#another chapter

[alwaysjustmina]

Whispers of Rain

Chapter 9: The Vicious Cycle Was Over

Artwork for this story by the most amazing @kamonart

Thank you to @papaslittlesunshine for betaing and @midnight-moth for listening to my depraved thoughts as always.

Read below the cut or on Ao3

The week leading up to Beltane was difficult to say the least. Ifrit kept having Dew visit him, dinner was becoming a daily occurrence that he would be forced to endure. The last one he went to, Ifrit pulled him into his arms and forced his mouth on his.

Dew was unable to school his reaction, he thought Ifrit had decided to wait to touch him until after the ceremony. When Ifrit grasped his lithe hips between his large hands and pulled him close, the look of revulsion that passed over Dew’s face just made him laugh harder. He invaded his mouth with his tongue, biting Dew’s lip hard before releasing him.

Tears slid down Dew’s face as he looked at Ifrit in shock, blood joining the tears as they dripped down his chin from his lip, he was positive that Ifrit had pierced it clean through. Ifrit grabbed his groin looking at Dew with no love on his face. “You know you're gonna have to get used to this, just a few more days. Fuckkk, Droplet, I can’t wait to have you underneath me again. I don’t know why we are waiting.”

He pulled him back to his body, licking along his chin, gathering the blood and tears on his tongue, moaning at the taste. Dew wanted to ask him why he was doing this, but he already knew. Ifrit liked inflicting pain on others, he got off on it. His hard cock was evident of that already.

Ifrit released him again before giving him over to the servants to take back to his room, telling him to be ready, just a few more days.

The only bright part of his days besides his dreams of Rain, was Eidolon. He had proven to be an amazing friend and they deeply cared for each other. They’d sit on the floor talking for hours. They often ended up holding hands finding comfort in the other's touch. It quickly became the only peace either of them felt, Dew would share stories of topside. How he joined the band, the instruments he has played, what he liked about them, how he learned them. When he described the band and his friends, Eidolon was particularly interested in them, hearing about Mountain, Swiss, the ghoulettes, to hear what Aether could do with his powers, it struck something in him that he needed to explore more.

“What is he like? I’ve heard of powerful quintessence ghouls but have never met one that I’ve remembered at least.”

Dew explained that Aether was a kind heart, he would take care of his pack, he vaguely touched on how he healed him the last few weeks, months, above. He tried to avoid topics of Ifrit and what he had done to him, what he did to Aether, what he did to Rain, but Eidolon was smart and while he didn’t want to push he didn’t understand why Aether didn’t tell the others what Dew was going through with Ifrit.

“He was protecting someone he loved, he never told us who it was, just that Ifrit was hurting them,” Dew sighed sorrowfully. “Aeth had his reasons, I never faulted him for it. Fuck, I did the same thing to protect someone I loved.”

He swallowed harshly at the past tense, he hadn’t loved, he loves, love. Rain would never be a part of his past, he would always be with him. Death was not always the end, right?

“I wish I could meet him, I feel like he could show me so many things.”

Dew gripped his hand, squeezing tightly, thumbing over his knuckle is a soft caress. “Me too, I think you would like him, I will do everything I can to make it happen.” Dew meant it too, he would do everything to protect Eidolon, Ifrit could do what he wanted to him, but the thought of him doing anything to the other ghoul stopped his heart. He would never let him touch Eidolon, he had already failed Rain, he wouldn’t do it again.

The smile Eidolon gave Dew was powerful, lighting up his eyes, showing his adoration for the other, the love. Both knew they felt something deeper for the other, the most Dew could give though was his hand, his support, his protection. That was enough for Eidolon. For now, and forever if that is all he got.

The reprieve that Dew and Eidolon felt was quickly squashed by Ifrit. Ifrit decided Dew needed something to wear for the ceremony and while he had already picked it out, he demanded Dew go to the tailor to get it just right. In other words, molded to his body. Being that it was only two days before the event, Ifrit of course was very busy so he had Eidolon stay with Dew while he ran other errands in town after dropping them and a servant (henchmen) off at the tailor.

Dew only sighed in resignation when he was put in the outfit, it was tight, revealing, he felt like someone's property in it. He was someone’s property. Ifrit’s. Eidolon, seeing the look on Dew’s face, longed to reach out and touch him, to offer him comfort, but held back. Eidolon had to hand it to Ifrit, he knew Dew’s body and what worked on him. The pants could have been leather for how they poured over his legs, shaped to his legs, the hint of muscles he had before the weeks of torture still evident. Eidolon wanted to touch the pants, to feel his body under them, the pants did exactly what Ifrit wanted. As your eye traveled up the lean lines, they passed over the outline of Dew’s cock, not leaving anything to the imagination, before stopping just short of his hip bones. The pants were a walking ad for sinning, and Dew was Eve in the garden, while Ifrit was the snake, ready to pounce.

The shirt, or lack of, was open, flowy, not the traditional buttoned up look that most ceremonies used. Every eye that wasn’t on his bottom half, would be on his chest, his stomach, looking at the myriad of bruises and bites along it.

When the tailor was done, he motioned for Dew to dismount the raised platform and to undress and put the next outfit on.

“Next outfit?”

“Yes, I was instructed you would need something for before the festivities, something open.” The tailor looking anywhere but at Dew as he explained.

Dew didn’t know if he could cry anymore as he slid the new “outfit” on, it had pants, yes, but they were open in the back and front. Only held together by a string that would wrap around those openings for easy access. If you pulled on the string the flaps would open, he wouldn’t even need to have his pants off. A long jacket was for the top, it had no closure and fluttered behind his small body as he walked.

The tailor made sure the flaps worked as they should, exposing Dew to the room, to his shame. Just adding one more degradation to a long list. Eidolon vowed not to look, to subject Dew to more eyes. As he turned his face away, he noticed the servant looking though, and grabbing at his groin, not even hiding his desire. It sickened him.

When the tailor motioned he was done and that Dew could change back, the relief evident on both of their faces. Dew quickly vacated to the dressing room, but after a few moments calling out to Eidolon for assistance. When Eidolon ducked through the curtain, he found Dew with the cloak off, but the pants were thrown around his body in such a way you could tell he was struggling to remove them. Guess the perfect sex pants were not so perfect.

“Can you help me? I think there is a knot in the string,” Dew asked.

Eidolon got to work quickly, having to kneel in front of Dew to see the issue. He was quickly able to untangle the offending knot, before releasing him from the offending garment. Still on the floor before him, he made the mistake of looking up at Dew’s face, who was looking back at him. From this angle he could see all the marks Ifrit had left on his body, he reached to touch the rather horrible bite on his hip, before pulling his hand back at the last moment.

“Oh, Dew,” he mumbled under his breath as tears gathered in his eyes.

