#i have several more busy days to round it off but after that... god. in September im going to REST i swear to fuck an

[calamitys-child]

I LIVED I LIVED I LIVED

[poppadom0912]

The best babysitters

Warnings: Mentions of absent father but all fluff

Summary: Work prevents you from going home one night, thankfully you’ve got the best backup in Chicago.

A/N: This is being posted later than I planned. My mum was in hospital and it gave me a scare but she's all recovered now so here this is. This is in celebration of 1k, a few more will follow as my workload has decreased significantly.

This fic exists in the same world as my other fic ‘older sister’ but can also be read as a stand alone.

You were tired.

Work was beyond busy today and your clients were being unnecessarily stressful. All you wanted now was to go home, relieve your babysitter of her duties and enjoy the night in with your daughter.

It seemed that the universe had some sort of vendetta against you though because just as you were putting the finishing signatures on the last few papers, an intern, a woman you saw earlier at reception, came running into your office slightly out of breath.

You wanted to scream.

Letting the poor intern talk, you smiled at her stiffly, dismissing her after saying you’d make your way. There was no way you could ask your babysitter to stay late for God knows how much longer, you could remember her telling you she has a lecture tomorrow morning.

Getting up from your desk, you sighed, screwing your eyes closed when you caught the time on your phone. Your sigh in defeat could probably be heard all across Chicago.

Walking out your office, the sound of your heels filled out the empty space, majority of the firm had gone home, only a few stragglers staying behind to close up on any loose ends.

Turning your phone on, you ignored the several notifications screaming for your attention and went straight to your contacts.

Your phone only rang twice before the person on the receiving end picked up.

“Hey Will, can you do me the biggest favour please… You’re a life saviour, thanks, I owe you one.”

Hanging up the phone, you stared ahead through the windows at the bustling waiting room, raised angry voices overlapping and bleeding though the walls.

You could already feel your headache intensifying.

*****

Using his spare key, Will entered your house. Shuffling inside, he took off his jacket and shoes as usual.

Hearing the front door open, little pattering feet were immediately heard running across the house. Will smiled at the sound that he didn’t hear often due to all of your demanding jobs.

“Mama! Mama oh-“

The immense joy on Harper’s face disappeared as the nearly two-year-old rounded the corner on her little chubby legs, expecting to see her beloved mother who she missed all day only to suddenly be met with her redheaded uncle.

“Well hello to you too miss Harper.” Will smiled down at his niece nonetheless, crouching down to scoop her into his arms to which she didn’t argue and instead welcomed.

As soon as she was safe in his arms, the toothiest, giddiest smile broke out on her chubby face that was so scarily identical to yours that it could only be explained by witchcraft.

Harper giggled, such a sound making Will forget about all the horrors that stained his day from the emergency department.

“Hi!” She exclaimed, her smile remained upright and never faltered. “Hi!”

And soon after, she pressed her open mouth onto his stubbly cheek, her attempt of a kiss. Despite struggling with the tough task and all the slobber that remained on his cheek, Will’s reaction was instant and wouldn’t change for the world.

“Oh, thank you so much Harper! Uncle Will missed you tons. Look at how big you’ve grown!”

But, before Will could have all his focus solely on his adorable niece, the sound of the front door unlocking diverted his attention.

Lo and behold, Jay casually strolled in as though this was another random Tuesday.

Oh, that son of a b-

Harper’s scream that followed definitely burst Will’s eardrums.

Will winced, tipping his head away to protect his ears from any further damage before turning to glare at his brother who was taking his jacket off.

"What are you-"

"You said we'd meet at Molly's for a drink but you weren't there." Jay cut Will off, a smile on his face as he looked at Harper and spoke without looking in Will's direction. "Natalie told me you were here."

"Jay Jay's jealous Harper." Will said, his tone all factual and matter-of-fact as he looked at the toddler in his arms. "He didn't want to miss out."

Jay didn't even try to look offended or hurt by Will's remark because deep down, it was somewhat true because how could Jay let Will have all the fun by himself?

"Stop hogging her you buffoon and let me hold her." Jay told Will, not waiting for a reply as he moved forward and took Harper into his arms, the girl didn't protest nor did she willingly lean forward.

"What- Uh, I've literally been here for five minutes Jay."

"Am I your favourite uncle? I knew it!"

*****

Following Jay’s sudden and unprompted arrival, Will dismissed your babysitter, paying her what you usually did and a little more as compensation for staying so late.

Once she had left, there wasn’t much left around the house for them to do besides turning the dishwasher on and making Harper’s nightly milks, but it wasn’t her bedtime just yet and maybe if time permitted it, Harper could stay up a little beyond her usual bedtime.

Consider it a small treat for this special circumstance without her mother implementing her strict nighttime routine.

While Will was sorting away the finals bits in the kitchen, Jay easily made himself comfortable in the living room while Harper continued to babble nonsensically, a few discernible words welcomed themselves into the mix. Jay allowed himself to take a second to relish in the moment, trying to prevent himself from having an existential crisis as he realised he was both emotional but also proud of how much she was growing.

“Dada, look look! S’ Dada!”

Moment ruined, Jay’s smile instantly fell.

Jay followed the direction of Harper’s index finger to the tv, his face hardening at the sight of the man who failed his fiancée and his baby who just turned one.

Harper's 'dad' was a television reporter and it had totally slipped his mind that this was the channel he worked for. Seeing his stupid face yap away about the news made his blood boil.

Jay changed the channel without a second thought.

Your ex fiancé had suddenly decided to leave on Harper’s first birthday, not even having the decency to at least show up at her birthday party.

A year later, and Harper still remembered the man whose name was her first word.

It devastated you still to this day what he had done and Harper’s random interjections of ‘dada’ only made the wound deeper.

“Dada isn’t here harper.” Jay said, tone as soft as it could be as he tried to explain it without her crying.

“It’s just uncle Jay and Will, and mama will be home soon.” Jay continued, holding the toddler in his lap so there was no chance of her running away crying.

Luckily, Harper was a mummy’s girl through and through, so despite the large absence of her father, simply mentioning ‘mama’ or anything akin to that made her entire face light up in a way that no one else could.

“Okay Halstead’s, listen up!” Will said as he entered the living room, phone in one and a towel in the other.

“Y/N’s saying it’s mostly likely going to be another two hours minimum so we’re most likely going to have to stay over.” Will told Jay specifically before looking down at Harper.

“You wanna get into your PJ’s Harps? Jay Jay can make you some milk.”

And despite her highly energised state, Harper would never turn down the enticing combination of her pyjamas and warm milk.

Crawling out of Jay’s lap, Harper moved towards Will who in turn of carrying her gave Jay the towel he was holding. And as much as Jay wanted to fight his brother, he knew Will had more experience with kids - i.e. Owen - and so he could gladly change her diaper.

With Will and Harper standing over him, brown eyes wide, glinting with a hidden intent Jay had become familiar with since childhood. It really wasn’t fair that you and Will both had your father’s eyes which Harper just had to inherit. Jay found himself useless and always surrendering to those goddamn eyes, even as the youngest sibling.

Whenever Jay remembered his childhood, it never made sense why the two older siblings never folded as easily when he looked up at them with the biggest, most imploring eyes. Even now, three decades later, and not a single thing had changed.

“Okay, okay! Just stop looking at me like that.” As soon as Jay spoke, the two rejoiced, their happiness still discernible even as they made their way upstairs.

“Let’s get this party started then.”

*****

And so party they did.

Well at least according to Harper’s standards.

The night started off with warm drinks - Harper with her milk while Will and Jay spoiled themselves to the expensive coffee beans that you easily could afford but neither your brothers indulged in unless under your roof.

Following this, Harper had a short but very fun time running around with sudden newfound energy, causing as much havoc as humanly possible for anyone her size.

It was safe to say that she tired herself quite quickly.

As Jay opened himself and Will a beer, he walked back into the living room, his eyes landing on his older brother and niece, the younger scrunched up into a little ball on Will's chest. Her face completely relaxed and arms wrapped around his torso as she snored quietly.

"Now this, after today, is my kinda party."

"Amen." Will agreed, tapping his bottle with Jay's as a silent 'cheers'.

Jay settled besides his brother, both of them staring forward at the muted movie Harper randomly chose, the first she watched that didn't have any princess affiliations.

"Gosh, it feels like years since we last babysat her." Will said, a sombre but nostalgic tone lacing his words.

"It does." Jay hummed as he swallowed his beer. "We're all so busy with work we can hardly make time for each other."

Will scoffed. "I see you almost everyday, strolling casually into the ED like you own the freaking place. Who are you kidding?"

Jay rolled his eyes but agreed nonetheless.

"Yeah, we need to visit more often. Make more effort and take out the time."

The silence that followed was filled by Harpers little snores and the occasional sound of a siren blaring past in the distance.

"I'm so tired I could knock out right here on the floor."

"Don't be such a doofus, go put her down in her bed."

"Aye aye captain."

*****

When you finally returned home three hours later, tired beyond belief. You were so close to dropping to the floor as soon as you locked the door but as you ventured into the house, you were met with the most heart warming sight.

On the floor in the living room remained your two younger brothers and your daughter. Harper was still scrunched up in a ball on Will's chest, her hand clutching his shirt while said man had his face leaning forward into her hair, his breaths causing Harper's curl to move occasionally. Jay sat besides them, hands crossed slightly on his lap and his head tipped backwards, resting on the sofa.

Even as your eyes burned with the need for sleep, you took a few pictures of the scene before you, your smile not going till your head met your pillow.

If Jay and Will woke up with sore necks in the morning, there was a very seasoned doctor in the house for a reason.

[eqt-95]

💛 for the love of god

it took a minute to think of a concept for this one, but just know your 'ask' timing was perfect.

💛 reunion kiss / relief

- - - - - - - -

On rare occasions, Lena would default to her most recent takeout order and find ten pizzas delivered with no Kryptonian stomach to eat them. This was how a new tradition started whenever Kara was off-planet. Instead of sister night, Lena had Alex, Kelly, and Esme over to binge on too much pizza and ice cream while playing round after round of Candyland and UNO. 

As Esme got older, the games got more complicated. Kelly politely bowed out, choosing instead to tuck into the couch with a good book while the other three hashed out whether Alex was allowed to build a settlement one road segment away from Lena’s. 

She was not.

Slowly but surely, the competition grew so fierce that they elected to find activities no one was any good at. First it was bowling, then miniature golf, then a pasta-making class. She learned to fill her time; to keep busy; to reinforce existing friendships.

Sometimes Kara’s trips would last weeks. Sometimes longer. On those occasions, Lena would find herself going out with Nia and brainstorming new ideas with Brainy. When those weren’t enough, she spent her evening checking through the calculations on the latest upgrades to Kara’s suit.

Just to be sure.

Just in case.

Just so Lena could sleep through the night.

This was the life of being married to an intergalactic-traveling superhero.

Which was why it came as a bit of a shock when Brainy was contacted by a twelfth level intellect from the future with a problem. A problem that Brainy couldn’t fix alone. A problem that required the help of Lena.

“How long?” Kara asked, her pacing taking a toll on the stone flooring.

“Brainy thinks just shy of a month,” Lena said. She was neck deep in research, having spent the last twelve hours sifting through the transmission sent through time and space to them. “But neither of us will know until we get there.”

“A month?” Kara gawked. “An entire month?”

“Darling, we’ve been apart for longer,” Lena said with the distracted focus that meant she was not seeing the look of distraught despair on Kara’s face. Nor did she see the pout slowly forming on Kara’s lower lip. 

And so Lena left for charts untraveled and paths unseen. Her and Brainy arrived and time ceased to exist: meals and sleep were foregone while they dove into the problem (a minor issue with the space and time continuum brought on by a narcissistic giant of a prince from the Promethean Galaxy with a knack for tinkering with the past) alongside the tentacled-inhabits of the plant. Days passed, then weeks. Only one minor setback left them scrambling, but the tiny light at the end of their intergalactic-ending dilemma was glowing bright and strong and-

An explosion shook the building. Tables were rattled, lab equipment crashed to the floor, and it was all Lena could do to stay standing. Clinging to the table, she glanced toward Brainy who was struggling to keep a pile of samples from tumbling into disarray.

“What was that?” 

“It would seem the south wall has been penetrated.”

“The what-?” Lena asked, racing toward the window overlooking the base camp. And sure enough, a stream of smoke was rising from the tiny outpost. “Are we under attack?”

