#bigger buffer better...what a string of words

[justalarryblog]

🧒👦 evergreen, evermore by @hershelsue​ / docklands (2k) | General Audiences

The year is 1979. Their entire lives, Harry and Louis have lived in Chichester, home to the best watermelons in the world. An unruffled life in the country has always served their long term friendship well. It all shifts when Harry has to move away to a bigger city due to his mother’s job, albeit his love for his hometown and for Louis. It’s even harsher when the moving truck leaves on his birthday, of all days. When all seems lost, Louis ends up having to pull some strings to ease the pain in Harry’s heart.

🧒👦 Let Me Make It Better by @lululawrence (4K) | Not Rated

Dan’s house was large and spacious, but there were still only five bedrooms for a family of, what would soon be, nine. The division seemed quite simple, in Louis’ mind. Mom and Dan would obviously get the master suite, Lottie and Fizzy would share the largest room with Phoebe and Daisy getting the next largest, the newest twins would get the smaller room that was closest to the master suite, and Louis would take the smallest room right beside the bathroom since he didn’t have to share.

Lottie and Fizzy vehemently disagreed.

Or the one where Louis was seven years old when he moved in next door to Harry, but now that they’re in their senior year of college, everything is starting to change.

🧒👦Not Another Lonely Christmas by @haztobegood (8k) | Explicit

Harry should be more nervous that he’s bringing a literal stranger to meet his extended family, but he figures it can’t be much more awkward than Aunt Sharon’s Christmas parties usually are. Instead, he’s looking forward to having an extra person to buffer the conversation.

A knock comes one minute after eleven. He lets out the breath and opens the door. “Hi there— Louis?!”

Or, the one where the friend Niall sets up as Harry’s fake boyfriend turns out to be Gemma’s best friend Louis

🧒👦An Irrationally Strong Bond Between Two People by @jishler (17k) | Explicit

Before The Advancement, most human lives and careers were plagued by irrationality and a lack of productivity. This was largely the symptom of what scientists refer to as “interpersonal passion,” which included two separate (though often conjointly occurring) phenomena: “love,” and “sex.” “Love” was a pre-Advancement word which referred to an irrationally strong bond between two people, which caused its sufferers to prioritise their fellow “lover,” as well as the integrity of the malignant bond itself, over vital things such as workplace productivity. Taken every two weeks in pill form, The Drug immediately removes interpersonal passion from the human psyche. Children’s friendships do not have the capacity to develop into full-fledged “love” since they are not yet adults. Every person over eighteen takes The Drug gladly, grateful that it allows them to be productive, clear-headed, and rational members of society.

A few weeks before Louis’ eighteenth birthday, Harry and Louis fall in love.

(Based on the book Louis writes in indiaalphawhiskey’s Our Lives, Non-Fiction.)

🧒👦 ain’t going backwards, won’t ask for space. orphan_account (17k) | Not Rated

They’ve been best friends for eight years, but have never acted on the sexual tension that’s existed between them. And when they do, it’s completely impossible to stop the feelings that arise from denying themselves of what was always meant to be.

or the one where two idiots fall in love after years of being just best friends.

Title from Nick Jonas’ Close

Other songs that inspired this work:

Justin Timberlake Can’t Stop The Feeling

Zara Larson Never Forget You

The Chainsmokers Don’t Let Me Down

🧒👦 Come My Love Again by @softfonds (110k) | Explicit

Harry Styles is handsome, clever, and rich. At least that’s what his friends say of him. He also thinks of himself as a matchmaker in Highbury, pairing people together when he finds the time. But when the arrival of a certain gentleman flips Harry’s world on its head, he starts to question everything that was once all too familiar to him, including his relationship with his good friend, Mr. Tomlinson. An Emma AU.

🧒👦 Who Will Love You? by @panda_bear21 (142k) | Mature

Harry was abandoned as a child, but soon after was taken in by his favorite school teacher, Niall Horan. Every year they visit Niall’s childhood friends Liam Payne and Zayn Malik who are happily married and the nicest people Harry’s ever met.

But he doesn’t believe he deserves any of their kindness.

What happens when Zayn and Liam adopt a child that will end up changing Harry’s life? Will it be enough to make him understand that he’s allowed to be happy?

Inspired by the song: Skinny Love by Birdy

🧒👦Own the Scars by @crinkle-eyed-boo (KimmieRocks) (144k) | Explicit

“But I don’t belong here,” Louis insists.

“Why do you say that?” James asks.

“These people are all drug addicts and alcoholics,” Louis shrugs.

Something sparks in James’ eyes.

“And you’re not?”

Louis has never felt like he was good enough: for his stepdad, for his life-long best friend, for the life he’s supposed to want. After an accident that nearly costs him his life, Louis’ parents send him to rehab where he’s forced to face his demons. On the long and difficult road to recovery, Louis must confront the truths he’s been avoiding about his future, his relationships, and his sense of self-worth. Because before he can love anyone else, he’s got to learn how to love himself first.

Part 1 of Own the Scars

✨You can also check my fic tags for more fics! ✨

[gins-potter]

everything will be alright (with you by my side)

@halzekrhodestead​ sent me these requests literally a million years ago and i’m just now getting around to filling them.  sorry about the wait and i hope you enjoy it! yes i know will didn’t do emergency medicine in nyc i just decided to retcon that

Will’s skin practically crawls at the sound of the elegant string music floating out of the ballroom at the top of the stairs.  The music is nice enough he supposes, but Will’s never been able to hear violins and not be reminded of the vibrant, boisterous music his mother had filled their home with when he was a child.  But maybe it’s not the music at all that sets his teeth on edge, but rather the people lining up to enter the gala, who shed their coats to reveal expensive tuxedos and glamorous dresses.  Maybe it’s the glasses of champagne they accept as they step inside, the liquid surely the rarest of vintages and served in undoubtedly crystal flutes.

Beside them, in the tux he’s had since med school, and the tie Connor gave him before they even started dating, Will feels more than a little lackluster.

But, he rationalises to himself, he never did understand the point of hosting a charity event if you were going to blow tens of thousands of dollars just throwing the damn thing.  But he knows the cause is important to his boyfriend, so in a surprisingly un-Will-like fashion, he resists the urge to make a comment about it, and instead pastes a pleasant smile on his face.  Because after all, he’s not here to make waves; he’s here to be a buffer with a pretty face and make the night as painless as possible.

At least that’s the way Will remembers Connor phrasing it.

Speaking of, beside him Connor takes a deep, shuddering breath as they reach the top of the stairs and the wide double door entrance looms ahead.  Pausing at the threshold, Connor slips his hand into Will’s and squeezes gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tracing the back of Will’s hand with his thumb.  “Thanks for being here?”

Will feels his lips twitch up into a genuine smile despite his surroundings, and says, “Yeah well, you promised you’d do that thing with your tongue that I like if I came, so…”

The words surprise a laugh out of Connor, and he shoots Will a grateful look, before squaring his shoulders, as if emboldened by the exchange and leading his boyfriend inside.  Will sighs a little and accepts a glass of champagne, figuring he’s going to need it.

Into the lion’s den they go.

.

The night starts off well enough, all things considered.

Having been away from the whole scene for so long, Connor is almost immediately swarmed by artificially eager socialites who want all the details on what he’s been up to in recent years.  Will watches his boyfriend’s face and knows him well enough to know when he needs to step in and gently shift the subject matter, or when Connor genuinely likes the other person and he can sip his exorbitantly priced champagne and let the conversation wash over him.

His southside accent sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other guest's polished speech but Will plays it to his favour, working the ‘blue-collar boy who put himself through med school’ angle that they lap up like some of their expensive wine.  His father would spit if could see him, and Will hates himself a little bit for doing it, their condescending smiles stoking the embers of that anger.  But all it takes is to see the gratefulness in Connor’s eyes to know it’s worth it, and he stamps out those embers enough that they don’t become a raging inferno.  Besides, by the pressure of a hand on his lower back, Will can tell that Connor knows exactly what he’s doing and will make it well worth his time when they’re back in their apartment.

They even survive the, thankfully brief, exchange with Connor’s father, it being the first time they’ve met in the year that Will and Connor have been together.  It’s polite, and it’s pleasant, and they smile for the benefit of the other guests milling around, but Will doesn’t miss the disapproving glint that enters Cornelius Rhodes’s eyes when Connor introduces him as his boyfriend.  And it doesn’t go unnoticed by him either that Connor introduces him as ‘Will’, but Cornelius manages to call him ‘William’ - something even his own father never calls him - a grand total of six times in the space of their three minute conversation.  

It makes Will wonder which is a bigger affront to Cornelius: that his son is dating a man, or that he’s dating someone who doesn’t come with a trust fund.

But despite it all they manage to survive the few minutes that the encounter lasts for until Cornelius gets pulled away by another guest and they can escape to the other side of the ballroom.  It would have been ideal to avoid him completely, but as a main benefactor of the gala, Cornelius was well and truly in the spotlight, and people would surely talk if the two Rhodes men ignored each other all evening.  That was certainly the reason, Connor mutters to Will as they hightail it out of there, that Cornelius had sought them out; it simply would not do for the Rhodes’ to be talked about for anything other than their roaring financial success.