Dew reached down bringing his hand to caress along Eidolon’s chin, “It’s ok, Eidolon.”

Unfortunately, at that moment Ifrit pulled the curtain back on the room. The look of fire in his eyes was indescribable. He went to pull Eidolon away from what was his, before remembering where they were. His eyes told them this wasn’t over, but his voice was calm, saying to hurry along, they had reservations for lunch with some of Ifrit’s friends.

Eidolon helped Dew redress, trying not to let his hands linger anywhere. When he was done, Dew reached and grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly before exiting the room.

The tailor assured Ifrit the garments would be delivered to the venue for the festivities and would be in Dew’s tent when they got there.

Ifrit herded them down the street to their next destination, opting to walk the short few blocks. Ifrit wanted everyone to see them, to see what was his, the power he possessed over both Eidolon and Dewdrop. And seen he was, probably by more eyes than he would have wanted to.

*************************************************************************************************

Was that Dewdrop? He craned his neck to look across the busy intersection, his eyes trailing the silvery locks as they flowed behind the small body. He looked so much thinner, there was no way it was him. Right?

Rain couldn’t stop himself from following the group as they walked down the street, leaving Aether behind at the store he had gone into. He knew he should wait for him, but, Dew. He tried to get closer, watching the trio move through the other people on the sidewalk, the leader pulling the other two along. He wished he could get a look at the person in front but all he could see was the silver hair.

He yearned to shout Dew’s name out, to see if it was him, but knew it wasn’t time to bring attention to himself yet. He would follow and watch, see if he could catch any more glimpses.

The group stopped outside what looked like a restaurant, waiting for a few moments. The man in front, pulled the shorter man to him, placing his arms around his midsection, grasping him. Rain tried to get to the other side of the street to see if he could see his face but they entered the restaurant before he could. He debated if he should pursue him further, when he found his feet already walking through the doors to the restaurant.

He quickly found a place hidden from their view at the bar, mumbling an order to the bartender, while he peered around the bar to see them closer. It was definitely Ifrit, luckily he had his face pointed away from where Rain sat, but he knew it was him, he’d know him anywhere. You don’t soon forget someone who stabbed you both physically and metaphorically, the one who took his baby away from him.

He was terrified to move his eyes from Ifrit, to see Dewdrop. He knew he would break down, seeing him again after so many months. He had to remember, he had to be strong. He slid his eyes from Ifrit, not able to wait any longer. He was in front of him, again. The same pull was present that was there the first day he saw him. The same indescribable attraction. It went so much deeper than that though, he could feel the thread from his heart to Dew’s. He longed to reach out and touch him, to run his fingers through his hair. To take away the pain.

And he could tell there was pain, he saw it written on every surface of his body. His hair, once like liquid silver glitter was caught in the gossamer strands, now hung limp and dull. Rain could tell he was trying to hide behind those strands as much as could, the tilt of his head gave it away. He moved from his hair, to his body, he had definitely lost weight that he couldn’t afford to lose. He sat in the seat, that was too close to Ifrit’s side, crumbled over, his spine curved, his arms wrapped around his body. His hands curled in, his thumbs held inside his other fingers, when he wasn’t fidgeting around his nail beds, peeling the skin back. He heard babies held their thumbs inside their other fingers as a method of self soothing.

Rain’s body doubled over just watching him, what would he see on his face? He couldn’t stop himself, he wouldn’t. The gasp he emitted from within caught the bartender's attention, before Rain quickly shook his head, going back to his work. Ifrit had stopped having anyone heal Dew it seemed. The bruising around his eyes was haunting, the colors on his face ranged from purple, blue to yellow and green, old and new bruises. His perfect lips were puffy and red, a large gash across the bottom lip, open and oozing. Dew kept pulling it into his mouth, trying to lick the blood that still seeped from the wound. What Rain could see of his neck, was littered with bites and fingerprints.

That wasn’t the worst though, when he finally looked and saw his eyes. His beautiful sunset eyes, that held love and happiness when he last saw them, were dead. There was no light there any longer. Any light he held inside was extinguished.

Rain quickly looked away, tears sliding down his face at the realization of what Dew had gone through the past few months. He cursed himself for taking so long to heal. He cursed Aether for not letting him come sooner, he cursed the abbey, he cursed the fucking congregation, he cursed Lucifer himself for letting this happen. Rain knew what had happened, or at least some of it, the friends that Dew had seen in the hallway at the one event, who told Aether what had taken place, and in turn who told Rain.

Rain pushed his hand to cover his mouth, to quiet any sounds he was emitting before looking back at the table. When he looked back, he could see that Ifrit had his arm on Dew again, how Ifrit couldn’t see every indication of how Dew was repulsed by him Rain didn’t know. He leaned away from his touch as much as he could, but even Rain could see the way Ifrit squeezed his shoulder, and the pain that flashed over Dew’s eyes. He watched as Dew’s eyes flashed to another person at the table, Rain’s eyes following.

The other person there didn’t look much better than Dew did. While he didn’t have any bruises, he had the same bent look Dew had, the same sad face. What Rain did notice though was how the other ghoul looked at Dew, his eyes instantly softened when they made contact with Dew’s. A friend, maybe? He wondered who he was, what they had shared. The pang of jealousy made him want to throw up, he should be happy someone else was here to help Dew through this. He mentally chided himself.

“Rain, where are you?” Aether had found when he was back in the pit he could communicate telepathically again. Rain quickly summoned a picture of the restaurant and the trio in front of him, so Aether knew where he was. He could hear the mental gasp from Aether through their bond.

“What,” he asked, jared from his thoughts of Dew.

“It can’t be, it can’t,” is all Aether offered back before he continued, “I will be right there, it can’t be him.” He shut off further communication before Rain could ask.

Rain was back in his own world watching Dew. Trying to think of better times.

He remembered when they were on tour and to keep appearances up they went out to dinner with the other ghouls. It was torture, they just wanted to find moments to spend together. Rain was seated across from Dew, he wished they were beside each other, so he could touch him. He would have to settle for catching quick glances of his face, the small smiles they shared, the sparkle in his eyes when Rain made little noises of laughter.

Rain found himself playing with the ring Dew had given him last night, they had decided to keep the black band outwards, the red stone might be more noticeable to the others, especially when Dew didn’t have it on his hand. As he spun it around his middle finger, touching the stone, he remembered the kisses they shared after he had given it to him. How could he miss someone who was right across from him? They’d have to tell the other ghouls soon, he didn’t think he could hold this happiness in much longer.

“Earth to Rain,” Swiss chided from down the table, breaking Rain out of his pleasurable thoughts.

“Hmm?”

Dew spoke up with a smile on his lips, “They were asking if you wanted to split a pizza with everyone.”

Rain looked at Dew as he spoke, did he say something? Why was he looking at him with those eyes? They were his fuck me eyes. How was Rain supposed to concentrate?

