the dessert in refrigerator, promptly turning around to give him a hug. His hands automatically reach around your back as you bury your face into his chest. Man, he will never get tired of the way you smile at him over the smallest things.

"You're always feeding me, so it's like, the least I can do really" he murmurs as you let go, his own smile spreading across his face when you look up at him.

Right. Your relationship with Hansol was rooted in the fact that you both loved food. Cooking food in your case, and eating it for him. It was a match made in heaven, really. In the beginning stages of your friendship, you always noticed how he would always ask for bites of other peoples' food, the way he would eye a bag of snacks if anyone dared to bring them out, the "you gonna finish that..?" that would inevitably follow the conclusion of every meal. The guy was a human trash can with a black hole in place of his stomach. So really, was anyone surprised when Hansol practically attached himself to you that day you brought in those homemade baked goods for the friend group?

After that day, the rest was history. His insatiable hunger and the lack of his own cooking skills (poor dude would be consuming toast everyday if he didn't eat out) made him worship the ground you walked on whenever you fed him. In turn, his enthusiasm for your cooking and willingness to give honest feedback on your experimental recipes made him a regular guest at your apartment, much like today.

Hansol would be lying if he said he didn't feel like he was taking advantage of you sometimes, no matter how much you insisted that it wasn't the case. He always tried his best to chip in for your groceries or pick up ingredients when you didn't have time. He didn't even mind the way his friends teased him for being at your place more often than his own or the fact that you gained your own nickname among the guys as his personal chef. He was happy with your little arrangement, and it also helped that you were so easy to be around.

"Hey, can you help me set the table?" you say as you push a stack of plates and tableware toward him. Your attention is quickly pulled away again as you go to plate the food you've been laboring over the past hour.

The routine is a familiar one: sitting down across from each other with a wide array of dishes and sides in between. You always make him take the first bites; "I already taste tested everything as I was cooking, silly!" you would say, eyes focused and hands tucked under your chin eagerly awaiting his reactions and thoughts.

Today's meal was a hit, as it usually is. Hansol could count less than a handful of times that he didn't love your food, and even then he still ate everything despite you telling him that it was okay if he didn't finish it.

The next part of the routine, however, rivals even the food in his eyes. Both of you are glued to the chairs chatting away, even when all the food is long gone and empty plates remain on the table. Between you two, there was always something to talk about. Tangents turn to into more tangents turn into "remember when we…" turn into "we should totally do…" Hours can pass by before one of you even remembers that there was dessert in the fridge, and even more hours before either of you get up again to go wash the dishes. When that happens, you simply carry the conversation to the kitchen except this time with the gentle running of sink as background noise.

You were like a breath of fresh air from the chaos of his main friend group and someone he felt entirely comfortable with. Except lately he's been wanting to see you more and more. He would catch himself staring at his phone hoping a text from you would pop up, asking him to come over again.

He's embarrassed to admit that you have never hung out one-on-one outside of the walls of your apartment. It was an unspoken boundary that you two saw each other under the pretense of food, a boundary that he increasingly would like to cross.

You're not even looking at him, attention focused on scrubbing away at the pot in your hand, still talking about that awkward encounter with your neighbor yesterday. But the longer he stares at you, Hansol thinks to himself — have you always been this pretty? He traces every part of your form, from the micro expressions you make with your eyebrows as you talk, to noticing the little strands of hair by your face that escaped the ponytail you put it in, and the way your left sleeve is slowly slipping down your arm and in danger of getting soaked.

"...so screw me if I thought that it was none of his busine— Sol...?"

Before he even knew what he was doing he found himself abandoning his plate drying duty and sliding behind you at the sink, your back pressed against his chest as he grabbed your sleeve and gingerly rolled it up your arm once again. Just as he thinks you can't get any more gorgeous, his world stops when you turn your head around and he finds your face inches from his. The way your eyes glisten into his own makes the split second feel like an eternity before pulling away.

"S-sorry if I scared you, just didn't want your sleeve to get wet." adding a nervous chuckle to the end as he returns to the stack of tableware he has yet to dry.

"N-no! It's okay! Thank you for that!" you stammer back, trying not to look him in the eyes to hide the very obvious blush that spread on your cheeks. "Ahaha... yeah so anyways, what was I saying again?" Without missing a beat, he replies "you were talking about how your nosy neighbor thinks we're dating because I come over so often."

"Oh, haha, right..." your voice is barely above a whisper, a chuckle dies in your throat as you realize you've been scrubbing an already clean pot for 5 minutes now. You sigh as you turn off the water and start drying off your hands to put the dishes back in their places.

"I don't mind," he says after a thoughtful pause. It takes a second for you to register the words. "Sorry, what?"

"I don't mind if he thinks we're dating."

You feel like the hearing comprehension part of your brain just reset. "Wait, wha-"

"I think it would be kinda nice actually... if we dated."

After a second too long of silence from you, he was the one with panic with his eyes this time. "B-but only if you want to! Shit, uh, sorry I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. Just forget I said anyth-"

He's interrupted by your arms snaking around his neck. "You're hopeless, Sol", you say as you press a light kiss to his lips. "I think it would be nice if we dated, too."

[hsangel64]

bandmates pt. 7 !

pairings: bassist!ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: it’s been a couple of weeks and you and ellie were officially together but ellie has been acting suspicious and it feels like you're together only behind closed doors.

warnings: angst angst angst (sorry !!), cussing, slight smut, use of y/n

a/n: i am trying my best to be back and write, ive been in the process of moving and i just got in the mindset to write!! I had a plan for this and then stopped writing this for a while so this series will have more than just a couple of chapters left, i'm not sure yet!! anyways good to be back hope you enjoy!!

you and ellie were doing fine, great even! but only in your guys' room. you have been so happy the past few weeks, but it was starting to feel a little off. you didn't think much of it but that still didn't stop that small anxious pit in your stomach from forming. you liked ellie so much and was so happy this was finally reality that you didn't see the red flags ahead of time.

"do we really have to go to this stupid get together?" ellie whined and you giggled.

"yes unfortunately we do, speaking of which we need to get up really soon to get ready." ellie groaned and turned away from you and got out of bed. she walked over to her closet while pouting and grabbed some clothes considering we were only in underwear....

you sat up and grabbed an outfit from your closet. ellie came up from behind you and kissed your cheek and made her way down to your neck. you giggled and squished her face in your neck, you tried to push her away, but she fought against your small weak nudges.

"ellie we can't, we have to go dina and jesse really want us there to meet these people."

"we could be late." she said in that sultry voice she puts on. you felt a shiver down your spine and so badly wanted to fall for it but you knew how much this meant to dina and didn't want to let her down.

"no els we gotta go i don't want to let dina down." you laughed as she kept kissing you neck and reaching down you back. she turned you around and kissed your lips, you melted into her mouth and couldn't resist the urge to just go for yet another round of the day, but you fought back and slowly pulled away. you gave her that look a sad puppy dog would give and she groaned and then smiled at you.

"ugh fine, only because you're cute and i love you." you let out a small gasp, ellie hadn't said i love you yet. a small smile made it to your face and she smiled back.

"i love you too." you smiled at each other and kissed again, you both went on and got ready for the get together.

----

you two were sitting on the couch together next to dina and jesse at someone's house you didn't know, you just wanted to be home with ellie. the air felt super awkward and ellie felt a little distant. you didn't think much of that until you all introduced yourselves.

"this is ellie and y/n!" dina introduced us to everyone else and they all collectively said hello.

"how did you all meet?" one of the girls asked and ellie answered.

"y/n and i have been friends since before we could remember and met dina and jesse in high school band class. we all became really good friends and formed our band, coastal."

"that's really cool, you guys all seem so close is it just dina and jesse together? some girl asked while making flirty eyes with ellie.

"yeah it is, me and y/n are best friends and i wouldn't have it any other way." your face shifted and you gently whipped your head towards ellie in a questioning way, she was already looking at the girl with that same flirty look and you turned away and excused yourself to the bathroom. dina noticed your change in behavior and decided to follow after you. you quickly made your way to the bathroom before dina could make it in and you closed the door in front of her face.

"babes are you okay? what happened?" you tuned her questions out and your mind drifted. you could tell something was wrong, you knew it felt weird that you two weren't going on dates or that she acted different outside of the dorm. you saw all the red flags but was too oblivious to see what was going on. your eyes slowly filled with tears and you didn't even realize you were crying until you snapped back into reality and heard dina bang on the door.

"hey, are you okay what's going on??" you turned and opened the door, dina gasped and pushed her way into the room seeing your state.

'what's going on, talk to me." she held your face and wiped your tears, you felt so overwhelmed with emotions and couldn't make out the words so you said.

"ellie is an asshole." she looked at you saddened and nodded her head saying i know, she grabbed you and pulled you into her. you silently cried into the crook of her neck and just felt so angry. you were mad at yourself for thinking this was going to work. you didn't want to cry anymore about it so you gently pulled away and turned to the faucet and wiped your face down of the mascara streaks. dina helped you pull yourself together and you both made your way back into the living room. everyone was preoccupied with mario kart on the tv and didn't even notice you two coming back. you sat down on the couch next to jesse and dina occupied the spot next to ellie. she turned over and looked at you and nodded her head asking if you were okay. you looked away and dina pushed her head towards the tv and diverted her attention away from you.

for the rest of the time you guys were there you sat on the couch with your back against the cushion and your head slouched. dina tried her best to stop ellie from talking to you and left you alone till you guys left.

----

when you guys were getting ready to leave you all said your goodbyes and you saw ellie and that girl exchange numbers, you felt sick to your stomach and didn't want to face her in the car. you turned away and walked out of the house without anyone, you guys weren't to far from the dorm so you just decided to walk on your own.

as you walked you made it to the gas station right by the school so you stopped for a slushy. you walked in and grabbed the biggest size, you needed this. you also grabbed some ice cream and made your way out. you sat on the curb for a little and pulled out your phone to a million notifications.

40 texts from ellie, 20 missed calls from dina, it all felt too much. so you texted dina and said you were fine and just decided to walk home. dina proceeded to cuss you out in your texts and raved about how dangerous that was for you to walk alone by yourself. you rolled your eyes and got up from the curb and walked to rest of the way towards the campus.

you found your way back and checked their locations to see they were home so you just knocked on the door. ellie answered and quickly let you in. you made your way to your shared room and grabbed some clothes.

"hey what happened back there?" she quietly asked and you rolled your eyes. you made your way to the shower but not before ellie squeezed her way through the door.

"bee what's wrong?" she grabbed your arm and you felt sick, you pushed her away and started to take your makeup off before your shower. she put her hand back on you and you pushed her away again getting frustrated now.

"why do you keep pushing me away, what happened back there?" you pushed her away hard and felt that tickle in your throat. you grumbled and said wouldn't you like to know under your breath, but it wasn't very quiet, so she heard.

"what do you mean? i would like to know. what's up with you?"

"i don't know ellie you tell me."

"I don't know y/n that's why i'm asking." you rolled your eyes starting to get more frustrated with her.

"maybe it was the fact that you just called me your friend and not your girlfriend?? i guess i missed something but i thought us having sex all the time and calling each other girlfriends meant just friends."

"i just called you best friend it isn't a big deal i'm sorry." she didn't sound sorry.

"it's a big deal to me ellie."

"well, i'm sorry." she shrugged and you scoffed at her nonchalant movement.

“i really don’t want to deal with this can you please leave i want to shower.” she didn’t pick up a fight and left. you sighed and wiped your face from any left over tears. you made your way into the shower and let the warm water help you forget about your thoughts for just one second.

————

a/n: i’m sorry this was short !! it was more of a filler before we get into some good angst and drama!! chapter 8 and possibly 9 will be out tomorrow!!

taglist:

@gold-dustwomxn @lil-elliesgf @hopelesssheaven @elliestears @cjrights

[bluepixiedream]

My brain has rotted after reading @a-b-riddle "Not me imagining medic reader who acts weird around Ghost."

And I desperately need it out of my head. So here is my take/version/homage to such a great idea. I wish I could lick their brain. Thank you for putting out something so downright FILTHY without being filthy at all.

I adore you.

CW: 18+!!!, no explicit smut but jeez…BASICALLY, language, not happy thoughts reader thinks about themselves, just overall 18+ only

Wc: little over 4k…I’m sorry. My brain. It rotted away :(

~

Being a medic on any military base had its ups and downs. Some bases had better food, others had personnel that would leave you alone and others always seemed to be busy.

That seemed to be the case with your current base.

If there wasn’t a training accident, then there was a critical mission gone awry and left you and your other three nurses scrambling for days to fix everyone back up. If it wasn’t either case, then it was a full moon which lead to patience being tested and some downright awful fights.

This week was the full moon and you were l feeling every part of it.

The worst part about this base was that you never seemed to get a full weekend to yourself. And not that you would complain much, you were normally off in your apartment fantasizing and wishing for a tank of a man to grab you and fuck your thoughts out but not getting your alone time had become…troublesome.

It led you into some dark thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Outright outrageous, ravenous, porn idled thoughts about a certain Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.

Yes, you were officially losing it, thanks for asking.

You couldn’t help it though. If it wasn’t his size that did you in, it would be his tree trunk thighs. Thighs that begged you to sit between them and be good as he watched football. Maybe you would choke him down too. Swallow him whole. Or just warm him with your throat because you weren’t needy or anything of that nature.

Maybe not his wonderful thighs that were doing it for you? Then it was definitely his arms. Bigger than your head and could easily crush you like a bug. God, you had countless hours of rubbing yourself thinking of him putting you in a headlock and making your dumb brain even dumber.

Perhaps his hands were the most fascinating to you whenever they weren’t covered by his gloves. Big and thick, just like the rest of him. Veiny too, and you hoped it was an indicator of another certain area being extra veiny as well.

And his voice. Whenever you heard him snap at the new recruits or put another private in their place, it absolutely melted you.

It also made you act like an idiot whenever you thought he was around.

Regardless of how hard you tried, and you did because you wanted to be good, he immediately became your whole world. You would accidentally poke your patient too hard while stitching them or keep the blood pressure cup on for too long, squeezing their much needed appendage. One time you almost poked a Sergeants eye out but thankfully, Sergeant MacTavish had thought that maybe the Lieutenant had frightened you after he called out for his Sergeant.

“Don’t worry ‘bout him, lass, he won’t bite.” He chuckled before you reset his arm, dislocated by a training accident, of course.

You wished he did bite. And hard.

But you made it a promise to yourself to never reveal to the infamous Ghost what you thought about him, or to anyone for that matter. The rejection alone would be too much for you and you honestly thought that maybe something was going on between the L.T. and his Sergeant. They were attached at the hip and it was quite cute to see them walk and talk together.

It made your thoughts that much more guilt ridden though.

How dare you fantasize about a man who was happily in a committed relationship. If it wasn’t with MacTavish, you knew it had to be with someone else. Someone had to claim the behemoth of a man because no way would it ever be that easy.

Or maybe he wasn’t what you were into at all. Your thoughts were…careless, some could call it. Disgusting was more the word you were called and were use to. Most men you were into turned out to be batting for the same team or a vanilla cupcake. And you loved them regardless and gladly walked with your head held high until you got your bed and collapsed on it, fighting your pants off and filling your disgusting, worthless cunt with your fingers.

And so far, being four months in at your new base, you didn’t want to know either way what Ghosts deal was. You were content on your thoughts and the little crumbs you would scarf up whenever you saw him in passing.

Everything was perfect.

Except for the eve of the full moon.

Dolores asked you to spend your evening taking stock of the inventory closet and with her being your boss, no way you could have said no, even if you wanted. So, at 6pm sharp, you started with your little clipboard and counter and made your way up and down the rows of medical supplies.

How fun.

Dolores was a stickler for keeping her supplies accurate and fully loaded for any and all events that could occur. You appreciated her thoroughness but it often led you to pulling doubles or overnight shifts since you were the only one she trusted to do this.

Bullshit, you wanted to say but you didn’t.

You wanted to be good and do a good job and you knew your reward for your hard work would be immaculate. Your bed. Twitter porn. A wand and a lengthy size piece you hoped was somewhat accurate to the Lieutenants and your dirty, nasty thoughts.

But that had to wait. And it did as you sat counting the wraps, the bandages, the gauze and the disposable gloves over and over until Nancy, a nurse you worked closely with and could almost call a friend, found you and quickly closed you both in.

“Are we alone?” She asked with a devious sprinkle in her eye. Your own eyebrows knitted together in confusion, the slight headache a few hours ago was a full on rager and your fingers were going numb from the counting and scribbling.

But no complaints from you, of course.

“I think so. What do you mean?” Your eyes shifted towards the linen closet that you swore was open earlier but was now tightly closed.

You figured Dolores wanted to keep it closed so no one would grab extra towels.

She was currently at war with a few privates who snuck her towels for unknown purposes.

Poor Dolores.

“Well,” she dragged on, baiting you into putting your stuff down and give her your full attention, which you did. You learned early not to fight Nancy and things had been smooth sailing for you ever since. “Cory and I were talking earlier and I wanted to ask you about something. Well, about someone.” You had no idea where this would lead but your heart began exploding. A cold sweat covered your forehead. Were you going to be sick? You were going to be sick.

“Okay.” Your voice was timid, dancing around a shark who smelt blood. Your blood.

“So, we noticed you, well, kind of act differently around a certain someone.” Your eyes closed as your palms pressed against them tightly, colors and flashes taking over as the rushing of your blood filled your ears. Nancy took that as confirmation. Poor Nancy. “Please don’t be embarrassed! Soap is super fuckin’ hot.”

What? Soap?

Your head shot up to her and even more confusion landed on your face. You shook your head and regretted every word that came after:

“I don’t like Soap.” Nancy’s face dropped her smile and tilted like she didn’t quite hear you. “I mean, he’s cute. I definitely see why everyone does like him.” Your voice was a little too high for your liking. And apparently, for Nancy’s.

“If it’s not Soap then…?” You promised yourself. You promised yourself…fuck it.

“Don’t tell anyone.” You looked at her pointing. Her eyes widen with the hidden accusation.

“Who am I going to tell?” She faked. Liar.