But all in all the evening is going well.  Connor works the crowd with Will at his side, charming smile firmly in place as he convinces many of the other guests to sign over large swathes of money to the National Alliance on Mental Illness.  Connor chats to friends of his late mother, runs into old classmates from high school, and even gets dragged onto the dance floor by his sister.  And despite his father’s looming presence, Will can tell his boyfriend is actually starting to enjoy himself.

Which is why he feels comfortable enough to leave Connor in the hands of his sister and escape into a hallway off the ballroom when he overhears a young socialite complain to her friend about the darling little yacht her father refuses to buy her.

What’s a mere three million dollars after all?

He just needs to take a breath away from the music and the lights and the people.  But he’s not there for more than a few minutes, when a figure appears at the other end of the hallway, striding towards him.

“Mr Rhodes,” Will says, once he recognises him in the dim lighting.  He straightens, and pushes off the wall, a bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

“William Halstead,” Cornelius says slowly, a dangerous smile on his face.  Something about the way he says Will’s name has the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and his suspicions are confirmed when Cornelius doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.  “William Halstead.  Born to Pat and Shannon Halstead, a construction worker and kindergarten teacher from Canaryville.  One brother named Jay who was first an Army Ranger and is now a detective with the Chicago Police Department.  You went to college out of state, was involved in aid work in Sudan, before studying emergency medicine in New York.  You came back to Chicago on a whim to visit your brother, were briefly accused of murder before later being cleared, and decided to move back permanently when you were offered a position at the Gaffney Chicago Medical Center.”

The champagne flute in Will’s hand groans under his tightening grip, but he manages a guarded smile as he says, “I see you’ve looked me up.”

“Oh, I’ve done more than look you up,” Cornelius says ominously.  “Which is why I know that despite your best efforts you were unable to secure a scholarship, and the two jobs you worked through medical school barely dented your student loans.  So, let’s cut to the chase, William, how much will it take?”

Will blinks, and then laughs uncomfortably, unable, or perhaps unwilling to understand what Cornelius is trying to imply.  “I’m sorry, how much will what take?”

Cornelius exhales sharply, as if perturbed by having to explain himself.  “How much money will it take to get you to walk away from my son and never look back?”

The words cut like a blade through Will’s chest and his next breath comes out strangled and ragged.  “I don’t-”

Cornelius spreads his hands, cutting Will off with ease.  “Look, I’m a reasonable man.  And I can be very generous when I want to be.  Those loans of yours could be taken care of with a single phone call.”

Will seethes at the arrogance of the man before him, and at both the idea of someone being able to clear eight years worth of accumulated debts with half a thought, and at the implication that there was a sum of money large enough to get Will to walk away from Connor.

When he doesn’t answer, Cornelius continues.  “I know about you, William, I know your background, and I know that you and my son come from two very different worlds.  And I know that when I pass on and my son inherits the empire two generations of Rhodes’ men have built, he’ll do so with someone of the correct social standing by his side.  Someone,” he adds, eyeing Will with open disgust.  “Who is able to provide a natural continuation of the Rhodes’ line.”

“So,” Will says, realising that he being a man and a poor kid from Canaryville are equal sins in Cornelius’ eyes.  “It doesn’t matter to you that your son might be miserable as long as he marries someone you deem socially acceptable?”

Cornelius shrugs carelessly.  “I’m sure Connor will be upset for a while, he always was a…. sensitive child.”  His lips pull back, more a bearing of his teeth than a true smile.  “But I’m also sure that he’ll get over it eventually, and come to realise that I’m right.  Hell, he might even thank me for it one day.”

Will wants to tell him that there’s a better chance of hell freezing over than of that happening, but Cornelius has already continued talking.

“So, all that’s left to be settled is the price.  Name it and it’s yours.”

Here, Will has to laugh.  And not just an awkward or polite chuckle, but a real laugh, the first he’s uttered all night.  He laughs, and laughs harder, when Cornelius’s expression becomes pinched.

“Oh, you really thought that because I was still standing here and listening, you were actually going to be able to pay me off?”

Cornelius tries to smile again, but it’s lacking it’s earlier swagger.  “‘Pay off’ is such an ugly term, isn’t it?  I prefer to think of this as a business deal.  One that you would be very stupid to turn down.  So be reasonable, William.”

But Will shrugs, grinning effortlessly.  “No one has ever accused me of being all that smart.  And reasonable?  Me being reasonable is walking away from you right now instead of introducing you to the Canaryville version of a no.”

Will idly cracks the knuckles of his right hand, and feels a dark satisfaction when Cornelius’s gaze drops to the hand still hanging by his side.  But he doesn’t curl that hand into a fist, doesn’t let himself draw back his elbow and let the punch fly, no matter how good it might feel in the moment.  No, instead he just shoves both hands into his suit pockets, shoots Cornelius one more careless grin, and starts to stroll back down the hallway.

“You’re going to regret this, William.”

He almost turns back, but decides it’s not worth it.  Besides, he really doesn’t think he is.

.

Connor is blessedly alone when Will steps back into the ballroom.  He hands his glass, still half full, to a passing server with a nod of thanks and beelines for his boyfriend, slipping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his temple when he gets there.

“Hey,” Connor says, leaning into him.  “Where did you go?”

“Just out for a breather.”  He pauses, then says, “Ran into your father, had an interesting conversation.”

Connor’s eyes darken and he starts to pull away.  “What did he say?”

Will huffs a breath of a laugh and tightens his grip, preventing him from leaving.  “Nothing.  Well, nothing important anyway,” he allows when Connor clearly doesn’t buy it.

He’ll tell him eventually, it’s not the kind of thing he can keep from Connor.  But later, when they’re in the privacy of their home, and there’s no chance of Connor ruining a charity gala named in his mother’s honour by punching his father in front of a couple hundred people.

“Will-”

He drops his head and nuzzles the side of Connor’s face for the briefest of moments.  “Later,” he murmurs, before pressing another feather light kiss to his skin and drawing away again.

Connor doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t try to pull away again, which is answer enough.  

Will grins, his teeth flashing.  “Dance with me?”

Connor seems surprised but nods and takes his hand, leading him out amongst the other swaying couples.  Will is sure Cornelius is out there somewhere, watching them and seething at the sight but in that moment he doesn’t care.  All that matters is Connor’s arm around his waist and his head on his shoulder, and the love they both feel for each other burning bright in their chests.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Words: ~550

Summary: His family’s not present, the third time he runs away. They never see the creature he becomes.

Early corruption AU.

As a general note, this is likely to be the last chapter I post for a while, since I am preparing to move and start a full-time job very soon, and will be very busy with those life changes. I still have four chapters ahead of this complete as buffer, but don't want to dip into that until I make new progress on chapter 17 and above. Thank you for understanding.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. Thank you! <3

____

All this is her fault.

Surely it is.

Back on the evening of the picnic, he seemed fine. Confident, bold, almost floating across the sands in happiness. Through later investigation she determined this likely wasn’t the case— various family and friends who had spent considerable time with him more recently than her all report that he’d appeared overextended and tense— but that almost makes what she did to him worse.

Because if he’s lived under this fracturing jovial mask for all these months, then her rejection must have been the final straw that shattered it. And if she had made a better effort to understand the fragility of his emotional state, if she had simply known, then—

“Kahanni, love... you can’t keep blaming yourself for this,” her mother says, gently carding her fingers through the messy tangles in her hair as she sobs into her chest on the couch. “You said what you had to.”

“And you had no way of knowing how he’d respond,” her dad chimes in from behind her, his palm resting upon her shoulder in support.

Which is the whole problem. She wasn’t there for him. She let all the chaos of school wrap her up until she barely had time to nurture their friendship at all. Years ago, they promised they’d be Jam Buds for life, that they’d never abandon each other, and yet— after all her childish fears that she’d be the one left behind— ultimately, it was her that cut the strings. Back at the roller rink, h-he... he genuinely thought they were drifting apart. That she’d replaced him. That she didn’t want to spend time with him anymore. What kind of terrible friend leads someone to think that!? She could have texted him more often, instead of waiting too long to respond and then anxiously leaving messages on read. She could have attempted to fit in visits between her busy schedule. She could have made an effort.

But instead she failed him. That night on the beach, she reached deep into his soul and tore out the piece of her heart she’d entrusted in his care so long ago. She destroyed him. After all, literally none of his problems boiled over until she ignited that first matchstick in his presence, until she said no to his proposal. If that date hadn’t soured, surely he wouldn’t have run away?

If she had simply been gentler with her rejection, had stayed to talk further with him instead of immediately escaping back to the comforting predictability of her studies, surely then he’d—

“We know how much you care about him,” Dad says, softly squeezing her hand. “But one of the hardest lessons there is to learn about life, and... and love... is that you’re not solely responsible for other people’s actions.”

Her mom hums in affirmation. “Steven’s going through... a lot, right now. Trust me, his struggles are far bigger than just one picnic. But his hurts... honey, they shouldn’t have to be yours to bear.”

Connie captures thick fistfuls of her mother’s jacket in her grasp as she lets out another hiccuping sob.

“I-I just miss him so much,” she manages between sharp breaths, voice painfully strained and hoarse.