“Damn it, Rain, yes or no?” Mountain poked him from his side.

“Yes?” He answered back, what was he answering? Dew laughed at him from across the table again.

The others spoke amongst themselves, deciding they would get the pizza, Rain who was lost in his own thoughts could have some if he ever came out of his stupor.

He looked back down at the ring, biting his bottom lip as the corners of his lips went up. He felt a foot nudge him under the table, he quickly looked up to see Dew staring at him. Rain’s brows pinched together before moving his foot closer to Dew’s. Watching as Dew smiled at him, and ran the tip of his shoe up his shin. This little amount of touch had him craving for more, desperate for Dew’s hands on him without the restriction of clothes or people around them.

He could feel his cock harden as Dew caressed his foot, noting the way Rain’s face changed as he got higher up his leg. Dew reached under the table feigning that he had dropped his napkin, grabbing Rain’s foot to bring it into his lap, pulling him closer to the table. His warm hands felt along one of his favorite places on Rain, the ball of his ankle. He knew what it did to Rain now too. Pushing the hem of his pants up Dew wrapped his fingers around his ankle, just softly rubbing his fingers back and forth.

Unfortunately for Rain, what Dew was doing precluded him from being able to adequately participate in the conversation. The other ghouls just looked at him a few times, deciding he must just be really tired and gave up trying to engage him. Dew would offer comments from time to time to keep the looks off of both of them.

Rain was lost in his own world of Dew’s touch. His mind was fully focused on what he was doing to his ankle, which was nothing overtly sexual but his touch always made him get butterflies. How was he this lucky that he found him? That Dew was his? He still couldn’t get over that he even looked his way. All he wanted to do was run away with him, talk about their future. Imagine their life, together always. He wanted to know if Dew wanted kits, if he saw them with him. He saw them with Dew for sure, little spitfires with long dark hair, sunset eyes, a mischievous smirk always on their face. A little one that no one could resist. He wandered what Dew would look like pregnant with their child, or would he want Rain to carry them. He would. He would do anything for Dew, anything he wanted. He would be happy also if it was just them forever, but he wanted to ask the question, see what Dew saw.

A little house by the lake filled with love. Filled with Dew. It is the only thing he wanted.

He was broken from his daydreams by the pizza being brought to the table and a plate being put in front of him. He looked up, startled by the intrusion of his perfect dreams, his eyes narrowing at the plate in front of him, his lips pursed. His eyes rose from his plate as he heard Dew’s laugh from across the table. Rain’s face quickly changed from annoyed back to longing.

He pulled his foot from Dew’s lap, to his dismay and asked where the restroom was. Dew quickly pushed back from the table and said he would show him the way. As soon as they were out of view of the others he grabbed Rain’s hand. Pulling him along, rubbing his thumb along his palm.

When they got to the restroom, Dew did a quick look to make sure they were alone before pushing Rain gently up against the wall to devour him in a deliciously indecent kiss. Swallowing Rain’s moans with his lips, exploring his mouth with his tongue like it was the first time. When he pulled back from Rain, he followed his retreat with his blown pupils. Dew pushed him back against the wall, pushing his forehead to Rain’s emitting a deep sigh.

“This is torture, I miss you and you are right across from me,” Dew lamented.

Rain found himself nudging Dew’s neck to the side as he placed featherlight kisses on his jaw, trailing down his neck to suck at his pulse. He wasn’t sure if he could go back out to dinner, he wanted Dew. He loved listening to Dew’s little moans as he ravaged his neck, his hands sliding around his waist to pull Rain closer, before grabbing his ass.

“Fuck, Rain. You are perfect.”

Before Rain could respond Dew’s phone dinged multiple times. He hated having to drag himself away from Rain, but he had a feeling it was the guys. And it was, wondering where they were, did they get lost. They needed to get back.

Rain turned to the sink to wash his hands, Dew draped over his back his head peeking up over his shoulder as they stared at each other in the mirror. The smile on Dew’s kiss plumped lips was enough to break Rain down again completely, asking why they came out for dinner.

Sunset eyes meeting vibrant blue before saying, “I love you, my future mate.”

Rain averted his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips, before he had added quietly, “my mate.”

Rain was pulled back to the present as Ifrit’s voice raised at his companion in exuberance. Rain wanted to rip his throat out, even more so as he pulled Dew to his lap. He could see how Dew hated it. The tightness around his eyes, the set of his mouth growing more pronounced as Ifrit’s tongue ran along his neck. It took everything in Rain not to rush the table and pull him away, but they agreed the public was not the place to take care of him. They needed to get Ifrit alone. So he waited, he would wait. Dew would be back with him, and Ifrit would be dead.

*****************************************************************************

Aether rounded the corner into the bar breathless after running the whole way there, seeing Rain sitting by himself, his hands in a tight fist. Following Rain’s eyes he looked over at the table, seeing Ifrit, Dew and the two other table mates. His eyes grew larger, as he took in the one with his dark hair and pale lilac eyes, the only other person beside Dew at that table that cowered away from Ifrit.

He whispered, a wish, prayer, hoping it was him.

“Phantom?”

Authors note: anyone see this coming?

Eidolon definition: a Spector or a Phantom

[goforth-ladymidnight]

A Second Chance

Ch. 4 of (I stopped counting, ok?)

Pairing: Tamlin x Lucien

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Tamlin reveals what happened to him seven years ago

Warning: This chapter involves some heavy themes and implied SA, but it is not explicit

Read on AO3 or read on below:

Lucien carefully set down the steaming ceramic coffee mugs on matching cork coasters before taking his place on the loveseat next to Tamlin. “Do you want anything else?” he asked gently.

Tamlin huffed a laugh and rubbed his eyes. When he dropped his hands, his face was flushed red, and his green eyes were swollen, like some sad sort of Christmas card. “How about a do-over?” he sniffed.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I wish I could have a do over of the last seven years,” he said, voice cracking.

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

Tamlin winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “No, but… I need to.”

Lucien reached out and gently rested his hand on his friend’s back. Tamlin stiffened at first, then sighed and softened as he began to rub. “I’m sorry I pushed you,” Lucien said softly. “If you don’t want to tell me, I completely understand.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Tamlin closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s the problem.”

Lucien sighed, then leaned over to reach for the box of tissues. “Here.”

Tamlin breathed a teary laugh, then took two tissues and wiped his face with them. “Goddammit,” he whispered. “I’m such a wimp.”

“You’re not a wimp,” Lucien said firmly. “That’s your dad talking.”

“No, if it was really my dad talking, he would grab an empty mug and tell me to fill it up if I was going to cry so much.”

Lucien grimaced and removed his hand to pick up his coffee and Tamlin’s. “I don’t have any empty mugs,” he said, “so if you want one, you’re just going to have to drink this up first. And something tells me you won’t feel like crying into it when you’re done.”