“Corey. Dolores maybe. Maybe the whole base, I don’t know Nancy.” You huffed in faked annoyance. Nancy laughed. It made your chest feel less tight, which was nice.

You still couldn’t get over the feeling of being watched though…

“Never! Maybe Corey, honestly. But you don’t ever tell me anything.” Nancy pouted while sinking to the floor to join you. “So, tell me! Let’s have girlchat as you work your second triple this week. Jesus, I think Dolores wants you dead.” You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I think she just wants me insane.” You agreed, your fingers finding a string dangling from your scrubs as you gathered the courage to finally tell someone about your innocent crush. Maybe it would help. Maybe it was time to let your crush get crushed and maybe you could move on and stop being a idiot all the time.

“It’s his Lieutenant.”

Nancy gasped dramatically but her eyes told you all you needed to know: That was not what she expected.

“Like, Lieutenant Riley?” She clarified and you decided to finally come clean.

“I’d jump off Buckingham Palace if it meant that he would fuck me six ways from Sunday.” Nancy snorted, her hand gripping her chest, eyes huge.

You swore you heard a squeak from the closet but you figured it must have came from Nancy.

“Are you-” you cut her off again.

“I would suck his dick for 24 hours straight if it meant he would choke me out with his arms next.” Nancy did yell before clamping her hands around her mouth to keep herself silent. You couldn’t look at her anymore, so your sheet filled with scribbled numbers became center of your attention. “And I get it, he’s in charge and physically fucking huge and always with Sergeant MacTavish and I don’t want to come between them or anyone else he has in his life. I just have…thoughts.”

Nancy chuckled in disbelief.

“Oh, those are just thoughts?” Her face was red. She was loving this and for once, it felt good to let go.

“Just thoughts. Like how would it feel to be a fleshlight for him. Or just sit between his thick thighs as I hold him in my throat as he ignores me. Does he like anal? How long could I fuck him until I cried? Are his balls too sensitive or can I suck on them too? Can I choke myself on his fingers? I don’t want him uncomfortable, so if I closed my eyes, would he spit in my mouth and make me hold it?”

Nancy was dying.

Full blown, laughing and crying, red faced, dying.

“Stop!” She begged, her hands trying to smooth her hair as she desperately tried to get herself together.

“I’d eat his cum out of my cunt so I could taste us mixed together.” You whispered when she finally looked sane enough.

You liked seeing Nancy happy. And if telling her your dirty thoughts did that, then here you were. Being a good dog.

“Oh my god! You perv!” She declared and for once, she as right. You were. You shrugged your shoulders in defeat. “You should tell him!” That got your attention.

“What, Nancy, no! Absolutely not. Not ever!” Horror filled you at the thought of him finding out your simple little crush. Much less, whatever else you think about.

“What? Why not?” She asked confused.

“Because that’s wrong. He’s a Lieutenant.”

“But not your Lieutenant!” She argued back.

“But it could still lead into… I don’t know. Bad stuff. Just…no. He’s probably in a happy relationship with MacTavish or he has his own person in the real world. Or he doesn’t like any of the stuff I like and that’s 100% a-okay with me. I’m just fine thinking about him every waking second and gooning out during my weekends and that’s all.” You shrugged, swearing you heard a snort but Nancy just looked on in confusion.

“Gooning?”

“Please don’t look that up. It’s a gross…thing. Just means I’m gross, gross, gross mammal.”

“But what if he is into everything you’re into? You’ve made up your mind before even talking it out with the man!”

“Did you not hear about him potential being taken?” You looked over at her hard. “I don’t even somewhat like the idea of being a second choice or hidden because of another. I’m…jealous. Irrationally so. It just leads to too much drama and heartache and suddenly you’re being jumped by five women and a man because you were left in the dark and nobody believes that you didn’t know. And trust me, women hit and kick. And hard.” You emphasized. You hated your life three years ago.

You still can’t get over the guilt and shame. It’s a reason why you were the way you were. Nancy gave you a soft, understanding look. Nothing more needed to be said.

“Well, I at least want to get you laid soon. When’s the last time you had fun and not by yourself?” She had a point.

“Thankfully, being taken care of. Well, in the process of.”

“Oh?” Tell me more, Nancy silently pleads with you.

“There is a…website and I matched with them. So, dinner next time I’m free and everything will be discussed then. After that, I’ll be rung out like a wet rag.” You shrugged a shoulder like it was a normal, every day occurrence. Nancy was not happy with that.

“Why does it sound so much like a transaction? Like a business deal?”

“When is sex not a business deal?” You countered, leaving her thinking. “I’m just particular in what I want. And I’m nonstop busy. Even if I go to a bar and meet someone organically, who knows if they like everything I do. Then, you have figure each other out, try to hint at everything until you’re five months in and realize, this isn’t what either of you wanted in the first place. I’m just cutting out all of that nonsense. My life is full of people who need me. And I’m very thankful for that.” You made sure to look at her dead in the eyes as a thank you for everything she’s done. She gave you a gentle smile, which eased some of your panic. “I just also need me time. And when I get that, I want to utilize that me time to the best of my abilities. Which means fucking someone who says they understand fully what I want and all the stipulations that come from that.”

“Oh, like someone who is also in the military and looks the part.” Nancy had a sly look on her face. You rolled your eyes with a chuckle.

“Looks the part and is the part are two different things. Do you know how many men are just big softy’s? Are petrified if they hit you wrong, you’ll explode? Or maybe they so scared of crushing you so everything is as soft as a feather. Or you’re just not big enough, small enough, strong enough, soft enough, easy enough, tough enough, beautiful enough or smart enough and when they finally see someone they like, they explode in your hand like they’re virgins again. And then you dye your hair and try to put on weight and discuss plastic surgery and manipulate the way you walk and talk so they look at you with an ounce that they look at everyone else with. And then you realize you’re tired and worthless and you just drop from their lives and you never speak again. It’s a really cool thing. Especially when you’ve done it a few times over.” You shook your head, embarrassed by your own ranting. “I’m sorry, that was a little too much.” Nancy laughed at that.

“No, not at all! Everyone feels insecure at times. No matter what. Even your girl over here.” You gave her a genuine smile.

“Shut up. But thank you. Sorry, I talked for too long.” You sighed, rubbing your jaw.

“You know what would else would hurt your jaw?”

“Shut up, Nancy.” You laughed and before another word could be said, the linen closet busted open revealing not only Sergeant MacTavish with a red face and a giant smile, but his silent and deadly counterpart: the Lieutenant himself, who stood there with his arms by his side and his face covered by a black balaclava as always.

The same Lieutenant you were just speaking about.

The same Lieutenant who heard everything.

“Don’t go on the date, lass!” The Sergeant called out to you but you couldn’t hear him. Your world dropped from under you as the fires of hell pulled you under.

Not literally, but you wished it was.

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” You had never jumped up so fast or ran from the supply room as quickly as you did. Real, true horror filled your veins as bile threatened to spew out.

You can’t believe he heard.

You can’t believe he heard!

You heard footsteps behind you but knowing Nancy was probably right behind you, trying to get you to stop and look at the man you had been drooling over for the last four months, you weren’t stopping for anything. If anything, it kicked you into a higher gear. Your goal was the surgery room that had access to an outside door for emergencies and you were thankful when you could finally see it. Putting in the passcode and getting an error, your panic rose as you heard the footsteps getting louder and louder.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you cried before the keypad glowed green and granted you entry. “Yes!” You slipped in and slammed the door closed. You knew Nancy would be right behind you so you didn’t stop even for a second. Slipping out to the cold, your shift and the inventory could be damned for all you cared.

You were never going back.

Fuck Nancy, fuck Johnny and fuck his delicious looking Lieutenant.

You eventually stopped running, your side aching as you thought about how badly screwed your were.

You should have listened to yourself.

You should have stayed silent.

You left on foot, regardless of the guards questioning glare but after seeing your tear soaked face, he took enough pity on you to let you go.

Thankfully.

You began your five mile walk to the city before flagging down a cab and taking it back to your shitty apartment. Your perfect safe haven. You just wanted a glass of water, strip your clothes off and never think about tonight again.

Which would be impossible because you couldn’t stop thinking about tonight. About MacTavish’s face. How red he was or how big his smile stretched out. ‘Don’t go to dinner’? Was he serious? Christ, fuck dinner. You were about to show up on your dates doorstep and beg the poor guy to take you right then. Fuck the process.

But that sunk your heart. You couldn’t do that to someone. So, you just went through the motions when you finally got in. Taking off your clothes. Getting a drink. And then chugging on an open liquor bottle to deal with your blinding shame. Quick, cold shower because that’s what bad dogs deserve. And lastly, you wrapped yourself up in your comforter and rolled to the ground and slide under your bed. A terrible habit you started when you were younger and never stopped. It didn’t matter that you shared the space with spiders and dust bunnies. You felt cocooned and safe. Even if someone was to find you, and how could they, but if they did, why would they look under your bed?

It was perfect.

It was perfect for 30 more minutes. Regardless of your bedroom being shut and your front door being locked, chained and deadbolted, you could hear someone try to make their way in. You figured after five minutes of struggling they would go away but much to your horror, you heard the door being shoved opened.

That couldn’t be Nancy…

You wanted to cry again but you kept yourself calm, breathing as even as you could while keeping your ear to the ground. You could hear multiple footsteps make their way in before the door was half shut.

“Are you here?” Nancy called out, her voice rocking you to the core.

Obviously not! You wanted to shout out but you didn’t.

“Can you please talk to us?” Oh my god, you were going to scream. Us. Motherfucker.

Your bedroom door opened but you knew that would happen. That was okay. You could see plain white shoes that went to Nancy stand at your doorway before retreating. Another bigger, louder footsteps fell behind her and again, stopped at your doorway.

“Lass? Please c’m ‘ere.” Johnny tried but you focused on the waves of embarrassment flowing over you and holding you under the water. He eventually left and for a moment, you thought you were safe.

How wrong you were.

The next footsteps were much quieter than before and when you looked at the boots and realized their size, your heart went into overdrive.

Ghosts.

Definitely Ghosts.

This time, the boots didn’t stop at the doorway but walked inside like they had been here before. They stopped walking, landing right towards your head. You wondered what he was looking at before your mind found a new dangerous game to play.

God, what you would give to lick his boots. Would he liked it if you ground your cunt on them? What if you cleaned them up after, would he like it then?

Suddenly you became too hot and without realizing it, your hand traveled to your panty covered mound and slid through your curls until it reached your hidden pearl.

Fuck, you were soaked.

Knowing Ghost was here, he was in your bedroom, where he heard that you masturbated to the thought of him, drew your body into the flames like no other.

You just couldn’t help yourself. And it’s not like he knows where you are so, you didn’t feel so bad.

So you rubbed. And rubbed. Staring at his thick, black boots and all the implications of what it meant.

Before long, he began walking away and even though it was exactly what you wanted, you felt a little sad too.

That is, until the door closed. With both of you in the room. Suddenly, your fingers stopped, and you realized how badly you might have fucked up. That maybe you didn’t have the upper hand like you thought you did.

“If you don’t get out from under the bed then I’ll get you myself. And trust me, little girl, you don’t want that.” Fuuuuck, you were going to cum just from his voice. It didn’t matter that he sounded a bit pissed at you. Or maybe a little…wound up himself. God fucking damn you.

But you refused. Maybe he actually didn’t know where you were. Maybe it was a lucky guess on his part. You didn’t want to give yourself away now, did you?

“One.” Oh my god, could he just marry you and throw you away in his basement for eternity?

“Two. Think about what you’re doing. Think about it carefully.” He taunted but you didn’t care. You weren’t budging. You refused. You would win. You would-

“Three.” A gloveless, thick and veiny hand shot out and wrapped around your arm and yanked you out faster than you thought possibly. You found yourself thrown on your bed, now staring at your ceiling before a leg forced its way between yours and now, before you could even breath, you had Lieutenant Riley between your thighs. You closed your eyes like it would help your current situation.

Ghost barked out a laugh and it only set to flush your cheeks out even more. The rolling heat made its way over your chest and settled over your heaving breasts.

You couldn’t even care that you were only in panties that were still somewhat pushed to the side, showing off your dripping cunt, your light tank top that did nothing to hide to your puffy nipples or ragged breath. And bra? What bra?

You were a fucking mess.

And you never looked so tempting to someone like you did to Ghost.

Fuck, he wanted to worship you right then. Suck on your clit and make you squeal. Pull on your nipples and slap your tits as you cried. Stuff you full of his cock and shove his fingers in your mouth until you couldn’t tell where he started and you began.

Patience, he tried to tell himself.

But patience was so fucking hard when you were practically dripping on him and he didn’t even do anything yet.

Fuck.

“Look at me.” You refused and Ghost loved that.

His hand began lightly tracing your cheek, down to your lips before pushing his way in and hooking his thumb in your cheek and pulling it. Your eyes shot open and found his amused ones staring back at you. Deep and dark, with a hint of green and a twinge of fire that you couldn’t believe.

His eyes were beautiful and you didn’t deserve to be looking at them.

Funny enough, he thought the same about yours.

“There you are, little girl. See? You can listen. Just have to push you right where I want you.” He smiled under the mask but you could only see the way his eyes scrunch up and how his voice was sweetly mocking you. It was going to be the death of you.

His fingers left your mouth but never left your body, still tracing your exposed skin and everything felt electrifying. You felt your whole body relax, allowing your thighs to let him closer to you, so close you could feel his pants pressing against your wet slit. How embarrassing, you wanted to think but you couldn’t help but the feel the bulge that pressed directly against your pulsing cunt.

You must have died, you decided. No way was this real.

“Oh, it’s real, little girl. Absolutely, positively fucking real.” He growled out, making you realize you were talking aloud. “We have some rules to set, don’t you agree?” His eyebrow twitched as a drunk smile laced your lips.

Maybe telling Nancy wasn’t all that bad…

[dinogoofymutated]

Omg I love your headcanons/fics!! I really need to ask if you'd be willing to write an addendum for the jealousy headcanons for Wolverine? Of course no pressure if you can't/don't feel like, just thought I'd try to ask! :) Hope you have a nice day/night, and keep up the good work! 💗💗💗

Jealousy Headcannons!- Multi/GN!Reader - Wolverine, Morph, Angel, Sabretooth. You got it man!! Had a version of this requested for Logan so many times lol. I went ahead and added more characters to round it off into a full multi character hcs. Logan doesn't explicitly punch anyone in this one, so sorry if anyone was looking forward to that! (Sorry though, his is pretty similar to cable's) I'm also testing the waters while writing for Morph. I know everyone is starving for fics with them, but I'm not really used to writing for they/them characters (despite the fact that I try to avoid pronouns for the reader, weird I know, but its mostly due to me using you/your.) forgive me if I slip up with their pronouns, and let me know if I do so I can fix it! TWs: Violence (not towards reader, but some pretty mean names are called tho) Men can be creeps/harassment. Unnecessary changing scene with Warren bc I love non-sexual intimacy like that. Flirting, Barfights again but this time it's a little bloody (sabertooth) Drinking mentioned.

Wolverine

Okay, so Logan here is a bit of a mixed bag when it comes to jealousy. I really feel like it depends on the situation? In general, he trusts you more than just about anyone. When someone flirts with you, he's generally just very grouchy and most of the time, quiet. He glares a lot, and if you meet his gaze he'll raise an eyebrow, basically asking if you need an out, and then he'd act accordingly.

Buuuttt. If he's in a bad mood or has had a tough day, he's more likely to resort to threats and intimidation to handle any romantic attention you might receive. He gets more physically protective and will usually have an arm slung around you at all times.

That's not to say he only gets jealous of romantic attention though. I feel like he also get jealous of anything and anyone taking up your time, really. he'd probably stay quiet until he just kinda snaps and drags you away from whatever has your attention for smooches and cuddles. Don't let him fool you by telling you he's not cuddly, he totally is.

"Back. Up. Bub." Logan's rumbling voice is venomous, a growl of warning as he bows up on the man in front of you. The two of you had been out on a mission together, which normally would have gone perfectly fine. Unfortunately, you'd ended up running into some old acquaintances of his. Both of you were bristiling at the contact, but you knew that coaxing Logan into a fight was just what he wanted. The man had been making moves on you the entire time- and although you were practically an expert in ignoring the flirtation from asshole guys, you were beginning to get more and more uncomfortable with it. It was when the man had started to make sexual comments about your body that Logan snapped.

"Who you callin' bub, pipsqueak?" The man smirks, looking down on Logan with arrogance. Anxiety had begun to worm it's way into your stomach.

"You better learn to watch your mouth." Logan growls. His fists flex as his claws unsheath, the adamantium practically itching to dig into the guy's skin. This was escalating fast, and you needed to stop it now. You both needed to complete the mission without any complications, extra fights included.

"Logan, Please, can we just go?" You say, grabbing his wrist and tugging before he can launch himself at the man. Logan's angry face remains intact, but you can see the way his shoulders slightly loosen. He glances at you, before backing off from the man with a snarl. You sigh in relief as Logan turns to follow you as you drag him away, just thankful you've avoided a problem at that point.

" 'bitch's got you on a hellava tight leash. Who knew the wolverine would be so whipped over some cheap whore." Logan stops abruptly at the words, sighing deeply as he looks at you, rage burning in his eyes. Whatever reserved attitude you had about this fight was basically gone, evaporating at the insults. You let out a long sigh, before you pull your hands away from him and shrug your shoulders. Logan grins at you wickedly.

So what if he came home with a few more bruises than normal? His knuckles would heal- but the ass whooping he gave out would damage that guy's ego forever.

Angel

Warren is the silently jealous type. No matter how bad he's being cooked with jealousy, he's really just going to keep an eye on you from afar. Growing up as a rich kid, I feel like his dad was very strict on manners and how not to make a public scene, which has kinda carried over into his adulthood.

If someone just won't give it a rest and keeps trying to pursue you, Warren will be not low-key about it. He'll come over and set his hand on your back, or sling his arm around your shoulder, or if he's feeling really cocky, Shake the person's hand and introduce himself as your boyfriend/husband. He'll only outright tell them to back off if they start to get out of hand and he knows you're getting really uncomfortable.