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

If it bites, curses, claws, and hisses, It’s very unwise to ask it for wishes.

Hey @r-rowancore remember that uwu fic I threw out but said I would rewrite? It may be a lot different than how I originally had it, but here it is:

There was only so much that Inkwell could do to help. Likewise, there was only so much that he wanted to do to help.

When Thomas went to him asking for his humanity back, the demon declined, stating that it was impossible for him to turn a being of ink into a being of flesh again. When he went to him asking if he could look human again, the demon again declined, stating that he didn’t have access to any pictures of how the mechanic had looked before his death, nor could he find his body, thus, he had no proper reference and could end up making him something that he was not.

And he gave a similar excuse when Tom asked for his voice back.

It smelled of bullshit if you asked him, with the demon’s exaggerated body language, annoying amount buffer words, refusal to look the wolf man in the eye while he spoke, he knew that he was lying through those daggers that he called his teeth.

He could make them human again, or at least make them look human enough again, Henry Stein was living proof of that. The Ink Demon just insisted on redrawing them as cartoons because misery loves company.

Instead of doing something like making him feel comfortable in his ink skin, the demon simply ‘updated’ his character sheet. He looked more like a wolf than a dog now, he was bigger in both size and stature, and his fur was starting to gray, especially around the muzzle.

Don’t get him wrong, he liked not having to look at Boris every time he looked in a mirror, but he hated everything about this and honestly, it was only a matter of time before he’d grow desperate enough to try to do something that even he thought was completely stupid:

Summoning a demon, a different demon from the ones he knew, one who would hopefully, help him out.

Thomas gathered the correct items for the ritual; four candles, one mask, some thick ink, and a place to call ...it. He didn’t know what would come from out of this, but if Buddy and Boris of all people could summon this thing enough times to dedicate a bathroom to doing it, then whoever or whatever he was going to call must’ve been safe enough for him to summon.

He had everything set up just the way he saw the alter in Buddy’s safe house bathroom; lit the candles, placed down the mask, and waited.

...

...This couldn’t be it, could it?

It couldn’t just be some weird decoration in a closed-off bathroom, like it or not, magic was real and so were demons! Something was supposed to happen! Did he screw it up? Lit the candles in the wrong order? Did he not do it at the right time? What was it?!

Oh right, he wasn’t in the studio anymore.

He wasn’t in a “whimsical” cartoon world made entirely by the machine and its ink, the ritual dedicated to whatever Buddy summoned might’ve worked back in the studio, but just like how a normal human being couldn’t take down a living park ride with soup cans, the alter where it was had been just as effective as spraying silly string in the shape of a star on the ground.

The cursed wolf let out an annoyed huff and started to slunk out of the basement, he would be cussing up a storm if he could, but he didn’t have a voice.

CRASH!

As he was halfway up the stairs, he heard a loud noise coming from the failed ritual. He turned around and saw something large flailing on the floor.

He cautiously descended back down and realized that he had indeed fucked up; the entity he had summoned had a humanoid upper half, the lower half of a fish, and more importantly was struggling to breathe.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

The cursed mechanic tried to carry the deep sea demon bridal style as the slippery creature flailed harder and started to claw at him and bite him. No wonder the alter was set up in the bathroom, this thing needed water!

“Gad fi fynd!” Between futile gasps for breath, the creature shouted at him in a voice that he could swear was like someone taking a bunch of instruments and trying to use them to mimic human speech. “Dydw i ddim yn mynd i fod yn rhan o'ch cynlluniau, llaw dde Joey Drew!”

Tom didn’t understand a word out of the creature’s mouth aside from the name he said, nor did he think of that at this time. Desperate to keep the angry sea demon alive, when it has struggled free from his grasp, Tom seized the being by his tail and started dragging him up the stairs that way. He considered pulling him up by the hair at first but that only made his mouth closer to his hands.

The merman continued to thrash against his captor, now hissing at him like a snake and barring a mouth full of long, sharp teeth that the creature had too many of for comfort, especially now that they were stained with Tom’s ink.

But the wolf wasn’t impressed by the demon’s attempt at intimidation, he could hiss and claw all he wanted but he was not dealing with Inkwell’s refusal to help him, or having to explain to Henry why there was a dead demonic fish on the floor!

After the longest one and a half minutes of both of their lives, the fish demon was unceremoniously dumped into the bathtub, and the water was turned on. In spite of the awkward positioning, the demon squeezed himself into the end of the tub with the facet, it was an uncomfortable position, but the running water over his gills relaxed him a bit.

Both parties let out a sigh of relief as the demon waited for the tub to fill up and Tom went back into the basement to fetch a notepad, a pencil, and an english-to-welsh dictionary.

---

The latter of the three items became the hardest one to find, and by the time he did and got back to his ‘guest’ the sea demon looked like he was both anxious and bored out of his mind, his long hair pooling in the tub like a cloud and his claws still tapping away on the side of the bathtub. He was not happy to see him again per se, but at least he didn’t look like he was going to bite him again.

Helo. Tom flipped through the dictionary, found the words he was looking for, wrote them down and showed the creature. Allwch chi ddeall hyn?

The demon rolled his eyes and spoke in that voice made of instruments again, not sounding like a human being in the slightest, but it was easy for him to make out the creature’s words, almost like he listening to a song with the lyrics replaced by another instrument. Tom could already see Wally making a joke about ‘how he heard of people with musical accents before, but this one takes the cake!’.

“I can understand and speak English fluently, Thomas Conner.” He stated coldly. “There’s no need to patronize me or waste both of our time with that book.”

How do you know my name? He wrote down, And how did you know Joey?

The sea demon paused for a bit, seeming as if he was trying to predict the wolf’s reaction to his answer before saying it out loud.

“The two of you are very... infamous down there...” He folded his arms behind his back and tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “For more reasons than you think.”

Why did Buddy summon you?

The demon frowned at the question. “Who’s ‘Buddy’?” He then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, the reasons why my former summoners have called me are not to be freely discussed with other people. And before you ask how he knew to summon me, he learned from his own story.”

Tom tore out the question he had and wrote a new one:

What is your name?

“Forgive me, but I am not interested in any more small talk, and I doubt you summoned me just for the sake of friendly conversation. You called me here to help you with something, haven’t you?”

Tom huffed and reluctantly nodded. Yes; Can you make me human again?

“Can I remake you from ink and magic into a being of flesh and bone?” He tapped on his fangs and smiled in a way that made the mechanic wolf’s hackles rise. “Eventually, but yes.”

His ears perked up instantly, hastily, he started scribbling down his (hopefully) final question.

Well, what are you waiting for?!

“Materials, tools, and payment.” The demon shifted in the tub to make himself more comfortable, folding his arms behind his head as if he was reclining in a hammock, his hair fanning out behind him. “As you can see, I’m not exactly in the position to fetch the former two, and you should know that nothing comes without the latter.”

What do you need?

“Just your standard sculpting tools, some time to work on the thing, your cooperation as working with living canvases other than myself can be difficult, and...” The sea demon’s chilling toothy smile resurfaced. “...Meat.”

Tom hesitated, it took him a while to get the single word onto paper.

Meat?

“Not just any meat. Raw meat, meat that’s so freshly killed that the blood’s still warm. The amount can be debated if you were unsatisfied with your human body’s height and or its weight.” He waved off before smiling again. “And unless you want to become a sentient beast, it had better be human meat. You know the old saying, right? ‘You are what you eat’? Well, it can be rather literal.”

He looked like he was biting back laughter at Tom’s horrified expression.

“Don’t give me that look, fy pup blaidd, your hands are already stained with the blood of others, it makes no difference to the eyes of heaven and hell if you start staining your teeth as well.”

NO!

“No?” The mechanic was almost infuriated by how genuinely confused the demon sounded, as if he was surprised that he’d be disgusted by suggesting cannibalism, but luckily for him, he merely shrugged off Tom’s refusal. “Suit yourself then.”

He was just about to leave the bathroom before the siren spoke again.

“But it would be such a shame if there wasn’t anything at all I could help you out with, I hate it when my time is wasted. Tell me, would you like to speak again?”

He froze there, and looked back with an eyebrow raised.

“I see that got your attention.” The merman smugly remarked. “And as it’s a much smaller job than say, completely rebuilding you as a different being altogether, it will not only be a faster job but also cost you a lot less. Why, I won’t even need any materials or tools other than your cooperation!”

I’m interested...

“Good! Now, all you need to do is come closer.”

He approached the bathtub.

“Closer... Yes, just kneel down so we’re directly face to face...” The siren crooned while looking as welcoming as an empty grave. “...This will only hurt like Hell for a little bit.”

Tom instantly regretted his action, the siren lunged at him, his arms wrapping around him and holding his own down. With his teeth and tongue, the sea demon pried the wolf’s mouth open and purged a fluid that felt like boiling oil down his throat.

With newfound vigor forged from the sheer disgust of the situation, he pried the creature off of him and flung him at the bathroom wall, coughing and sputtering out the vile fluid before confronting the sea beast who crawled back into the bathtub.

“WHAWT THE FUCK IWS YOUW PWOBWEM?”

He slapped his hands over his snout in sheer shock and embarrassment.