“I would put those odds at 74%.”

“But what would-”

“Code Meteor!” 

Brainy and Lena both turned to find an armed guard burst through the door, panic-stricken and out of breath. “ I repeat, Code Meteor,” he huffed, his tentacles gripping the doorway for support. 

“Code ‘what’?” Lena asked. 

The answer came as “Shelter in place!”

And then he was gone.

“Well, that has certainly put, as you say ‘a wrench in our plans’,” Brainy noted. “Shall we?”

Three more crashes could be heard, each one closer than the last. Brainy has broken into the surveillance system, but it seemed the initial attack had severed whatever streaming connection existed.

“It is quite surprising they still haven’t integrated a second line of defense for this. Especially after the attack of Cyborgs in-”

“Brainy,” Lena interrupted. Fear dripped into her voice, her knees were held tight to her chest, and the table they were taking cover under did nothing to provide any sense of relief. “I don’t need a history lesson. I need to know if we’re about to die.”

“That is quite the hyperbole,” Brainy assured. “By my calculations, there is only a 38%-”

Another crash, now even closer, rippled through the structure.

“Hmm, make that 54% chance of dying.”

“Attack at will!” came a shout from the hallway, and Lena’s heart jumped to her throat. 

The ensuing sounds did nothing to help: A grunt of impatience was followed by the rattle of gunfire and the scattering of footsteps drawing nearer and nearer. Lena swallowed against the knot in her throat, feeling a wave of dread overcome her. She looked for a weapon - any weapon, and found a screwdriver.

After everything, this was how she would die - by a random attack on some random planet in a galaxy that wasn’t even her own. Worse was that Kara wasn’t here.

“Brainy, Brainy,” she stammered. “I need that.”

She ripped the computer away from him and started typing madly, hoping there was enough time to connect; to see Kara’s face; to say goodbye.

The door burst open and smoke infiltrated the space. It was too late; her fingers weren’t fast enough; the connection was too slow; it was too late-

“Guys, this is really - ooph - eelly unnessessry.”

Lena froze.

“Flank her from the left!” came a commanding cry. More gunshot. More grunts. More body parts hitting body parts.

“Mm oht - ere - oo hur yoo,” the voice came again. The muffled but all too familiar voice that drew Lena out from under the table and toward the cloud of smoke. “I yust - wan oo see - my wie!”

Only then did the silhouette appear. It was a silhouette Lena would recognize anywhere, even if it was being attacked by no less than ten leg-sized tentacles. 

“Kara?” Lena asked.

“-Ena?” came a voice from beneath the coils of appendages.

“What… what are you doing here?”

“I issed yoo.”

“Darling,” Lena sighed, a smile spreading where fear had stood moments earlier.

“Ma’am, do you know her?”

She could only nod and close the distance between them. The guards seemed to understand and withdrew their tentacles of rope, and slowly but surely, Supergirl was unraveled from the slimy layers of them.

“I missed you too,” she continued, then wrapped her arms around Kara’s shoulders and drew her into a hug. 

“You were just gone for so long and I don’t know how you do it. How do you do it?” Kara rambled into the crook of Lena’s neck. 

Lena could only chuckle and pulled Kara tighter against her. “A lot of practice. And a lot of leftovers.”

“Does this mean you’ll forgive me?” Kara sighed.

“Well first, could have just called,” Lena huffed, pulling back to see the expected pout and look of apology. “And second, you’ll need a shower, because this won’t do.”

“Fair.”

“And you’ll need to stick around and help fix everything you damaged-”

“But I was being really careful!” Kara huffed. “It’s not my fault they started with the guns and slime!”

“Then, after all of that,” Lena said with an arched brow that left no room for debate, “Yes, I suppose I can forgive you.”

And the pout became a grin, and Lena couldn’t resist leaning in to capture her wife into a ‘premature’ reunion kiss.

- - - -

ask game

[scoops-aboy86]

Wear it like a Collar, like a Ring, like a Lock (and Toss the Key)

Happy birthday @steviewashere! This is kind of an homage to your Indulgence and Discovery steddie fic, which I love and everyone who appreciates weight gain kink should check out.

So yeah, have some fat Steve indulging himself and having a great time!

wc: 4166 | rated: m | cw: weight gain, overeating, stuffing, belly kink, masturbation, coming in pants, overstimulation, tearing clothes

Steve locks the front door behind himself and lets out a breath. It comes out as more of a groan, ragged from being pent up so long, but that’s between him and his parents’ empty house. He doesn’t sag—not any more than parts of him do naturally now, anyway—but carries on in a slow shuffle, transferring his keys to the console table on his way through the foyer and relieving his other hand of an extra-large Coke from McDonalds. Carries that and two grease-stained bags into the kitchen, sets it all down, and busies himself with getting a couple plates down from the cupboard. 

Not because he doesn’t want to dig right in. His mouth has been watering since he pulled into the drive-thru, wanting it is not the issue. Thing is, he kind of wants to see how long he can resist after so many weeks straight of hedonism, of pure round-the-clock indulgence with Eddie’s eager help. Wants to stretch it out, build up the anticipation until he’s aching for it, and then keep it going longer than he can usually sustain. That way, when his boyfriend gets back from a gig tonight they can both enjoy the stuffed-full, overstimulated reward. To that end, Steve hasn’t eaten anything in…

Ugh, several hours, and god he’s hungry. Pretty much all of that was spent at the DMV getting his drivers license renewed, his one errand for the day. Even though he’d gone there straight from a huge breakfast, barely able to fit in these pants. They’d creaked just as dangerously as the chair he’d sat in while getting his picture taken, and while the bloat from that has gone down since, they still bite into him. 

“Fuck,” Steve moans, reaching down to give himself a placating squeeze in his straining jeans. He’s spilling over the front of them, and at the sides where his love handles roll and bulge out. The last time he bothered to pull his shirt down was right before his photo was taken, and it’s long since ridden up over to reveal a sliver of his growling belly. 

Okay. Okay, so he’s reaching the end of his rope, but he’s almost ready. Turning to the fridge, he gets the bottle of Heinz and floods one plate hastily with ketchup. Dumps the fries from the first bag on top in a heap, something to sort out later. Next, he digs a stack of Big Macs from the other bag to drop on the second plate. And then, the piece de resistance: a large chocolate milkshake. 

The burgers are still warm enough that the milkshake has entirely melted, just the way he likes it. And though he’d intended to wait until he got off his aching feet to start, Steve can’t resist popping the top to the side and shoving the straw out of the way to drink deep. 

Just a few gulps, he tells himself, but yeah right. Just a few more…

Okay, I’ll stop at half. Except he doesn’t, squeezing himself again in time with the thick, creamy liquid traveling down his throat. 

Moaning, thinking, I should save some for later… Except it’s already all gone, empty air hitting his gullet and eliciting a gasp. And his tongue is already lolling out to lap up the last remaining dregs still creeping slowly down the insides of the cup. Maybe he should’ve ordered two. 

Steve stands there catching his breath for a moment, both annoyed and thrilled at not being able to make it just one room over before getting started. His belly gives a slow slosh as he moves, but it’s a drop in the bucket; he’s chugged more and faster before, but doing so all by himself is new. The novelty of it, the implication that he can’t control himself long enough to wait for it, sends an urgent shiver down his spine. 

“Fuck,” he moans again, hunching over a little to get in one hard grind against his palm. It’s getting harder to reach, but he can still manage when he’s not full to bursting… which is rare, these days. Almost as rare as getting off without something in his mouth. 

He needs to sit so he can eat. 

Steve tosses the empty cup in the sink and grabs his Coke, tucking it carefully between one thick arm and his chest so he can carry a plate in each hand, then shuffles his way to the living room. He’s nearly sweating by the time he gets to the couch—mostly because he’s kind of edging himself, but also because his jock days are long gone. The dampness at the edge of his hairline, just from walking from one room to the next, is a testament to how relaxed and easy his life has become, and there’s no denying the eager whine that bursts out of him when he drops heavily down onto the couch cushions. 

The impact jars his Coke just enough to dribble sugary soda out the straw hole, soaking into the fabric over his fleshy pec and spreading darkly down his front. Cursing under his breath, Steve is quick to put the plates down on the cushions to either side of him—doesn’t want to risk the coffee table and not being able to easily reach—and suck the sticky liquid off the top of the lid before any more can spill, but the damage is done. 

He looks down at himself, messy shirt riding up over his wide, hairy belly streaked with stretch-marks and old scars, bulging out over the sorely tested button on his jeans to rest heavily on his thighs. This is what he looks like empty now. 

It’s enough to make his cock pulse. Steve reaches to grab a first handful of fries, coming up with the backs of his fingers smeared in ketchup. 

He crams that first bite into his mouth, uncaring of how messy he’s being. After waiting so long, it tastes glorious, salt and grease lighting up his taste buds, and he’s lost to grabbing for more. 

~

Steve is panting by the time he finishes his last two Big Macs, one in each hand. There’s sauce and ketchup smeared around his mouth and dripped down the front of his shirt, which at this point is a lost cause… So much so that he only gives each of his messy fingers a few cursory sucks before reaching down to sooth his churning gut. He can’t remember how many burgers he just plowed through because they all blurred together in a kaleidoscope of flavor and texture, warm and juicy and filling. Maybe later he’ll count the number of wrappers littered around him and fallen to the floor at his feet, but right now he’s a burping, hiccuping mess, struggling to adjust himself into a comfortable position when his skin is stretched tight and hot to the touch. 

The button on his jeans is still hanging on though, squeezing him into two thick bulges at the middle, squeezing his leaking dick, and he’s so frustrated he could almost cry. It wasn’t enough, not to fill him up and not to pop the damn button and not to come. He needs more, but he’s so heavy. 

And Steve is used to overindulging. But he’s also used to being doted on, Eddie bringing him more food whenever he wants… forgetting the difference between want and need, because either is quickly and enthusiastically met. Now he’s out of food and he wants to pout and stomp his foot, but it won’t do any good. 

“Okay, I can—urrrp, mmmh—I can do this,” he mumbles to himself. Feels a little drunk off the tightness of his stomach and around his gut… which, as he gropes himself below the waistband, still seems surprisingly, fascinatingly doughy. Gets so lost in feeling that massive, denim-trapped roll of fat that for a long moment he briefly forgets about more, because he feels huge. He’d finished high school with a fucking six-pack and now he’s done all this to himself, struck dumb by overeating and feeling himself quiver with every burp. 

Then huge gives way, inevitably, to bigger, even bigger. Steve groans and starts trying to rock forward into standing, but, fuck. That feels good, so good that the electric shock through his system catches him by surprise. He convulses, feels a snap, then the surge of his belly set free, wonders how long it’ll be before he can’t get up on his own—and cries out as he comes hard into his briefs. 

For a moment, that’s enough. 

But then he thinks, more. Bigger. And he rocks himself to his feet, thrown off balance by how full he is yet somehow still hungry. He needs it. Has to feel totally full, has to make a pretty picture for Eddie to come home to. 

When he gets to his feet it’s with a clumsy stagger, sluggishly reevaluating his center of gravity. It sends another hot pulse through his body that makes him jiggle, but he gets the hang of it—clasps a hand beneath his freely hanging belly with a moan, because it’s a lot easier to palm than his dick right now. Laboriously gets the plates in his other hand and returns slowly to the kitchen, relishing the squelch of gross, cooling cum in his boxers with every… not step, waddle. He’s waddling now, full enough that it dominates his gait through the short walk. It makes him shudder with the still rolling aftershock of pleasure.

On a whim he starts the kitchen faucet running and reaches for the dish soap and sponge with his swollen paunch in the way, pressing unbearably into the lip of the counter until he lifts it and plops it down on top. Which makes it harder to see into the sink but takes a tantalizing amount of pressure off his lower back, and Steve bites his lip hard about that, squeezing his thighs together. His belly wobbles in front of him as he tries to scrub the dishes without losing his mind, pressing his now exposed crotch against the cabinet under the sink. 

There’s no going back, he knows. Everything that he’s doing to himself, the bulk he’s eagerly packing on and always touching, jiggling, massaging whenever he has a free moment—even at the fucking DMV, he’d caught himself a few times playing absentmindedly with himself like a stress ball. He’s not sure how he lived before this. The damage, the mindless ecstasy, is his new normal. 