"I just don't like him." Warren says, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. He's still in his suit from before, the red and bright white standing out starkly compared to the muted warm tones of your shared bedroom. You laugh at him as you begin to change.

"What? Why? I think Pietro is kinda funny." You ask, beginning to take off your shirt. Warren sighs in a petty way.

"Yeah, exactly." He mumbles under his breath, walking over to help you when your head gets stuck in the neckline like it always does. You give him a kiss on his cheek when you're free, not quite having heard him.

"Can't I dislike him just to dislike him? I don't need a reason." Warren speaks up this time, and you can't seem to hold back your amused smile as he digs his hole deeper. "-but, if I did, I'd say he's just too friendly with you. I don't like it." You can't help but laugh at that as you finish changing into more comfortable clothes. He turns around on autopilot, letting you unzip him from his suit- careful not to catch his blonde hair with the zipper.

"It's not like he's taking me away from you, Warren." You say, pressing a kisses to his exposed neck and back as you help him navigate his wings through. Warren huffs a little, his wings twitching as his voice goes soft.

"I never said that. I know he's not. I trust you enough to know so. I just..." He trails off, stepping out of his suit and left in his boxers. He lets you pull his shirt over him, stretching his wings in the confined space of the bathroom when its on correctly. You cock an eyebrow at him now that you're facing him, waiting for him to continue. He doesn't, simply looking away from you to avoid your knowing gaze. You let out an amused chuff before closing in on him.

"It's okay to be jealous, Warren, but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere." You say confidently, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He sighs again, but smiles as he looks at you with a soft and loving gaze. His arms wrap around your waist as he rests his forehead against your own, closing his eyes as the two of you begin to sway a little.

"Yeah, I know."

Morph

I really think that Morph is more of an insecure jealous type, but they're more likely to hide it behind humor. If you're being flirted and don't seem to be overly uncomfortable, they're probably going to fade into the background. They know that you love them, and they trust you, but they're so used to being second best for everyone they know that they just feel like they're bothering you. Later on, when whoever is flirting with you leaves, Morph will shift into them and start joking about it. Don't let the humor fool you, they're hurting right now. Just give Morph some extra love and kisses and reassurance and they'll feel better eventually.

Now, if it's clear that someone is bothering you, Morph won't be afraid to roast the everloving shit out of them. They take the moment to really embarrass the person, and if you're in a bar he'd totattally shift into the dude just to offer a drink to everyone and then dip, sticking the asshole with the bill.

You really didn't like clubs. They were busy and loud, but you had a friend celebrating her birthday in one, so who were you to turn down the invite? You certainly couldn't go without your favorite shapeshifter by your side either. The only problem was that Morph wasn't the only one who had eyes for you that night. Morph hadn't said anything in the moment, but you knew stuff like this bothered them. Even while walking home from the club, they still seemed to be trying to brush it off.

"Hey, Good-lookin. You interested?" Morph says, having shifted into the guy who had been flirting with you earlier. They're leaning against the side of the payphone like a goofball, having waited there as you called the school to let the others know you were finally on the way home, tipsy, but still hoping the fresh air would sober the both of you up. You roll your eyes as you giggle at them, shoving their shoulder and sending them stubiling.

"In that guy? No way!" You laugh, walking past Morph before they quickly catch up to you.

"You gotta admit, he was pretty handsome for a POS." They joke, puckering their lips and making kissy faces at you.

"Mmhm. suuureeee." You hum, pushing their face away from yours as they laugh.

"Come on, you saying' that tall dark and handsome isn't your type?" Morph shifts from the man at the club, and into the blonde, blue-eyed Warren worthington, wings hidden underneath the supposed coat. "-Or maybe you'd prefer blondes. I hear Warren's quite at catch." You huff at them, and shake your head again. Something in their tone of voice just seems to set off alarms in your brain, and they doesn't seem to be acting as genuine with you anymore, a vulnerability creeping into their voice no matter how hard they were trying to hide it. This goes on for a rather solid minute, Morph shifting into different people you know and asking who you prefer with a laugh and a fake smile. You shake your head every time, but it's starting to become more than just a bit. You begin to lose your patience, your own hurt seeping through the cracks.

"You're into the gruff, muscly, Logan, right? Hafta' be if you're still-"

"Kevin." You finally cut them off with a stern tone of voice, grabbing their wrist as you abruptly stop walking. They flinch at the name, eyes blowing wide with concern as they shift from logan, then to the dark haired version of themselves- before then settling on the form you know so well.

"... Not the government name." They mumble, more caught up in the strict way you said their name rather than the words themselves. You grab them by the collar of their leather jacket, pulling them close to you as you look into their eyes.

"How many times to I have to tell you I love you for you to believe me?" You whisper after a moment, voice coming out a little broken. Morph's seems to panic a little, making a concerned face as their hands catch hold of your wrists gently.

"I- no, that's not what I..." Morph says, trying their best to fix the situation. They can't seem to come up with the right words, their eyes avoiding your gaze as their mouth opens and closes with no luck. You cup the side of their face, bringing them back to face you.

"I. Love. You." You say purposefully. "Not some guy at the club- you, Morph. Any part of you that you want to give me, Any form you want to take. As long as it's you, I don't care." Morph relaxes at your words, sighing as you bring them closer to you, resting their forehead against your own.

"Yeah?" They ask, eyes fluttering closed.

"Yeah." You reply, finally leaning in to kiss them lovingly. They return the kiss softly, only separating from you when you begin to drag them down the sidewalk with you once again, hand in hand.

Sabertooth

He does not handle jealousy well at all. Honestly, I wouldn't put it past him to put someone in the hospital. It doesn't matter if they're just flirting, or if they're actually bothering you, he's going to start some shit. The man loves to start fights, and he couldn't care less what the reason is for. I will say though, he's gonna be a lot less smiley if the person insults either of you. He may be a shitstarter, but he doesn't take disrespect, especially not disrespect towards his S/O.

He's never mad at you for it. If anything, he's glad you gave him the chance to take some anger out. He'll encourage you to wear sexy and revealing outfits because he wants to see you wear them, and also because he's gonna beat the shit out of the first guy (and every guy, honestly) to look at you the wrong way. ESPECIALLY if you have boobs. Those are his boobs. He wants them to be popping out of your clothes 24/7 but no one else is allowed to look at them. Did he just see someone glance at you? Say goodbye to your teeth, motherfucker. (and your balls too.)

Victor loved shitty dive bars, as gross and unsanitary they may be. He liked to bar hop a few of them every other night, and although you weren't necessarily the dive bar type, you did enjoy spending time with him. Normally you'd just wear casual clothes, but today you had wanted to dress up a little bit. Nothing too fancy, but your shirt was a little low cut compared to what you normally wear. Victor had been loving it, especially since he got to have you as his eye-candy. That was what you were going for, and you succeeded! The only problem was that he wasn't the only one appreciating the view.

You were sitting at the bar, watching Victor win another round of pool while sipping on your drink. A man had sat next to you earlier, but you didn't think anything of it at first. It was a busy saturday night, and there weren't that many seats open at the bar. At most, you had a uneasy tingling on the back of your neck, feeling that someone was watching you.

"What's a fine thing like you doing in this shitty place?" The man suddenly asks. You send him a questioning glance, almost baffled at the flirting. He must be new here, because every other regular of this place knew for a fact who you always come here with, and no other man is stupid enough to try their luck with you while he's lingering around.

"Who, me? Enjoying some peace and quiet, obviously." You say in a sarcastic tone. The man chuckles next to you.

"Aw, not interested, sweetheart? I swear I'll make it worth your while." You make an obviously disgusted face at that, beginning to wonder who this guy thinks he is. The tingling feeling you feel hasn't let up, in fact, it's only gotten stronger. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing up, and you can't help but feel like something is seriously wrong here. You brushed it off on the alcohol, but Victor had always been a bit more perceptive than you. He barely glanced over in your direction before he was storming over. For a split second you think he's mad at you, until he violently grabs the man next to you by the collar, his claws scraping across his collarbones and causing him to yelp as he shallow cuts begin to bleed.

"Did I just see you staring?" Victor huffs, glaring so hard you swear the man shrinks underneath his gaze. Every bit of confidence he had a minute ago had vanished completely.

"W-what? I... Uh..." The man stutters, unable to say a complete sentence through his fear. Victor turns to you slightly, his grip not letting up for a second.

"He say something to you, Doll?" He asks, and you wonder if you should tell him the truth. You almost felt bad for the guy in his grip, knowing that he was probably just stupid and new to this bar. You shake your head in response, even though the stranger had been giving you off vibes since the moment he sat down. Victor grins at you, a loving excitement in his eyes as his grip only gets tighter.

"Aww, you don't have to lie, sweet thing." Victor chuckles, and you grimace when you realise that he totally saw that lie coming a mile away. Vic turns back to the man, his smile dropping instantly as his other hand slips the guy's phone out and slams it on the counter of the bar. "Open your camera." Vic snarls. The man starts to panic now, squirming to get out of his grip.

"N-no! Let go of me Man!" The man stutters. Vic only begins to grin again.

"Nuh-uh. I want you to show my baby the photos you've been taking all night." Photos? You didn't know anything about any photos. Your brows furrow as the man begins to whine and panic, squirming to no avail. Vic smirks at you as he send you a nodd, and you grab the phone and open the creep's gallery. There has to have been over thirty photos of you from just tonight, sitting at the bar, ordering your first drink, even one from when you had gotten up to use the restroom.

"Oh, gross!" You say, recoiling from the phone and wiping your hands on your shirt, not wanting to know where this guys hands had been all night. The man in Victor's grip has gone completely pale, freezing at the sight of Vic's terrifying smile. He reaches over towards the phone with his free hand, picking up the device before crushing it with his bare hand.

"Why don't you head outside, honeybee. I'll take out the trash while you're gone."

[pilferingapples]

I was just reading the "Enjolras and his lieutenants" chapter and I noticed that Enjolras used the informal you for both Courfeyrac and Jehan, but not for Feuilly. Would you happen to know the historical/language reasons as to why that is? I thought it may be because both are students and where I'm from, students use the informal you, even if they don't know each other. But Bossuet addressed Marius with the formal you when they first met, so I'm not sure if that really is the reason for that. Does it mean that canonically, they aren't as close as Enjolras is with the others or could there be another reason for it? Also, do you know why he still only adresses them by their last names, even though he's using the informal you?

Nonny you are asking me about one of the Great Questions of the Novel: what the heck is going on with Feuilly and the t/v distinctions?

I am not going to dive into the weeds of standard t/v use,but --along with all the usual applications, in canon era and especially the kind of social circles that Hugo knew best and is setting up for the Amis, " tu" seems to have been common for young men to use together (a) with friends from childhood (b) among certain groups of Romantics , Because Romantic Friendship (c) particularly relevant here , among certain republican groups, because of the implied equality of everyone using it. Cosette will reference this use later:

And obviously all of this only makes Enjolras vous-ing Feuilly weirder!

And complicating the theorizing, Enjolras does use Tu for Feuilly later on, during his big barricade speech:

 Écoute-moi, toi Feuilly, vaillant ouvrier, homme du peuple, hommes des peuples. Je te vénère.

I have no solid answer, only theories! Theory 1: Feuilly is, somehow, fairly new to the group in Lieutenants. Counterargument: then why is he already one of the Lieutenants? And in what seems to be a particularly Secret secret meeting with ONLY the Lieutenants in attendance?

Theory 2: Maybe Feuilly's much older than we generally estimate , enough to make the Tu seem less automatic? The later use of tu at the barricades seems to argue against that, but maybe that's a special " we're all fighting and about to die" level of intimacy, since Tu does seem to be in general use there? Counterargument: hugo refers to them all being Young so very, very often, and ok that seems to include Up To Maybe 35, but still. Feuilly's part of their age cohort by all other signs.

Theory 3, Not Very Satisfying but Realistic: Hugo's bein' weird. Hugo personally used Vous for almost everyone, unless they were either direct family or , to be blunt, someone he was having an affair with. He definitely used Vous in friendships most anyone else would have considered a definite Tu situation. Maybe Hugo had an idea about it that he didn't flesh out; maybe he just wrote that and didn't catch it in edits; maybe his handwriting there was just really especially awful and whoever did the Clean Copy that day * didn't transcribe it right and no one later down the line saw it as a typo. Mundane, unrelated to the narrative reasons.

Counterargument: none ,really, except it's kinda boring.:P

Theory X (silly fandom only theory) : Enjolras and Feuilly are trying to act like they are on more formal terms , for shenanigans reasons. Maybe they're working on their Cover for a Secret Mission. Maybe they're trying to hide the fact they've started dating.

As for the Last Name thing, it's just how some people , especially men, are? I don't know that it really needs more explanation, but by all means tell me if you've got a theory! Personally I've always liked " Everyone is named Jean (so they default to last names) XD

usually, but not always, Juliette Drouet

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 29/05

Anonymous asked: Having the car available as an alchemy ingredient now, what should John make first? ~DJ

John has unlocked the ability to fly, but I don't think he's as fast as he was with the jetpack. I think his best option is to merge it with Dad's automobile to create the Jetson Car.

Anonymous asked: the actor who played rufio in hook did his own homestuck liveblog back in the day. when he got to this part he was Somewhat Perturbed. @morganwick asked: Fun fact: around the end of Act 5, Dante Basco, who played Rufio in Hook, started a Tumblr and was immediately besieged by Homestucks pushing him to read the comic. So he started liveblogging it. Take a guess which scene everyone, including Hussie, was waiting for him to get to more than any other.

I can't believe I'm competing with Zuko himself on the Homestuck Liveblogging stage. How the hell can I measure up to that?

@wickedsick asked: The best part about the Wallet is that it's a physical object: you can give it to other people, send it across the tubes, and even store it inside another modus!

It really is a shockingly useful and versatile modus.

With this, his absurd physical stats, and his obvious determination, I feel like Dad would be an exceptionally talented Player.

@manorinthewoods submitted: >John is an immortal God >Still applies seatbelt, because safety is important ~LOSS (24/5/24) Anonymous asked: Obviously there is some deep, hidden classpect meaning to the sudden Seatbelt PSA!

Seatbelts are in cars.

Cars run on gas.

You expel gas when you breathe.

John is the Heir of Breath.

Checkmate, Scratch!

@marinerofthestars asked: Now that you’ve learned what Gamzee’s like sober, do you still reckon he’d be useless or actively detrimental as the Cavalier of Necromancer!Jade?

Oh, good point. A more focused Gamzee could certainly be a dangerous cavalier, especially if he shares the STRENGTH enjoyed by other highbloods. However, that presupposes that he's loyal to Jade, and the current incarnation of Gamzee isn't loyal to anyone.

Initially, I assumed that Gamzee would direct his violence primarily towards lowbloods - but said he was going to kill everyone, aristocrats included. Jade's status as Reverend Daughter wouldn't protect her here.

Besides, even if he was subservient to Jade, I don't think he'd be very reliable. Sure, he's probably better in a fight, but I don't think he'd be particularly useful when they're trying to complete their actual objective - namely, the Lyctor labs. Could you imagine Jade trying to pilot him in Imaging and Response?

At best, Frenzied Gamzee is a decent siphoning target - but that won't be much help either. In the original question, I gave the Houses their canon specialties, and the Ninth aren't siphoners.

In short, a sufficiently loyal Gamzee would be more useful in this state, but not a lot more.

@morganwick asked: So, you still think rendering Gamzee's text in all-lowercase makes him come off as a "chill guy" with a "Californian surfer dude accent"?

Forgot about that, haha. I think the contrast here is in what, exactly, Gamzee is saying in lowercase.

Lowercase Soporified Gamzee does sound like a surfer dude, because he's saying surfer dude things.

Lowercase Frenzied Gamzee, however, sounds like the Joker talking about his scars.

@morganwick asked: This is the part I was worried about your lax spoiler policy ruining things. When you opened the doors for people to offer up title suggestions for you that hadn't appeared in the comic yet Rage was one of the first aspects you got. At some point, if you'd bothered to keep track, Gamzee would have been the one aspect-less troll, and Rage would have stood out as the one non-joke troll-less aspect you knew about. So my concern was that if you started thinking about what it would mean for Gamzee to have Rage as his aspect, it might lessen the shock of seeing him now. A bit overly paranoid? Maybe, especially since Eridan being called the Prince of Hope came after Gamzee's "BlAsPhEmY" moment so more likely you'd have just connected it to the latter if anything, but we've seen some pretty perceptive bloggers in our time so this is to give some insight into the mindset behind a stricter spoiler policy.

It could definitely have been a problem - especially if I'd taken the time to enumerate the Aspects in detail. According to Cat, there were several asks requesting that I do so, which she filtered out in order to obfuscate Rage a little. Good choice, I think. If someone had called attention to it, I'm sure I'd have noticed that it was probably Gamzee's Aspect.

I still think the fun I was having with Aspect guesses was worth the risk, but I also see where you're coming from. Luckily, it never actually came up, so no harm was done.

@bladekindeyewear asked: VAGUE EXTERNAL MEDIA CLASSPECTING: According to certain theoretical fan frameworks, The Joker is a picture-perfect example of a Bard of Rage even across his incredibly wide variety of iterations, and Batman happens to be a good example of a Knight of Rage.

All Bards of Rage must be clowns, no exceptions.

Actually, Gamzee has both Joker and Two-Face vibes, doesn't he? He essentially has two separate quirks now, and he's also insisting that he's 'both' of his Mirthful Messiahs. Sollux is gonna sue someone.

Anonymous asked: So if going God Tier is merging the conscience of the real self into the dream self, what happens when a real self is prototyped with something else? Does Aradia still have some frog in her?

I certainly hope she does, but we haven't seen any yet.

As you pointed out, this is technically Aradia's dream self, which was never merged with the Frogsprite. It's possible that some internal 'froggy' traits were carried over from her realself when she ascended, but it's impossible to say for sure. We still don't know how this alternate form of ascension actually works.

@tacticaltaxonomist asked: im not rereading myself atm but i love following along your posts as you do, thank you for sharing! Anonymous asked: it makes me really happy to see new readers and I hope u have a good time :D

Thank you kindly!