Tamlin’s red-rimmed eyes fell to the proffered coffee mug, then he sighed. He slowly, carefully took it and wrapped his hands around the warm cup, then inhaled the fragrant steam. “Thanks, Lu,” he murmured.

“Anytime.”

When Tamlin seemed more interested in holding it than drinking it, however, Lucien gently nudged him.

“Hey.” When Tamlin looked up, he lifted his mug in salute. “Here’s to your health,” he said in Scythian, then sipped.

Tamlin’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

When Lucien translated, Tamlin’s lips curved into the softest of smiles.

“You used to drive me crazy, you know, practicing Scythian on me all the time,” he said with a breathy chuckle. His gaze grew distant, as though remembering, then he sighed. He had been doing that a lot lately, Lucien noticed, but at least he didn’t look like crying anymore.

Tamlin raised his mug to his lips, then paused. “How do you say that again? That little toast, or whatever.”

Lucien smiled and told him, then grinned as Tamlin repeated it. His accent was atrocious, but it was the thought that counted. With an approving nod, he clinked his cup against Tamlin’s and repeated it once more, then gladly drank when his friend drank.

After that first swallow, Tamlin lowered his mug with a contented sigh. “God, I’ve really missed this,” he whispered.

“Hey, there’s more plenty more where that came from,” Lucien said, raising his mug with a smile.

“No, I meant… Being with you.”

Lucien’s smile faltered. There was such pain and sorrow in those big, amber-flecked green eyes… and yet, there was a glimmer of something like hope. Like an abandoned tomcat that had found its way to a warm fire. I know this can’t last, his eyes said, but thank you for letting me rest.

Lucien suddenly wanted nothing more than to wrap Tamlin in a giant blanket and feed him latkes and coffee and pie until he was too stuffed to move, then tuck him into bed and promise that nothing would ever hurt him again. Tamlin was no tomcat, but still, the idea was a tempting one.

For now, Lucien contented himself with patting Tamlin’s leg. “I’ve missed you, too,” said softly, trying to smile.

Tamlin dropped his gaze to Lucien’s hand still resting on his knee. Worrying that he might have crossed some kind of line, Lucien removed it to cradle his coffee mug.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he said, shifting his position to sit sideways on the loveseat. “What are the odds of us running into each other again after all these years, right?”

Tamlin flexed his fingers as he readjusted his grip on his coffee cup and smiled sadly. “Yeah. Right,” he murmured.

In the silence that followed, unsure of what else to say, Lucien looked away and took another sip of coffee.

“I know you’re wondering what happened.”

Lucien winced. “That doesn’t mean it’s any of my business. It was seven years ago. If you don’t want to tell me, we can just move on, you know?”

Tamlin scoffed. “I wish I could.”

“Why can’t you?” When Tamlin hesitated, Lucien chided himself. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry…”

“You’re not. It’s just… I’ve never really told anyone about this before, except Jurian.”

Lucien grimaced. “I am kind of curious how you two met,” he admitted. “So, if you don’t mind telling me that much…”

Tamlin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “For that to make sense, I’d have to start at the beginning.”

“Which was when?”

“When I met the Dean… Amarantha.”

* * *

Tamlin still remembered the rap of his knuckles against the heavy hardwood door, and the emptiness of the administrative office when he stepped inside. There were no windows, but miniature twinkle lights and strands of tinsel decorated the walls and the desks of those who had already gone home for the day, and the holidays, for that matter. There must have been a party earlier, because discarded napkins and cups and plates filled the garbage cans as he passed by.

A long table rested along one wall, covered in a festive disposable tablecloth. He didn’t remember what foods were left, except perhaps the usual sugar cookie crumbs and frosting smears that always made their appearance at such parties. There might have been sandwiches, too, but he didn’t remember. There was a punch bowl, though, with citrus slices floating in bright red liquid. That, he remembered.

It looked like it had been a fun party, but he wouldn’t have thought so based on the look the secretary gave him when he walked in. If the abandoned office was a tomb, she was the corpse, with her leathery skin and dusty-gray hair and pinched, puckered mouth. In all fairness, she was probably only in her mid-fifties or so, but she might as well have been a hundred.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, hi… Um,” he began, reaching into his jacket pocket. He held up a handwritten appointment card and explained, “I’m here to see the Dean.”

She stared hard at him over the tops of her horn-rimmed reading glasses. Her hands, which were straightening a stack of bright red folders, were long and sharp and bony. There was a shapeless gray cardigan resting around her shoulders, and a tight pearl choker at her neck. She was probably a very nice lady to her grandkids, if she had any. But somehow he doubted she did. She breathed loudly through her nose, then asked in a patiently impatient voice, “And you are?”

“Oh. My name is Tamlin, sir—uh, ma’am. That’s T-A-M-L-I—”

“No. You are late. L-A-T-E. Late. Do you know what time it is?”

Tamlin lowered the card with an apologetic wince. “I’m sorry. My last exam was on the other side of campus. I didn’t think—”

“Young man,” she said sharply. “You were expected to arrive over an hour ago. This office is now closed until after New Year’s. When the office reopens, you may make another appointment. That is, if the Dean agrees to see you. She does not tolerate tardiness.”

Tamlin winced at each snippy, enunciated syllable. So much for tidings of comfort and joy. “I am sorry,” he said, trying to smooth things over. “I thought she might still be here. If you could just put me down on the schedule for the next available opening, I promise I won’t be late.”

The old bat stared at him, then loudly sighed as she set aside her folders. “I suppose I could take a look…”

“That’s all right, Ms. Attor,” an authoritative voice said nearby. “He’s here now. Let him in.”

Tamlin turned to see a tall, imposing woman wearing a long black coat standing in the doorway of the largest corner office. The door had been closed when he walked in. When she caught his eye, she smiled at him with lips as red as her ruby-tinted hair.

“Hello, Tamlin. It is Tamlin, isn’t it?”

He nodded, but the secretary tried to protest.

“But-but-but… It’s after five o’clock! The office is closed—”

“This won’t take long,” the Dean declared, not taking her eyes off him. “You go home. I’ll lock up.”

Without waiting for an answer, she stepped aside and motioned for him to join her. Her long fingernails matched the crimson shade of her lipstick.

“Tamlin. If you please.”

He stuffed his hands inside his jacket pockets and smugly ignored the squawking protests of the Dean’s power-tripping secretary to step inside the spacious private office. She motioned for him to sit while she stepped outside to have a private word with her employee. Part of him wished that he could listen to the verbal dressing down, but the heavy door blocked out all sound.