He does a sub-par job on the dishes, he also knows. But whatever, he’s got a dishwasher, this was just an exercise in revving himself back up. After rinsing and drying his hands, Steve goes straight to the pantry for a couple boxes of mini donuts and bags of chips. Swings by the fridge and grabs a six-pack of cold Coke. Waddles his way back to the couch, where he plans on beaching himself until Eddie comes home, piles of after-meal snacks crammed into his stomach until he really can’t move, humping lazily into his own fat and still whimpering for more. Bigger. Make me huge, Eds. 

Make me so big I never have to go to the DMV again. Make me too big to drive, fucking steering wheel already catches on my gut, make it so I run out of room to even hope to wedge myself in. Make me too wide for doorways. Make me too huge and mindless to move except to eat and get fucked, make it impossible to tell the two apart, make, make—

Steve comes again as his soft, jiggly ass hits the couch, moaning decadently even as he scrambles to get one of the boxes open and cram three mini donuts into his mouth at once. He’s incapable of stopping himself now, even if he wanted to, because literally everything that happens to him these days is a turn-on. Moaning through a mouthful of sweet, empty calories, totally and visibly gone for it. He loves eating, loves Eddie for helping him explore this side of himself, for helping him become what he is finally free to be now that the Upside Down is gone and he doesn't have to be a hero anymore. 

A quivering fat mess, unable to close his legs with his sagging belly in the way, and loving every second. 

~

Steve wakes with a little snort and a jerk that puts pressure on his still tight stomach, makes him grunt. 

“There he iiis.” 

A smile blooms across his round face, even while he’s still blinking and struggling through the food coma back to full consciousness. “Eds?”

“The one and only, at your service.” His boyfriend grins and offers an elaborate bow, standing close enough to end it with a kiss at the apex of his huge middle, just under the hem of his ruined shirt. “How’s my big boy doing?”

Yawning, Steve flexes his hands where they’re still cupped under his gut. He must have fallen asleep like this, donut crumbs and powdered sugar on his lips and cheeks. A burp, however, interrupts him from licking at the leftovers as best he can. “Gotta change,” he remembers in a vague mumble, and Eddie laughs. 

“Well, yeah. Looks like it was a messy eating day.” The other man swings around to drop onto the couch next to him, unbothered by the gravitational pull from how deep Steve has sunk into the cushions. Leaning his lanky form into it, Eddie starts feeling over him eagerly. “Damn, you’re like a fucking drum, sunshine. What’s you do all day?”

Steve hums and relaxes into the gentle hands splaying over, stroking, and cradling his bulk. “Woke up, had breakfast. Fried eggs and bacon with toast. I couldn’t keep my shirt pulled down enough, the pan kept spitting and getting grease on my belly, so I had to get an apron, but.” He pouts. “I couldn’t reach to tie it very well, so I couldn't make enough. Had to switch to something else. Hope you didn’t want any of those frozen hashbrowns, because I cleared out the entire big box.”

Eddie slaps mock-sternly at his gut, sending out ripples and forcing out a burp. “Greedy boy. And then what?”

So Steve tells him about wriggling and squirming to get into these jeans after his breakfast stuffing, laying on his back and trying to suck in (not that it made a difference) until he managed to button up. How he’d picked the longest shirt he has in the size he’s almost outgrown—news to Eddie, apparently, who reaches up to trace thoughtfully around where the sleeve squeezes Steve’s emerging arm and nods with a fond smile, because yeah. Just about. 

Steve tells him about going out on his errand, how he’d had to scoot the driver’s seat back again another notch. How tight the seatbelt felt. How he’d kept catching himself absently playing with his belly, noticed people watching, and pulled his shirt down but didn’t stop. And that, sitting for his picture, his love handles fought the armrests that squeezed deliciously around him for dominance. He thinks he might have been blushing, and can’t wait until the new license comes in the mail and they get to see if it shows on his fat face. 

Then they get to the part that Steve is most excited for: the part where Eddie asks him what he ate after the DMV, and he winks and says salaciously, “Nothing.”

At which Eddie simply raises a disbelieving eyebrow before glancing down at how round he’s gorged himself. Too heavy to get up on his own maybe, though he hasn’t yet bothered to try.

“I wanted to see how long I could hold out,” Steve explains breathlessly, eyes going a little unfocused as he relives it in his head. “See how out of control I really am, you know? Like, like that dream I had the other day, with the drive-thru? Where I, mm, I kept eating my food as soon as they handed it to me and then getting back in line because I was already hungry again.”

“Remember? Sweetheart, I woke up to you huffing and puffing and painting my ass untouched in your sleep.” Eddie leans in for a kiss, nipping as he pulls away with a growl. “It’s in my fantasy rotation for whenever I spend a night away from you.”

The flush that gives Steve is heady, yet comfortable. He knows his boyfriend is crazy about him, loves to hear little unprompted tidbits about Eddie daydreaming of him while on the road. It comes at the expense of knowing that sometimes Eddie holds up in the back of the van to stick a hand down his pants while his bandmates are up front headbanging to the radio, but, well… that’s kind of hot. 

Maybe, considering the effect that eyes on him at the DMV had had on him, Steve has a bit of an exhibition thing. Just a bit. 

“Good,” he says, half about the fantasy and half in response to Eddie’s fingers trailing up and down his sides, calluses just a little rough over his soft rolls. Almost tickling, but not quite. His cock stirs in the sticky mess he’s made of his briefs. “Well, I made it all the way home. I was fucking drooling for it man, my stomach was growling like crazy for it, but I made myself get plates. Can’t reach very well anymore without getting my belly up on the counter, m-made me feel so…”

“Huge?” Eddie suggests. “Tubby? Plump? Like a total beefcake, emphasis on the cake?” Snuggling up just a bit more, lips grazing Steve’s ear because this is doing it for both of them as he breathes, “Fat?”

Steve shudders, his half-chub growing to full mast so quickly it aches. “Yeah,” he moans. “Eddie, Eds, I gotta… These pants…”

He feels Eddie’s smile against his ear, sliding down to his neck, nuzzling at the side of his double chin. “Made a mess of yourself there, too?”

“Yes,” Steve whines. Multiple times. “Gotta change, I told you…”

“You’re going to need a lot more than that, big boy,” Eddie murmurs condescendingly. He reaches under Steve’s belly—quite a feat at this point, he has to shove under and the jostle of it makes Steve rip out another series of burps, still so full—to pat his clothed dick. “You need to wash up. Think you can get up from the couch?”

“I don’t—urp—I don’t know…”

“How about up the stairs?” Eddie is kneading over him now, and Steve feels so tender but it’s good, riding on the edge of too much that he loves. “Into your bathroom? That shower stall is a tight fit these days, sunshine. Can you make it all the way down the hall to your parents’ bathroom without needing to stop for a break?”

“M-maybe.” Steve isn’t sure. His head drops back, letting out another belch followed by a moan. He’s so oversensitive, despite the impromptu nap, that he’s ramping up fast.

“You’re too big to bend over and reach the faucet. You’ll need to sit in the tub while I fill it up, unless you want to flood the place getting in. If your wide ass even still fits.” Somehow Eddie always knows the exact right thing to say to strike him dumb with want, and that mental image definitely does it. “What do you think of that, baby? Getting so big and insatiably hungry you outgrow that big, luxurious tub? It’d be a shame if we had to start hosing you off in the driveway like a car, where everyone can see just how far you’ve let yourself go.”

Steve is leaking precome, sluggishly trying to roll his hips but all he can manage is a weak rocking motion. His hand has ended up fisted in Eddie’s band shirt, holding him close as if his boyfriend has ever shied away from him for a second in their relationship. No, Eddie is always all over him, can never get enough of more Steve any more than Steve can get enough of more. And maybe that exhibition thing isn’t news to Eddie, because the thought of all the neighbors coming out to point and gawk at him, spread out for them to see while Eddie soaps down all of his rolls and folds, remarking in shocked tones on how he probably still has food or drink in one or both hands…

It’s a fantasy. Just a fantasy, he couldn’t… he can’t… But god, what a way for his parents to find out. A phone call, a photo sent in the mail like a postcard of a landmark. Actually coming home, trying to pull in the driveway only to find their son is taking up more of it than should even be possible for a guy his age—

“Oh, you like that,” Eddie comments slyly. “Think you’ve got one more in you before we lever your ass up? Then I’ll get you upstairs and help you wash up, and we’ll talk more about that later.”

Steve nods shakily, not even knowing when his eyes had slid shut. He’s trying to hold his legs even further apart, but they’re so wide. “Y-yeah. Earlier I—urrrrrrp, oh fuck, Eds, mmm. I c-came trying to get up, before. Trying to rock forward. After my fast food, before… the rest.” He cracks his eyes open to plead, “Is there anything left?”

Which is how he ends up with a can of room temperature pop held to his lips, the sticky brown fizz of Coca Cola flooding over his tongue. He gulps at it, heedless of the carbonation and how it bullies at the insides of his stomach, swelling him up to capacity and then some until he aches. His hand grasps Eddie’s on the can, urging him to tip it further, pour more into him, make sure he never stops. 

The can goes away and chips are pushed into his mouth, almost more than will fit. He chews anyway, ravenous without the hunger part, insatiable. Has to finish, have all of it, all of it, he needs— The last of the Coke, this time in his own sweaty, ham-fisted grip, almost crumpling the can trying to force it out faster, and Eddie grips both flaps of his jeans still constricting his lower fat pad and pulls.

And because he’s worn these jeans out, seams strained and the material between his thighs rubbed thin by constant chafing whenever he walks, they rip. Easily. He explodes out of them, feeling it even more keenly than when he’d popped the button, and Eddie’s thumb gets through the fly of his gross, stiff underwear and barely, barely grazes over the weeping head.

Steve comes with a roaring belch, empty can dropping and bouncing down his belly towards the floor with one final dribble lost onto his shirt and skin. He comes so hard the couch seems to groan under him, shaking in the deep divot he’s pressed into it. When Eddie stands over him and jerks himself over the edge after, he doesn’t even react because he’s a drooling mess, still trying to catch his breath. 

It hadn’t even taken much more to get to this point, he’d still been so full. So out of control that he climaxed from exploding out of the same jeans twice. 

“Good boy,” Eddie pants. He cards a hand through Steve’s now limp, sweaty hair, then uses it as a handhold to pull his lolling head up for a fierce kiss, full of the energy and desire that have temporarily bled out of Steve’s thoroughly satiated body. “So sweet for me, Stevie… Now come on, let's get you cleaned up and ready for more.”

He’s tired. So tired. But he never says no to more these days, so he allows Eddie to haul him to his feet. Helps a little bit, even. As much as it doesn’t help that his limbs are all relaxed and noodly with lingering pleasure, he’s strangely used to it. 

Everything gives him pleasure now, not just eating until he’s about to burst or getting dressed in increasingly tight clothes or running his hands greedily over his swollen body. Everything. 

Every wobble as he scrubs a plate in the sink, doing a half-assed job because he’s thinking too much about food to concentrate.

Every time he stretches to get something from cabinets and bumps his belly, or glances down and can’t see his feet. 

Every step that turns into a waddle. 

Every time he sits on or leans against something only to hear it give a desperate creak.

Every wet dream that’s inching closer and closer to reality.

Every minute, all of it, that he exists in this ever expanding body makes the most innocent tasks lascivious and the mundane provocative. He’s living in an erotic dream where he just keeps growing and growing…

And Steve never, ever wants to wake up.

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls

[kaunis-sielu]

Dangerous Places: 1

You probably should’ve let shit alone. Like, the mob expansion happening wasn’t really any of your business. At least not until they came into your neighborhood and started trying to recruit the kids you looked after.

Then it very quickly became your business.

You’ve decided if you see them talking to Peter again you’re taking your bat and you’re going to make sure they know you mean business. You don’t know what else to do at this point, no way in hell are you going to allow May’s sweet nephew get sucked into a gang. Not on your watch.

You’d seen them two days later, talking to Peter and you’d gotten pissed. It’s an African American man and a white guy with longer brown hair pulled back away from his face. You grab your bat and go flying out of your apartment. You’re on the street before you even know what you’re doing.

“Peter Benjamin Parker! You get your ass inside and get to work on your homework right now.” You snap stepping between him and the two surprised gangsters. “And you two, he is seventeen! Leave him alone!”

“Oh, a little spitfire.” The brunet says, “you wanna handle this one Sam?”