I'm happy to be back and in the swing of things, and I'm even happier that I've been able to maintain a decent pace so far.

@krixwell asked: For what it's worth, Jack did "spare" PM when she proved she had the guts to actually go and actually get him the white king and queen's crowns, even though he had every reason to kill her. She was a Prospitian, had visibly just killed one of Jack's best men, had gotten the seemingly useless physical crowns rather than carrying out the murders they were supposed to represent (Jack likely knew this, since HB saw her get the king's crown), and was demanding one of Jack's most powerful weapons in exchange – Jack had nothing to gain from leaving her alive, and a fair bit to lose by honoring a deal that he used to half-heartedly offer to basically anyone who visited his office. As Hussie put it in recap 2, pages later but not many, "[Jack] came, and [PM?] traded the two white crowns for the green box, Jade's present to John. He appeared pleased to uphold the bargain, either out of the misunderstanding that he was still under control of its contents, or out of respect for PM?'s tenacity and brutality in pursuing the prize. Only he knows." Around the same time, WV was also left as the sole survivor of Jack's massacre on the Battlefield. WV was standing front and center of his rebel army, mere meters away when Jack killed the Black King, so it wouldn't just be that Jack missed him. (Recap 2: "Jack then killed the entire rebellion army, sparing only WV?. Perhaps to leave a survivor to tell the story, or perhaps out of respect for a fellow mutineer. Only he knows.") Before he got so powerful, there's also the time he released Dad Egbert from Dersite imprisonment, after the latter destroyed his jester hat. So yes, Jack has been known to spare people, at least pre-Becsprite… but only he knows why, and Eridan wouldn't have had access to any of these moments through the Trollian viewport.

The droll is beckoned. The bargain, honored.

That's a good point. Jack does appear to have a sense of honor, and I do genuinely think that these gestures were motivated by respect.

Eridan, though, he'd have zero respect for. I guarantee it.

@burntheupholstery asked: homestuck filtered through your comments is so much funnier for me because - and get this - i don't understand even a BIT of computer science

Give it a few more Acts, and I'll get you up to speed. >:)

@ipunchvampires asked: Minor gripe, but it's a bit annoying to me that the "Alterniabound" walkarounds have an obviously-developer-intended order of operations, but make no effort to signal this to the first-time reader. Like the dialogue in "Past Karkat: Wake up" is written such that going around the room counterclockwise with Karkat, then Vriska, then Terezi makes the most narrative sense, yet it's incredibly common for people to start clockwise, and when they get around to Terezi, Karkat acts like he's hearing about the humans for the first time even though he's heard about them from every other character in the meteor. @morganwick asked: There are, in fact, different conversations available if you talk to Kanaya and Feferi/Sollux as Karkat; it's just the items strewn around the lab that have the same flavor text. @helium--hydride asked: Did you check all of the interactions in this flash? You can be Karkat, and I think there was an interaction between Karkat and Sollux/Feferi that you missed.

So there is!

Not much to liveblog here, but it's good to know in the future that all combinations of conversational partners will, as a rule, yield new dialogue.

Anonymous asked: it’s a fun story and stuff but what are your thoughts on the music so far?? i mean we all know megalovania but do you have any fave tracks that stood out? top 5? the HS soundtrack is so unique imo (mine so far is explore remix - dave and jade made it together on freshjamz)

We've got a big enough library at this point that I probably can highlight some favorites. I think my top 5, in no particular order, are:

Sunslammer

The Beginning of Something Really Excellent

Savior of the Waking World

MeGaLoVania (Aradia version)

Descend

@elkian asked: "Oh, for the love of peace. Is there anyone that this globe-headed chucklefuck doesn’t have in his pocket?" - I don't know if you intended this pun about Cue Ball Head but I cackled

That one was on purpose. The guy's still an orb!

@abibeur asked: Honestly I was expecting your reaction to be like Prak from the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (see below) and I was not disappointed. “Tell us about it,” said Ford. “Oh, I can't remember any of it now,” said Prak. “I thought of writing some of it down, but first I couldn't find a pencil, and then I thought, why bother?” There was a long silence, during which they thought they could feel the Universe age a little. Prak stared into the torchlight. “None of it?” said Arthur at last. “You can remember none of it?” “No. Except most of the good bits were about frogs, I remember that.” Suddenly he was hooting with laughter again and stamping his feet on the ground. “You would not believe some of the things about frogs,” he gasped. “Come on let's go and find ourselves a frog. Boy, will I ever see them in a new light!” He leapt to his feet and did a tiny little dance. Then he stopped and took a long drag at his cigarette. “Let's find a frog I can laugh at,” he said simply. I can't believe Douglas Adams predicted Homestuck.

Can't believe Prak canonically learned about Sburb sessions when he overdosed on truth serum 😲

Anonymous asked: if bilious slick is the universe, then it stands to reason that the Vast Croak = the Big Bang

Or the Big Crunch, given that 'croaking' is a euphemism for dying...

@bladekindeyewear asked: AAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA WE WERE WAITING FOR YOU TO GET TO THIS REVEAL EVERYTHING YOU'VE SAID ABOUT FROGS HAS HAD US LAUGHING SO HARD!!! don't feel bad this hits every reader and liveblogger the same way and it's GREAT nobody guesses it, it's like we're laughing WITH you not at you i promise, and gosh even just YOUR LAST REMARK ABOUT THE DOOR DURING THE RECAP AHAHAHAHAHAHH Anonymous asked: /post/749478863076196352 "We finally get to learn the function of the House Door – and apparently, it leads directly into the newly created universe. Makes a lot of sense. This, of course, nixes my theory that it leads to Bilious Slick." reading that was the fucking TEXTBOOK DEFINITION of dramatic irony Anonymous asked: you: oh, the door leads to the new universe, not bilious slick like i theorized! kanaya: Bet

Oh, god, I didn't even think about that. The door does lead to Slick, just in a way that was completely impossible to predict. I'm giving myself partial credit for that one.

@sanctferum asked: after everything the troll's black queen went through as a result of her refusal to defile her being with frogness, it is incredibly ironic that she would be bestowed the universal load-bearing powers she was given by Scratch upon becoming Snowman - and in so doing, have her own life force directly tied to that of a Genesis Frog. And you just know Scratch was insufferably smug about it too

@galaxa-13 asked: When I first read Homestuck and there were mentions of ol' B. Slick or any frog I just glazed over it. Oh, OK, just another weird thing in this tapestry of weird. On following read throughs, when I knew the significance, I still just glazed over it. Yeah yeah, frog is the universe, moving on. So when you started questioning all the frogs I got giddy, because I knew that YOU'D have a bigger reaction than I ever did.

Yeah, I was so lost with those frogs. I definitely didn't suspect that the answer would be anything as monumental as this.

I sure fucking didn't, Kanaya.

@drakethedeep asked: Congratulations on reaching the genesis frog reveal! Now, what are your thoughts on the metaphysical implications that universes are living biological creatures?

It gels well with a theorypost I was sent before about how Sburb's timeline system may have evolved naturally over time. The idea that universes are biologically alive certainly lends credence to the idea that the entire reality of Homestuck is fundamentally organic. Maybe the entire multiverse is actually inside another, second-order cosmic animal...

(Because it's Hussie, that animal is probably a clown.)

Anonymous asked: about the Vast Croak: (from page 2308) “[Frogs] go by many names, and so does the reviled patron god they herald - THE GREAT DETESTATION, KING PONDSQUATTER, SPEAKER OF THE VAST JOKE, or most commonly, BILIOUS SLICK.”

I didn't consider that Vast Joke could just be a corruption of Croak.

If so, then I'm not sure why Aradia's referring to it as if it's an actual joke. Curious.

@mapswithoutwyoming asked: This is a bit of a weird message, but: I’ve been plotting a Homestuck fanfic, and I was getting confused about whether the lunar sways I’d assigned to the main characters made sense. I was so deep into orchestrating the interlocking and paradoxical web of events that changing it even a little would have had catastrophic ramifications, but I was starting to wonder if it wouldn’t make sense not to. But you referencing your theory about the dispositions made my earlier decisions click for me. thx

Happy to help! And when I'm out of spoiler territory for the fic, I'd love to read it.

@ben-guy asked: In regards to your joke about Jerma in the tags… man, just imagine him streaming Sburb. "W-what? No chat, I'm NOT going to- I'm not going to prototype myself. That's an atrocious idea. I don't even know what that means! Listen, it's just not happening. Okay. Okay, a million off the boon-debt" Just imagine… Jerma imps. They would be insufferable. Also, his server player gets to play Jerma's Dollhouse for real. TBH, the Dollhouse steam has some minor HS vibes already… Making me feel totally justified in sharing this classic HS meme with you

Look, we all know Jermasprite would happen.

Oh, man - and prototyping him turns all the Underlings into chat members, so that when Jack is watching his progress through the Fourth Wall, it also contains a live feed of Imps and Orges spamming 'next session'.

Anonymous asked: Hey, you're right, the trolls might not have gone through the brooding cavern trials, since they were delivered to the surface on meteors, not birthed in the caves. Which would mean that when Vriska talked about how she remembered her trials, she was just lying.

It's possible that the meteors were delivered directly into the caverns somehow, but that's definitely not certain.

Vriska's assertion is suspicious either way, though - would she really have memories from being a newborn grub? If the trolls could remember their infancy, then they'd already know they came from meteors.

@manorinthewoods asked: I was going to write something about Locked Home (HS chars in Canaan House) being in the wrecked troll session, but upon further inspection, I can't see an easy way to set that up without opening a few of WV's cans of worms. So, instead, here's a different question - since lighting the Forge would clear LOFAF's frost, would lighting Kanaya's Forge have cleared LORAF's rays? What would that even mean? ~LOSS (15/5/24)

I thought it could have receded her oceans, but you're right - the Forge's environmental changes might always be associated with its Land's named trait.

Maybe let's split the difference, and say that activating the Forge intensifies LORAF's rays, causing them to boil the oceans away.

@divineerdrick asked: Hello again! Just wanted to say how much I love your analysis of what Jade is going through with Jadesprite. In fact, it's a rare treat to see a first time reader dig into how Rose and Jade and the events around their Dream Selves affect them. But I especially want to congratulate you on again pointing out something I'd never really noticed, and that is how playful Kanaya is with the text in her conversations. It really is a great gag, and I never noticed how consistent it was.

Thank you! Yeah, a big part of why Kanaya is so great is that a lot of her gags are very understated. Half the time, you don't even read them as gags - they just scan as charming aspects of her personality.

@heliotropopause asked: "Actually, can anyone confirm at what point the fic will be safe to read?" It's been a while since I read it, and I haven't read the fragment of TSG act three that only exists on tumblr since I didn't know about it at the time, but I'm about 85% sure you'll be good to pick it up once you finish act five. The whole setting is built on lore from late act five, and while it references something from a ways into act six at least once, i don't think there's anything there that could rightfully be called a spoiler. (And when you're done with TSG, you can pick up Taz's husband's The Vienna Game, which is even better, though of course doesn't tie into TLT. It should be spoiler-free after page 4468.)

I've still got a while to wait, then - but not quite as long as I feared. Works for me!

@manorinthewoods asked: That image of Vriska demanding that WV not interfere is… really weirdly creepy, and I can't help but feel like I missed that whole sequence. I guess it might not have stuck with me because I didn't bother translating the Morse code - which I assume the Homestuck Collection can do for you, which is another reason why I should have used that. ~LOSS (11/5/24)

Yeah, my heart sank when I read that part.

I really thought Vriska was about to do something to hurt WV, which would have sent her careening down the tier list faster than you can say 'main character syndrome'.

@manorinthewoods asked: "Why, though? I had assumed that these stations were going to be used to restore civilization on this planet. How are they going to repair Earth with no access to technology? Surely they’re not going to start from scratch?" Bold of you to assume Earth will be repaired. ~LOSS (11/5/24)

Terezi seems to think it will - but clearly, the stations aren't involved.

Maybe the game thinks it'd be cheating, or that using Sburb tech to build civilizations would make them too advanced to be threatened by its meteors the next time around.

@necrowyrm asked: The only possible thing you can liveblog after homestuck is now The Earthbound Halloween Hack in order to experience the original megalovania in all it's glory

You are SO right. I'll also make a quick detour through Smash Ultimate, of course.

@adhd-coomer submitted:

LMAO, that literally is what that is, isn't it?

@captorations submitted:

my birthday cake from years ago (but not many... but not *not* many.) deadname nuked from orbit. my sister who got me into homestuck arranged it and maybe one day i will forgive her #for the cake or for getting me into homestuck? yes. #note: this is a joke i was/am amused by the former and very grateful for the latter

Yes, oh my god! That really is the perfect Karkat face for a cake.

I'm going to be brainstorming Homestuck meals for the rest of the week.

[aquagirl1978]

I was wondering what makes chevalier your favourite? ☺️

Oh anon, today is your day, the day that I finally respond to this ask. Yes, I've been putting this off because well, reasons.

Chevalier has been my favorite since Day 1 - even before the game was released in EN, I saw some posts about him and already, he was the one. While his route suffers a bit from being one of the first 3 released, I think his Romantic End more than makes up for it. But it is really in his events where you see this other side of him - the human who found love - that he really shines and a lot of these reasons come from there.

He makes me cry (happy tears). Okay, I know this really isn't a reason. And I know lots of people cry at many of the routes. But I don't. So when I do, it means I really, really, really like a character. And his Romantic End reduced me to tears. His events leave me teary eyed. And even Gilbert's route god damnit made me cry 3 times - all because of Chevalier. God help me when his sequel drops in EN.

He loves you. Like, he really, really, really loves you. I think he might even love you more than you love him. Here is a man who loves you so much, he will do anything for you, like play a silly Valentine's Day game. A holiday he puts zero worth on, but because you do, it has meaning. He quietly eats all the beignets you make - they taste so good because you made them.

He is kind. He doesn't think he is kind - and most would agree with him, but you see his kindness in so many different ways. The way he warned you in his route to be wary of everyone. How he stayed away in his amnesia story when he knew it would hurt you. And there's this one scene in his sequel (Drama End) that is perhaps his ultimate act of kindness.

He is a good man. He might not be the shining ray of sunshine Leon is, and many of Chevalier's actions are, well, a bit rough? Harsh? But he doesn't have an ounce of malice - what he does, he does to protect (country, family, you). Even Leon agreed that Chevalier did the right thing on Bloodstained Roses Day. Chevalier also kills all the assassins in his route to protect his brothers. He allows himself to be the brutal beast so that his favorite brother Clavis can continue to be human.

He is awkward. You are his first for everything - his first love, his first touch, his first hug and kiss and everything else. He's learning, with you as his teacher. It's a slow progression, but worth it to see how his touch changes.

He is playful. Unless you read his events, you won't see this side of him. But he can be teasing when alone with you, sometimes he is so bad he is a bully. He likes to bite and leave marks. If you try to wake up too early, he is liable to drag you back to bed and hold you tightly.

He finds you worthy to stand next to him. To him, you are perfect.

I'm gonna end this right now before this becomes a book too late.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 42

Carnationspeckle recovers from birthing strains. Fennelspot does his best to prop up Spike’s body and feels growing concern at the rancid smell coming from the broken and twisted part of Spike’s back.

[Image ID: Carnationspeckle sits in the back while Fennelspot looks after Spike. Under Carnationspeckle, it says - CONDITION: RECOVERING FROM BIRTH. Under Spike, it says + INFECTION.]

Lavenderpaw was curious about Spike. Why wouldn’t he be? Shadowdrop, who had only recently come back from his punishment for causing one molly’s death, saves the life of another? A molly that most likely knew Cinderella?  Lavenderpaw was no historian, but it was quite the story! Of course he wanted to know more!

Despite that curiosity, Lavenderpaw didn’t get much of a chance to see Spike. Scrubmask loved to keep him busy. StarClan, that warrior was tighter than a leather strap! Every day, it was “Lavenderpaw, here’a why we patrol” and “Lavenderpaw, warriors help where needed”, there was no time for fun! Lavenderpaw’s littermates seemed to enjoy their apprenticeships. Palepaw learned from everyone she could about being a meditator. Wasppaw and Puddlepaw got to have fake arguments and pick apart famous trials of the past. Ripplepaw had a mentor that could interview ghosts! What could Scrubmask do? Snap at Lavenderpaw for humming?

Lucky for Lavenderpaw, his mother was deputy. While Weedfoot was still sick, she could boss cats around again. That’s how Lavenderpaw ended up Fennelspot’s apprentice for the day.

“Bubblemoon and I are some of the only living clerics to have dealt with broken backs,” Fennelspot explained as he darted about the medicine den. “We’ll be talking at the half-moon meeting for a while about Spike’s condition. I need to know that you can handle any sniffles or complaints the Clan may bring up while I’m gone.”

“You’ve given me a lot of medicine to help,” Lavenderpaw said, eyeing the vast assortment of ointments and powders along the walls. “If I have any questions, I can ask Palepaw.”

“And if it’s a true emergency, send Scrubmask to collect me,” Fennelspot reminded him. He placed a small jar into a leather pouch, tightened the twine around it, and slid it around his neck. “Carnationspeckle should be coming in sometime tonight for something to stop her milk. The kits stopped nursing a while ago, but Carnationspeckle’s still producing milk. I have a sage and parsley she needs to add to her next meal, give her the small pouch next to Spike.” Fennelspot and Lavenderpaw glanced Spike’s way. The loner spent most of her days lying quietly in her nest, silently watching visitors or turned to the wall. The latter was true that day.

Lavenderpaw leaned close to Fennelspot and whispered, “Should I do anything with her?”

“Just keep your eye on her and get her anything she needs,” Fennelspot said. “Spike? I’ll be back early in the morning. Lavenderpaw will help you while I’m gone.” Spike shifted her paw, the only sign she heard Fennelspot at all. Fennelspot sighed. He touched noses with Lavenderpaw and trotted out into the chilly winter sunset.