“...Pardon?” The sea monster was very obviously trying very hard not to laugh, and failing. “I didn’t quite get that, Tommy~.”

Tom’s cheeks were flushed gray, his fists were clenched and steam was coming out of his ears, he didn’t want to speak ever again! His new voice sounded nothing like his old one! It sounded more like a kid’s voice if the kid inhaled helium! And don’t get him started on the new speech pattern he was cursed with. He’d use the notebook, but sadly, it looked like it was destroyed by water in the struggle.

“Why did uwu duwu thiws tuwu me uwu bastawd?”

“This was unintentional, truly. But this is so much better than what I had planned!” The demon ignored the wolf’s growling as he pinched his cheek. “Awen't uwu juwst the cutest wittwe whewp!”

“Knock iwt off, uwu sea whowe!” He swatted the hand off of his face. “I wawnt my voice tuwu be nowmaw!”

“Well, we don’t always get what we want now, do we?”

“But, but uwu pwomised uwu'd get me my voice bawck!”

“Now that’s just a bold-faced lie. I said I’d help you speak again, I never once said that I’d give you your old voice.”

“Okay, wisten hewe.” He reached into the bathtub and grabbed a hold of the tub stopper. “If uwu change my voice bawck, i... I'ww give uwu whatevew uwu wawnt. But if uwu down't, i'ww puww the pwug wight hewe awnd now!”

“Do it, coward.” The demon looked the wolf dead in the eyes. “I dare you.”

He didn’t even react when Tom yanked the stopper out and put it in the sink, well out of the siren’s reach.

“At least now you’re a man of your word.” The merman sighed as the water slowly drained from the tub. “Better late than never I suppose.”

He laid down in the still draining tub. At first, Tom thought this was an attempt to keep his gills wet for just a little bit longer, but then he saw the water turn black as it went down the drain and the musician said his last words to the wolf, not in a voice made out of instruments, but his own, human voice.

“See you again soon, Conner.”

“SAMMY WAWWENCE?!”

He called out in shock as he frantically reached into the now quickly draining tub. But no matter how desperately he dug his claws in there, he found nothing but water.

The remaining liquid went down the drain, leaving nothing but a few clear puddles on the tub’s floor and the now-verbal wolf alone with his thoughts.

“Oh my fucking god... Whawt am i going tuwu teww Awwison awnd Henwy?!”

[glympsis]

Honey was flushed.

She had been in this banquet hall many many times before, during the quarterly report to the queen, where captains, thieves, spies, and whole crews reported their spoils thus far in the year. Queen Elia wasn't particularly picky, if you had a priceless gem you wanted for yourself, she was more than willing it take its weight in gold and let you keep it. Honey had seen many a captain report that they wanted the largest jewel for themselves or their lover at the time, and then report that they'd doubled down on the Queen's "gift" to compensate. Queen Elia would nod, or sometimes pout, but she was always fair, as long as you didn't lie.

That was a mistake that many tried, but few repeated. The Queen's concubine, a taller man with lanky arms and quick, knowing eyes, would lean from behind the throne and grace the Queen's ear with his breath, and what you had been holding back the queen knew then, instantly.

They said that he was some sort of spy master, and many paranoid captains believed that he had an ear in their crew, but no one could ever prove it. Honey didn't know what she believed, just that she didn't like the way his eyes moved, like he was paying attention to conversations and signals that no one else could hear.

She didn't trust it.

The queen however was.... different. She moved like a person who not only had riches, but deserved them. She seemed to have no qualms about loaning out the Riches of the Silver Shores to its crews, as long as they came back with a bigger prize, or whatever you had borrowed back again. It made the Riches seemed shared between its captains, and it made Queen Elia their patron saint, keeping their gold safe and secure and letting them live within the walls and dock without fear of searches or legal retribution. There was no pretense as long as you declared your cargo, paid your crew, and paid the queen her due.

Honey had lived her whole life in this city, and she knew that they talked of the queen as though she were a benevolent force, a young upstart with shining eyes who's luck never ran out, who had never fallen on hard times or let her crews fall either. She had been known to sail to other countries to pay off bails and sign release papers for captains unlucky enough to be caught by the guards and navy of other kingdoms, and some said she'd even returned some treasure in order to get her people back alive. They all said she was a young queen, but Honey remembered times when the half smile had straightened, and the look of disappointment seemed hundreds of years old.

Honestly, Honey knew you could never truly tell with elves. The purple skinned queen smiled and joked like any young pirate, but Honey had seen the Crimson, the legendary ship of the Silver Crown, seen its black wooden mast and its deep red sails, seen it float from the mist like a live, flying thing, back from Fortuna. She had felt the fear of the Captains around her when they had all seen the Queen, hanging from the rigging with one hand, her fingers moving and the fog clearing as if by magic.

Honey's face heated at the memory, her cheeks turning a faint pink as she ducked her face, focusing instead on the beer in front of her, the same brand she'd been drinking since ten years old, that she'd be drinking every day if the queen provided it. Elia always seemed to care for each captain and crew immensely, knowing the captains by name and their crew at least by faces. She always hosted a feast for the crews who had been away from home for a length, giving them a suite near the castle and proper food, wine, and concubines, soothing the beasts who had been caged at sea.

Honey had always wanted a feast like that, wanted to be seen by the Queen and told she had done well as any other pirate, but now that the time had come, all she wanted was to sink into the floor and never be seen again. The dress she had gotten was the prettiest she'd even owned, and she had gotten it for the Queen to see, but the thought of those emerald eyes looking at her, no distractions, no people around to buffer, made the rogue want to slip under the table, into the shadows, and turn invisible.

Usually, Honey was smooth. She could talk or fight or sneak her way out of anything, but the Queen was a better thief, because she robbed her of that ability.

She never felt as human as she did when the Queen was around.

Luckily, she didn't see her often. When she and Slee came to pay their dues, it was a fifty fifty chance that it would just be the concubine that met them in the treasury, who looked them over and asked the questions, who seemed to know too much. It was easier when she was with Slee, when she could default to being the cool and strong and silent, and could watch for the Queen without judgement.

Now though, with Lagra and Khiva and the goblins, she was the only member of their group from the Silver Shores. She was the representative that had to report to the Queen if anything went wrong. She also had to give her percentage, and report any magical items to the concubine. She knew he was a decent warlock at least. Or perhaps simply good in bed. Either way, Honey figured the Queen had to have SOME reason to keep him around.

Giving a sigh, the rogue smoothed her hands over her dress, glanced around, and quickly decided that this was a situation that she was going to get through only if she was completely sloshed. She was finishing her third mug when a voice spoke beside her.

"I need a double shot of rum."

The seat beside her wasn't empty anymore, and Honey turned to tell the person to move away, only to find herself staring instead. Her deep purple hair was cut just below her chin, and she wore a starched white loose shirt that tied all the way up, left open at the top to reveal a large golden coin on a string that rested just beneath her collarbone. Her shirt was tucked smartly into pinstriped trousers, and those into clean black boots that laced up to mid calf. Her sleeves were loose from the shoulders to the elbows, and two simple golden bangles tinkled on her left wrist. Honey's gaze roamed from the coin, to the outfit, back up to the hair, and caught in the gemstone green eyes of the Queen, and suddenly she was choking, unable to breathe around the beer she had decided to let into her windpipe.

The Queen, for her part, looked more concerned with ordering the double, and had already shot it back before Honey remembered how to breathe.

"So, do you have a name?" The queen asked, licking her lips and turning to her.

Honey was finding it increasingly hard to breathe, like she was choking all over again.

"No." She said immediately. "...Yes. P-probably?"

The Queen, tilting her head, just looked curious.

"I've seen you before, hmm?" She asked, reaching and picking up a few grapes and popping them into her mouth. Honey forgot how to swallow.

"I- uh- y-yeah- I-"

Queen Elia smiled, and Honey shut her mouth. Suddenly, the room around them was much louder, and the Queen's gaze slid away into middle distance, her head tilting like she was listening for something.

"Crap." She said, underneath her breath, and Honey froze as the Queen's gaze focused on her again. "You got two more of those?"

Honey slid two more double shots of rum across the table, watched the Queen down them like they were mere cups of water, and then stand.

"Nice dress, by the way."

Honey immediately went red from chin to forehead, though the queen moved away before she saw. The wood of the table was suddenly much more interesting to the rogue, and she didn't even notice Lagra beside her until the large orc woman placed a hand on her shoulder

"Don't worry, we've all been there." Her words just made Honey's face burn brighter, and she didn't even have to turn her head to know the concubine was there. She could feel his smugness through the air the way she was sure they could feel the heat from her face in Fortuna.

"Smooth." He said, and Honey could do nothing more than reach her hand out, and press it gently against his face, pushing him slowly from his stool and onto the ground. She was robbed of her comfort by his laughing eyes and knowing grin, and thanked the Storm Father that her two companions left a moment later to take part in the royal ceremony welcoming the Lords of the Sunset Isles.

Sitting alone, Honey allowed herself a quick, private smile. The Queen had liked her dress! The Queen had smiled at her! The Queen had talked to her!

Holding her hands against her cheeks, Honey shifted down in her seat, grinning like a fool.