Unlike the rest of the office space, this room was free of all Christmas decorations. The desk was dark, polished wood, and the rest of the minimalistic décor consisted of polished, black marble sculptures. There weren’t any photos, but there was a large mirror on the wall. Everything was cool and stark and purely professional. Tamlin was studying an abstract painting of a lone mountain peak behind the desk when the door closed behind him.

He turned to see the Dean carrying a single red folder. The tab, he noticed, had his name on it. He gulped.

“You must excuse my secretary,” she said as she took her seat behind the desk. It sounded less like an apology and more like a command. “She didn’t realize how important this meeting was to me. I do hope that your studies were not affected in any way.”

“Oh. No,” Tamlin said, shifting in his chair. “Like I said, I just had my last exam, so…”

“Good,” she said with a cool smile, then opened the folder and laid it flat. “Now, it says here that you had your Language Arts final today, is that correct?”

Tamlin blinked in surprise. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Please. Call me Amarantha.”

“Yes, m—Amarantha.”

Her lips curved upward into a pleased smile. “Good boy,” she purred, then returned her attention to whatever was written in his file. “Would you say that this is your best subject?”

“Second best,” he replied honestly. “I like poetry well enough, but ever since my mom gave me my first violin, music has been my best subject. Well, I mean, it’s my favorite subject, anyway.”

She smiled again. “You are far too modest. Your record says that you’ve been first chair in the orchestra for two years running. That is quite an accomplishment for someone of your age and background.”

“Yes, m—I mean, thank you,” he said, confused.

“Are other members of your family similarly gifted?”

Tamlin took a deep breath, considering. He could have told the Dean how his mother had given up a career in music to marry his father while he pursued a career in the military. He could have told her how his mother used to write her own songs and sing them to her three boys when their father was away. He could have said that out of his three brothers, he was the only one to follow in her footsteps, even though the oldest had become a star quarterback, and the second the captain of the wrestling team. He could have mentioned his father and his five-star ranking, but he didn’t want to. No one but his mother had supported his dreams in any way, so they didn’t deserve any credit. Besides, Amarantha didn’t really need to know the details; she was a complete stranger, even if she was the Dean.

Knowing that she wanted some kind of answer, though, he said simply, “Well, my mom used to play the cello before she—she passed away.”

Amarantha made a small, sad noise. “Oh, dear. I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said politely, then asked, “What about your father?”

“What about him?”

Amarantha chuckled at the clear disdain in his tone. “Oh, dear,” she said again, continuing to smile. “You are not very fond of your father, are you?”

Tamlin snorted. “Should I be?”

“Hmm. It certainly isn’t required,” she remarked thoughtfully, fiddling with her pen. “I, myself, was raised by a single mother, and look at me now…” She smiled proudly. “The first female dean in Middengard University’s history, and I’m not even forty.”

Tamlin nodded politely. “I had no idea,” was all he could think to say, but now he was beginning to wonder.

Her smile grew, and he noticed her eyes crinkle at the corners. “You are a darling,” she said sweetly. She set her pen down to lace her fingers together and delicately rested her chin upon them. “Just between us,” she began in a congenial way, “I was there for your final performance with the orchestra last week, and I have never heard a finer rendition of Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony in all my life.”

Tamlin couldn’t help his pleased grin. “Thank you, ma’am—I mean, Ms. Amarantha,” he amended when she gave him a look. “I worked very hard on that piece.”

“I could tell,” she said sweetly.

“It wasn’t just me, though,” he offered. “It was a group effort. Everyone worked just as hard as I did.”

“Yes, but they aren’t the first chair violinist, are they?”

“No, ma—No, Amarantha.”

She smiled and picked up her pen. “Modest, talented, and handsome,” she remarked. “You must be beating off the girls with a stick.”

“Not really.”

“Oh, no?”

He didn’t want to admit that girls didn’t interest him that much. They never had. He was more interested in playing his music, or keeping his head down. Lucien was the first person to weasel his way into Tamlin’s affections, but he was in Scythia for another semester. There was a girl he had known for a while and recently gotten together with, but he had been so busy prepping for finals, they hadn’t spent much time together yet.

Still, he had to say something, so he shrugged. “It’s just… I already have a girlfriend, so…”

Amarantha’s smile faded. “Yes,” she said slowly, turning a page in his file. “A Miss… Feyre Archeron.”

Tamlin straightened in his chair. “How did you know that?”

She glanced up and gave him a cool smile. “I make it my business to know.” She returned her attention to his file and recited, “Feyre Archeron, age 20. Art major, Educational minor. She is passing most of her classes, although failing Literature. Her father paid her tuition in full, but it would seem that she is more interested in socializing than social economics.” Amarantha folded her hands over the file and gave him a stern look. “I certainly hope you are using protection,” she said coolly. “A mid-level student like her will only bring you down.”

His face grew hot. “No offense, but that’s none of your business.”

“As Dean of this University, the success and failure of each of my students is my business.”

“Then why aren’t you lecturing her?” Tamlin said angrily. “If you think she’s doing so badly, then tell her off, not me.”

“Tamlin.” He was already halfway out of his chair, but her tone made him pause. She pointed to his chair with her pen, and said quietly, “Sit down. Please.”

He didn’t want to, but she was the Dean.

When he reluctantly resumed his seat, she lowered her hand and slowly tapped her pen on her desk. “It seems that you have a temper,” she said coolly. “You get that from your father, I take it.”

Tamlin’s temper flared at the accusation, then stuttered out as he realized that he did, in fact, share his father’s temper. And he hated it.

When he remained surly and silent, Amarantha went on, “Don’t get me wrong. A temper can be quite useful, when honed correctly. The same fire that can burn bridges can also create a stained glass window. In your case, the stained glass window is your music. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” he muttered and looked away. The sooner she was done talking, the sooner he could leave.

“I can see that I have offended you, and for that I do apologize.”

When he finally turned his head and met her gaze, she smiled.

“You are a bright, passionate young man who cares deeply for others. I know you care for your girlfriend, but her path is not your path. I would hate to see you shackled to someone whose greatest ambition in life is teaching children how to fingerpaint.” Amarantha sighed and shook her head. “I cannot tell you how many talented students I have seen who had to give up on their dreams because they decided to get married to their college sweetheart and have children before they completed their studies.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I don’t want kids, then.”

“Yes, I—” She sat up, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I don’t want kids.”

She stared at him open-mouthed, then stammered like her secretary. “But-but—I… W-what about your legacy?”

Tamlin snorted. “Just a second ago you were telling me not to have kids.”

“I was urging you to reconsider having children with someone who is not on your level both creatively and academically.”

“Look, it’s not that serious, okay?” Tamlin said, pushing himself to his feet. “We’re just dating. Besides, everyone I know has had a crappy father, and I don’t want to be one.”

“You don’t have to be to be one.”

His brows furrowed as he looked at her askance. “Huh?”