Lavenderpaw examined the den. Being cleric for a day would be fun! Just looking after the Clan, just like he already did. He had to admit, all the medicines were certainly interesting. He trotted up to Carnationspeckle’s prepared bundle and studied each herb and concoction. As his thoughts drifted, he settled on a song.

“Come join claw in paw, brave warriors all,

And rouse your bold hearts at fair liberty’s call;

No tyrannous acts, shall suppress your just claim—”

“Or stain with dishonor the dear Ripple’s name.” Lavenderpaw’s head spun toward Spike.

“You know The Movement’s Call?” Lavenderpaw gasped. Spike grew still. “Don’t go quiet on me! I love The Movement’s Call! How does a loner know that song?” Spike sighed deeply.

“Help me face you,” Spike muttered. Lavenderpaw bolted over. He carefully helped Spike stand on her front paws and, keeping her back straight with the brace, slowly spun her around. Lavenderpaw could smell the infection in Spike’s heavily covered wound. He wondered if Spike could groom herself with her injury. Surely Fennelspot was grooming her. So why was her fur so rough and ragged below her wound?

Lavenderpaw set Spike down with a thud. Lavenderpaw flinched as Spike hissed. 

“Sorry!” Lavenderpaw gulped. “Let me find something for the pain.”

“No, it’s fine,” Spike groaned, waving Lavenderpaw off. “I’ll tell you if it gets worse.”

“How do you know a Clan song?” Lavenderpaw asked, sitting beside the injured loner.

“Because, long ago,” Spike sighed, “my father lived in the Clans.” Lavenderpaw scooted closer. “I don’t know what else you expect from me. He knew the song, so he taught it to me.”

“Who is he?” Lavenderpaw asked. “Is he still alive? What Clan did he come from? Were you coming to join us when the horse trampled you?”

“You’re asking too many questions,” Spike huffed, her body tensing.

“You turned to talk,” Lavenderpaw pointed out. His smugness was as strong as the horse’s blow.

“My father is still alive,” Spike said, rolling her eyes. “He and my mother raised me until I was six moons old, at which point he went back to wandering. He stops by our den a couple times each moon to see how my aunt, mother and I are faring. Were faring. Until my aunt got pregnant and started bringing back all these Clan teachings my father never thought to share with us.”

“Cinderella was your aunt,” Lavenderpaw gasped. “We thought you were related!”

“And now I’m in the Clan that caused her death,” Spike muttered. She placed her head between her paws.

“In our defense, Shadowdrop got Cinderella pregnant. We had nothing to do with it. We helped you, didn’t we? We aren’t so bad.”

“You helped a dead cat. You have many skills in the Clans, but even you and your ancestors can’t fix an infected spine. I don’t get the dignity of dying around my kin, just like Cinderella.”

“You’ll see your parents again. I promise.”

“And who are you to make that promise?” Spike’s cold eyes hardened Lavenderpaw’s resolve.

“The deputy’s son, thank you very much.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Lavenderpaw stuck out his tongue. For the first time since he met Spike, the injured loner chirped softly, whiskers twitching in a quiet mirth.

“Oh, when my sisters were sick,” Lavenderpaw explained, “we visited all the time to keep their spirits up. Fennelspot said it helped them recover faster. Maybe if we spend some time together, your infection might go away.”

“I don’t believe that’s how infections work.”

“Please? I want to hear stories from a real loner, someone who knows what life is like out there right now.” Lavenderpaw couldn’t help but wiggle his flank in anticipation. Spike sighed once more, stretching out the breath until Lavenderpaw thought he would explode from the wait.

“What else do you want to know?” Spike groaned.

“Truthfully,” Lavenderpaw chuckled, sitting in a loaf in front of Spike, “I want to continue singing The Movement’s Call with you. You have a good voice!” Spike rolled her eyes, but cleared her throat.

“In freedom we’re born, and in freedom we’ll live;

Our hearts are ready,

Steady, Friends, steady.”

(Lavenderpaw: 8, male, warrior apprentice, bold, likes to sing)

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Spike: 17, female, loner, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)

Scrubmask can’t imagine what her life would look like without Downstar. They both spend time with Mosskit, who has greencough.

[Image ID: Scrubmask and Downstar face Mosskit, who has + CONDITION: GREENCOUGH written under him. Downstar says “Tell us that story you were so excited about, Moss.”]

(Scrubmask: 59, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Mosskit: 3, male, kit, bullying, stares at fire)

Tempestkit disappears from camp as a blizzard begins to pick up. Downstar leads a patrol after the wayward kit.

[Image ID: A patrol marches through the snow. From left to right, the patrol includes Rustshade, Fennelspot, Wasppaw, Mousesong, Puddlepaw, Shadowdrop, and Downstar.]

---

Fennelspot predicted it the day before; a massive blizzard tearing into the territories, cursed by Stormfoots, those twisted Spirits of Shadow born from their namesake in the Dark Forest. Downstar was quick to act and ordered the caretakers to lead preparations around camp. She disappointed Wildclaw, who thought it meant reprieve from kit duty, when Downstar put her in charge of shoring up the nursery. Carnationspeckle worked with the artisans to find the best spot in camp for a bonfire; they would need the warmth. Clammask darted about, making sure everyone had a den to fortify or a job to do in prepping for the storm. Even James got off his lazy flank and helped out.

“If we cook the prey we have into dishes like pemmican,” Downstar muttered, studying the fresh-kill pile, “we can feed the Clan with well-preserved food throughout the storm.”

“Do you suppose it will be a long blizzard?” Weedfoot asked. Her voice was congested, the symptoms of whitecough still clinging to her pelt and slowing her down, but she could largely do her job now.

“That’s what Fennelspot predicted,” Downstar sighed. “He was right about the darkhound, so I assume he’s right about the storm. Wildclaw, where are you going?” Downstar looked over at her daughter, who walked with Trumpetkit and Tempestkit away from the nursery.

“Mom, I’m just escorting them to the dirt place!” Wildclaw groaned. “The nursery’s ready for the snow.”

“Good,” Downstar sighed, nodding as Wildclaw ushered the two black mollies around the shipwreck. 

“You seem more like yourself today,” Weedfoot hummed. “More like you were when we founded RippleClan.”

“I work well in a crisis,” Downstar admitted. A snowflake danced over her whiskers, making her shiver.

“StarClan, the snow’s starting already?” Weedfoot groaned, looking up. “Fennelspot said the storm would start in the morning. It isn’t even sunset yet.”

“Hurry, everyone!” Downstar yowled to the scurrying cats around camp. “We have less time than we thought. Focus on the essentials. Rattlepelt, Rabbitjoy, Carnationspeckle, start cooking and make sure the fires are lit!”

“The apprentice’s den isn’t ready for the snow,” Puddlepaw called, sticking his head out.

“You’re sleeping in the nursery with the elders then,” Downstar barked. “If the snow will be as strong as Fennelspot says, I don’t trust the shipwreck to keep us warm. Weedfoot, get Oilstripe and Mosskit into the warrior’s den.”

A sudden caterwaul caught the Clan’s attention. It came from the dirt place.

“Tempestkit!” Wildclaw yowled. Shadowdrop, who had been bundling leather pelts at the edge of the warrior’s den, bolted past Downstar. Downstar and Weedfoot joined him in the race to the dirtplace.

When the trio turned the corner, Trumpetkit’s tiny teeth were buried in Wildclaw’s leg. The tip of Tempestkit’s tail slipped through the thorns that covered the top of the rocks, keeping the dirtplace separate from the rest of the world. Oilstripe had Trumpetkit by the scruff and finally pulled her off.

“Tempestkit, get back here right now!” Shadowdrop roared. He soared onto the rocky border, but the hole in the thorn wall was only big enough for a kit; Shadowdrop stuck his paw through and frantically waved about, but Downstar could see Tempestkit’s fluffy pelt streaking toward the forest, snowflakes catching on her black fur.

“Trumpetkit, what are you doing?” Oilstripe snapped, throwing Trumpetkit down. “That’s your aunt!” 

“You nearly drew blood!” Wildclaw groaned, licking her back leg.

“Tempestkit wanted to go on an adventure like Aunt Duskkit did when she was our age,” Trumpetkit whined. She sunk into the sand, big golden eyes bouncing between each panicked adult. “She said if I distracted Aunt Wildclaw, she’d bring me back a gift!”

“During a blizzard?” Weedfoot hissed. She looked between Trumpetkit and Tempestkit’s hole in the wall. Shadowdrop continued to frantically claw at the hole, as though if he stretched far enough, he would snatch Tempestkit’s tail. Shadowdrop screamed and jumped off the rocks.

���You’ve been staying in the den next to the dirt place for moons!” Shadowdrop roared at Oilstripe. “Didn’t you see this hole in the wall?”

“I don’t watch cats use the dirt place, Shadowdrop!” Oilstripe hissed. Downstar had enough of it. She raced back into the main clearing, where the Clan was nervously waiting to hear what happened.

“I want all our codekeepers with me, now!” Downstar yowled. “Tempestkit has run off. We need to bring her back before the blizzard grows.”

“Does that include our apprentices?” Rustshade asked as Mousesong shook out her pelt, ready to go. Downstar nodded. Wasppaw and Puddlepaw hurried to their mentors. Wasppaw stood proud beside Mousesong while Puddlepaw rubbed against his father, searching for answers in James’ face.

“Mom, I’m coming with you.” Shadowdrop ran up beside Downstar, leading the rest of the crowd out of the dirt place.

“No,” Downstar huffed. “Trumpetkit and Mosskit need you.”

“I am coming with you!” Shadowdrop snapped. “She is my daughter, it is my responsibility to look after her.” Downstar hesitated. How responsible could Shadowdrop be when his kits came about from such a selfish act? 

“Oh…” Downstar groaned, jaw tense, “Wildclaw, don’t let the other kits out of your sight!” Wildclaw stood to the side with Trumpetkit and Mosskit, who had stumbled out of the quarantine den. Wildclaw pulled them both close. “Fennelspot, with us! The longer we wait, the further she gets!” Downstar’s patrol formed around her as she hurried out of camp. A cold wind ushered them out as the sky above darkened.

Fennelspot and Mousesong beat the patrol to the other side of camp where the dirt place wall gave way and Tempestkit made her escape. Mousesong sniffed the ground and growled. 

“All I smell is the dirt place,” she said, nose curling.

“She ran that way,” Shadowdrop said, pointing his tail toward the forest.

“Tempestkit!” Wasppaw called. “Tempestkit, it’s cold out here! It’s not that exciting!” Another sharp wind blew in Downstar’s face, sending a barrage of snow into her eyes.

“Pray to our ancestors she has the good sense to turn around,” Downstar growled. “Follow her trail.” 

At their leader’s command, the patrol charged into the growing blizzard, calling Tempestkit’s name.

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Weedfoot: 90, female, deputy, charismatic, steady paws, formidable fighter)

(Wildclaw: 34, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

(Puddlepaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Trumpetkit: 3, female, kit, nervous, plays in mud)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

(Oilstripe: 46, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Rustshade: 86, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Mousesong: 18, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Wasppaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, strict, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

[Image ID: Shadowdrop, Downstar, and Tempestkit cuddle close as snow falls around them and Downstar says “I will die as many times as I need to keep you both warm.”]

---

Tempestkit shouldn’t have been far. She was still a kit, unfamiliar with the territory. The forest wasn’t thick yet. Tempestkit should have been leaving the scent of the dirt place  in her wake. But as sunset arrived, the snow grew thicker. Downstar’s paws grew numb. And the patrol was no closer to finding Tempestkit than they were when they set off.

Shadowdrop yowled as the thickening blanket of snow under his paws sent him tumbling forward. He smashed his chin against the cold ground. Puddlepaw and Rustshade helped him up. 

“This is ridiculous!” Shadowdrop groaned. “Where could she have gone? How have we not found her yet?”

“It’s the Stormfoots,” Fennelspot gulped. He stared into the harsh blowing snow. “They’re hiding her in their snow. I just know it.”

“They aren’t taking my granddaughter from me,” Downstar hissed. “We keep going. We don’t go home until we find her!”

“The snow’s starting to collect on the ground,” Puddlepaw pointed out. “We’ll start seeing pawprints sooner or later.”

“We don’t even know if we’re still following her,” Mousesong huffed.

“Then we split up,” Rustshade said. He glanced around and added “If you were a kit on an adventure, where might you go?”

“I would go see the river,” Wasppaw said. “I was curious to see it when I was little.”

“You didn’t grow up with stories about your dead mom,” Mousesong grunted. “Wouldn’t you want to see her grave for yourself?”

“Maybe she’s not thinking,” Shadowdrop said, casting a cold eye at Mousesong. “Maybe she just picked a direction and wondered what was out there.”

“Fennelspot, I know what you’re going to say,” Downstar groaned, “but I think we should split up.”

“That is an awful idea!” Fennelspot gasped. “The storm will only get worse. This is the sort of weather that gets cats killed!”

“And my daughter is out there,” Shadowdrop hissed, tail thrashing. “If my mother thinks we should split up, I’m following her.” 

“We don’t know where Tempestkit went,” Downstar reminded the group. “It’s more important to find her and make sure she’s warm than worry about ourselves. This is what we train for.” Wasppaw nodded, gaining a second wind. Mousesong copied her apprentice, tail brushed against his side. 

“Howlingwind, Celestial of snowfall, hear us o Blessed One and repel these Stormfoots from our shores.” Fennelspot squeezed his eyes tight as he prayed.

“Fennelspot, take Wasppaw and Mousesong to the Great Northern River,” Downstar ordered. “Rustshade, Puddlepaw, head south. Shadowdrop and I will continue west.”

“We have to go back to camp when it gets too dark,” Fennelspot huffed. “I mean it, Downstar. We can’t find Tempestkit if we freeze to death.” Downstar stayed silent as the snow tried to tear Fennelspot’s voice away. Shadowdrop curled into himself as he braced against the wind. His eyes met his mother’s. There was a quiet agreement no plea could break.

“Be quick, everyone,” Downstar ordered. “Find her!” Shadowdrop and Downstar joined each other’s side and hurried against the screaming snow. From that moment on, they might as well have been the only cats in the territory.

If the situation wasn’t so dire, Downstar would have thought the storm to be a beautiful thing. Soon the snow would drag the pine branches low and cover the ground in a white blanket that reached Downstar’s chest. But the storm had only been blowing for a short time. When Downstar ran over the snow collecting on the dead grass, she could once again see the grass through her pawprints. The dark trees were dusted rather than smothered. But the lack of thick layers meant nothing when the falling snow tore at Downstar’s eyes. She didn’t feel when her paws hit the ground and her face was ready to fall off. 

Downstar wasn’t sure where they were in the territory. The snowfall turned the world white. Shadowdrop and Downstar scoured each area they found, calling Tempestkit’s name and searching in each little cranny. Sometimes Downstar forgot whether they had searched a certain bush or tree yet and Shadowdrop had to redirect her. She prayed it was her worry clouding her memory and not the freezing fangs of frostbite.

“Pawprints!” Shadowdrop finally shrieked. “I found pawprints!” Downstar had been checking under a large exposed root when Shadowdrop called for her. Sure enough, there was a small trail of kitten sized pawprints emerging from a bush and hiking through the snow.

“Tempestkit!” Downstar yowled, jogging alongside the tracks. Shadowdrop kept his nose to the ground, searching for a scent amidst the churning storm. The wind screamed and knocked Downstar off-balance.  As she steadied her paws, she spotted a large stone jutting out of a gentle slope. A small hole broke through the haze of white that slowly turned black in the coming night. The fading pawprints led straight to it. Downstar shoved Shadowdrop and turned his gaze to the hole.

Downstar and Shadowdrop fought to squeeze inside. From the size of it, the hole may have been a fox den, although if it was, all trace of its creator had vanished. The more concerning feature of the den was the black kitten huddled in the back, shivering so hard Downstar thought she would hurt herself.

“Tempestkit, what were you thinking?” Shadowdrop groaned. He wrapped himself around his daughter. Downstar suddenly realized that between all of Shadowdrop’s new duties and the Clan’s effort to help Tempestkit and her siblings find their place in the Clan, she had never seen him properly curl up with his kits. It seemed natural for him. He’d endured his punishment with dignity, he wanted to be a father. Perhaps Tempestkit noticed that. Perhaps there was more to her misadventure than following in the pawsteps of her long-dead aunt.

“I’m cold,” she whined, pressing into her father’s shoulder. Downstar licked Tempestkit’s fur the wrong way, trying to warm her up. She was so cold, she didn’t feel alive.

“We need to start a fire,” Downstar muttered, glancing out into the storm. The world suddenly turned a deep, unbreakable blue, shifting into dark grays in the snowfall. 

“With what?” Shadowdrop huffed. “Everything is wet. Mom, Tempestkit needs warmth. Come here. Please.” Downstar crawled beside her son and granddaughter. She pressed into both of their dark pelts and tried to pour what little heat remained into them.

“I’m ready to go home now,” Tempestkit muttered into her father’s fur. “I had my fun.”

“I don’t think we can move,” Shadowdrop said. “I… I don’t know where we are.” Downstar pushed her son closer. Shadowdrop nudged Tempestkit between them, giving her the majority of the extra warmth.

“We’ll sleep here tonight,” Downstar sighed. “I’ll keep you both warm.”

“Focus on Tempestkit,” Shadowdrop huffed. “She needs it more.” Downstar wrapped her front paws around Tempestkit, but squirmed closer to her son.

“I will die as many times as I need to keep you both warm,” Downstar promised.

The world screamed her to sleep.

(Shadowdrop: 34, male, warrior, sneaky, good teacher, eloquent speaker)

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Puddlepaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, thoughtful, morbid curiosity, oddly observant)

(Mousesong: 18, female, codekeeper, loyal, keen eye)

(Rustshade: 86, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Wasppaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, strict, interested in clan history, eye for detail)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

[Image ID: Fennelspot looks up at smoke in the sky, saying “Everyone, follow the smoke!”]

---

Fennelspot ordered Wasppaw and Mousesong to head back to camp when Wasppaw reported an unshakable chill seeping through his body. Standing beside the freezing river, searching for a missing kit, would only tear apart their skin and hurt them more. They simply had to turn back. Rustshade must have had the same thought, as he and Puddlepaw were already home when Fennelspot’s group returned.