“Ma’am.” Sam starts in a calm tone but you’re not having it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask for you to speak to me.” You snap, “he is a child he doesn’t need to be mixed up with gangsters like you!”

“We’re not gangsters.”

“Mobsters. Whatever.” You sneer, “Get out of my neighborhood!”

“Your neighborhood?” The brunet says raising one dark eyebrow. “Listen here lady,”

“No.” You cut him off as Peter tries to gently pull you away. “Peter I swear to god if you don’t get into the building it’s your ass I’m kicking next.”

“See ya round Sam, Bucky.” Peter says and while you scowl at him at least now you know names.

“Next?” Bucky asks with a scoff, and you sneer at him. You hope that your bravado is enough to keep the two at bay.

“Woah, woah, okay ma’am.” Sam says again trying to keep you calm. You raise the bat and glare at him.

“Sam.” Bucky’s voice has gone cold, when you look over at him he’s staring at your wrist. Shit. They know. They know what that means and why you have it. “Peter. Go.” Bucky says and your heart plummets, you follow Peter, walking backwards so you can keep eyes on the two men and so they can’t rush you. You get inside and turn and run, you get to your apartment and lock the door. It’s not until several hours later that you finally breathe a sigh of relief.

You thought you were safe, after waiting for hours for something to happen you thought you were okay. Apparently they were just biding their time because you wake suddenly to two pairs of hands, one pinning your arms to your sides and the other covering your mouth with a sweet smelling rag. You try not to breathe and one laughs,

“You have to breathe eventually sweetheart. Make it easier on yourself and let go.” It’s not the voice of one of the men from today. Shit. Shit. Shit. Hopefully they didn’t tell Hydra where you were.

“Shit she’s holding out for a while.” The second voice says and this one sounds like one of the guys from earlier but you can’t be sure. You struggle a few more seconds before you’re forced to breathe or pass out anyway. You suck in a breath and your vision swims, you manage to stay conscious but feign that you’ve passed out. It’s not hard to fake since you’re clinging to consciousness as it is. The hands lift you and put you over one shoulder of one of the men and then you start moving. They carry you down the stairs and out into the night, you expect to be put in a trunk but instead they put you in the backseat and actually buckle you in.

This is not what you expected. Another body joins you in the back but this one is fully conscious. It’s the second voice.

“Buck, go to the warehouse.”

It’s a long drive, longer than you’d expected but the second that you stop and the door opens you spring into action. You unbuckle, throw the door open and sprint. Never mind that the ground is hard and sharp and you’re not wearing shoes. You’re quick and you took them by surprise but he’s got a height and strength advantage on you as a pair of arms encircle your waist.

“Got the drop on me there little Bunny.” The voice says sounding amused as he effortlessly scoops you off your feet your back pressed to his front. You struggle to get away, you’re not going down or back to Hydra without one hell of a fight, but you might as well be fighting a brick wall. It does you no good and before you know it you’re inside the warehouse and you just know you’re fucked.

Tag list:

@andahugaroundtheneck @connie326 @also-fangirlinsweden @lumar014 @loving-life-my-way @pagina16ps @emdying @dumblani @valsworldofcreativity @blackwidownat2814 @abschaffer2 @patzammit @inkedaztec @sophham @sass-masterkittenmama

[whizzinpast]

Lord, Give Me One More Chance

Chapter 1: Requiem

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Ivan (Alien Stage)/Till (Alien Stage), Ivan (Alien Stage) & Till (Alien Stage)

Chapter Warnings: Drug Abuse, Implied/References Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Suicide Mentions

Chapter Summary: Till experiences an unusual chain of possibly unrelated events after the sixth round.

A/N: So, uhm, that Round 6 Behind The Scenes Patreon post, huh?

Anyway, give me your flower emojis below if you want to give that one design of Till in a black turtleneck + harness a big smooch and a fancy bouqet.

Read on AO3 / Prelude / Chapter 1 (you are here)

Till’s god died in the fifth round.

The last he had seen of her face was a beastly display of shrieks and torn Mercurian silk. Her long, lithe arms struck her fellow contestant, Luka of Guardian Heperu, hands clasping around his slim neck like a serpent’s jaw. She had beaten the man bloody. Sentinels dragged her and her wild tendrils of pink hair, kicking and screaming.

Then the stage was invaded. Amidst the red, flashing lights and blaring sirens, Mizi was taken out of the competition.

Ivan believed she was not dead. Till wasn’t nearly as certain. Heperu prayed she wasn’t— only so she could be brought back and have several holes burned into her skull, then have it screened live across the entire Virgo supercluster.

Regardless of her fate, something broke out of her skin that day. On the curated stage of a deceased segyein’s ossuary, something ripped its way out of her chest and left behind the dead skin of a depraved, grieving Mizi. Something too raw and too bloody to be worshiped.

Ivan knew it would not kill Till’s faith, but it was tested.

“No, no, I understand. As soon as the round is over, it’ll be off your shoulders. He can be very sweet, I promise, he’s just shy.” Ivan explained saccharinely over the phone. “Thank you. I wish you the best.”

His face fell as soon as he hung up.

Ever the opportunist, Ivan’s guardian sent him off to deliver gifts for Luka before he could make his way to Till’s containment chamber. Last he heard, Till’s hysteria was so loud he had to be collared, muzzled and accompanied by two sentries. If Ivan intended to keep his privileges, including his visits to Guardian Urak’s sector, he had to play his part.

And so, with his gloved hands clenching the package and flanked by two henchmen, he was driven to his guardian’s most sought-out business associate.

Guardian Heperu’s sector boasted a distinct luxury compared to Urak’s. Its expansive alabaster interior housed multiple floors exclusively adorned with trophies of diverse kinds. Ivan was greeted by a receptionist, who marveled at his absence of a collar. One polite smile and a compliment later, he was directed to the escalators.

Luka’s enclosure was at the top, a stunning cage of bone and glass. He was kept in a neo-Gothic chamber, with pointed arches and spinal columns holding up a dome of hazy glass panes. Ivan found him in a gazebo below the great oculus, propped up like a doll in a round, oversized bed and surrounded by cables and pale machinery. Against so much paleness, the bruises on his face can be seen from the entrance.

Ivan and his escort’s entrance was announced by an approving, tinkling sound when they crossed the doorstep. Their black attires broke the bleached monotony, capturing Luka’s and Heperu’s attention.

“If victory came at this price, I’d hesitate to congratulate you.”

Luka acknowledged his presence with a curious tilt of his moonlit head. He seemed otherworldly, as if he were never fully present in this world, the next, or any that followed—somewhere beyond reach.

Guardian Heperu stood by the bedside, his small mouth curling in displeasure. “Nonsense! All victories of the Alien Stage are bloody. This— this is—“ He vented all too eagerly, gesturing aimlessly at his prized possession, decorated with bruises instead of medals. “Absolute animosity. Unacceptable. Shine should be ashamed of herself.”

“All the more to perpetuate the true virtue of the victor,” Ivan said. “And all the victories to come.”

Heperu was pleased enough with his comfort before his bulbous, violet eyes were drawn to Ivan’s package. “You bring gifts?”

Ivan smiled cordially, then handed the steel box to one of his escorts so it could be carried to Heperu’s small, grabby fingers. He took off his white gloves, their purpose fulfilled now that the package was delivered without a trace of human contact.

“Guardian wishes Luka a speedy recovery. This is something you could use to keep yourself nourished and entertained before Luka’s next round. They’re the best on the planet.”

Heperu eagerly unlocked the box’s mechanism and peered inside. “Ah, Gara. Excellent, excellent! He knows how to sort his specimen well. I myself never had the patience.” He looked up at Ivan with a critical eye, and once again, seemed pleased with what he saw. “But you’ve turned out the finest I’ve ever seen. Are you certain you’re not homegrown?”

Ivan shook his head with a little laugh. “No. My qualities are my master’s.”

“Then your master has potential.” A bot was dispatched to take the package, so Heperu could fix the sleeves of his robe. His focus didn’t last long when his appearance demanded his attention. “Send him my regards, I cannot keep you here any longer. My child requires rest.”

Ivan bowed as he was shooed off by flicking gestures of Heperu’s hands.

“Poet.”

Luka’s need for oxygen was so desperate it sucked all breathable air out of the room. Ivan paused, and so did his escorts.

Mizi’s hand prints painted his neck a vicious pink. Heperu had the money to fix it before his next round, but until it was dealt with, it cracked Luka’s acclaimed baritone. “When should I be expecting your requiem?”

It was a better acknowledgement than his dull, absent-minded gestures— and a challenge. Ivan recognized it, and responded in kind, his shoulders squared.

“Soon.” He outstretched his hand in good will. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Instead of shaking it, Luka’s icy fingers took hold of his own. He pressed his lips against his knuckles, dried blood brushing against Ivan’s skin.

“I know,” he rasped, his blue lips stretching into a slow, sordid smile.

Ivan rarely believed in bad omens, but when he left the sector, he made sure to ask for wet wipes instead of contaminating his suit.

Till’s god died in the fifth round. The last he had seen of her face was when tin-cans gathered to keep her on her scratched knees and pointed a rifle at the back of her head.

Her dress was torn. Her fists sore. Mizi’s face was a twisted, alien grimace that showed the strained wrinkle of her skin and the vicious cut of her brow. Seeing her bathed in red lights made him think of Anakt flowers in full bloom, and it was terrifying. Till was terrified. Despite the distance, he could see it clear as day— he drew her jaw wrong. Not only the jaw, but the lips, too. The teeth. The eyes.

Ivan was right.

She was gone. Gone. Gone.

And Till was left all alone as a finalist, which called for celebration.

Urak rented a VIP lounge to a group of gold diggers. They lifted him up on a pedestal to sing them his woes. Till didn’t— sing his woes, that is. He sang whatever came on screen. They asked for Black Sorrow five times in a row. The most recent addition, Cure, seven. A mogul with two planets under his belt, whose name Till remembered only because of how it was growled against his neck, mentioned how he had more flavor than the previous reigning champion and the brand ambassador combined. Till barely processed that he was talking about Ivan, too.

Brand ambassador. Child protege. Model. Musical powerhouse. Titles spat at his face like he was supposed to know what it meant. Like he was supposed to know who Ivan was.

Ivan was.

He was.

That was it. He was; no longer is. What is— is a drenched corpse. Dried and cleaned. Displayed in a museum or hidden in the back of his owner’s freezer, right next to some bougie extract or segyein champagne. He was too expensive to be dumped. What is— is the white coat that Urak let him keep.

Urak’s associates laughed at his fortune, their spittle on his face, and pushed blue pills into his hands. No, it was the spindly one. The one on his neck. Karlak. He was no longer a mere pet, he said. Now, he could party like a segyein.

A dead part of Till, the one with the collar, would’ve told him to go fuck himself on a pike.

What remained of Till, the unshackled one, downed it like it was candy.

And it was easier—so much easier—when he was another famous acid freak, puppeteered by the bourgeoisie. Everybody could have a piece of him, the old money dickwads and the nouveau riche. Till was spun around, weightless, and brought back to the stage, where he sang and swayed for them. Even out of his mind, they thought he sounded like a fucking angel.

Till grunted, his pulsing temple pressed hard against the mic while he waited for the chorus, grasping ecstasy before it slipped through his fingers, like the blood, like the rain—

Ivan is— was— is—

Till’s voice cried out the lyrics and the room boomed. Thunder and lightning. Blazing trails streaking the sky.

Twisted freak. Snaggletoothed bastard. Handsome corpse.

Till knew the shape of his fist better than he knew him. He knew his dead-eyed gaze and the fake quirk of his lips, and the swathe of his pale skin plastered across every holographic billboard. Of course he wasn’t scared of dying. He was immortalized on every commercial Till came across. It would take weeks to wipe his image from public conscious. It would take centuries to wipe him from Till’s.

He walked off the stage and draped himself across some segyein’s lap, who offered him a shot and a pat on the back. Their claw ran through his sweat-soaked hair. In return, Till bore his neck to the room, and the room marveled, its walls sodden with blood and gold. The music smelled like booze, and Till could see cigarette smoke wafting in cloudy patterns above his head. His jaw parted so it could drip down his throat, his tongue curling for a taste, only to be greeted with nothing.

Bored, he stumbled to the stage and sang three more songs. Then he went back.