She gripped her desk and leaned forward. “I don’t think you realize what a treasure you are,” she said fervently. “Not only are you a talented musician, you are tall, handsome, intelligent, well-spoken, and polite. Most of the men I meet have only one or two of those qualities. I have been looking for someone like you for a very, very long time. I had very nearly given up.”

Her unblinking stare made his skin prickle. “Um… okay,” he said, nodding slowly. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Can I, uh, go now, please?”

“Not just yet,” she said, turning to the last page in his file. “We still need to discuss your future here.” When she looked up and noticed that he had remained standing, her features softened. “Oh, dear. I see I’ve made you uncomfortable.” She rose to her feet and motioned for him to sit. “I know you are eager to be on your way, but we are nearly done. Please, have a seat. When I return, we will complete our interview, and then you have my permission to go.”

There were three steps to the door. Three steps to freedom. And three steps to potential academic ruin. So Tamlin sighed, and he sat.

Amarantha smiled. “If you will excuse me for just a moment, I will be right back.”

When the heavy door swung closed behind her, Tamlin glanced at his wristwatch. It was getting late. Feyre was expecting him to pick her up for dinner at seven. At this rate, he would barely make it back to his dorm in time to change.

He could have walked out, but Amarantha was on the other side of the door. Besides, she had access to his file… and Feyre’s, too, for that matter. She hadn’t mentioned it, but it wouldn’t surprise him if she had Lucien’s file on hand, as well. His friend had worked too hard to qualify for this trip to Scythia for Tamlin to mess it up in any way. Amarantha didn’t seem like the sort of person to sabotage a student’s record, but there would be no stopping her if she did.

When the Dean returned, she was carrying two clear cups of bright red punch, complete with floating lemon slices and cinnamon sticks for extra holiday flair. “Here you are,” she said brightly, handing him the fuller glass. “This was served at the faculty Christmas party earlier today,” she explained, taking a seat on the edge of her desk. “There is plenty left if you’d like another glass, but it would be a shame to waste it.”

Before he could protest, she had already lifted her cup to toast him. “Cheers,” she said, and tipped her head back to drink.

“Oh, okay. Cheers, I guess,” he said quietly, then took a tentative mouthful of fruit punch. He grimaced at the surprisingly bitter taste, and swallowed hard. Perhaps he’d swallowed a lemon seed, or a clump of cinnamon by mistake.

“Now, then,” Amarantha said, setting her drink aside. “What are you going to do to celebrate? You’ve finished your last final, and here it is, nearly Christmas.”

He was distracted from answering as he watched her unbutton her coat. “Um… I thought we were almost done.”

“Oh, we are,” she said, shrugging it off her shoulders. “I was feeling a little warm, and I thought I’d make myself more comfortable. You don’t mind, do you?”

He swallowed hard as he watched her lay the coat beside her on her desk. Her dress was cut above the knee, and her long, shapely legs were very, very bare. “No, no, of course not,” he muttered, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You were saying?”

He scratched at his eyebrow as he looked away; his face felt flushed. “About what?”

“Your plans,” she reminded him, then began playing with the long gold chain that had fallen into her exposed cleavage.

Had she been wearing that dress under her coat this entire time? The little black dress was unbuttoned below her cleavage and cinched at the waist. It was not exactly what he would have pictured a dean wearing, but who was going to stop her? Some of the guys in the dorm would have called this a fantasy come to life; he felt more like he had walked into a nightmare.

He suddenly remembered she had asked him a question. It was difficult to think. “Um, I’m having dinner later, I-I guess…”

“Oh, really?” she asked, taking his glass from him. “What kind of foods do you like?”

“I—um… Is this rel—rev—revela…” He frowned. His tongue wasn’t working right.

“Relevant?” she finished for him, then laughed. “Very.”

He blinked. “A-all kinds, I-I guess…”

“Good,” she purred. “I do hate picky eaters.”

“W-why?”

Instead of answering, she set his glass aside and pushed herself off the edge of her desk. She stepped closer and reached out to slide her fingers over his scalp, then grabbed his hair and bent his head back.

“Hey,” he tried to say, but his mouth refused to cooperate. His body, too.

“You have green eyes,” she mused, looking into them, then she smiled. Her own eyes were such a dark brown that they were nearly black, or at least they appeared so in this light. Her entire face was in shadow. “They’re the rarest color, you know. I’ve always liked green eyes. They’re so attractive.”

He could only groan in answer.

Her grip softened as she looked him over, and her hands slid through his hair and down to his collar. “I didn’t want to do it this way,” she said, pouting softly as she ran her fingers along his shoulders. “I had so many more questions, but you forced my hand.”

To his horror, she began unbuttoning his shirt, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.

She bent down low, pressing herself against him and filling his nostrils with the sickeningly sweet smell of her perfume. Her breath was hot against his ear as she whispered, “Don’t worry. You won’t remember a thing, but I promise, I’ll make it good for you.”

The last thing he remembered was the sensation of greasy red lipstick pressed against his neck.

* * *

Lucien stared at his friend in horror. Tamlin’s eyes were shadowed and unfocused as he shrugged a shoulder.

“The next thing I knew, I was on the floor with all these security guards standing over me. They said someone had spiked the punch bowl, and did I need to go to the hospital. I don’t… I don’t remember much after that.”

Lucien covered his mouth and looked away, speechless. Of all the stories his classmates had concocted about Tamlin’s disappearance, none of them came close to the horrifying truth. If he had heard the story from anyone else, he would have dismissed it as something they saw on a detective drama or made up for a creative writing class. But to hear this from Tamlin’s mouth… He hadn’t expected this. Never this.

“It took me a while to piece everything together,” Tamlin said quietly, staring into the bottom of his empty coffee mug. “Sometimes I think that I dreamed it all up. Or maybe I’ll wake up, but…” He trailed off and shrugged again, listlessly.

Lucien shook his head to clear it. “Did—did you report her?”

Tamlin’s jaw tightened. “I tried.”

* * *

The police station was a dizzying whirl of sights and sounds and smells. The bluish tint of flickering overhead lighting, the squeak of police-issued shoes against dull laminate flooring, and stale coffee mixed with cheap aftershave. Tamlin sat alone on a barely padded metal chair with uneven legs, next to a scratched wooden desk covered in coffee ring stains and scattered paperwork, waiting to make his statement. With his arms resting on his knees, he tried to block out the tinny ringing of telephones, the blurred murmur of voices, and the slamming of metal filing cabinets by slowly rubbing his palms together, feeling the light calluses in his fingertips that were already beginning to fade. He hadn’t touched his violin since… the incident.

The nurse at the hospital had tried to suggest a r*pe kit, but the idea was absurd. Unthinkable, even. It was just a glass of spiked punch. Nothing more. Nothing except… He hadn’t been sleeping well. Nightmares plagued him. He snapped at Feyre for no reason, and often forgot to eat.