Downstar and Shadowdrop didn’t come home that night.

“Downstar!” Fennelspot yowled, his voice muffled by the thick snow. “Tempestkit!” 

The storm had finally subsided shortly before dawn, leaving the world smothered in snow. As soon as the weather cleared, Weedfoot picked a few well-rested trackers like Scrubmask, Halibutdusk, and Carnationspeckle and sent them back out with Fennelspot to find their missing Clanmates.

“You said they went west?” Carnationspeckle huffed, breath frosting around her as she stood by Fennelspot.

“The storm is over, why aren’t they coming home?” Halibutdusk groaned from his lookout point on a low oak branch. “Shadowdrop! Shadowdrop!” Scrubmask stayed quiet, focused on scenting the air. 

“I’m going ahead,” Fennelspot sighed. “I need to pray. Yowl if you see anything. Downstar’s still alive out there.” That was an indisputable fact. The storm was strong, but not enough to take all of Downstar’s lives. Not yet, at least. Fennelspot had to hide his gaze, however, at the thought of Shadowdrop and Tempestkit. 

The rest of the patrol kept calling out, but Fennelspot found a quiet spot under a pine. The weight of the snow dragged it off the branches, leaving huge, awkward piles around the trunk but bare needles above. The pine sat beside a small opening in the forest canopy, revealing a bright gray sky. Fennelspot closed his eyes. He had to keep his ears sharp. At a time like this, StarClan surely would not stay silent.

A storm within a storm gives the dark a chance to shine. Look to the sky for the call to action.

Fennelspot gasped, eyes fluttering. This was it! The moment of the prophecy! Tempestkit was the storm in the storm! Shadowdrop went to find her, he was the dark. The second half… Fennelspot locked his eyes to the gray clouds. The sky was still.

“I’m looking,” Fennelspot begged softly.

The color of the clouds shifted. A slimmer of darker color slipped into the corner of Fennelspot’s gaze. It rose into the high clouds. The aging cleric realized it wasn’t just another cloud. His eyes could follow the trail back into the trees.

It was a smoke stack.

“The smoke!” Fennelspot yowled. “Everyone, follow the smoke!” He didn’t wait to see if the others head his cry. He ran into the trees, towards where the drifting smoke disappeared. His feet skidded in the fluffy snow and his legs had to push against its weight. As usual, Scrubmask was right behind him.

He saw the fire before he saw Downstar. It was a small fire composed of the barest of essentials. Heavy smoke drifted from the burning branches. Downstar had cleared away the snow around the fire and placed Tempestkit beside the flames. Downstar stared into the fire, unaware of Fennelspot’s arrival.

“Downstar!” Carnationspeckle dove through the snow, snowballs knotting in her leg fur. Downstar snapped out of it as Carnationspeckle wrapped herself around her former mentor. “StarClan, you’re so cold!” Fennelspot focused on Tempestkit. Somehow, the little kit didn’t seem to have frostbite or any major damage from the cold.

“Have you been with her all night?” Fennelspot asked. Downstar nodded softly, her focus returning to the fire.

“Is Shadowdrop still with you?” Scrubmask asked. Downstar did not reply.

“Tempestkit, how do you feel?” Fennelspot asked the young kit.

“Like I’m in a lot of trouble,” Tempestkit gulped.

“We kept her warm,” Downstar muttered. “We kept her warm.” There was a den behind Downstar. Only two sets of paws left the den in the heavy snow.

“Carnationspeckle, care for Tempestkit,” Fennelspot gulped as Halibutdusk finally joined them. 

Fennelspot slipped past Downstar. His nose quivered in the chill. He braced himself and stepped inside. His eyes quickly adjusted to the light. Shadowdrop was still inside. He laid with his back to the exit, curled around cats who were no longer there.

He would not be joining his mother and daughter by the fire.

(Fennelspot: 99, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)

(Carnationspeckle: 44, female, caretaker, compassionate, fish-like swimmer)

(Halibutdusk: 34, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Scrubmask: 59, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Tempestkit: 3, female, kit, troublesome, loves to eat)

Halibutdusk is grief-stricken at the loss of his brother.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk faces Downstar and Wildclaw. Under Halibutdusk, it says + CONDITION: GRIEVING. Under Downstar, it says LIVES LEFT: 6.]

---

Halibutdusk couldn’t stop wondering; did his mother lose a life first, or did Shadowdrop growing cold push her over the edge? Who left their body first? Whose death resulted in the others? At least Tempestkit survived. At least he had that vague comfort. 

Downstar called Halibutdusk and Wildclaw into her den while Fennelspot prepared Shadowdrop’s vigil. The trio hadn’t talked much since they brought Shadowdrop’s body back to camp. Wildclaw had been busy reuniting Mosskit and Trumpetkit with their wayward sister, Downstar had to make sure the vigil went according to plan, and Halibutdusk… he couldn’t really think.

When the two surviving littermates entered their mother’s den, Downstar paced around her nest. She showed no signs of the cold that stole one of her lives. Halibutdusk shifted awkwardly as he waited for Downstar to speak. Wildclaw beat him to it.

“This is my fault, right?” Wildclaw huffed. “That’s why you called me in here. I let Tempestkit get out of camp, and Shadowdrop died.”

“No,” Downstar growled, clawing the ground at the very thought. “I will never blame you for this.” Wildclaw was stunned into silence. “I didn’t punish Oilstripe for letting Duskkit sneak out all those moons ago. This is more Tempestkit’s fault than your own, and even she’s realized what she did was wrong.” Halibutdusk distinctly remembered Downstar tearing into Oilstripe for letting her adventurous daughter slip around her, but Halibutdusk didn’t have the heart to bring it up. 

“Then what do we do now?” Wildclaw groaned. 

“There’s nothing to do, Wildclaw,” Downstar sighed. She sat in her nest. “We just mourn. I brought you in here because…” Downstar took a deep breath, closing her eyes and collecting her strength. “There is a chance Shadowdrop… might not make it to StarClan.” Halibutdusk didn’t know his heart could fall any further.

“Why not?” Wildclaw hissed, the fur on the back of her neck prickling. “How do you know?”

“Duskkit greeted me in StarClan when I lost my life,” Downstar explained quietly. “She told me Shadowdrop would be put on trial when he entered StarClan for how he handled the situation with Cinderella.”

“We already put him on trial!” Wildclaw snapped with a thrash of her scarred tail. “He’s already been punished! He’s done so much good, he doesn’t—” Wildclaw stopped herself, jaw tight. “I’m going out. I’ll be back for the vigil.” Downstar let her daughter go, leaving Halibutdusk standing alone before his mother. 

Halibutdusk slowly approached his mother. Downstar scooted over. Halibutdusk slipped into the nest beside her. He pressed into his mother’s side.

“They’ll let him into StarClan,” Halibutdusk gulped. “They have to.”

(Halibutdusk: 34, male, warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Downstar: 101, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Wildclaw: 34, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor)

[earthtoharlow]

Don’t Like The Lights

Sequel to Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights first to understand

Series Masterlist

3. Still Down

If I put all my faith to you, will you be faithful? Hold me down baby I know that ain't easy to do

“Hi! I’m here a little early…wearing sparkly pants.” Maryse Monet’s message reads like pre-emptive admin before a blind date but, in reality, it’s not necessary: the 25-year-old singer/actress is instantly recognizable and not just to me. As I arrive a young woman approaches her and asks for a selfie. “Your music changed my life.”

Maryse immediately pulled the young woman in a tight embrace and thanked her, making sure the fan knew how much she appreciated it.

We had originally had a reservation booked at a fancy restaurant in New York City. Maryse’ suggested we meet at this charming deli shop out of the state of NY, much to our bewilderment. It was only upon our arrival that we discovered the reason behind her unconventional choice – she had recently made Kentucky her new home.

“New York will always hold a special place in my heart,” she confided. “But now, my heart is in Kentucky. It’s a welcome change of pace.” While not explicitly mentioned, it was evident that her relationship with her rapper Jack Harlow played a significant role in her decision to make the move.

In the wake of her recent Grammy wins, we begin to discuss the impact of her success on her upcoming sophomore album and whether the accolades added pressure to her creative process.

“Winning two Grammys for my debut album was truly surreal and humbling,” Maryse began, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and determination. “While there’s certainly an added level of expectation with each release, I see it more as an opportunity than pressure.”

Maryse went on to explain how the recognition reaffirmed her artistic vision and gave her the courage to push the boundaries even further with her new album. Rather than feeling constrained by expectations, Monet embraced the challenge as a chance to elevate her craft and connect with her audience on a deeper level.

“As an artist, I’m always evolving and exploring new avenues of expression,” she continued, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “The Grammys serve as a reminder of the impact music can have, and I’m excited to channel that energy into my sophomore album.”

When I asked her how the sophomore album is going, Maryse's eyes began to sparkle as she leaned forward like she was about to tell me a secret. “I’ve been pouring my heart and soul into the writing, exploring new themes and melodies that reflect where I am in life right now.”

“With my debut, I was in this whirlwind romance, and every lyric seemed to overflow with joy and passion,” she recounted with a wistful smile.

While on tour last year it was revealed that she and Jack Harlow had broken up after being together for almost a year.

“This time around I found myself navigating the painful aftermath of a breakup,” she confided, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “What was meant to be a continuation of love songs transformed into a raw exploration of heartbreak.”

She went on to describe how the experience of love and heartbreak had shaped her songwriting. “This album feels like a deeply personal journey,” she explained, her expression thoughtful yet resolute. “This next album will be the breakup album everyone thought they were getting with the first one.”

And what does Jack Harlow think of having break up songs about him?

With a playful grin, Maryse quipped, “Oh, you mean my muse? He’s been incredibly supportive throughout this whole journey.” Chuckling, she added, “He’ll be fine with the heartbreak songs. He knows it’s all part of the process.”

When Maryse isn’t working on music, she’s reading scripts. Fresh off her role as Belle in the live-action adaptation of Beauty and the Beast, she’s now set to appear in the remake of The Color Purple. “Acting is a new challenge for me, but it’s incredibly rewarding,” she said.

Leaving the deli, I felt a profound sense of respect for Maryse Monet. She’s a testament to resilience and creativity, navigating the complexities of love, heartbreak, and success with grace. Her journey from New York to Kentucky, from singer to actor, and from heartbreak to healing is one that inspires and captivates. As she continues to evolve, one thing is certain: the world hasn’t seen the best of Maryse yet.

****

LIFEOFMONET

liked by milaj, dojacat, urbanwyatt, easymoneysniper,jackharlow, torikelly, and 587,567 others

lifeofmonet: Never thought I would be on the cover of vogue 🥺 this means EVERYTHING TO ME I am so grateful and excited for this next chapter…..LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!!!

view all 6,789 comments

mariahthescienctist: So beautiful!

user: ICONIC

user: we finally getting a break up album!!!!

user: how can someone be so beautiful

saweetie: Yessss💜

user: the confirmation that she’s back with Jack and moved in with him 🥹🥹🥹🥹

urbanwyatt: welcome to Kentucky 😅

user: Jack has a big storm coming

jackharlow: so proud of you 😍

As Maryse walked into the house, she felt a wave of exhaustion run through her. Today at the studio was emotionally taxing and she was happy to finally be home. She kicked her shoes off and placed them on the shoe rack, and let out a sigh of relief.

In the living room, Jack was lounging on the couch flipping through a magazine. As Maryse walked closer she noticed it was the latest issue of Vogue, featuring her on the cover. Jack looked up, a broad smile spreading across his face as their eyes met.

“Hey there, superstar!” He greeted, setting the magazine aside and standing up to hug her. “How was the studio?”

“Tiring, but good,” Maryse replied, melting into his embrace. “What about you? How was your day?”

“Pretty relaxed,” he said, holding her at arm’s length and looking her over. “I spent some time reading this.” Jack gestured to the magazine. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

She blushed, feeling a mix of pride and shyness. “You read the whole thing?”

“Every word,” he confirmed, his eyes twinkling with admiration. “It’s a great article. You come across so genuine and talented. They captured you perfectly.”

Maryse laughed softly, shaking her head. “I don’t know about that, but it was a fun interview. And it was kind of nice, meeting at Morris Deli and then walking around the Highlands. Felt more personal.”

He nodded, his expression turning serious. “I loved what you said about New York and Kentucky. ‘New York always has a special place in my heart, but now my heart is in Kentucky.’ That hit home.”

“Well, it’s true,” she replied softly, reaching out to take his hand. “This place, this life we’re starting to build here… it’s special.”

Jack pulled her close again, kissing her forehead. He grinned playfully, “Oh, you really love me, huh?” he teased.

Maryse laughed, feeling her cheeks warm. “Well, you’re pretty special,” she replied, matching his playful tone. “I guess you could say you’re worth the move.”

He chuckled, pulling her even closer. “Worth leaving the big city for small-town life? That’s saying something.”

She nodded, looking up at him with affection. “Yeah, it is. But honestly, being with you feels like home no matter where we are.”

Jack’s expression softened, and he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I feel the same way,” he said quietly. “I was just messing with you. I know how much you’ve given up to be here, and it means the world to me.”

She smiled, her heart full. “It’s not giving up anything when it means being with you. Besides, Kentucky has its charm. I’ve discovered a lot of things I love here.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, really? Like what?”

Maryse pretended to think for a moment, tapping her chin. “Well, despite all the white people… everyone is friendly, the scenery is beautiful, and there’s this amazing guy I get to come home to every day.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re too much.”

She leaned in, planting a quick kiss on his lips. “And you love it.”

Jack sighed contentedly, pulling her into his lap. “Yeah, I do. More than anything.”

As they continued cuddling on the couch, Maryse couldn’t help but think about how hectic the coming year was going to be. Her schedule was packed with studio sessions, promotional events for the Color Purple.

The excitement of her career’s momentum was tempered by the nagging worry that their busy lives might pull them apart again. She didn’t want a repeat of last year, when their packed schedules had created a wedge between them.

She took a deep breath and snuggled closer to Jack feeling the warmth of his body against hers. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice tinged with hesitation. “Can we talk about something?”

Jack looked down at her, concern etched on his face. “Of course, what’s on your mind?”

She bit her lip, gathering her thoughts, and he gently pulled her lips away with his thumb, stopping her. “Don’t do that,” he murmured. “Talk to me, M.”

Maryse sighed, trying to organize her thoughts. “This year is going to be really busy for me. Probably even busier than last year. And while I’m excited about everything, I’m also worried. You know how things got between us when we were both so busy.”

He nodded “Yeah, I remember. It was tough.”

“I don’t want that to happen again,” she continued, Maryse’s voice barely above a whisper. “I know this year is supposed to be your reset year, and I don’t want to mess that up for you. I just… I don’t want us to drift apart.”

Jack pulled her closer, his grip tightening protectively. “Hey, we’re not going to let that happen again. We’ve learned a lot from last year. We’ll make time for each other, no matter what.”

She sighed, feeling a bit more reassured but still worried. “I know, but it’s hard. We both have so much going on. I just don’t want us to become strangers living in the same house.”

He lifted her chin, making her look into his eyes. “Listen to me. You’re the most important thing in my life. We’ll figure it out. If it means rearranging my schedule to be with you, I’ll do it. This reset year isn’t just about my career; it’s about us too. And I’m not going to lose you again.”

Maryse smiled, feeling a tear escape and roll down her cheek. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Jack wiped the tear away with his thumb and kissed her gently. “We’re a team, remember? We’ll face this together.”

Maryse nodded and was quiet before a thought popped in her mind. “Maybe we should go on vacation before it gets too busy.”

He grinned, his eyes lighting up at the idea. “That sounds perfect. I haven’t been on a real vacation in years. Any place in mind?”

She thought for a moment, then said, “Somewhere quiet and relaxing. Maybe a beach? We could use some sun and sand.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jack agreed. “A chance to unwind and just be with each other.”

She nodded, feeling a surge of excitement at the thought. “Yeah, just us, away from everything. We need that.”

Jack kissed her forehead, a look of determination in his eyes. “Let’s make it happen. I’ll handle all the planning. You just pack your bags.”

“Just so you know,” Jack said, a playful smirk on his face, “I’m probably gonna burn in the sun while you get a nice tan.”

Maryse laughed, playfully nudging him. “I’ll make sure to bring plenty of sunscreen for you, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I’m serious though. I turn into a lobster if I’m out in the sun too long.”

She grinned, loving the banter. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you in the shade then. Or maybe we can alternate between sunbathing and hiding under an umbrella.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, pulling her closer. “As long as I get to spend time with you, I don’t care where we are or what we do.”

She smiled, feeling a wave of warmth and love. “Same here. I just want us to have some time to relax and enjoy each other’s company.”

He kissed her gently, his eyes filled with affection. “It’s a date then. We’ll escape to the beach and have the best time ever.”

She nodded, her heart full. “I can’t wait. It’ll be perfect.”

“I’m thinking we hit up a nude beach,” Jack teased, not being able to hide the mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Maryse couldn’t help but gasp and playfully hit his arm. “You’re unbelievable!”

Jack laughed, enjoying her reaction he leaned in, stealing a quick kiss. “What? It could be fun! Totally freeing, you know?” He pecked her lips again, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

She shook her head, giggling. “I don’t think so. The only person who gets to see me like that is you.”

“You damn right!,” he said, still chuckling before he kissed her again, softer this time. “But you have to admit, it would’ve made for an interesting vacation story.” Another kiss.

“Sure,” Maryse replied, rolling her eyes with a smile as he kissed her again. “Maybe in an alternate universe.”

He laughed and continued to steal kisses between words. “Alright, no nude beaches,” he said, punctuating each word with a quick peck. “But seriously, anywhere with you is perfect.”

She smiled, her heart swelling with love. “Just us, no phones, no work.”

“Deal,” he said, kissing her forehead, finally giving her lips a break. “It’s going to be amazing.”

Jack then smiled, pulling her closer. “Alright, no more yapping. Let’s go cuddle.”