He tripped on something, and when he rotated, stumbling, he realized it was a comet-white corpse. Till went around it, and fell back onto a table with shatter-screams in his wake. White-hot light burned his eyeballs. He nearly thought they strapped him to a table to poke his skin again, until a spiked shell loomed from above and pincers clacked above his beloved neck. Something roamed across his chest, but Till’s limbs were made of rubber. His head lolled back over the edge of the table, and he flinched at how the room spun. Vertigo struck him. Curtains of pink hair covered the door of the lounge. A tall, anthropomorphic form phased through.

Somewhere between staring at all the unimaginable redness of everything and licking his incisors, a jagged sound crawled out of his throat. “Dead meat,” he laughed, “you’re all dead fucking meat.”

And then— a shatter.

The lounge stopped pulsing.

Groaning in effort, Till tilted his head upwards. Blood-soaked forms of segyein shifted around, and somewhere in the background, he could hear Ivan halfway through the second verse of Cure. Till’s head lolled around Karlak’s pincers to see what all the fuss was about, and was promptly disappointed. A tin-man. The same kind of one-eyed tin-man that dragged Mizi off stage and nearly shot her in the back of her pretty head. He could hear gargling sounds and some warbles. He didn’t know that tin-men could talk.

Its metal head swiveled to face Karlak’s hot-white eyes. Till watched as it stepped forward and raised its arm to—

—shoot Karlak’s skull clean through.

Till’s eyes blinked through the spray of violet fluids. Karlak’s decapitated body slid off him, rolled over and hit the ground with a hard thump, soft belly facing the ceiling.

Another deafening shatter rang out. Till watched with bloodshot eyes at the result. Colors. Colors spraying the walls. Blues and greens and yellows.

A massive indigo form screeched and stormed across the lounge, knocking over sofas. The tin-man blew a clean shot through one of their kneecaps, then another through their chest as soon as they collapsed. Their body skidded to a stop at the sentry’s feet. The room suddenly exploded with glorious, saturated colors, and Till’s hand violently twitched with inspiration.

The rest of the segyein scrambled to the door, clawing at the keypad in hopes of getting it open. One was dragged by the back of its uniform, smacked with the butt of a gun before its head was raised above the edge of a table— splat. Yellow. Its skull was battered once, twice, thrice in continuous splatters of neon liquids and marrow.

It continued. It squashed, punctured and melted forms like sculpting art. Till couldn’t bring himself to move. The show was too fucking good to be true. It only got better when the upholstery caught fire. That— that was when he started cackling.

This was his life. Nothing else could surmise it better: Till splayed out on a coffee table in a blazing VIP lounge, laughing like a maniac while a mad sentry masacred segyein to the sound of Ivan’s requiem.

He had to pause to take a breath and close his damp eyelids. His head was throbbing. When he opened his eyes again, the firey silhouette of the tin-man came into focus, bleeding black out of the gap in its left shoulder.

Then and there, in the center of chaos, was Till. Then and there, haloed by licks of flame, was the cold, red orb of the sentry’s optic.

A broad hand floated towards him, its fingers spreading to close his eyelids.

Till allowed it. He smiled for the cameras.

His body slumped backwards, falling into the familiar comfort of a black abyss.

He heard murmurs of rain. The wind’s whistle followed his descent.

Lower, and lower, and lower.

…

But the spotlight followed him, spearing the darkness to catch Till for one last show—

And Till had no other choice but to open his eyes to a pure, bone-white ceiling.

He screamed.

His hands flew up to claw his eyes out. To block the light. To fight it. To shut it off. Shut it off. He whined through ten minutes worth of mind-numbing agony before his pupils adjusted to the light.

It was a pain to look at, but Till could discern shapes. A ceiling, walls, furniture, floors. A pale figure perched on an old-fashioned, alabaster chair beyond the foot of his bed.

Till recognized him. It was the lab-grown showpony; the other finalist.

The bleached blonde ghoul sat with his legs up on the edge of the seat, his chin resting on his knees while he spun colorful sections of a cube-shaped puzzle. He was mumbling something into his knees.

Till felt something on his face twitch.

“Hey.”

Silence.

Till growled harder, “Hey.”

The ghoul’s, the other finalist’s, eyes snapped upwards.

Gracefully, he hopped off the chair, his white nightgown flowing as he walked, glided, to Till’s bed.

“Where—“

In one smooth motion, he laid his palm down and lifted his legs up onto the sheets, hopping into the bed right beside Till’s frozen body. He leaned in close and personal. Thick, pale lashes brushed against his bloodless cheeks. Up close, there was too many wrong things to consider him human. It was Ivan, but worse. It was manufactured humanity, copy-pasted until it was mere parody of the source material.

“Who did you see?” He asked in a curious, lilting tone.

“What?”

“Not what,” the ghoul sighed and that, too, was musical. “Who?”

Till’s gaze skittered to anything except his murky, champagne eyes. “Flowers, rainbows and dancing corpses. T’was a death parade and I was the only guy alive. Dunno. I was tripping.”

He stared for a solid five seconds before his gaze glazed over, and his mind went fuck-knows-where. Till forced himself to clench his teeth through it, and waited. The competitor rolled his neck. His blue fingertips tapped absentmindedly against Till’s new collar.

He didn’t tell him anything. He sat, he thought, then his lips pursed in a delicate, peeved motion before he slid off the sheets, barely leaving a wrinkle. Till couldn’t even form a sentence before he slipped out of the room with his cube puzzle.

And left him alone with the sentry posted beside the door.

Till released a long, painstaking groan. Nothing was making sense. Urak’s shindig was a blur of colors that still made him crave paint and paper. He assumed he spent his night comatose. The reality of his visions was too questionable to be considered reliable. In which case, why did the ghoul ask him about it? What was he asking him about?

Till’s gaze was drawn to the sentry. It barely differed from the one he saw that night. Same height, same white plating, same optic. Different optic color, indigo; two arms, both intact; and a less robust frame. It didn’t make it look any less capable of snapping a human in half.

Generally, they can’t talk.

“Hey. Tin-can,” Till nodded at it. Its head calmly shifted his way. “Where am I?”

“Heperu’s sector.”

Its voice was smooth and modulated, like a filtered human voice. The organic nature of it sent shivers down his spine.

“Why? Urak lost a bet?”

“Urak has been fatally injured in a surprise attack by the Human Resistance Forces.” It explained in an unnervingly calm tone. “Ten investors were murdered on his property, half of which was lost to bombing.”

Till’s silence was long and heavy.

His head hit the bed frame. The canopy above his bed was so clean and pristine it made him want to climb up and smash it open.

“How— how long is it gonna take him to recover?”

“A month at least. Guardian Heperu volunteered to keep you until his recovery.”

A month. A whole month.

Till couldn’t tell whether he should laugh or cry or both.

Something bunched up in his throat. He swallowed it down and inspected the room. It was so white he could’ve been in a medical facility, and yet, the hue signified more age and less disinfectant.

The size of it, the segyein calligraphy carved into the ivory pillars; the massive, pointed window showing off a view of the two moons circling their host planet; his canopy bed with white chiffon sheets and pointed arches— it was night and day compared to the kitschy indulgences of Urak’s newly attained riches.

This room had none of that. This room had history. It was old money, through and through.

“Is this—“ Till’s arm vaguely gestured at the room, “—mine?”

“This is your enclosure.” The sentry nodded, then gestured at the wardrobe opposite of his bed, an ornate capsule with rib-like engravings. “You can find some of your belongings here, although some of it was damaged in the fire.”

“You come with the package or what?”

“I was assigned to be your escort and bodyguard until the winner of the fiftieth Alien Stage is declared.” The sentry placed its hand atop the holster on its hip. “There is reason to believe that HRF will make attempts on the contestants’ lives in order to sabotage the competition.”

Gingerly, and with far less grace, Till slid out of the bed. He was barefoot, and the tiles were cold and worn under his soles as he made his way towards the capsule. He didn’t know how they knew what his belongings were. Till had never owned much in the first place.

The wardrobe clicked open. The contents made his face morph into a pained expression.

The sentry was right; it was all his. The sketchbook, a stack of papers clamped together with staples, tape and sheer force of will; the two pencils and a pen, one used to vandalize his first page with Ivan’s clean, blocky signature; a slightly singed recorder; and the coat.

Till’s fingers reached for it. The edges of its coattails were heavily singed. The three holes, rusted over with blood, were still there.

He clenched his teeth, shoved the damn thing back inside and slammed the wardrobe closed.

Till had nothing and nobody. No believers, no gods. And yet, Ivan’s death made him impervious to wasting his life out of spite. He couldn’t do it by overdosing. He couldn’t do it by giving in to a HRF fighter’s gun. His fate was in the hands of Alien Stage— again, and forevermore.

There was no other route of escape except one: a demonstration. Win and kill the overpriced pet or die by gunfire, or whatever the tin-cans decide to do after he slaughters the fan favorite.

He pivoted, then made a beeline towards the door with his heels stamping prints on the fancy floor. “Tin-can, show me around.”

The sentry perked up. “It is recommended for you to rest one more day.”

“Can’t,” Till said grimly. “I need to write a requiem.”

The sentry didn’t respond immediately. Its indigo optic flickered. It stared through him, beyond him. Till thought it would block the way, until it smoothly stepped aside, and grandiosely gestured at the door. It spoke like he was more than a mangled thing covered in weary flesh.

“As you wish.”

AO3 / Prelude / Chapter 1 (you are here)

[gumnut-logic]

John found him in module two.

His second eldest brother was sitting beside the pod, pieces of it spread around him, staring at nothing.

John leant against the hatchway and quietly watched him. From the moment Grandma had reported the avalanche, John knew he would have to come home tonight. Avalanche rescues always messed with the family, particularly Scott and Virgil. He would be lying if he said they didn’t affect him, but he wasn’t boots on ground. He didn’t have to watch that wave of white bearing down on those he loved.

He hadn’t been the one there on that fateful day.

Virgil wore a frown as if he was glaring at something or someone John couldn’t see.

John had already checked in on Scott...on the other side of the Island and still moving. He’d be out running for a while and likely would come back and give the gym a work out.

Virgil was more subtle. He tended to pound the piano or vanish into his studio. On the rare occasion he could be found beside Scott either pummelling a sandbag or his brother on the spar mat. To find him here was a little odd.

“I’m okay, John.” Those eyes were suddenly fixed on the astronaut. “How’s Gordon?”

He pushed himself off the hatchway and entered the module. His spacesuited feet hardly made a sound. “He’s as well as can be expected. He’s with Alan.” A few more silent footsteps and John sat down quietly beside his brother. “What are you doing?”

His brother reached down and picked up a piece of pod mechanics. “Just checking the system after today’s rescue.”

John eyed exactly what Virgil had pulled apart. He was pretty sure it was the side of the module that hadn’t been used...and the same he and Scott had finished maintenance on that morning.

Busywork?

“I’m okay, John. You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry is my business.”

Brown eyes glanced up at him. “I thought that was in Scott’s portfolio.”

“Different perspective.”

Virgil arched an eyebrow before picking up another piece of pod and shoving it into the storage case. Several more pieces followed with no further attempt at conversation.

“Alan said you were grumpy for most of the day.”

That did it. His usually quiet brother flared up like a snake prodded with a hot poker. “He did, did he? Did he also tell you that he has turned Max into his personal slave so he can sit on his butt and watch videos while the rest of us work our asses off?”

“Not in so many words, no.” Calm and considered.

It succeeded. Virgil deflated. “No, he wouldn’t.” His brother returned to shifting around mechanical parts.

“How is Scott?”

His brother froze. “How do you think he is. Alan was nearly buried in an avalanche. I expect to be repairing gym equipment tomorrow.” Virgil stood up and put his back into moving the equipment into the locker.

“No one was injured. We’re all safe.”

“Yes, we are.” A chunk of pod landed on the module floor with a massive clang and Virgil swore.

Reaching down, John picked up the piece of machinery and, standing, held it out to his brother. Virgil looked at him with sad eyes. “Thank you.” It was taken from his hand and stashed beside its siblings.

“Gordon was very impressed.”

Virgil paused a moment, but then returned to shifting equipment. “With what?”

“With you.”

That was enough to stop him. “Gordon?”

John struggled to hold back a smile. “In his words...’Oh my god, yeeeah! Go Virg!’”

Virgil blinked at him and John could no longer hold back the grin. “Can’t say I wasn’t impressed myself.”