The Queen had recognized her!

[kylewilmont]

Throwback Thursday

Prologue My name is Kyle Wilmont.  The Chaplain said I oughta write shit down to get it out of my head  - says it’ll make me less angry all the time.  It ain’t workin’.  Every damn time I sit down either I can’t figure out how to get it out onto paper or my breaks are ended ‘cause we got more stinkin’ undead at the gates.  Them first five words was the only words on this parchment for weeks until today. I gotta admit, I feel sorry for the bastard that finds and reads this shit after I’m good and dead.  Shouldn’t be too long now.   Hell, ain’t no special or sophisticated way of puttin’ the things I got trouble sayin’ outoud.  I miss home. I miss the farm.  I miss bein’ warm, and food that ain’t salt pork and half frozen moldy bread.  I wanna see green again - the first signs of melt in the spring and the grass pokin’ up through the snow, defyin’ the winter what tried to kill it.  The red dirt ‘tween my toes in the summer, and the piles an’ piles of yellow leaves in the fall.  I don’t miss my Pa or the house I was raised in, I won’t ever miss them – but the world outside that hell hole? The peace found in the middle of field at twilight, watchin’ the day take its final breath ‘fore night smothers it in singing crickets and chirping toad.  That’s what I long for.  

Anne. Yes…Anne too.

 Everything is cold and bitter an’ full of death here. I don’t mind the killin’ when I’m doin’ it an’ its my enemies fallin’ – better’n sittin’ here freezin’ our dicks off.. Undead scream in the night in place o’ crickets.  We got blood red snow instead of naturally red dirt, and the only think yellow here are the self-righteous paladins in their armor. What a bunch of fuckin’ lemons.

 Captain Videl and Lieutenant Sales are among the number of slain today.  The Chaplain says I should pray for their souls, but what God would I pray to?  No God I’d want to worship would sit on his throne an’ watch what I seen happen here.  There ain’t no Gods --- there’s only Devils.

Kyle Wilmont Acting Captain of the 67th Cavalry Fordragon Hold, the Dragonblight Northrend Part 1 The rush of blood thundered in his ears, competing with the quick bursts being forced in and out of his lungs from anticipation.  Kyle crouched low behind the wintering oak, dirt stained rear brushing the canvas of leaves on the forest floor behind his muddy heels.  His brother called out to him on the other side of the trunk, getting louder and then soft again as he passed by the hiding spot.  It was all Kyle could do to keep from giggling, smothering the noise with his own grimy hands pressed to his mouth.  The motion broke the final string holding the straining strap of his over alls, eliciting a tiny gasp.   “Ky-le!”  The older boy cried for what felt like the hundredth time. “Ky-le! Stop messin’ around we’re gonna get in trouble.”

Pulled from his shock, Kyle unfastened the button on the front of the broken strap then tucked it into the lopsided flap over his chest.   The strain on the overalls relaxed as the boy stood, but even then his square, solid frame was in need of a larger size – the hem on the leggings barely brushed the top of his unlaced boots.  

 “KY-ULE!”  Luke whined in frustration.  He huffed and growled - watching the dry autumn leaves shatter under each stomp as he turned back the way he came, marching passed the tree again. He didn’t see the five-year-old battering ram until he got hit and bowled over. “KYLE!” The other boy merely giggled as the pair tangled in a mass of flailing limbs.

 “Get off! Get off! ----EW! KYLE! DON’T DROOL ON ME!” Luke finally managed to roll away from the bigger, younger brother.  The glare did nothing to diminish Kyle’s grin, particularly because he was watching his brother scrub the drool off his cheek.   “Why were you hiding? You’re supposed to be helping Thomas clean the barn today.”

 Kyle rolled onto his belly and pushed himself up to his feet. “I was supposed to,” He explained, not grinning so much as he was reminded of his chores. “But he said I could go play and he’d clean the barn if I distracted Pa next time Miss Glenna came ‘round so theys can sneak off.”

 Luke frowned, concern wrinkling his smooth, dirt-smudged brow – both of his brothers would be taken to the woodshed if Pa caught on.  The boy paled – Pa might think he was in on it too. “Cleanin’ the barn ain’t that bad and if you or Thomas get caught we’re all going to get it!” He warned and became frustrated again as Kyle shrugged at him like the thought of getting their hides tanned or worse wasn’t a big deal.

    “We won’t get caught!” Kyle put in optimistically. “ ‘Sides, Tommy says they’re gonna roll in the hay whatever that means.  Hay is itchy, so they wont’ be rollin’ long!”  

“You don’t know what that means.” Luke accused, staring at Kyle with hands on hips.

“No, I don’t!”  Kyle agreed, still unfazed. “And since I didn’t know what he meaned, he gonna tell me ‘bout it when I’m older!  He promised it’s fun.”  His square freckled face beams innocently up at Luke who had an idea of what the phrase meant – he groaned into his palms, disgusted and not understanding why anyone would want to do something that gross!

“Kyle, It ain’t a good idea --“ Luke started to say as he lifted his head back up from his hands, but then froze, when a distant, familiar bellow echoed through the trees. The pair swallowed hard and looked at each other with dread filled blue eyes.

 “BOYS! Get yer asses down here!” Their Pa yelled. “Kyle! Luke! Ya’ lazy little bastards still haven’t done yer chores!” Both boys whip their heads toward the sound and cringed, then look at each other again. “Sorry Luke, I-I didn’t meant to ge-get you in t-trouble too.” Teary eyes wavered against the other’s glare.  “Well, you did! And now we’re both going to get whooped!” Kyle hung his head and tried to stammer another apology, but was shoved to the ground before the words left his lips. Luke sprinted off, hoping that slowed his brother down long enough – he had to get there first.  Dejectedly, the younger boy rose, keeping his head down as he kicked at the leaves, flinching each time his shoelaces slapped against his boots. Guilt tugged at Kyle’s hammering heart for he truly had not meant for Luke to get in trouble.

  By the time Kyle reached the front lawn, Luke was already on to the ground in tears, cupping one hand over a bloody lip and hugging his middle with the other. A man every bit as tall and thick as an Orc loomed over him with a fist raised to strike him again.  The blow never fell for the golden flash of Kyle’s tousled hair caught his attention. Blood shot eyes peered through greasy strands of hair dirty blonde hair at the youngest of his sons as he stood, picking Luke up by the back of his overalls in passing. “Shut up.”  Their Pa growled down at his whimpering son. Kyle didn’t know if it was his body or the ground that shook with each footstep his father made toward him – a warm wet feeling ran down his leg. All three of the boys endured the wrath of that man, but the youngest was the easiest and most hated target.  The two eldest boys had had the buffer of their mother until they were six and thirteen, but not Kyle. Kyle’s birth resulted in the death of their mother, and a greater degree of cruelty from their father.  It fell to Luke and Thomas to protect him when they could, but one was in the barn, and the other was on the ground, leaving no shield for the terrified five-year-old.

“P-Pa…p-please.” Kyle stammered. “It…it w-was my f-fault.  Luke w-was f-fetchin’ m-me.”  The man stopped a foot away from the boy and lifted his ten-year-old son up to eye level. “That true?” He asked in a tone that left no doubt that if it was a lie, the situation would get worse.  Luke groaned, rolling his eyes to Kyle and pressing his lips into a thin line as he nodded. “Yes sir.”  He mumbled softly around his fat lip, lowering his gaze to the ground.  A hot tear rolled down his bruised cheek out of fear and guilt, glistening in the mid morning sunlight before he could stop it. Luke flinched as he felt himself being lowered and went to all fours as soon as the meaty hand released his overalls. “Git.  The pigs need feedin’.”  The man said gruffly.

Luke scrambled away, knowing better than to disobey.  Once he could safely duck behind the weathered fence, he peered over the weathered boards at his baby brother. Spinning on his heel, the boy darted off in a direction away from the pigpens, and into the woods.

“So, you startin’ to pull your brother away from his chores too? Huh? Want him t’be just as lazy as you?”  When Kyle didn’t answer and just stood there with a quivering lip, the man raged.  “Stupid little bastard!” Kyle shrank down into a defensive huddle in the dry yellowing grass. Brutish knuckles connected with the child’s arm guarding his face, “No!” He cried, clutching his numb, tingly arm.  Another blow flew for his exposed face and for a moment all Kyle saw was an explosion stars and black spots.  Pain shot up his arm as he pushed himself back up off the ground, trying desperately to blink away the blurry vision so he could find a place to hide.  Then he was back down on the ground, a fresh burst of bright lights and dark dots dancing across his eyes from a hit on the opposite side of his face.  Kyle curled up, unable to clear his head enough to run, the boy did the only thing he could for protection.

Dizziness rolled over him and several moments passed before he grasped onto the realization he was being lifted from the ground.  Pa’s face hovered inches before his own, “Yer gonna do yer chores and earn yer keep around here and if they ain’t finished ‘fore dark you ain’t getting’ no dinner.”  Each word slammed into Kyle just as heavily as those fists with the nauseating stench of booze and bile on his Pa’s hot breath.   The boy could only nod his agreement, too scared to speak – a bloody bubble popped on his lips instead, turning into a heavy droplet that rolled down his little chin.  