He stood up and offered his hand, helping her off the couch. She took it with a tired smile, leaning into him as they walked to the bedroom, hand in hand.

Once they were under the covers, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. The warmth of his body against hers was comforting, a feeling she had missed during their time apart. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Goodnight, M.” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. His voice was soft, filled with affection and relief that they were together again.

Maryse snuggled deeper into his embrace, feeling safe and content. “Goodnight, Jack. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied softly.

As they lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them in their cozy little bubble. The tension and worries of the day melted away, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

Maryse laid still for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then, unable to resist, she gently poked him in the side.

“Are you asleep?” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet room.

Jack groaned softly, opening one eye. “Well, I was,” he teased, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, I’m just so glad we’re together again,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as sleep began to overtake her.

“Me too,” Jack whispered back, watching her as her breathing evened out and she drifted off to sleep. He stayed awake a little longer, his mind drifting over the events of the past year and the journey that had brought them back to each other, but none of that mattered anymore as Maryse was finally back snuggled underneath him.

He kissed the top of her head, a smile playing on his lips as he closed his eyes. The familiar rhythm of her breathing, the way she fit perfectly against him—it was all he needed to feel at peace. For the first time in months, he felt truly at home.

As sleep began to claim him, he held onto the thought of how lucky he was to have her back in his arms. No matter how busy their lives might get, this was what mattered most: the love they shared and the promise to face everything together.

And with that comforting thought, he finally drifted off to sleep, happier than he’d been in a long time.

*****

AN: little filler chapter! next chapter is when the real fun begins and they go on vacation :) let me know your thoughtsssss

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[universallydestinytaco]

The Little Smiling Mermaid (Chapter 2)

TW: Emotional/Verbal *b*se, Queerph*bia

(Next chapter will be light-hearted enough to make up for how sad/relatable this chapter turned out)

NOTE: Pim is transmasc in this fanfic but the misgendering he gets isn’t intentional, not that his boorish family would be supportive anyway. When Pim arrived back, he thanked Neptune that the concert only started…30 minutes ago, and yet it already descended into chaos all because of him but better late than never! He hastily dolled himself up with traditional Meeplantica garb consisting of a crown of flowers, a necklace of pearls and orient clams clipped on one’s tail-fins (Pim hated that part because of the pinching) prior to announcing his belated presence on stage and calming down the commotion. “Sorry I’m late everyone I had trouble fitting into my costume!” Alan certainly felt conflicted. On one hand he knew Pim was up to more than just having a wardrobe malfunction and the irritated lobster wanted to read him the riot act for almost ruining his big break, on the other hand he knew Pim on a day-to-day basis already got yelled at enough for far more trivial things and began to count his blessings once that headstrong mercritter finally arrived. “From the top, Mistro!” chirped Pim giving Alan the signal, thus finally began the concert after that awkward disruption.

…

While the concert was well received overall, the aftermath on the other hand…wasn’t pretty to say the least. Within two hours Pim went from happily singing in front of an impressed crowd to being sheepishly backed into a corner, trying to look away from the glaring faces chewing him out for somehow forgetting the day of the concert and how he made them all look like “a gang of incompetent buffoons” and at worst, Amy was just rolling with the degrading insults, ranging from insulting his body to his intelligence while screaming in his face. Pim tried to explain but kept getting cut off, as the already unreasonable relatives kept getting angrier. Pim failing to hold back his tears only aggravated them even more. Glep, who was hiding in Pim’s iconic satchel couldn’t take all the negativity targeted at his friend and plucked up the courage to defend him even if it would be fruitless and potentially get him fried by King Steven’s trident. Glep swam out and immediately jumped to Pim’s defense, explaining best he could without bringing up the shipwreck or the surface-related stuff. “An abyss demon was chasing my baby?!” Queen Bertha shrieked with an initial gasp, with Glep responding with the ol’ rolling of the eyes how the flibbertyjibbit would go from verbally assaulting her youngest to immediately acting as if he was still her dainty little infant who she couldn’t possibly bare seeing hurt. A skeptical King Steven cut her off, “Hold your damn seahorses, an abyss demon? In MY domain? I harshly trained my palace guards to be on the look out for abyss demons!” As King Steven was going on one of his tangents, Amy swam up to Pim from behind and yanked his satchel away from him, making Pim indignantly grab it in an attempt to take it back. “Amy what are you doing?!” “I wanna see what else is inside! You been hiding more weird creatures in that bag?” Pim’s heart raced as he yanked it harder with an indignant cry of: “Leave me alone!!” Amy pulled her crocodile tears routine, knowing very well her parents would side with the golden child of the family. Damien rolled his eyes and swam to another room to get away from the noise. “Ugh, Pimberly is being mean to me and won’t let me see what’s inside of her bag!” King Steven was too busy with his unrelated gloating of his glory days as a volunteer soldier for the royal army as Queen Bertha barked at Pim: “PIMBERLY! YOU’RE TOO OLD TO ACT LIKE THAT! QUIT BEHAVING LIKE A CHILD AND GIVE HER THE BAG!” Pim didn’t even have a chance to give the bag to Amy because she ripped it out of his arms and tore a hole into it, revealing Pim’s haul of surfaced items he collected today. “Oh, fudge…” Pim uttered to himself as his family witnessed in disgust at what they discovered before returning their vicious glares to Pim. While this family was no stranger to shooting Pim some seriously dirty looks, this was the first time they looked as if they saw him as a sick twisted crook who had no place under their roof and where all ready to disown him all together. King Pimling clenched both of his fists and swam up to Pim’s face, demanding the smaller mercritter to: “Look at me square in the eye.” Pim nervously looked up at the unbridled rage of his father’s face for about 2 seconds until he finally broke the silence with: “I raised you to never indulge in the culture of those filthy fishmongers…”, grabbing Pim’s hair with the fist that wasn’t holding his trident. “…I don’t even know which has me more repulsed by you: carrying that shit around or the fact that you knew better.” He let go of Pim’s hair and backed away, turning his attention to the assorted items that spilled from the satchel as Pim stayed in place, completely frozen with dread. King Steven pointed his trident at the pile and right before zapping it to oblivion, he gave Pim a stern warning: “This is what happens to any of my subjects whom I see ever engaging in collecting this surface filth, be thankful you’re not one of them.”

KER-POW!!!

All was left was a pile of ash, and Pim could feel tears leaking out of his eyes and into the water surrounding him. Amy, still holding the satchel, threw it on the ground and spat out: “While you’re at it, burn this too! That oughta teach this disgusting little monster a lesson!” Pim finally couldn’t take it anymore. “I WOULD RATHER BE A COMMONER THAN LIVE WITH ANY OF YOU!!” cried out Pim, his heartbroken words echoing throughout the palace before grabbing the satchel and escaping in tears; While the rest of the family kept their disgusted expressions, Queen Bertha visibly went from feeling contempt and outrage to guilt and remorse watching Pim rapidly swim his way out of the palace with Glep following him out of sight, even attempting to reach out to him before it was too late. Amy passive-aggressively comforted her mother: “Oh, she’ll be back after she’s done clutching her pearls! Pimberly does this all the time, last time she shit herself like this it was because I told King Steven she wanted to kiss another girl! Like, eww…what a weirdo.” with a snooty laugh. Queen Bertha didn’t respond with continuing with going back-and-forth about her “odd” youngest child like she loved to do, rather she couldn’t stop thinking about the way her youngest was so visibly distraught rather than irreverently ignoring his uptight Father’s rage with a sassy “What would you know?” attitude. “…Maybe you’re right, she is the most overly sensitive of them all!” Queen Bertha giddily replied with a girlish giggle, igniting Amy’s own amused laughter.

…

It was two hours after dinner time and there was zero sign of either Pim or Glep whatsoever. King Steven and Queen Bertha were on their thrones, silently reflecting on what happened earlier. Of course King Steven was proudly reliving how he destroyed the “surface filth” and laid down the law on his “impossible” child, Queen Bertha failed to further repress her guilt as her restless conscience kept on nagging at her to make it right.

“Steven, darling…don’t you think you were a little too hard on her?” asked Queen Bertha in a voice much softer than usual. King Steven gave his wife a befuddled look, only to smirk with the boastful reply: “Don’t make me laugh, you complain that I don’t discipline hard enough and when I do you still bitch and moan, typical Bertha.” He went from cocky to stoic mode when gloating: “It’ll do the shrimp some good to scare her straight! Whenever I get the trident, she never makes the same screw-up twice.” His stone-cold stiff upper lip twisting into a sadistic grin. Queen Bertha rolled her eyes, humbly announcing: “I’m ready for bed, you coming dear?” to which he gruffly replied: “Yeah I guess.”

Just minutes after the couple retired to their bedroom chamber, a cloaked Pim slipped into his room for what would be the last time. He grabbed some belongings of his while his siblings were asleep, placing them in his now patched-up satchel. Pim knew deep in his heart that this choice was for the best in regards to his mental health…but even if most of his family were mean to him, he still loved them dearly and he couldn’t help at feeling his heart shatter over the idea of making the right choice. He swam back outside and picked four flowers to put each one near his family members. He kissed two of the flowers before placing them by his siblings’ respective bedsides, and he quietly swam into the empty throne room but not before peeking to see if his parents were still there. He thanked Neptune they went to bed already. He kissed the last two flowers and placed them on the seats. With a heavy heart and memories being brought back to him both bad and good, the little mercritter swam back out of the palace knowing even if there where nice times he had with his family, it was for the best he left them for the good of his own mental health. Once Pim was far away enough from the palace, he didn’t bother holding back the fat tears from escaping his eyes.

~

Charlie couldn’t sleep on nights like this when the moon was big and bright, something about it made him want to stand outside by the ocean, drink from his flask and play his ocarina. As he played his beloved instrument, he fondly recalled a childhood memory of his own when he was about 6 or 7, wearing a cape and an old hat Mr. Boss wore while armed with a little wooden sword, gallivanting around the beach while loudly-and-proudly proclaiming he was King of the Pirates. Little Charlie didn’t have much friends at that time but what he would do was based on one of Mr. Boss’ bedtime stories: writing mercritter runes in the sand and coming back later to see the response. Charlie did exactly that and eagerly waited for the response while distracting himself best he could fighting imaginary monsters and bad guys. Lo and behold Charlie always got a response, while in hindsight a Charlie figured it could have been possible that someone, perhaps even Mr. Boss was playing along writing the responses in runes, he couldn’t shake off the magical sensation he got from the afternoon ritual. If it really was a mercritter responding to him this whole time he’d be over the moon.

~

The next morning, King Steven and Queen Bertha made an important announcement to the guards, the servants, Alan (who was sheepishly perched on King Steven’s shoulder) and all of the kingdom: “Princess Pimberly” was missing in action, and all of Meeplantica was given an order to search far and wide for their youngest child. As contentious as Pim was to his own family, the public adored Pim for putting his heart on his sleeve (or lack thereof) through his irreverence, tender heart and adorably awkward clumsiness as he felt more relatable and authentic to the common merfolk than the rest of the haughty and “perfect” Royals…and having the most beautiful voice in the entire ocean was just the icing on the cake! After the commoners split up and swam away, King Steven turned to the residents of the castle, looking ever-so-businesslike while trying to silently hide away whatever he deemed as weakness to appear more so unshakable. “If we can overcome what happened to my father, the king before me, then this so-called crisis is just plankton on algae as far as I’m concerned, for all we know the shrimp’s pulling a fast one on us.” Damien, as much as he tried to put on a brave face for his peers, was deeply worried about Pim, regretting how complicit he was in the toxicity of the family’s dynamic. Amy on the other hand whined: “Do we HAVE to look for her?” King Steven sighed: “Well I can’t blame you for being burnt out on her antics, I swear she takes after her mother.” Queen Bertha gave her husband an icy glare for that comment, but he didn’t really give a barnacle. He pointed towards the other palace residents, demanding: “The rest of you better look high and low for my youngest and if she ain’t in one piece, It’ll be on YOU! Now MOVE IT ALONG YOU BLOKES.” Everyone scattered as King Pimling darted his eyes at the nervous Alan, and spoke in a less-furious yet still very serious tone: “You swear to Neptune you’ll fetch her home?” Alan solemnly nodded, “Yes your Majesty, I have yet to let you down.” King Steven picked Alan up and placed him on the ground to scurry away in search of Pim.

…

Of course Alan felt super conflicted about this search party! On one claw he’s been studying in the palace as a chosen prodigy since Pim was just a little tadpole, serving as the older brother Pim never really had. Unlike his actual-biological brother Damien, Pim felt more comfortable confiding to him about personal things his family would refuse to understand to save their own lives such as who he crushed on and his strained relationship with his own identity. Alan was one of the few Meeplanticans who knew Pim’s authentic self and it would boil his blood whenever Amy would stir up drama between Pim and the rest of the family. Whenever Alan was there to witness the conflict, he tried to speak up on Pim’s behalf but his pleas of defense where drown out by the ear-piercing chorus of screaming and crying, so the best he could do was console Pim and reassure him one day he’d somehow get out of this mess. On the other claw, why the hell would anyone want to knowingly bring Pim back to THAT home?! If the public had any idea what went on behind closed curtains, everyone would whole-heartedly agree that Pim would be much happier and safer inside the depths of Davey Jones’ locker than within the company of that toxic cesspool of a Royal Family. Still, Alan wanted to make sure Pim was alright so even if he wasn’t ordered to join the search party, he willingly set out to look for his friend.

[salllzy]

Sal's rambling's #5 part 1

Welcome to another one of Sal's ramblings. ------ After the battle Alastor was injured, the wound on his chest wouldn't heal no matter what he did and he had made peace with the fact that he was dying, in some ways he was grateful that he was. No longer would he be tied to Lilith and have to obey her orders. Alastor didn't like Lilith, she seemed to think that she was above them when she was a sinner just like them. She may be the Queen of Hell but she acted like a spoiled child. So Alastor had no respect for her and despite his mixed feelings for Lucifer. He was more inclined to trust Charlie with Lucifer than Lilith, Lilith was always looking for ways to make her status higher, to make her life more comfortable. It didn't sit right with Alastor, it never had done. Despite being ordered to watch over Charlie and should the need arise, sabotage the hotel, Alastor had found himself caring for Charlie. There was no denying that her dreams were large and ambitious and that they would end in failure. As much as it would be thrilling for Charlie's dreams to be a reality, the problem was that even with Sir Pentious being redeemed that was no guarantee that Heaven would listen to them. More than once he had skirted around the edges of the deal, pushing as far as he could for Charlie's sake. Even going as far as to antagonise her father. He had known back then that his time was running out and he had begun the process of making peace with it. Lilith's orders had been that he wasn't to antagonise Lucifer and was to obey his orders. But his desire for freedom far outweighed his will to live, Lilith had humiliated him in ways that he had only known as a child. He had been fully prepared to die during the battle, he had planned on it. But as wounded as he had been, he knew that Charlie would blame herself if anything happened to him. So he had stitched his chest together and slapped a smile on his face before regrouping with them. He knew what he had been doing when he didn't seek out medical attention for his wound. Then one night he cooked a grand meal for everyone a final farewell as it were. Every second that he sat at the table, he could feel his life force slipping through his fingers, grain by grain. Eventually, he called it a night, he had been able to get to his room without anyone noticing him stumbling or using the walls and his cane for support. When he lay on his bed he closed his eyes and waited for the end, he knew that it wouldn't be long now. -------

[ronearoundblindly]

Day Eighty-Three (1)

CEO!Steve Rogers x CEO!Reader

10 A.M., an It Had To Be You tale (see previous or series)

Summary: A joint meeting between AmCaps and the heads of four other major companies goes about as horribly as possible...or is it exactly as you expected? Either way, Steve messes up big time.

Warnings for (hi, I'm Ro) arguments, the absolute shittiness of misogyny, degrading use of petnames, language, social idjit!Steve (he honest-to-god tried his best but whoops). MINORS DNI. If this is not to your taste, please feel free to search lighter stories here. WC 2571

Sadly, the whole thing would have gone better if Tony Stark showed up.

Stark doesn’t do meetings like this though, and you may never bother with one again. You may have no need.

Clammy hands grip the leather spine of your monogrammed portfolio, comfortingly thick with the employee files you’ve brought as ammunition. This is a battle, no doubt in your mind, but Steve acts as if it’s any other day. To him, it probably is.

This is Steve’s fourteenth quarterly get-together of entities using the stabilizing, hydrostatic, insulated, electro-neutral, lead-dense (aka S.H.I.E.L.D) modules which American Capsules supplies. You’ve worked here for twelve of those but never been in the room.

The room feels as big as a concert hall with you an ant in the back pew.

Since the meeting is on your turf, you and Steve wait till the others arrive, your boyfriend highly aware of your nerves but without a clue as to why.

You’ve been preparing for this far longer than the not-quite three months you’ve held the title of co-CEO. It’s important to understand what is really happening between these companies and who exactly is to blame. It was also important to tell Steve nothing until you knew all the facts, and you didn’t until the phone call you just got off three minutes ago.

That’s not enough time. He’ll have to enjoy the show like everyone else,

Steve loosens his skinny black tie and repeats that you shouldn’t worry. He can take the lead. All the stats are printed in the binders laid in front of six chairs around the oblong table. He touches you, reassuringly he believes, at exactly the wrong moment.

Justin Hammer saunters through the door, clocking the intimate hand on your arm when Steve leans forward to whisper, “what’s wrong?” The outrageously pompous pumpkin sucks his teeth, winking at you, and spins to moonwalk closer. Hammer even goes so far as to cup your other elbow with an over-tanned palm.

“Peach, you’re gorgeous. Don’t ever change,” he flirts, damn well knowing that you aren’t the assistant anymore but are dating the man right beside him. “Hey, pal, how’s it going? Lookin’ sharp.”

Justin wheels the nearest chair away from the conference table and plunks down, lounging against the high-backed seat, swinging his feet up onto the adjacent chair. He may as well be at the beach.

He snaps, hand landing in a finger gun pointed at you—or your backside, more accurately, where he’s also staring.

“I like mine sweet and dark. Thanks. ‘Preciate you.”

There’s no elaboration. You’re just the coffee bitch to him.