It was the get-well-soon card delivered to his dorm that did it. It smelled like perfume. Her perfume. So on a bitterly cold January day shortly before the start of spring semester, he gathered his courage to go down to the local station and ask the police to look into it. He couldn’t ask the campus police for help. Not when they worked for her.

“Someone say something about reporting a r*pe?”

Tamlin startled and looked up to see a tall, leathery-faced officer with short, iron gray hair frowning down at him. The officer gestured with his clipboard.

“Are you the witness?”

He swallowed. “Um, sort of.”

The officer let out a resigned sigh and took a seat at the desk. He turned in his rolling chair, then leaned back to cross his legs on the scarred wooden desktop.

Resting the clipboard in his lap, he clicked his pen and flatly said, “Please state the date on which the incident occurred.”

Tamlin cleared his throat. “Um. The Friday before Christmas.”

The officer’s eyes flicked up at him, apparently waiting for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, he let out a loud, annoyed sigh to look at the exact date on the calendar. After scrawling it down, he continued, “State the name of the victim if you know it.”

Tamlin rubbed the back of his neck and whispered his own name.

The officer looked him over, frowning, then tersely said, “Spell it.” When he did so, the officer murmured, “…L-I-N… Okay. And you are?”

Late. L-A-T-E. Late. Tamlin blinked, and looked more closely at the officer’s badge.

Attor. T. Attor.

Tamlin’s blood ran cold. “Excuse me, sir. Um, do you…” He cleared his throat. “Do you h-happen to know someone that works f-for the University?”

The officer’s dark eyes narrowed as he looked him over. “My mother works for the Dean’s office, not that it matters. Why, you want to accuse her of something?”

Tamlin blanched and quickly shook his head. “No. Um, thank you for—for your time.”

As he stood, the officer shrugged with the clipboard. “What…?” He made a noise of disgust as Tamlin walked away and muttered, “And thank you so much for wasting mine.”

When Tamlin shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and turned for the exit, he heard the distinct sound of paper crumpling and being tossed into the nearest wastebasket.

Gray slush lined the street and reflected the overcast sky as he trudged to the nearest bus stop. The dirty glass enclosure offered little shelter from the cutting wind, but it was better than nothing. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t feel much anyway.

No one else was waiting around except a brawny, dark-haired fellow in a long coat with an unlit cigarette between his lips. He was patting his coat pockets and muttering something when Tamlin took his seat on the frigid metal bench at the other end of the enclosure.

He had just turned up his collar and shoved his hands into his pockets, trying not to imagine how painful walking in front of a bus would be, when the man at the other end cleared his throat.

“Hey, kid, you got a light?”

Tamlin glanced over, then slowly shook his head. “No.”

“Neither do I.”

To his dismay, the man got up to join him on his side of the bus shelter.

Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he remarked, “I suppose it’s just as well. I’ve been tryin’ to quit, but you know how it is.” As he replaced the cigarette and its box inside his coat pocket, he continued, “Miryam, that’s my wife—well, now she’s my ex-wife—she used to buy me those patches that are supposed to lessen the cravings or whatever, but damned if they don’t just make ‘em worse. Besides, they don’t keep your fingers warm when it’s colder than a witch’s tit outside, ya know?”

Tamlin managed a shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, well… You’re still young.” The man thumbed his nose and sniffed before copying Tamlin’s stance and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I hate taking the bus, but I hate cabs more. Those bloodsuckers will drain you dry and then run you over to squeeze out loose change.”

Tamlin breathed a tiny chuckle, but the man didn’t seem to notice. Not that he minded. It had been a while since anyone had tried talking to him without some kind of agenda or pity. It was… kind of nice.

“So, my wife—well, ex-wife—got the car in the divorce, so I got a new one, only it got impounded.” He nodded at the police station across the street. “Turns out, cops don’t like it very much when you park outside their house to go birdwatching.”

Tamlin’s brow furrowed. “Birdwatching?”

“Yeah, birdwatching.” The man nudged him and raised his brows in a meaningful way. “You know: ‘A little birdie told me that…’ No?”

Tamlin shook his head, confused.

The man’s mouth shrugged. “Yeah, well. Let’s just say it’s code for ‘I got hired to take some private photos’ by a cop’s wife—who now happens to be his ex-wife—and the cop involved figured it was me. So now, I get to try to make friends with the impound lot desk clerk. Except she doesn’t like me very much.”

Tamlin glanced between the man and the station across the street. “So… what are you doing over here, then? Why aren’t you over there, trying to get your car back?”

The man sighed and smiled to himself. “Because I’m trying to quit smoking.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter and flicked it on. Tamlin stared at the flickering orange flame as the man explained, “I was a cop for four years before I decided that wasn’t the life for me. There’s a whole lot of paperwork and not a whole lot of justice goin’ around. So, when I saw you walk out of the station, I figured that my old pals over there didn’t treat you very nice. And, I figured, what the hell; if nothing else, you just needed someone to talk to.” He flicked off the lighter and returned it to his pocket. “Was I right?”

Tamlin managed to swallow down the lump in his throat, and he nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped.

The man smiled, then sat back on the bench. “We’ve got some time to kill before your bus comes. My date at the station can wait, so, spill.”

Just then, the bus appeared at the end of the street, and slowly rattled to a stop as it approached.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” the man remarked. He slapped his knees and sat up, then reached into another pocket and pulled out his wallet. With an expert flick of the wrist, he pulled out a business card and offered it to him. “Here. Any time you need someone to talk to, I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

Tamlin took the card and looked it over. The logo was an eyeball surrounded by a ring. “You’re Jurian?” he guessed, reading the name from the card.

“Yep, that’s me. How about you, kid? You got a name, or should I just call you ‘kid’?”

He thought about it for a moment, then said, “Tamlin.”

“Tamlin,” Jurian said, offering his hand, then shook his. “Good to meet you.”

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

As the bus screeched to a halt in front of the enclosure, Tamlin came to a sudden decision. He caught the eye of the driver and waved him on.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Jurian asked him as the bus doors closed.

Tamlin slid the business card into his pocket and rose to his feet. “Sure,” he said, then nodded to the station across the street. “I’m going to help you get your car back.”

Jurian’s eyes widened as he pushed himself to his feet. “You’d do that?”

Tamlin shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s worth a shot.”

A slow grin grew on Jurian’s face. “Kid, if you can do that, I’ll treat you to lunch. Anything you want. As long as it’s at Annie’s Diner, which is all I can really afford.”

Tamlin chuckled, and he was surprised that it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. “Sure,” he agreed. “I’ve never been there, so… Why not.”

Jurian pumped his fists and made a triumphant sound. “Yes. I’m comin’ for you, baby,” he said to himself, and Tamlin wasn’t sure if he meant the desk clerk or the car or even Annie herself. Before he could ask, Jurian pointed at him and said, “You, my friend, have just earned yourself an all you can eat buffet.”