He watched his brother fight the urge to smile. “The new grapple gun performed well.”

John rolled his eyes. “You performed well, Virgil. There is no harm in taking credit where it is due.”

“I’m just glad I got Alan off the side of that mountain.” And the glum was back.

John sighed to himself as Virgil shut the equipment locker. “What is it, Virgil? What’s bugging you? Because all I can see is a successful rescue with a great outcome.”

His brother rounded on him. “It was pure chance, John. So damn close and it shouldn’t have been!” Virgil’s eyes flared at him in anger, but not at John, but...

At himself.

“How?”

Virgil’s brows knotted even more. “I knew that mountain was coming down. I had sensors on it. I was sitting there waiting with nothing else to do but stare at the damn thing, and it still caught me by surprise!” Virgil shoved the locker against the wall with a bang. John blinked at the strength his brother wielded. “There shouldn’t have been a dramatic rescue, I should have been there already!” Virgil turned away. “Alan and Brandon could have died because I wasn’t on the ball.”

John stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

The glare Virgil shot him was enough to flay him alive. “Do I look like I have a sense of humour right now?”

“Virgil-“

But his brother wasn’t finished. “We can have all the equipment in the world and it won’t mean jack shit if I’m not good enough to deploy it in time.”

“Virgil-“

“And Alan. We could have lost Alan. I-I can’t...not like Mom, please not like Mom.”

John’s eyes widened. “Virgil, take a breath. He’s okay. We’re all okay.”

Brown eyes stared up at him. “I fucked up so bad.”

John reached over and took his brother by his shoulders. “Virgil! How can you possibly say that? Did you see what you did?”

“I saw exactly what I did. Why wasn’t I airborne sooner? Why did I wait until the vibration sensor was in MOTION before making a move? It was seconds, John, seconds. I didn’t think I was going to make it. They could have been buried alive.” Like Mom.

That last might as well have been shouted with the rest.

“But they weren’t”

“Pure luck.”

“No! Virgil Tracy! You were on the scene. You were there. There was no way anything was going to happen to either of them with you in play, Virgil. You know this. I know this. I have seen you face far more than a falling mountain. It didn’t stand a chance.”

“John-“

“You listen to me. I know you. I watch you day in and day out. I may be twenty-two thousand kilometres away, but I am with you every step every rescue and, goddamnit, Virgil, those seconds may well have been hours for all they mattered.” He glared at his brother. “How many times have you sat back in a situation, watching, only to step in and save the day when it most counts? You sit there quietly, calculating, planning, knowing exactly when to intervene. You are our rock, Virgil. Solid, dependable and inevitable. And god forbid anything gets in your way once you get moving.”

John’s lips were tight and his heart thudding. Virgil stood staring at him, eyes wide.

Quietly. “When I’m so far above and someone is screaming, you are the hands I reach out to catch them with. I trust those hands with so many lives, Virgil. So many people calling for help and I have no need for faith because I KNOW you will do everything you can. Just like you did today.” A breath. “Don’t doubt yourself. I never have.”

He let his brother go and straightened.

Virgil was still staring at him. It wasn’t often John put so much into words, but the self-doubt in his brother’s eyes just demanded it. Perhaps it would have enough impact to sink in.

In the meantime, back to basics.

“Have you eaten?”

Virgil blinked. “What?”

Obviously not.

“Food, Virgil. Fuel for your engine.”

“Oh, uh...”

“I didn’t think so. C’mon, big brother, sustenance will help change your perspective.” John grabbed Virgil’s arm and nudged him in the direction of the module hatchway. Still staring, Virgil did as he was told.

“I’m the big brother, John.”

“Yeah? Well, sometimes big brothers need corralling as much as younger brothers. I thought you’d understand that with Scott on your radar so much.”

Virgil blinked. “I see your point.”

John held onto Virgil the entire elevator ride up to the residential levels. He didn’t let go until his brother was seated at the kitchen table. The acquisition of a simple sandwich and John plopped both the food and himself down in front of Virgil. “Now eat.”

“Are you going to watch my every bite?” A definite frown was forming like a storm cell on his brother’s brow.

“No, I’m just going to sit here and enjoy your company.” A thought. “Might even have a beer. You want one?” He stood up again and rummaged in the fridge.

Another blink. “Aren’t you going back up tonight? Doesn’t Brains need you?”

“No, I have more important things to attend to down here.” Ooh, some of Scott’s boutique beer. He eyed the label. Expensive boutique beer. It would do the job. Two bottles landed on the table.

“You know they are Scott’s.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Your funeral, I guess.”

“He’ll survive. Eat your sandwich.”

Virgil was staring at him again.

John sighed. “Is it really so shocking that I care about you?”

“No! It’s just...” Virgil’s shoulders settled a little. “Thank you, John.”

“No thanks needed, just trust yourself a little more.” He pinned his brother with his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now eat your sandwich.”

John held back a smile when Virgil immediately bit into his bread.

-o-o-o-

[best-nun-tournament]

Round 2, Match 11

Percy Jackson and Polyphemus (Percy Jackson) vs Mercer and Gage (The Silt Verses) vs Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XIII (Egyptian history)

(Mercer and Gage art by @thedoublepp)

Propaganda under break. Spoilers for the Alexandrian War (47BC).

Percy Jackson and Polyphemus

Points to the part in Sea of Monsters where Polyphemus threatens to snitch to Poseidon like he did with Odysseus and Percy’s like good luck buddy I’m dad’s favorite

Mercer and Gage

Mercer and Gage are two fairly young people who have been failed by the systems in place. They’re a pair of orphans who have been working to birth a god and are attempting that through their hunting. They get hired by a politician to kill a few other gods, which results in them spending several months traveling up and down the countryside, razing entire towns and killing worshipers of whatever god they are hunting at the time, going so far that the politician who hired them asks them to chill out a bit because now they’re just killing voters. Over time, Gage grows to hate the hunt and longs to do something more with their life, while Mercer grows angry that their sibling is drawing away from her. She tries to push Gage to keep going, and reluctantly they do. When the politician instructs them to stop hunting the god they’re currently after, Gage tries to tell Mercer to stop, but Mercer refuses because she believes that after they finish hunting this god, their goal will be accomplished. Seeing that Mercer will never stop and Gage will never be free of her, Gage decides to kill her.

Poll Runner's Note: I also really liked this drawing by @caimitos. The detail of Gage having the dog's jaw at the bottom of their hood is really cool!

Cleopatra VII and Ptolemy XIII

You know

Poll Runner's Note: I sure do, and now I'm going to tell everyone about it! Ptolemy XII, their father, had five children: Berenice, Cleopatra, Arsinoë, Ptolemy XIII, and Ptolemy XIV. Berenice had usurped Ptolemy XII's rule and was executed when he regained power, making Cleopatra his eldest living child. In his will, he declared that when he died Cleopatra and Ptolemy XIII should get married and reign as co-rulers of Egypt.

Ptolemy XII died when Cleopatra was about 18 and Ptolemy XIII was 11, and right from the start she was not interested in this co-ruler business. She started leaving his name off documents, leaving his face off the coins, and generally acting like she's the only ruler in Egypt. Unfortunately for her, Ptolemy's guardians weren't keen on being demoted from "power behind the throne" to "glorified babysitter", and they deposed Cleopatra and forced her to flee to Syria, where she raised an army and started a war against her brother. It didn't go well for her, and things were looking bad for her until Julius Caesar showed up with his army.

Caesar was 1) Already mad at Ptolemy's advisors for killing Pompey who he'd wanted to spare and 2) famously a huge slut so Cleopatra was pretty easily able to convince him to restore her to power.

It's at this point Arsinoë shows up with her army. She joins forces with Ptolemy XIII, declares herself Queen Arsinoë IV, and beseiges Cleopatra and Caesar in the palace complex. For five brutal months, they battled through the city. The fires are said to be how the Library of Alexandria was lost, which is probably a legend but it was still devastating. Ceasar himself almost drowned while fleeing Arsinoë's forces at the Battle of Pharos Island.

Finally Caesar's allies show up with their armies, and Ptolemy drowned trying to flee across the Nile while Arsinoë was taken prisoner. She was brought back to Rome as part of Caesar's triumph, but her life was spared and she lived out the rest of her days at the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus. This was about five years because Cleopatra later persuaded Mark Antony to have her murdered right there in the temple.

Cleopatra married her youngest brother Ptolemy XIV, before finally poisoning him so she could make her son Caesarion the new Pharaoh.

Cleopatra was at least partially responsible for the deaths of all her siblings except the one her father killed, and the struggles between them were devastating for Egypt and caused a lot of suffering. These are some legitimately awful siblings.

[vickyvicarious]

Jonathan Harker saying that he's going to have to contemplate later and make up his mind about what he believes about idolatry and what he had been taught about what's heretical and to use his own judgment was something I didn't expect

It's kind of interesting, actually. His response when first given the crucifix was somewhat mild:

She then rose and dried her eyes, and taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to me. I did not know what to do, for, as an English Churchman, I have been taught to regard such things as in some measure idolatrous, and yet it seemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such a state of mind.

It feels not so much that he's deeply opposed himself, exactly. Just that this is what he has been taught as an English Churchman. And even then, it's only in some measure idolatrous, not totally. So right from the start it seems almost like something he hasn't really had opportunity to form an independent/strong opinion on before now, so much as something he's just been told and didn't particularly question.

But the gift was so kind and she obviously cared so much about him taking it that he accepted. Even more, she and the rest definitely got to him a bit, and so Jonathan continuing to wear the crucifix was not only out of respect for her feelings (he could have taken it off and just kept it with him if his only consideration were not offending her), but also because a part of him is already perhaps wondering if it will be helpful. At the very least, he is drawing some amount of comfort from it, even if it's just from the thought of the old woman's care that the gift reminds him of. He must be, because he's still wearing it around his neck while shaving several days later. We know Jonathan shaves every day, so it seems clear that he has a routine of daily ablutions (quite aside from the character notes of him being on an Important Professional Business Trip and probably wanting to look his best). I highly doubt he could have just forgotten he had it on. Continuing to wear it that long was a deliberate choice, even before it tangibly helps him out. And then comes that bit you're talking about:

What meant the giving of the crucifix, of the garlic, of the wild rose, of the mountain ash? Bless that good, good woman who hung the crucifix round my neck! for it is a comfort and a strength to me whenever I touch it. It is odd that a thing which I have been taught to regard with disfavour and as idolatrous should in a time of loneliness and trouble be of help. Is it that there is something in the essence of the thing itself, or that it is a medium, a tangible help, in conveying memories of sympathy and comfort? Some time, if it may be, I must examine this matter and try to make up my mind about it.

The crucifix makes Jonathan feel comforted and strengthened whenever he touches it. Both could stem from the circumstances in which it was given and when he saw it protect him already. He feels comforted/stronger because it is a form of protection, something of which he has very few in his current situation. Or maybe it's comforting/strengthening because of the tangible reminder that as alone as he is currently, there are still people out there who care about him and want/tried to protect him. Both of those options would be purely emotional placebo effects.

But Jonathan wonders if there is a literal benefit to it as well. If there is some kind of holy essence in fact, which has positive effect on him as well as negative ones on Dracula. He has after all already observed the latter. In considering this option, he is showing a willingness to reevaluate what he has been taught and possibly make his own judgement contrary to his prior beliefs about idolatry.

I'm not going to get into spoilers in this reply, but a decision Jonathan later makes about the crucifix, as well as some later statements about souls/God, seem relevant here. It kind of makes me wonder if Jonathan has viewed his religion mostly as a sort of given, natural state. It's something into which he was educated/raised, it is an identity (English Churchman) that he has accepted as natural but not truly spent a lot of time thinking hard about before. His time here in the castle immediately challenges some of the beliefs that go along with it, and as we progress through the book Jonathan's relationship with religion gets deeper and more complex (both in more-sincerely-religious-than-default and more-contrary-to-his-teachings/blasphemous ways).

[ejzah]

Could you do something where Mama Deeks finds out about Baby Densi and gets all emotional and tells Deeks what a good dad he'll be?

Despite All Odds

***

“And so I just told Ary that I’m not the kind of woman who has time to wait around while he figures out what he wants,” Roberta said as Deeks placed an opened beer in front of her on the patio table. Then he went to join Kensi at the other side of the table. “I’ve got things to with life that don’t involve dropping everything when that man remembers I exist.”