An unsolicited roar – a word he’d never remember - blasted Kyle’s hair back - his arms were suddenly released but instead of falling down, he was sailing sideways into a near by tree, crashing into it with a hard crunch.  By the time Kyle was able to force air back into his lungs and pry at least one of his eyes open, his Pa was gone.  Kyle knew where the man was. It was the same place he always went after a night of drinking and gambling in the Lakeshire tavern.

The brother kneeled in the dirt next to Kyle and rubs his shoulder to comfort the little boy. “Come on now, stop crying.” Luke says in a sympathetic tone. Kyle sucks in another deep breath and kills his sobs only to start quietly whimpering instead. “Let me see; look at me.” He reaches out and places a hand under his brother’s chin to turn his face towards him. Kyle had a dark bruise already forming across his cheek and his right eye was starting to swell shut. Luke knew there would be some bruising on his arms too with the imprint of those large fingers even though he couldn’t see them. “It ain’t bad.” Kyle blubbers out, lying to himself and pulling away from Luke. “Just leave me alone!” He tugs his dirty sleeves up over his hands so he can scrub at his face to wipe away the tears and snot, wincing. “Kyle–” Luke gets cut off as he’s shoved away, the motion causing the younger boy to squeak in pain as he spoke. “We got chores to do!” Another round of tears run down his darkened cheeks, stinging the sensitive flesh as he stands up, hunches over and runs off to the barn leaving behind a trail of blood that dribbled out of his mouth.

Luke sat there on his knees and rubbed his stomach where he’d been punched, then sighed and raked his fingers through his short reddish gold hair. His eyes turned up towards the sky, lips moving as he offers a silent prayer to his mother.

Please, if you’re up there…help us

.

[selenelavellan]

Home

Concert AU

Dirthamen, Deceit, and Fear are @feynites

TW for Abuse, past rape mentions.

Selene breaks the news to Des over milkshakes. 

Their customary milkshakes, at a small family run restaurant between the community center where Des attends his rehabilitation meetings and their old apartment. A bit out of the way now that they've moved, but not enough to deter them from the only place they've found that carries the blackberry and chocolate flavor they've come to prefer.

“I'm leaving for Var Bellanaris,” she announces “Tomorrow.”

Des's eyes snap away from his phone screen, attention fully on her, now.

“I'm sorry. I think I must've hallucinated for a moment there. What did you just say?”

“I bought a plane ticket to Verchiel,” she continues “It'll only be a few days walk to get there if I take the old paths. I should be back by the end of the week.”

“Why would you ever go back there?”

Selene lets out a sigh, fidgeting with the end of her straw. “It's been fifteen years since I saw Mamae. You know Elrogathe hasn't made the journey. Someone should check on her.”

Des blows into his milkshake, bubbles rising rapidly to the surface as he gives her his best 'you have got to be shitting me' look.

“You're truly awful at the 'leave the past in the past' thing, y'know?”

“It's not like I'm going back to see the clan-” she points out.

“What did you tell the others? I can't imagine Fear handling the news of you flying to the Dales alone well.”

Selene shifts awkwardly on her side of their booth, silently stirring the chocolate chips deeper into the depths of her milkshake.

“You didn't tell them yet.” Des realizes flatly.

“Fear wouldn't take well to this, you're right-”

“You have to tell them.”

“I will.”

“Before you leave.”

Selene shifts again, looking guiltily into her purple drink.

“I don't want it to be a thing.”

“Well if you leave without telling them, it'll be a much bigger thing.”

“It's not so different from when they leave for tour, and they're gone for months at a time.”

“And they always tell us beforehand. And keep in touch during.”

Selene sighs, and takes a long drink. “Fine. I'll tell them at dinner.”

–

Dinner comes and goes, and Selene is just finishing drying the dishes with Dirthamen when Des loudly clears his throat.

“Selene has something she'd like to say.” He announces.

Selene sends him a glare as she comes around the corner, dishtowel still in her hands.

“Thank you, Des.”

She rolls back and forth slightly on the balls of her feet as four pairs of eyes settle on her expectantly.

“I'm going on a small trip tomorrow,” She admits. “But I won't be gone long. Less than a week.”

Fear carefully places the book they had been reading down on the coffee table and looks up at her, chin resting on the back of their hands. “Where are you going?”

“I'm flying into Verchiel, and the rest of the trip will be made on foot.”

Fears mouth opens with what she is sure is a long string of questions and holes to poke in her plans, but Deceit speaks first.

“Where are you walking to, exactly?”

“Var Bellanaris.”

The room goes silent for a moment, before Dirthamen finally steps out from the kitchen and places a consoling hand on Selenes shoulder.

“I am sorry for your loss. Is there anything we could do to make this easier for you?”

“Oh, no!” Selene explains, shaking her head slightly. “No one's dead. I mean, yeah, Mamae technically is, but she's been dead for a while now. No one's died recently, though. Well, that's not true, someone definitely has, but no one I know personally. It's just...it's been a long time, and I finally have the money and time to check on her, so I thought I...would.”

“One of us should go with you,” Deceit pipes up again. “You shouldn't go alone.”

“It'll be safer if I do. None of you are Dalish, you're not supposed to set foot near Var Bellanaris.”

“Neither are you.” Des points out.

Selene huffs. “I know the rituals, and the proper rites. One trespasser will be better than two.”

Deceit and Dirthamen share an uneasy look, while Fear still looks entirely skeptical about the whole thing. But no one pushes any harder, and Selene excuses herself to finish packing and get some sleep before her early morning flight.

She does promise Fear to at least keep her phone charged and GPS on, and doesn't bother asking where they found the six portable chargers.

–

The flight is long, and delayed from the start. Heavy storms keep her sitting in the terminal and waiting for her boarding, and it is late afternoon before she finally steps foot in Verchiel. The ground is still damp from recent rain, and she changes out of her flats and into her boots for the trip.

It takes her two and a half days to make the journey, in the end. Made shorter, she admits, by exchanging group texts with the others as she goes. Sending pictures of scenery, and herself near rare plants to assure Fear that she is still in good condition and not mauled by bears or wyverns or wandering wildlife.

It doesn't take her long to find the space where her Mamae had been laid to rest. She clears away a pile of fallen leaves with the gloves she had packed, and performs the rites before the nearest statue of Fen'harel, praying to the gods she walked away from to protect the mother who never lost her faith.

Once she's completed them, Selene notices several newer graves. Some are from other clans, of course. But two are not.

One, freshly planted near to her mother. Her uncle, she realizes.

And another, placed at the top of a mound.

Keeper Deshanna.

Selene hesitates.

And then calls Des.

“Hellooooo?” he sings.

“I'm going to be a few extra days.”

Des sighs, and she can practically hear him tugging on the ends of his hair through the phone. “Why?”

“I need to visit Alaris.”

“Did he leave the clan?”

“No.”

Des lets out a long groan and a quiet string of curses. “You can't go back alone.”

“You're going to join me then?”

“Fuck no! I left for a reason. So did you. Alaris has gone this long without us, he'll be fine.”

“Keeper Deshanna passed,” Selene breathes. “So did his papae.”

Des is silent, as a heavy moment passes between them.

“I don't feel any loss for Deshanna,” he admits “But I will admit Alaris deserves better than to think he's alone. Or worse, left with just your father for family.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll let the others know you're going to be gone for more than a week. But if Dirthamen decides to fly us out on a private jet or something to come get you, I'm not gonna get in the way!”

“Thank you.” She repeats.

Des murmurs something under his breath before clicking the line closed, and Selene takes a final stock of Var Bellanaris.

And then begins her journey back to Clan Lavellan.

–

As it happens, she comes across the hunting party first, three days later. One of them recognizes her, and when she asks to see Alaris, they bring her along with only mild complaining.

The campsite has changed less than she thought it would. There are more Halla than there used to be, but she supposes that's to be expected as a side effect of breeding. Some of the crops have changed, soil rotated, and a few more aravels are scattered around the campsite.

“Sulvuna!” She finally hears, before two arms wrap around her from behind, nearly tackling her to the ground in their exuberance.

“Alaris!” she returns, flinching only internally at her old name “It's good to see you again.”

“You too!” he exclaims. “What brings you here? Not that I'm complaining, you're always welcome of course, but I wasn't...We haven't heard from you in almost...what, eight years now?”

“Something like that,” She agrees sheepishly “I wasn't planning on coming back, honestly.”

“So why are you?”

“I went to visit Mamae in Var Bellanaris and I saw Keeper and your Papae.”

Alaris nods in understanding, weight shifting until his is leaning on his staff. And suddenly Selene can see it; the weight on him, of being First for so long and Keeper now. Of losing his Aunt, and his cousin, and his first love, and finally his father.

It's a weight she feels in her own chest, formed of guilt she thought she had shed long ago. Back now with a vengeance.

He motions for her to follow into his own aravel, and quietly brews her a cup of tea while they exchange small talk. What the clan has been up to, how Alaris has been faring.

“How's Era'harel?” Alaris finally asks, fingers slightly shaky around his cup as he sits.

“He's doing well,” Selene evades “But he changed his name.”

Alaris nods “Good. That's...” He sighs. “Will you send him my apologies?”