What’s wrong, you want to tell Steve, what’s wrong is that asshole is only twenty-five percent of the shit I have to deal with this morning!

Before you or Steve can respond, however, the other three arrive in quick succession.

Darren Cross of Pym Technologies might actually be the least offensive of the bunch. His smile is polite and jovial, he greets Steve simply and shakes your hand, and he smacks Hammer’s calf hard enough to make a sound as he passes by.

He, unlike Justin, brought a briefcase, keeping up the illusion that he participates in the company he’s here to represent. Cross probably does still participate, considering he was only promoted recently after Hank Pym retired.

Aldrich Killian is undoubtedly (one of) the brains behind his think tank, AIM, and Brock Rumlow is undoubtedly smug, being a lowly former associate at Stark Industries, now an executive for the Roxxon Energy Corporation.

Each of them has skin in each other’s game; throughout the history of American Capsules’ products, innovations have been shared between them to either create suitable shipping containers or to have their products shipped via those containers. They’ve quite literally shielded their collective work.

It’s a symbiotic relationship.

It’s a circle jerk.

Killian and Rumlow do not bother to walk around and say hello. They fake niceties and unbutton their suit jackets to sit on the other side of the table.

Noticeably, none of them chose either ‘head’ of the table. No one was willing to take a position of power equal to Steve in his own house. Your boyfriend seems to interpret this as acquiescence of some sort—proof that they’ll blindly respect what and who Steve himself respects,—and then Steve wrongly decides to gently run his hand the rest of the way down your arm, his fingers curling to lift your limb until the very last second.

He made it look like you were reaching out for him, like you were a scared child in need of support. You are, in a sense, but he didn’t have to fucking advertise it to these men.

Steve doesn’t make mistakes. He did that on purpose. Maybe he meant to establish some sort of claim to you? To stop them objectifying you? Whatever they do now is solely out of respect or fear of him though, not you.

You’re frozen in place—in anger, truth be told—until Justin drops his feet to the floor dramatically.

“Indulge me, sweetcheeks.” He winks again. “I’m thirsty.”

Doing your very best Vanna White impression, you step back and sweep an arm out toward the drinks on the side server. “Help yourself,” you say with a smile.

It’s only because Justin is an idiot that he misses the dig.

Open to the page he wants, Steve tosses his binder to the wood surface, the slap of lamination to varnish attracting the attention of all the men, and takes his seat at the end.

You waltz to the other side, a clear and distinct separation between you and Steve, equals in life and work but opposites today.

“Shall we wait for Stark,” Rumlow growls in his low voice.

“Not necessary,” Steve allows. “If he shows, he shows. Let’s get to it.”

Steve begins, pointing out a few key concerns. Since you already know all of this, he doesn’t look to you while speaking, but neither do the other men when they respond.

They talk over you as if you’re not there, being blowhards and patting each other on the back for ’surviving in this economy.’ You let them go on. Steve gets nowhere. He gets excuses. He gets parroted promises.

Justin dismisses insufficient specs by saying he’s just a pretty face. He leaves all the numbers to nerds. He laughs about how he’ll have to check with his people about the nitty-gritty details, but he’s sure it’ll work out.

He stands to get his own black coffee, plopping three cubes of sugar in the chrome mug.

Rumlow barks out that shoddy Hammer tech nearly sank a Roxxon oil rig.

Justin feigns ignorance of the incident.

Killian uselessly offers a fix for that, at a price.

Darren argues that Pym has followed their agreement with AmCaps to the letter.

Everybody is fucking lying to themselves.

The shouting continues, escalating until it looks like Killian and Rumlow are close to throwing punches, though you’ve missed why those two are at odds.

Finally, Steve rises, stretching his hands out in peace.

“Everyone, calm down! Take a breath. Have some water. Sit.”

He’s stressed, clearly, defaulting to conditioned behavior which means Steve then looks right at you with a pleading expression.

Wrong again.

Darren lets out a huff and nods at you. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”

“I’ll take a glass,” Rumlow adds with a tap of the table in your direction.

Killian sighs an unmistakable ‘loser’ to Rumlow, and suddenly, the fight is back on.

Time to lock and load.

You cough and stand, flipping open the portfolio in front of you, adjusting your hips in your pencil skirt with a tug but only for affect. You know exactly what draws the attention of these men.

The room goes mostly quiet.

“Water. For the table,” you deadpan command Steve.

Picking up your copy of the report set, you clear your throat.

“I’m afraid Rogers has given you all the impression this is a negotiation. It’s not.” You slide the binder to the center. “It’s a courtesy. A courtesy which none of you deserve.”

“What the hell is she talking about?” Rumlow gruffly asks Steve.

“I’m talking about unpaid balances and unfulfilled orders. I’m talking about product tampering and verified illegal activity that hereby voids your contracts, effective immediately.”

Darren shoots out of his seat. “You can’t do that!” He turns to Steve. “She can’t do that, right?”

Steve, however, is blanched with shock. “Wait, I—“

“Each of your agreements with us—“ you barrel over his protest “—contains a morality clause which was broken by Hammer Tech when they conspired to produce a subpar protective lining and pad Roxxon gas sales in the region, unwittingly causing unsafe storage at a Stark factory in Galmira because the entire operation no longer followed American Capsules specifications—your specifications for transporting your own products.

“Pym,” you continue with force, “failed to produce compact enough items for the containers they ordered and instead chose to resell the regulated lining materials for a premium.” You toss a packet of papers down to Darren. “In your infinite wisdom, this also means you violated multiple Customs laws by forging shipping weights and ignoring safety guidelines.”

Killian puts a bejeweled hand over his vested heart. “Cross, you didn’t?”

“Which brings me to fucking AIM,” you grit.

“Precious,” Steve breaths with a warning tone, but you can’t stop. You’ve waited too long for this moment.

“Because who the hell do you think created the new formula for a light-weight, lower-cost, shitty lining?” You take such pleasure in stabbing a finger in his direction then flinging stapled proof across the table. “Evidence. Evidence of all of this provided by multiple sources. And you were warned…”

Now comes the really fun part.

You spread out eight folders.

“…warned by Roxxon’s own Betty Ross, Wanda Maximoff, and Kamala Khan. By Hammer’s Monica Rambeau and Kate Bishop. AIM’s doctors, Christine Palmer and Helen Cho, and finally, Pym Tech’s Mary Jane Watson—none of whom, I’m excited to say, work for you anymore.”

There’s a stunned heft to the frigidly controlled air in the large room. The florescent lights overhead buzz harshly.

“Are you fucking serious?” Killian rasps.

“Put your bitch back on her leash,” Rumlow bites to Steve.

“Don’t speak to her like—“

“Wait a minute,” Justin snorts, “I’m confused.”

“Your nerds will explain it to you once you crawl back into your hole.”

“Prec—” Steve snips in alarm but catches himself. He looks panicked and blind-sided, which he would be. You kept their complicity from him until you had everything you needed to invoke the morality clause.

You turn to the junior CEO for Pym Tech. “Expect a call from Hope Van Dyne. She has a few thoughts on Cross Technologies.”

Called out for his as-yet-unannounced rebranding of the company, Darren breaks, and he breaks viciously, vaulting the three chairs between you.

“Fucking cunt,” he screams through bared teeth.

Steve launches past the skittering seats and makes it to Cross milliseconds before he can intercept you.

“I didn’t make you lie, cheat, and steal,” you screech. “You screwed yourselves!”

Killian straightens his lapels and smooths his shirt nervously. “Surely, we can come to some arrangement.”

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Hammer adds.

Rumlow simply walks out with a shout of “you’ll be hearing from our lawyers.”

Steve slams Cross into the window, an ominous rattle shaking the frame, the cheek of the struggling man whining as it smears along the glass. When Darren still tries to hiss something else at you, Steve pins him against the wall instead, a forearm choking off any other choice words the bald man might offer.

“This meeting is over,” Steve grunts, pushing at Cross until the man settles.

“Right,” you sigh, keeping your voice as level as you can. “Gentlemen, I’d say get your houses in order, but I’m afraid the furniture is about to be repoed.”

Killian runs his hand through his styled hair. “Think I’ll leave you to talk some sense into your precious partner. Good day.”

You’ll never forgive Steve for blurting your private nickname out in front of the worst possible people to know it, but this is how you chose to play the meeting. You knew there’d be…pushback.

The AIM founder takes a lazy sip. “Thanks for the water, Rogers.” He taps his pinky ring several times on the glass, a hollow, high ting lingering after each strike, and then Aldrich heads for the door.

Steve releases Darren despite the wild look in his eyes, but Cross would be a fool to make any move except to leave. He gathers his things and slips through the exit before it fully closes.

The only one remaining is Justin Hammer, and he tosses out his arms with a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Kitten, come on. This is crazy. Isn’t this crazy? We’re all friends here. Let’s just chill, relax, and work this out. How ‘bout a drink?” More snaps. More finger guns. “You want coffee? Alright, perfect. Love ya. We’ll have coffee.” The man fidgets, sweat visible on his lip and forehead when he turns in the window’s light and approaches the drink cart.

“Sure thing, Justin. I take my coffee like I take my women—“ you smile “—from you.”

Okay, that part just felt good.

“That—” Hammer’s brow raises and he wipes down his jaw with one hand “—now that was uncalled for.”

Steve cuts in, a solid dismissal in the form of “I said ‘the meeting’s over.’”

“Oh, boy. You—well, you better watch…This ain’t over.” Hammer makes a fuss of buttoning his jacket again, puffing out his chest, then walking off even more empty-handed than he arrived.

The enormous, heavy door shuts slowly on buzzing, bright silence.

After a pause, Steve heaves out a breath.

“That went well.”

Sarcasm is not one of his strengths.

You’re not sure what you expected. You stand as a block of granite decor in the corner you retreated to once shit hit the fan.

It was the right decision. This was the right thing to do, the moral thing. It’s in the goddamn contract.

Though physically he shows no signs of duress—Steve used very little of his actual muscle to subdue Darren,—he hangs his head, stepping to your spot at the table to look at what you brought in. After a pause, Steve rubs his temple like it aches.

“I…I have no words,” he mutters, tone inscrutable.

You don’t care if he has words or not. You only have to wait until they’re out of the building.

“I don’t understand. What just happened?”

The door opens to reveal a bored-looking Topaz.

“Boss, Stark sent a catered lunch over. Where should they set up? It’s shawarma.”

“I don’t care,” Steve bursts. “Just take it down to R&D or something!”

That’s your cue to leave.

You shut your mostly-empty portfolio and tuck it to your chest.

A hand wraps around your wrist, unyielding.

Steve’s stormy blue eyes are felt more than seen, his hold tightening, trying to inch you closer, but you rip away.

“I’ll send you a memo,” you tell Steve without looking directly at him. “Keep those. I have copies.”

Fast as you can in heels and a skirt, you hurry after Topaz and past the food, fleeing first to your office and then to your own home.

[Day 83: 6pm]

[tender first aid drabble; Big Girls Don't Cry]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Ahhhhh! Next up is how Steve makes it up to you...or at least starts to...😱😵‍💫🥴

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@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81

@bigtreefest @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads

@fallinallinmendes @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses

[yubiina]

Imagine taking care of post war Levi.

After the war is over, everyone distant from one another, Armin alongs with his team travel to teach the history and prevent from it repeating, Historia remains in Paradis as queen with her newborn child, some stay in Marley after the war because everything is so destroyed, some choose to go back to Paradis.

Imagine being the only one left from Levi's close squad. Sure, it might have started out rought with him (as does everybody), but you have been there through it all, hand-picked to be in his squad as one of the best soldiers for your skill and wits.

After the war he loses it all, the soldiers he's raised are building their lives and him-with nowhere to go, no place that he calls home that could miss him- you step in and tell Gabi you will be his caretaker, even if Levi protests at first.

It just dosen't seem fair, others out there are enjoying the freedom they fought so hard for, getting married, building their lives and you're stuck here, taking care of an old man that can only walk a short amount of time before needing a wheelchair, and sometimes struggles to do simple tasks.

"I got it, it's fine" he grumbles as you hold him by the arm and gently place him in the wheelchair as he groans in pain, ignoring his previous comment.

But despite what he thinks, you know deep down it's much deeper than that, it isn't just some loyal habit of carrying your duty to take care of your capitan, but rather a selfish need your heart has to keep him close, you who has no home yourself- have found a palace in his presence.

You wonder if all rhe things you do have caught up to Levi, to others around him- you were appearantly terrible at hiding your feelings, bur mabye all that you did was simply a kind act to Levi.

You wake up early every morning to prepare breakfast, making sure to shop well the previous day in order to feed him a full, nutrious meal. You clean more than usual, keeping him out of the house and occupied in the garden so the dust won't make him sick, even taking him to the café every morning with his newspaper in hand, a ritual you both effortlessly created with time.

Every weekend you go to buy flowers with Levi, and leave them at the memorial of fallen soldiers, his wheelchair in from of the engraved stone of his fallen comrade.

'(Hange Zoe) 14th Comander of the Scout Regiment'

Ever since the war ended you had picked up the hobby of baking, you always knew you had a good hand, even during your time with the scouts, where all that was available was potato, bread and some dirty carrots, you managed to make a hearty meal.

Now you bake as your heart desires, making cookies, pies and pastries that Onyakopon,Gabi and Falco enjoy too much when you head out with Levi and everyone for a picnic. And while everyone thanks you and enjoys what your hands made, you don't have the heart to tell anyone that you bake them for Levi, but give it to everyone as to mask your gesture.

It is obvious to Gabi, when you place the picnic basket on the blanket under the tree, and take out all the sandwiches and pastries you've done. You take out a glass for each for the fresh lemonade you've made, and then a special thermos of black tea and pour it for Levi.

It is obvious to Falco when you personally started buying basic medical supplies like stiches, alcohol, medication, and gauze because you wanted to take care of Levi personally after the doctor might have tired him out with walking practice.

It was obvious to Onyakopon, when he kept seeing your regularly at the fabric shop, buying the same white wool. Only to see that white wool turned into a long, soft scraf placed next to a beautiful teaset, packaged well for the Secret Santa they did for Levi's birthday.

But mabye Levi noticed too. He noticed the black tea especially made for him, and the fact that you always placed two pastries in his plate instead of one like the others.

He noticed how gentle your fingers were when they grazes his scars and lifted his leg to tend to it, as if you had found a bird with an injured wing by the window.

He noticed the suttle, but engulfing perfume scent on the new white scarf, and your taste in style when he saw the teaset. He noticed through the slightly open door, tne candlelight that came from the living room when he tried to sleep, and your prickleled hands from the sharp knitting needles.

It is then that he gets up, from his chair, paper crumpled in hand as he reaches for the telephone on the countertop to call for Gabi.

"Where is she" ignoring the fast beating of his heart that wanted to leap out of his chest.

Imagine that after all this time, you figure you need to move on, you tell Gabi you've finished working, and refuse any payment they want to give you as compensation for taking care of a retired soldier. Unable to bear with yourself anymore, after rejecting every man that made any advance, unable to look in the mirror and see someone that he could love. You grab a pen and write a final letter, leaving early in the morning for the next train to take you far away.

Imagine how you close your eyes and sight t the sight of the oncoming train, ready to steal you away, yet your legs felt heavy, and your mind waged war against you to remain unmoved.

It's only when you take the first step that you stop, you don't know if you felt his presence first, or if it was his voice, but a strong wind blew your hair away as you kept your hand near your dress to keep it down, turning your head to see him.

He stood there, stormy eyes glued on you like a target, his wheelchair a few feet away behind him. In almost a shock and slight alert you take a few steps, afraid he'll need support.

"I thought you said you were a woman of your word, what about your promise?" You admire his stable tone in what seems like such an emotional moment to him

But you hate that you know exactly what he means, you remember it very well since back then, when everyone retreated for the night and camped in the dense forest during a mission outside the walls, you stood near a lake, washing your hands and face, thr only light source being groups of fireflies that shyly flew around bushes and near water.

Levi stands right behind you, deep in thought for whatever reason he was, you call him out when feeling his eyes burn the back of your skull.

"You know you don't have to be creep" you quietly say, focused on washing the cloth in your hands, and he slowly walks near a rock.

It is then that you made a promise to him. That you promised you would not die and stand beside him as long as be lived. It was an admirable obedience and trust from a soldier towards their capitan.

"Don't tell me it dosent matter as much to you now" he bring you back to reality.

"I fufilled it didn't I? I lived and stood beside you" you almost argue back.

"And I'm still alive." He steps foward slightly.

"You fufilled your promise as a soldier and i did my duty as you capitan" he now stands in front of you, it's only when you notice the crumbled up letter in his hand.

"Now let me fufill my duty as a man"

The train swooshes past you, swaying leaves in the wind and onto the sunset, with a loud honk it continued to pass on your side, but your focus was long gone as his lips remained unmoved from yours. It was that day that despite any gear training and how far on a tree you've climbed, it felt like this moment was the highest you've ever flown.

It was from then on that when you helped him to bed, he tuck your hair away in the morning, with a strand between his fingers until you pretended you were slowly waking up.

It was now that once you finished cooking, you'd notice Lebi place a second cup of tea on the table, before sitting back down to continue his book.

It was then that he'd go and buy the flowers for the memorial, making sure to get a extra bouquet to bring home to you.

It was then that whenever anyone asked him to stay for a celebration of after party, he'd simply say no and leave.

"My wife is waiting for me at home" he says with no ring on neither of your fingers yet.

It was then that he'd feel his ego boost a bit whenever you laughed out loud at one of his unfunny shit jokes.

It is then that he notices the contrast between the feeling of you pushing your hands on his chest to keep tbe blood from leaving the deadly wound, to placing them gently on his chest as you rest in the afterglow of a playful afternoon.

After all, it is when you both sit close under the shade of a tree, you watch Gabi and Falco mess around in the lake-dunking one another as you reminisce a time where you've swear this has happened before, Levi's hand that brushed a book page, unknowingly falls on top of yours, yet it dosen't move.

Imagine it is then, when he looks up at you, that he realizes he truly-like you- may have not had a place to call home, had somehow found heaven in you.