“I thought you went out on a date with him last week,” Deeks commented dryly. He’d decided that it was best to ignore whatever went on between Arkady Kolcheck and his mom for the sake of his own sanity.

“It was dinner at his place, and we were just catching up.” She paused a beat, straightening a glittering bracelet circling her left wrist. “Now, if he wants to give me family heirlooms to make up for leaving me hanging for months, and not even attempting to get in touch when I got back in town, that’s his own business.”

“That’s probably stolen,” Kensi predicted to Deeks in an aside.

“Oh, definitely,” he agreed.

They chatted for a few more minutes while they finished their dinner. After Deeks cleared their plates, replacing Roberta’s beer with a new one, and handing Kensi a Sprite.

“So,” he began, rubbing his hands over his thighs as he shared a nervous look. “We have something to tell you.”

“Oh, here it comes. Alright, who’s dying?” Roberta asked with a resigned air.

“What?” Deeks said in shock, shaking his head. “Why would you say that?”

“You invited my over here for dinner, you made my favorite meal.” She indicated herself and the table, continuing to list off points. “You’re both dressed up, and you’re all antsy as all hell. Clearly, you’re waiting to break some bad news.”

Resting a calming hand on Deeks’ shoulder, Kensi turned to face Roberta. “Roberta, no one is sick or dying,” she assured her.

“We actually have good news for a change,” Deeks said. With an anticipatory sigh, he retrieved a box from underneath the loveseat. “Actually, we thought this was the best way to tell you.”

Roberta took the box reluctantly, eyeing them suspiciously as she tugged the ribbon on top free. “Now, if a trick snake pops out of this, I’m not—” she broke off, speechless for a second, lifting out a tiny light blue onesie" “Grandma loves me,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly, fixing them with a look of disbelief.

“Yeah, I’m pregnant,” Kensi confirmed, reaching across the table to squeeze Roberta’s hand as it started to tremble.

“Um, that’s not all.” Deeks jutted his chin towards the box.

She pulled out a second identical onesie. “Oh my god, twins!” Her shut was loud enough to carry over several house, and both Kensi and Deeks grinned. “Oh, get over here, kiddo,” Roberta said, rounding the table to hug them, the two onesies still clutched in one hand.

“Congratulations, you two. You know I never stopped rooting for you.”

“I know. Thanks, mama,” Deeks murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you, Roberta. We’re really happy too.”

Roberta gave Deeks an extra hug, smoothing her hands over his cheeks. He expected to see delight, but instead he saw melancholy in her eyes.

“Mom, are you ok?”

She drew back, avoiding their gaze while she found her seat again. Kensi looked just as confused as he felt.

“You know, when you were a little boy, I was always wished that I could give you a better life,” she began softly. This was a version of Roberta that people rarely saw; the softer, more vulnerable, less more open. “I worried about how it would affect the man you would become some day.” She paused and smoothed her hands over the onesies on her lap, freeing a few wrinkles from the fabric. “I worried I hadn’t done enough. I worried that you’d never find the happiness I wanted for you.”

“Mama…” Deeks said, shattered by the ache in her voice. Kensi took his hand; he heard her sniff quietly.

“But you proved me wrong in all of it. I don’t say it enough, but you’ve made me so,” she swallowed thickly. “So proud. You’re strong, and kind, and intelligent, and a the biggest protector. Always were. And maybe more stubborn than even me when it comes to doing the right thing. Somehow, you defied all the odds and came out the other side despite all my mistakes.”

“Hey, Mom, I’ve said before, none of that was your fault,” he said, needing her to believe him. He couldn’t let this guilt, his dad’s actions continue to bleed into their lives. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. You did good. Ok?”

Roberta nodded again, not resisting when Deeks crouched in front of her, and embraced her again.

“These babies are going to be damn lucky to have you. Just like Rosa is, because you’re one hell of a dad,” she said through tears. She reached over to take Kensi’s hand as she gripped Deeks’ shoulder.

***

A/N: I hope this is alright. I wanted to delve into the more emotional and angsty aspects, but also wanted it to be a happy moment as well. I hope I conveyed that.

Thanks for the prompt, friend!

[statisticallymorelikely]

“If I don’t make it back from where I‘ve gone, just know I loved you all along.” - Inkpot Gods, The Amazing Devil

on ao3

It’s the temperature that wakes Hob, but that’s the least of his frustrations on this scorching, summer day. It’s been more than a month of dreamless sleep. Normally, he would have been grateful for the respite, a break in the cycle of nightmares of past sins and painfully pining dreams about his Stranger-turned-Friend. But what used to be a blessing has taken on a different meaning upon learning of his friend’s office. 

He knows it’s not only him. Seems like nobody else is getting a good night’s sleep. People have been more irritable lately, more prone to a sharp tongue. Thankfully, his pub isn’t prone to attract brawlers but if this keeps up, he’s betting Luke will have put someone in a headlock by the end of the week.

Hob shakes off his blanket – mentally reprimanding himself for somehow developing the need to have one at all times regardless of season– and rolls out of bed. He goes through the motions of the morning: shower, clothes, breakfast, but his mind wanders, as it inevitably does, toward Dream.

Dream’s visits have always been scarce, even after he graduated into friend status. Though gone are the days of the centennial set up, his lordship is usually too busy to stop by, what with managing the entire world’s collective unconscious. Hob understands, he has duties as well, but he can’t ignore the thrum of worry that lingers at the back of his mind. This has been the longest they’ve not seen each other since he escaped.

He misses him. And now he doesn’t even have the comfort of the fake versions of him in his dreams (the one who holds his hand gently as they stroll through fields of sunflowers is his favorite). The egg spits oil onto his hand and startles him from his thoughts. Get it together, Hob, he grumbles, transferring his food onto his plate with a sigh. He has a pile of papers to grade and really can’t afford to be distracted today, so he bargains with himself: if he can finish at least half the class before noon, he can have ice cream for lunch.

Several hours later finds him hugging a bag of ice with his left arm while his right carefully carries his spoils from the shops: a tub of ice cream and some chocolate biscuits. So what if he fell short of his self-imposed quota, the guy who assigned that bargain is a bit of a knob anyway. He circles round the back of the pub to the stairs that lead to his flat, already looking forward to a bit of mindless reality TV with his ice cream, and then later that night, maybe a cold bath. 

All those plans go up in smoke, however,  the moment he enters his flat. Because the King of Dreams and Lord of Nightmares is lying on his couch, eyes closed, streaks of ash across his thin face, clothes all singed, some spots still smoldering even. 

“Dream?”

“Hob…” comes the feeble croak, and it’s enough to kick Hob into gear.

“Shit, what happened to you?” He dumps his bags on the table and kneels next to the couch, hands coming up but hesitating to touch his friend lest there be some kind of damage unseen. Hob peers closer at his face, notes the pained expression, the flush on his cheeks disappearing down to his chest, the beads of sweat clinging to his hair. Instinctively, Hob puts a hand on his forehead. Dream lets out a soft whine.

“You’re sick.” Could anthropomorphic personifications get sick? “You’re burning up. Christ.”

“This has nothing to do with him.”

There’s no time to unpack all that right now, Hob thinks, as he nudges Dream to sit up, earning him a groan. “You need to take your coat off. Boots, too.”

Dream grumbles out a protest, but lets Hob manhandle him into a sitting position. “Came to tell you something...”

“Later, love. Let’s take care of you first.” 

Hob busies himself with peeling the ragged coat off his friend, careful not to jostle him too much, briefly confirming there are no wounds or damage to his person, then tugging off his shoes, socks and rolling up his pants (ideally, he’ll take them off but he knows Dream can be sensitive about that), before disappearing off into the kitchen to put away his quickly-melting groceries. Centuries of experience has his body back on auto-pilot throwing open all the windows, gathering washcloths, a bowl, and a pitcher of cold water. He can’t help but remember Eleanor, frail body racked with fevers days before giving birth, cheeks glistening with a mix of tears and sweat in the candlelight despite how many times he tried to wipe them clean. A shudder crawls up his spine. 

No, he banishes the memory away, Dream can’t die, can he?

A muffled thump brings him back to the present and he peers over at Dream who’s managed to slump back down, face planted onto a pillow.

“Alright, your lordship,” says Hob, stowing his tray of supplies onto the table before forcing Dream to turn over, shoving a pillow underneath his head and nudging him to make space for him to sit. Dream’s eyes are glazed, filled with dark clouds more akin to smoke instead of their usual galactic blue, just the barest of recognition when he looks up at him.

Hob dampens a washcloth and slowly cleans up his friend’s face, gentle swipes across his forehead, cheeks, jaw and down the long line of his neck, washes away the soot on his arms. He dips it back in the cool water, wrings it out and places it on Dream’s forehead. This earns him a hum of relief and Dream’s eyes flutter open slightly, revealing a little more light in them than a few moments ago.

“There you are,” Hob whispers to himself. 

Despite this improvement, Dream is no longer in any shape to talk other than feverish mumbles of Hob’s name mixed with words from what Hob presumes is an ancient language. Worry still roils in his gut, but without any other knowledge on the arcane, Hob can only treat this as a human can. So he spends the next few hours alternating between wiping down Dream’s face, making him drink cold water (“I know you don’t need to drink, love, but this will cool you down”) and sitting in a nearby armchair reading his students’ essays to him. It’s almost domestic in a way and a familiar ache blooms in Hob’s chest, an ache he bore for centuries but packed neatly away after 1989.

Once the infernal sun has set and the earth starts to cool, a sweet breeze blows through the windows and the entire flat heaves a sigh of relief, the wood creaking as it settles down to relax. Hob is refreshing the washcloth on Dream’s forehead, contemplating whether he can bully his friend into changing into his sleep shorts, when Dream curls his fingers around Hob’s wrist, eyes finally alight with awareness.

His fever has broken. 

Hob nearly crumples with relief, breath shuddering out of him. “You’re actually going to kill me, y’know. Of all the things that tried over the years, worrying about you is the one that’ll actually do me in.”

Dream struggles to sit up and Hob clasps him firmly at the elbow, lifting him, other hand shoving pillows behind his back to prop him up. Pink tinges Dream’s cheeks from the effort and Hob hands him a glass of water, mildly surprised when the Endless takes it and drinks it without protest. 

“Thank you,” croaks Dream.

“You’re welcome, my dear.” Dream’s lip twitches at the endearment but Hob clears his throat, takes his glass and settles beside him on the couch. “So, feeling better? Care to tell me how you got like this? Didn’t think an Endless could get sick.”

“I am not sick.” 

When Dream offers no further explanation, Hob merely pins him with a look and busies himself with pushing back the strands of Dream’s hair clinging to his cheeks, something curls in his chest when Dream turns into his hand, chasing the sensation. If Hob had any virtue it would be patience, and one would think that his oldest friend would be more aware of that, so just like always, he waits for Dream to be ready.

Dream allows himself a few more moments of comfort before sighing wearily. “Hell has invaded the Dreaming.”

“What?!”

“The Lightbringer and their demons have set the Dreaming ablaze, what you call sickness is the manifestation of it in me. The Dreaming is a part of me, I am the Dreaming. The turmoil in my realm also resides within me. There is a war being waged in my bones and I’ve grown weak.”

It takes Hob a moment to process that piece of information, the thrum of worry at the back of his head graduating to full alarm bells. The image of a hundred different wars swim in his mind, unmoving comrades left in pools of blood and mud, villages empty as the landscape burns, the distant sound of children crying, muffled fearfully, the scent of gunpowder replaced by sulfur. The thought of his friend lifeless underneath a burning sky while thousands of demons crow victory. No. It mustn't come to that. Dream is the one link he has to who he is, the one who’s sustained his hope and wonder, he owes him so much, there’s so much he wants to tell him still, he can’t die, he mustn’t–

“Take me into the Dreaming. Let me help.” 

“No.” 

“Let me fight. You looked half-dead a few hours ago, and I’m a soldier who can’t die, remember?” 

“We have had this conversation before. The consequences in the Dreaming are as real as in the Waking world.” Dream’s eyes turn dark, his jaw clenching. Outside, the wind picks up and brings in the smell of heavy clouds poised to rain. “I will not allow harm to befall you, Hob, especially not on my behalf.” 

Hob would normally back off by now but no, this is too important. He leans close, peering into galactic eyes.  “I can’t lose you, please, Dream, let me help.” 