Selene blinks, and slowly agrees before Alaris continues.

“I didn't know....I mean, I was just a kid. It's not an excuse, I know, but I didn't think anything of his name then. I didn't realize what we were really calling him. Please, let him know I'm so sorry for the way he was treated when he was with Clan Lavellan. If he...if he ever wants to visit, or come back, I will ensure he is treated with respect, as he deserves.”

“I will,” she agrees again.

“...Is he seeing anyone?” Alaris mumbles into the edge of his cup.

Selene shifts awkwardly. “Uh....yeah.”

“Oh. Well...I hope they're treating him well.”

“We try.” Selene admits with a slight tilt of her head.

Alaris's eyebrows raise, as her words dawn on him.

“Oh. Oh! I didn't-I wasn't trying to-”

“It's fine, it's fine,” She laughs “We're together but we're not-I mean we're seeing other people. Together. So I guess we are together, but it's not just us. We'd drive each other nuts without a buffer.”

“So you made your own clan.” Alaris grins.

“Oh, don't say that,” Selene groans “I have a hard enough time not running away in terror some days, I don't need that hanging over me.”

“Are they people you should fear?” Alaris asks with more than a touch of concern.

“No, no. They're wonderful, and I love them all deeply. They would never hurt me. I just have a hard time with commitment and remembering things are more than temporary sometimes.”

“Shocking,” Alaris teases. “Is that why you left Haleir then?”

Selene freezes.

“I...” she swallows. “Is he still around?”

“He's in town right now, but he's due back in the morning if you'd like to stick around and say hello.”

“No.” she practically yells, abruptly pushing her seat out from the table. “I...he never told you?”

“He doesn't really talk about it,” Alaris says slowly “He says he just woke up, and the two of you had left.”

“Elrogathe never told you?”

“...told me what, Sulvuna?”

She's shaking, now. She knows she is, no matter that she's trying not to. She shouldn't have come alone. Stupid, stupid.

“It's..he...” She takes a deep breath, grounds herself. Steadies herself. “It's not important,” she lies. “I think I'd rather be gone before he comes back though.”

Alaris quietly agrees without pushing the subject, and switches topics back to happier things. They exchange stories about Deshanna, and his father, and eventually it loops back to Selene's significant others. “Here, hold on,” Selene says as she fishes her cell phone out of her pocket “I've got pictures.”

Alaris eagerly watches her flip through the photos on her phone. Some candid, some not. A few taken at concerts, of Dirthamen, Deceit, and Fear performing.

“Are they any good?” he asks.

“I think so,” Selene smiles. “I've got a few songs of theirs on here if you want to hear.”

She plays a few of her favorites for her cousin, and he asks her to send him some copies. It's then she finds out that someone posted a cell tower just outside the clans territory, so Alaris ended up with one himself.

“They're very useful,” he points out. “We still communicate with most other clans the way we always have, of course, but being able to get immediate contact has helped us greatly.”

“You sound like a Keeper.” she teases.

“I sure try to!” He laughs.

The sun starts to set, and Selene announces that she should head out, to avoid being here in the morning.

Alaris pleads with her to stay, just for the one night.

She's always had trouble saying no to him.

She calls up Des, while Alaris retrieves her old hammock from her fathers aravel (Because she adamantly refused to sleep in there again).

“Still hanging in there?” He greets.

“It's not so terrible. Alaris is Keeper now.”

“Shame. He seemed so nice when he was younger.” Des pines.

She rolls her eyes “He asked me to stay in the clan overnight, so I'll start making my way back to the airport in the morning. Should just be another couple of days.”

“Where would you have been staying otherwise?” Comes Fears voice from over the line.

Selene blinks. “Am I on speaker phone?”

“We miss you.” Calls Deceit.

“I miss you all too. I'll be home soon.” She relents.

“You didn't answer my question.” Comes Fear again.

“Clearly, I was sharing a cave space with giant spiders,” Selene teases “But before that I just took shelter in a Dragon's nest.”

“Careful, they might believe you.” Des warns.

Selene doesn't mention that she really did spend one of her nights in a cave, to escape the rain. She didn't see any giant spiders, anyways.

“Can I talk to just Des for a minute?” She asks. She waits through the awkward shuffling of the phone being moved to an ear and the click that the speakers have been turned off.

“What's wrong?” he asks, suddenly serious.

“Nothing, really. I just. I thought you should know Haleir was still...around.”

“Did he do something?”

She can hear someone moving around behind him, followed by the sound of Des taking several steps away from whoever it was.

“No,” she assures him “He's out. He comes back in the morning though.”

“You need to be gone before he shows up.”

“I know.”

“...I should have gone with you.”

“No, Des. I'll be ok. I just thought you should know.”

“If he comes within arms reach of you, light the bastard up.”

“Will do,” Selene agrees, glancing up as Alaris steps back into the aravel. “I have to go. Love you, tell the others I love them as well.”

“No, I'm keeping your love all to myself. You can tell them yourself when you get back.”

Selene laughs, and hangs up with one last goodbye before standing to assist Alaris in getting both of their hammocks set up.

“Who was that?” he asks.

“That was Des.” Selene says before she can catch herself.

“Which one is that?”

“Ah, that's what Era goes by now.”

“Oh.” Alaris says. “Des,” he says as though testing the feel of it on his tongue. He nods, seemingly satisfied “It suits him.”

Selene nods “I think so too.”

–

Alaris wakes Selene in the morning, when the sun is just beginning to rise. It's too early, she thinks. But better this than to run into Haleir again. Alaris still takes the time to braid her hair into a long ponytail while she sips at a cup of tea. He brings her a pack as well, filled with rolls and jerky and a bit of halla cheese. In the bottom are two sets of robes; hers, and Des's.

“You kept these?” She asks, holding up the old fabrics, fingers trailing over patterns she hasn't seen in nearly a decade.

“Your father did.” Alaris informs her.

She gives him a skeptical look, but he just nods and indicates towards Elrogathes aravel with his head.

“No.” she says before he can verbally ask her.

“Just say hello-”

“No.” she repeats.

“You'll regret it if you don't.”

“I doubt that.”

“Look,” Alaris pushes “I'd give anything to be able to have another conversation with my Papae. Even if we didn't always get along, we loved each other deeply.”

“See, that's where we differ.”

“Sulvuna,” he emphasizes. “Go say hello to your father or I swear to Elgar'nan I will give him your cell phone number.”

“...He has a cell phone?”

“Well...no. But I do, and I will force him to use it!”

Selene lets out a groan, and finally relents under threat of being forced to have regular contact with him.

She knocks three times on the outside of his aravel.

He lifts the flap, and turns to look at her.

Freezes.

And then drops the curtain and walks silently back inside.

Selene turns to Alaris, who is still watching the interaction and makes a 'See???' motion towards the space her father just exited. But he just makes a shooing motion and mouths to her to go inside.

She shakes her head no, but Alaris pulls his cell phone out, hitting the home button to light up the screen threateningly.

She groans again, louder this time, and mopes her way up the stairs and into her old home.

Elrogathe is working away at his desk on tonics and potions, and for a moment she feels like she never left. Like she still lives here, and nothing has changed, and the last few years have been some sort of vivid fever dream. Braid still heavy on her head, the smells of elfroot and embrium thick in the air and the halla bleating loudly outside her wooden walls.

“What?” Elrogathe finally says.

Selene blinks herself out of her reverie, and manages “What? Nothing. I-Alaris told me to say hi. So I'm...saying hi.”

Elrogathe nods. “You've been gone a long time.”

“I was planning on being gone a lot longer.” she admits.

“Your callouses are gone.”

“Ah, yeah. I don't-I don't really work with my hands as much.”

“You've gotten lazy.”

Selene lets out a breath of air. “I just do a different sort of work.”

“What?”

“I...” Selene hesitates. She doesn't, technically, have a job. “I work with numbers a lot. And I write.”

“Stories?”

“Instructions and informative textbooks, mostly.”

Elrogathe just gives a soft 'harrumph' at that.

“...children?” he asks quietly.

“No.”

He nods. “Good.”

“...'good'?”

“Motherhood would be a poor fit for you.”

Selenes shoulders tense “I would be a great parent. Better than you were, by any means.”

He snorts.

Actually snorts.

“You can not walk away from a child when they frustrate you, or expect someone else to clean up their mess.”

“No, you just ignored them unless you had some insult to make or instruction to give.”

“Your mother was the warm one in the family. If you wanted affection, you should have sought her out instead.”

“I did. And then when she was gone, you shut me out entirely.”

Elrogathe slows in his work. His eyes carefully raise to look at his daughter. “Dhaveira passed because her heart was soft. She burned like the sun, and when she left there was nothing to sustain us. That was not my fault.”

“So now it's Mamaes fault that you turned into a cold bastard?” Selene snaps “You think Mamae would have insisted I bond to a rapist? Or stay trapped in a life that I hated?”

“She would have insisted you survive!” he yells back, standing suddenly “Not run away to live some half-life like a flat ear! Running around with your guns and drugs and forsaking everything the creators left to us! You had a responsibility, Sulvuna, and you ran away from it! The day you left this camp, you died!”