Tamlin smiled nervously and shrugged again. “But I haven’t done anything yet.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re willing to try, and that counts for something.”

“Yeah,” Tamlin said quietly. “I guess it does.”

“You bet it does,” Jurian said, slapping him on the back. “Come on, kid. Let’s go get my car. I hope you like latkes.”

[dailydiarynquotes]

[not-delicious-milk]

is it poison or venom (6/?)

chapter title | portia

word count | 3.6k

originally posted | 28 November 2023

ao3 link

[nightingaelic]

MacCready sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you that the only thing wrong with you is how much guilt you’ve stuffed in your pockets? Kellogg didn’t know you, he knew himself. A half-memory of Kellogg that was stuck in Nick’s head definitely doesn’t know you. I know you, and I know you’re doing your best. That’s all Shaun, Dunk, me, and the rest of the Commonwealth can ask for.” 

He looked out over the grassy slope that led down from the greenhouse into the woods. “Stop torturing yourself over the things you have to do,” he said. “I know you’re torn. I know you weren’t ready for any of this, and I know you’ll rise to meet it anyway. And because you did, Shaun will have a future he wouldn’t have had before, and everyone in the Commonwealth will be a little safer.” 

“Thanks.” Murphy leaned into him. “Maybe someday after all this, I’ll take that advice you had once, about letting things sort themselves out.” 

“You wouldn’t last a day, boss.” 

“Maybe I would, if there wasn’t always some war to fight.” 

He crooked his mouth apologetically. “Don’t hold your breath.” 

- Chapter 7: Heaven and Earth from The Rest is Merely Tenacity, Part 5 in The Alpha & The Omega, by me

[qqueenofhades]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Death of the Endless & Dream of the Endless Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Hob Gadling, Desire of the Endless, Death of the Endless, Lady Johanna Constantine Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Backstory, Slow Burn, Centuries of Pining, Denial of Feelings, How Could It Be Anything But, Idiots to Lovers, Well Idiots At Least, The Author Is Predictable, Historically Accurate Gay People, Medieval History, Character Study, Post-Canon, Eventually, Immortal Origin Story, Immortal Family Drama, Dream Is Very Bad At Being a Person, Historical Fantasy

[merv606]

Chapters: 42/? Fandom: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Terry Silver, Daniel Larusso/Ali Mills (minor mentioned) Characters: Johnny Lawrence, Terry Silver, Daniel LaRusso Additional Tags: Older Man/Younger Man, Kink Discovery, Praise Kink, Daddy Kink, Experienced older man/inexperienced younger man, Sugar Daddy, powerful older man, rich older man, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Obsessive is my love language Terry, pegging (mentioned), Mild Virginity Kink, Just the Tip, under negotiated kink, Somnophilia, Intercrural Sex, Sex Toys, Cock Warming, Spanking, Edging, safe word use (sort of), Pushing boundaries, undiscussed sex act, Restraints, Coming Untouched, Hand Feeding, Ice Play, Racial slurs, Orgasm Delay, Sex Swing, Spreader Bars, Breeding Kink, Rough Sex, Rape roleplay elements, Feminization Summary:

Prompt: After the events of KK3, Silver sticks around and apologizes to Daniel. He explains about his iron loyalty to Kreese born from war and guilt, swears to Daniel he regrets hurting him for Kreese, and vows that he wants to change and make it up to Daniel. Daniel hears him out, and he forgives him because that’s what Miyagi taught him; but he tells Silver he doesn’t want to see him again. But when Silver uses his money and connections to help Miyagi’s Little Trees business grow, Daniel begins to be won over.

Johnny enters the picture when the company he works for is contracted by Silver to give Miyagi’s Little Trees a facelift. Business is booming, and Daniel is visited almost every day by Silver. Many times, Silver takes him out for lunch and brings him back in high spirits, and some days Daniel returns with bags or boxes of things Silver bought for him.

Johnny observes this while he works, and he quickly understands what Daniel is too oblivious to see: Silver wants Daniel, and is virtually his sugar daddy.

[capriciouswriter207]

Chapter 22: Familiarity

Sausage gets to have a conversation with Pixlriffs. He gets a bad feeling.

[hammondpubliclibrary]

[infallible-dreamers]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Michael Guerin, Alex Manes, Liz Ortecho, Max Evans, Forrest Long, Maria DeLuca, Dallas Haines, Kyle Valenti Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, ITSAY au, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers Summary:

Michael had learnt a long time ago if things didn’t concern him, he needed to stay out of it. And even if it did, he probably should still stay out of it because he’d likely make things worse.

So Michael didn't know why Alex coming back made him unable to stay away.

Explores the relationship between Michael and Alex as they relearn their deep connection and come into terms with themselves, their friendship and their complicated and unstable feelings for each other.

An AU based on I told sunset about you.

[wisedreamerreview]

Head Games Blogophilia fiction Write, chapter twenty three

As I watched the area above me open wider I watched as more of the constellations slowly began to morph into living things. Apus, the bird of paradise, Aquila an eagle, Aries the ram, each one by one shifted from stars to living beings stretching and turning.  Cancer the crab, Canes Venatici the hunting dog along with Canis Major and minor the greater and lesser dog. What…had I awakened with one…

[blueboyluca]

“When I first heard it, from a dog trainer who knew her behavioral science, it was a stunning moment. I remember where I was standing, what block of Brooklyn’s streets. It was like holding a piece of polished obsidian in the hand, feeling its weight and irreducibility. And its fathomless blackness. Punishment is reinforcing to the punisher. Of course. It fit the science, and it also fit the hidden memories stored in a deeply buried, rusty lockbox inside me. The people who walked down the street arbitrarily compressing their dogs’ tracheas, to which the poor beasts could only submit in uncomprehending misery; the parents who slapped their crying toddlers for the crime of being tired or hungry: These were not aberrantly malevolent villains. They were not doing what they did because they thought it was right, or even because it worked very well. They were simply caught in the same feedback loop in which all behavior is made. Their spasms of delivering small torments relieved their frustration and gave the impression of momentum toward a solution. Most potently, it immediately stopped the behavior. No matter that the effect probably won’t last: the reinforcer—the silence or the cessation of the annoyance—was exquisitely timed. Now. Boy does that feel good.”

— Melissa Holbrook Pierson, The Secret History of Kindness (2015)

[terpernoctem]

the stars align (and they all collide)

[ilyberrymuch]

you can also put in the tags how old you were, again im nosy lol

[saintforan]

I think this lil guy reminds him of someone

ignore how messy it is, its like 5 am here n i needed 2 get this out of my system

[piratespencil]

This is so funny to me. Reducing them down to their simplest attributes. Turning them into symbols.