“And I see you mourned that loss the way you mourned everything else; silently, and without any real emotion.”

The slap he lands is hard enough it makes stars blink in her eyes.

Her hearing goes for a moment, all sounds replaced with a sharp ringing in her ears as she stares down at the floor. She looks back up at him, her eyes meet his, and another slap follows the first, this one hard enough to knock her to the ground.

“Get out of my home,” he says lowly, returning to his work bench. “If I see you again, I will notch an arrow and Andruil as my guide, I will not miss.”

Selene hesitates. Then stands, brushing the dirt and dust from the floor off of her clothing, and strides out of the aravel.

Her face still stings, and Alaris's jaw goes slack as she approaches him again.

“Did he-Sulvuna, did he strike you?”

“Thank you for having me, Alaris,” She says softly, ignoring his question. “I think it's time for me to head back home.”

Alaris doesn't stop her this time. Just hands her back her things, and escorts her out of camp.

It takes only a day and a half to make it to the airport, with Selene barely stopping as she tries to escape the memories of clan life.

She shouldn't have gone alone. She shouldn't have gone back.

Stupid, she berates herself.

She sends her flight information back to the group text once she's purchased her ticket. It's a late night take off, but it's the closest one available.

She sleeps for most of the flight, dozing in and out as plains and mountains pass by beneath her feet.

She still feels exhausted, when she finally steps out, and back into what has become her hometown and silently prays the buses are still running.

Not that it matters, it turns out.

Dirthamen, Deceit, Fear, and Des are all standing near the baggage claim, Des practically jumping up and down with a large, hand scrawled sign that reads “SELENE” on it.

She laughs, and feels a weight fall off of her shoulders when she spies them. Something warm and welcoming settles in the pit of her stomach, and for the first time in two days she doesn't feel a sting on her cheek.

“Welcome home!” Yells Deceit across the airport, before Fear gently nudges their arm for drawing attention from strangers. Deceit just shrugs it off as Selene skips towards the group.

“Thank you,” She smiles “I missed you all. So much.”

“We missed you as well,” Dirthamen agrees, reaching over to place a kiss to her lips. Soft at first, before becoming more pressing, more urgent as she responds positively to his advances.

Fear clears their throat pointedly, and Dirthamen finally pulls back. The tips of his ears red.

“We can go home now, right?” Des asks, linking his arm through hers.

“I have to get a bag, actually.”

He frowns. “Did you leave with two?”

“No, Alaris sent one back.”

Des groans, until Selene points out that he packed some foods for them.

“Our old robes are in there, too.”

Des makes a face.

“You don't have to wear them,” Selene sighs “But it would mean a lot to Alaris if you just held onto them. He wanted you to have them.”

Des relents at that, as they snag up her bag and pile into Deceits car, Selene pressed into the backseat between Dirthamen and Des.

Dirthamen links his fingers with hers, thumb idly rubbing at the back of her hand as they drive, and Fear asks a litany of questions about her trip, insisting that she shower when they arrive back to the house. Selene doesn't argue, and is thankful for it as she watches the dirt run down the drain, her braid coming undone as she washes out her hair.

She slips into a pair of sleep shorts, and one of Deceits old shirts before heading back downstairs. There's a late night dinner prepared, followed up by a group cuddle session.

Selene sighs, relaxing into the embrace of her lovers as an old sci fi movie plays over the TV.

She falls asleep there, never more thankful to have finally found a home of her own.

[russellthornton]

Cushioning: Why Using This Dating Tactic Just Makes You a Jerk

The act of cushioning is when people in a relationship cushion the blow if things falls apart. It’s keeping other people in the picture just in case.

I am learning all sorts of new terms. In the day when we shut someone down and stopped dating, we just did it. We didn’t have to call it ghosting. When a guy led a girl on, we just said he was playing her, we didn’t call it breadcrumbing. And now cushioning is the latest dating load of shit. Something close to breadcrumbing, it stems from a someone being too insecure to face their own lack of self-esteem.

The word cushioning means that you put a buffer between something fragile and things that might hurt it. So, it would make sense that an insecure person would put their fragile ego behind the cushioning of admirers just in case.

Like keeping your options open, when a person cushions themselves with other people, they make themselves feel less fragile to being alone. Pathetic really, they string several people along just in case the one they are with decides they no longer want them. [Read: What is ghosting  – What really happens and how they do it]

Reasons why cushioning just doesn’t work

Although Millennials think they invent new tricks and cool phrases, the practices they are putting a label to have existed forever, just outside of cell phones and social media. Keeping someone waiting in the wings is not a new practice, but the fact that people admit it and put it right out there, is.

Just as an FYI to all you daters who think having two adoring fans around makes you desirable, it just makes you extra stupid and will probably end in you losing all your adoring fans. [Read: Are you an attention whore? 16 ways to know for sure]

Here’s why cushioning doesn’t work.

#1 People aren’t all the same. If you are keeping another person around as your shit test, stop doing it. Don’t try your bullshit out on the extra one to see how it will go over on the one you are with.

Chances are good that they are two completely different individuals and what will work with one doesn’t necessarily mean that it will work with another. The person you are cushioning isn’t your lab rat… let them loose!

#2 If they find out, you lose both. If one of them finds out, you are likely to lose them both. First, if the one you are having a relationship with finds out you have been whispering sweet nothings to someone else, whether you are actually “with” them or not, they will see it as a betrayal, and you are going to be history.

If the person you are keeping around for your cushion finds out that they are being used and played, good luck. Hell hath no fury… they are going to make sure that your significant other finds out in whatever way they can. [Read: Love triangles and the confusing complications it can create for you]

#3 It isn’t nice. If you think that you aren’t hurting anyone because you technically aren’t cheating, you are. Giving your emotions to someone other than the person you are with is cheating. Also, if you are keeping someone hanging on because you want to make sure you have a backup plan, you are hurting them by pretending that they are someone to you.

All the way around you are just being a jerk… so quit it, and make your relationship your one and only. Someday they are going to find out, and it is going to backfire, and you know what? Karma is a bigger bitch than a woman who has been screwed over. That I can guarantee. [Read: Why you need to stop playing relationship games right now!]

#4 It won’t ever provide you comfort. If you think that cushioning is your way of ensuring that you aren’t alone and that your ego is being fed constantly, guess what? The act of cushioning isn’t providing you anything but angst.

Somewhere deep inside, you know what you are doing is wrong and it isn’t making you feel good about yourself, even if you think it is *unless you are a sociopath and don’t care about anyone else*.

Secondly, it isn’t making you feel like your relationship is any more stable. In fact, if you were so certain that the person you are with is the “one,” then you wouldn’t even chance or want to have another one hanging around as an extra just in case.

It isn’t giving you anything but anxiety and ensuring that you can’t free yourself to be 100% in the right relationship. [Read: Is flirting cheating when you’re in a relationship?]

#5 You have to choose eventually. If you aren’t ever all in, then you won’t ever find love. I know, believe me, I know that it is difficult to feel as if you’ve put all your emotional eggs in one basket. I mean, what if it doesn’t work out?

That is the thing though, if you don’t put your eggs in one basket, you will never know for sure if it is working because you won’t take the leap of faith that it takes to fall head over heels.

There is going to be a time when you are going to have to choose. Are you sure that if you start cushioning that you are ever going to decide you are all in… or are you going to spend your lifetime cushioning yourself and your heart from real love? [Read: What to do when you like two people at the same time]

#6 You can’t replace love. The whole idea behind cushioning is that if someone is to break your heart and break up with you, you have someone to be with and won’t be alone. The only way that you can ever be alone is if you choose it.

If someone breaks your heart, you can’t just replace them with the next in line. That isn’t real, and it isn’t real love.

People aren’t replaceable by simply numbering them according to who is next in line. If you lose the love of your life, the one waiting in the wings isn’t going to take the sting away.

#7 If you are cushioning, you are with the wrong person. So, you might be telling yourself that you are keeping people around because you don’t want to be alone if something should happen.

But the thing is that if you were really in love and had found the “one,” then you wouldn’t feel the need to cushion because you wouldn’t ever let that person out of your life to begin with. [Read: Emotional cheating and 10 bad things it can do to you]

The practice of cushioning isn’t a dating tactic, it is a sign that you aren’t with the person your heart wants to be with forever, or that you aren’t ready for a commitment. Either way, it isn’t the right time to be serious with anyone, and you should be honest and let everyone involved know. [Read: 18 critical signs of a really unhealthy relationship]

Cushioning has been around forever. If we aren’t secure about ourselves, or our relationships, it is easy to keep people hanging on as an extra just in case.

The problem is that cushioning isn’t only a jerk move, it is totally working against you. You can’t replace love lost by going to the next girl or guy in line. It is STILL going to hurt if you break up.

Even worse, you could end up hurting more than just yourself; you could hurt everyone that you are messing with. Stop keeping extras around and focus on one.

[Read: To cheat or not to cheat? A guide to help you make up your mind]

If they don’t work out, then find someone else. What is the point of cushioning and keeping someone in the wings? It is just emotional baggage that isn’t doing you, or anyone, any good.

The post Cushioning: Why Using This Dating Tactic Just Makes You a Jerk is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.