“You have already helped immensely. What you have done has already doused some fires in the Dreaming.” Dream reaches out, curves his long fingers around Hob’s clenched fists, startling the other man, but Dream doesn’t flinch, only patiently uncurls Hob’s hands and clasps them in his own. Rain starts to patter onto the street, gentle at first but gradually making way for larger drops. Dream crooks forward, gently bumping his forehead with Hob’s and they hold there, just a breath between them.

“You have cared for me and tended to me, and by doing so, have given me back some of my power,” he says slowly, deep bass carrying an enormous weight. “I came here to the temple you have built for me because your devotion nourishes me. You make me strong, Hob Gadling. Where I am going, I will need strength.”

“Then take me with you,” Hob pleads. “Please, you’re still recovering, let me be your source of strength wherever you go.”

“No. Where I must go is for me and me alone. I need to end this now.”

Hob knows he won’t be able to convince him, knows this goes far beyond his ken, that he is simply a man in the end and Dream walks where he cannot, with gods and demons and stars. He squeezes Dream’s hands, pressing his lips against his knuckles, in a final gesture of appeal, a few salty tears fighting their way out his eyes.

“Hob,” Dream murmurs, untangling one hand to lift Hob’s chin to face him. “May I tell you what I came to tell you earlier?”

Hob nods. Gently, Dream kisses his lips and emotion floods through Hob’s veins, images of himself marked with a surge of longing, wonderment in the early years, a pang of jealousy as he speaks about his family, gentle compassion for his tormented figure in 1689, blistering lust from 1789. Hob gasps and Dream takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss and Hob drowns in himself more, the crinkle of his eyes, copies of his smile, hesitant hands, lips forming kind words, all forms of him from every meeting and every dream he’s ever had and forgotten, all of him singing love, love, love, branding him inside and out. 

Dream kisses him like it’s an introduction and an apology rolled into one and Hob accepts both, accepts his love, allows it to soothe the ache in his chest and reignite it at the same time, to consume him until there’s nothing left..

When Dream pulls away, Hob breathes hard, overwhelmed from what he’d just experienced. Was that what Dream felt all the time? Just a flurry of emotions and thoughts, all consuming, all encompassing, unknowable. Hob understands though what that was, knows enough to tell what a goodbye feels like. 

“Don’t go.”

“I must.” Dream gently wipes his tears, long fingers caressing his eyes, cheeks, the stubble on his jaw, as if memorizing him. 

“Wish I wasn’t such a coward. Wish I’d told you sooner.”

“I, as well,” murmurs Dream, pressing a kiss to each of Hob’s temples. “I will make it up to you, if I return.”

“If…”

“Goodbye, Hob.”

Dream vanishes in a flurry of sand and Hob crumples under the weight of regret and uncertainty.

Outside, thunder claps and the sky cries with him.

[takeariskao3]

i can’t wait for the sophie interaction you teased before. idk why but i LOVE when the exes talk to the main character i feel like they always let something slip and it gives all the angst.

- the sophie stan

crap now i can't remember what snippet i shared. should i share more? should i share the whole scene? no right?

ah what the heck. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Grinning from ear to ear, Ginny collapsed into the chair across the table from Harry. The music blared loudly from some kind of electric speakers in the corner and the buzz of conversation in the crowded pub added to the noise. She felt alive for the first time in weeks. Blessedly relaxed now that they'd escaped the oppressive silence of a half-dead house.

“I LOVE IT HERE!”

Harry chuckled from behind his pint. "Yeah, now that you’ve cleaned everybody out.”

“No, not just that,” Ginny waved away her success in hustling darts. “They’ve got no clue, do they? About you, or me, or quidditch or any of it! We’re just people!”

He hummed, downing the last of his ale and pointing to Ginny’s watered down cocktail. “Are you done?”

Ginny swiped at her glass, hoping he didn’t see it was all ice. 

“Come on,” Harry reached for his coat. “You had your drink.”

“Just one more!” Ginny begged and she noticed him bite back a grin at her pleading tone. “It’s not even nine!”

He scowled at her from across the table, but she put on her most saccharine smile and after a couple lengthy seconds his shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“Fine,” He huffed, then held up an index finger. “One more.”

“Harry?” 

They looked up at the same time to see a girl about their age, with sleek blonde hair smiling down at them. She had a slight gap between her front teeth that didn’t at all detract from her looks. If anything, it added to her charm, offsetting her strong jaw and full lips.  

“Sophie!” Harry visibly swallowed. “I didn’t think you still worked here.”

“Oh, god no,” The girl called Sophie laughed. “I quit ages ago. Just come round to see the blokes and rub it in. How are you? I haven’t seen you since you moved to Sussex…”

Ginny watched in dreaded fascination as Sophie pulled up a chair and Harry launched into a quick story about Teddy. This was followed up by Sophie chatting animatedly about her mum’s salon business and her dog named Clive. 

Harry regarded her with a genuine smile on his face, though he kept shooting Ginny wary glances out of the corner of his eye. 

“Er,” Harry stammered once a story about Clive jumping from a moving motorcar wrapped up. “We were just about to grab another round, do you want one?”

Sophie laughed, looking taken aback. “Always the gentleman.”

“Really,” Harry smiled sheepishly. “It’s no problem…”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m meeting friends.” 

Harry gave her a tightlipped smile and nodded once, then shot Ginny a terrified look before hurrying off to the bar. 

“God, he’s fit,” Sophie groaned, not bothering to hide the fact that she was staring directly at Harry’s arse. “Good in the sack too-”

Ginny choked on the ice she’d been chewing on, sputtering as watered down vodka stung the back of her nose. 

“Oh, sorry,” Sophie winced. “Have you guys not…?”

“N- no,” Ginny coughed. “It’s not… we’re not-”

“Woman to woman?” Sophie continued on, looking at Ginny seriously. “Don’t get too attached. He’s locked up tight, that one. Doesn’t let anyone in, and I don’t mean figuratively. We went out for months, and I never once saw his place.”

Ginny stared, her mouth slightly parted in utter shock.

“I mean it’s thrilling… for a time. He’s a mystery you can’t help but want to unravel, but then you never do and you’re just left with a headache.”

“We’re not together,” Ginny finally clarified, unsure if she could listen to another second without her head exploding. “I’m-” She cast about for anything she could say to a muggle, an actual muggle. “I’m his best friend’s little sister.”

“You’re Hermione’s sister?”

“N-” Ginny blinked several times. “You know Hermione?”

“Crazy hair, bit uptight?” Sophie scrunched her nose. “I don’t think she liked me very much.”

[zawescource]

‘I always play extreme characters’: Zawe Ashton on life after Fresh Meat

As Vod in the hit Channel 4 show she shocked even her own parents. What’s next for the actor-writer-director-producer?

The problem with interviewing someone you feel like you already know is how quickly it can go wrong. One minute you’re saying hello in the empty east London pub you’ve agreed to meet in, spontaneously hugging each other. The next, you’re trying to order a glass of wine and Zawe Ashton is horrified, because it’s not even 5pm yet. She reckons we should have tea instead, so we do. And then she says, “Oh God, I can’t believe I wine-shamed you.”

It is then that I realise Ashton isn’t actually Vod, the student she plays in the Channel 4 student sitcom Fresh Meat. Vod is a literature student who doesn’t read books, preferring partying, shagging and paying her way by selling ecstasy. Ashton, 31, is a straight-A scholar, who spent all her childhood weekends training as an actor, and thus has been earning her own money, appearing on telly in The Demon Headmaster, Jackanory and Desmond’s, since the age of six. Unlike Vod, Ashton has also written a play that’s being developed by the National Theatre; has a book deal for something that sounds like an autobiographical novel, “but I can’t talk about it. Well, not much. Well, I probably will”; and has set up her own production company, Asylum Features, to release films that she writes and directs herself. She is, I have to concede, a bit busy for pubs.

What Ashton does have in common with Vod, however, is that they are both very funny, as becomes apparent when we discuss what it’s like being hailed as “one to watch” and getting nominated for “best newcomer” awards when you’ve already been working for 25 years. “The single perspective shot, Stanley Kubrick, down the corridor,” she says, her mind racing ahead. “Aww, there’s a little girl down there! And then you get closer and she turns round and has the face of” – she puts on a scary voice – “a 200-year-old woman. That is my career right now, in a nutshell. I’m actually at retirement age, internally.” She estimates that she might be due a breakdown. “Or a Macaulay Culkin moment where I just go generally off the rails. Or a Winona Ryder moment, shoplifting.” She thinks about Winona. “How did that happen?”

We head to a quiet room upstairs, where Ashton sprawls across an armchair, all long arms and legs and funny voices, her mind scattering ideas like wildflowers. She recently got back from LA – she bought a plane ticket and left the same day – and found herself getting lured into the new age scene in Venice Beach and Topanga Canyon. “I know it’s the worst word ever,” she says, grimacing, “but I really am transitioning.” Ashton has been to LA several times before, though she won’t say why (you get the feeling there might be various projects in various Hollywood pipelines she can’t yet discuss). This time, she says, a conversation with a guru has left her believing she might be on the cusp of a whole new stage of her life.

Perhaps this transition will liberate her from the anxiety she describes as something of a constant in her life. She was not a carefree child, and even playing Vod, who can be so comically unaware, takes a great deal of awareness. At one point I ask her if it was a relief that the only real sex scenes she’s ever had to do as Vod were more comic than sensual. “A relief?” she repeats, as if I have brought up something as unlikely as Antarctica or a hippopotamus. She is almost breathless. “There’s never any relief! Relief is not a word that ever enters my mind, about anything.”

Does she never give herself a break? After all, plenty of people say they want to write a play, a film, a book, but hardly anyone wins the London Poetry Slam Championship in 2000, a Verity Bargate award nomination in 2007 for her debut play, Harm’s Way, or a Raindance film festival nomination in 2014 for best British short for Happy Toys, which she directed. “Well, I think I am like other people. It’s just that I think I’m going to get to the end and then give up. But wow, thank you for saying I finish things, because I really think I am such a scatty person.”

She credits Lena Dunham with showing sex on TV that is not actually sexy, and also with the inspiration for writing, directing and acting in her own shows. “As a woman, you do have a sense that if you can do other things, then you should. If you feel, mmm, the roles are getting a little” – she raises a sardonic eyebrow – “repetitive, and you know you can write, then you should write a different role. It’s a quadruple indemnity mission. I plan on having a long career. I don’t want to burn out. It’s like, I have the shield, and I have the lightsaber” – she is doing movie voices now – “these are my weapons of choice! Hopefully, one of those will come to serve me in some way.”

Does she feel she owes it to the world to redress the balance? “Well, the world doesn’t have to give a shit in any way. It just feels like a fulfilling and smart thing to do.”

Ashton grew up in Stoke Newington, north London, the eldest of three children, and has recently bought her own flat not far from there, living with her boyfriend, a film distributor, whom she prefers not to talk about. Her mother Victoria arrived in England in her teens from Uganda, where Ashton’s grandfather, Paulo Muwanga, had briefly served as both president and prime minister. At a Christmas party, Victoria met her future husband Paul, a working-class cockney who was the first in his family to go to university (Cambridge). The couple both worked as schoolteachers, Victoria teaching design and technology, and Paul teaching English – though he later moved to Channel 4 to commission education programmes for teachers, so telly was always a presence in their house, as well as literature. The three children went to local state schools, and young Zawe was taken to Anna Scher improvisation classes merely to “burn off some energy”. She instantly loved it. “It is very odd to be a very tiny person and know what you want to do.”

Famously, the Anna Scher theatre has produced lots of big names including Kathy Burke and half the cast of EastEnders. But Ashton says it was precisely the unstarry nature of the place that shaped the artist she would become. “It was a weekend drama class that cost £2.50, and we weren’t supposed to do commercials, we weren’t allowed to use the words star or fame – they were banned. You had to say actor or success. You couldn’t say, ‘I want to be a star’ because it was meaningless, just empty calories.”

Ashton recounts a story about a black boy being sent home from an audition, having been told that he could never be the Milky Bar kid. Scher, who did the teaching herself, dedicated an entire session to discussing with her pupils where the casting people had done wrong. “We were armed with all of this amazing… activism, I suppose. She’s an amazing woman. You were always encouraged to know why you wanted to act. Politics is not something you think about as a kid, but I realise now that she was infusing us with a level of conscience. You had to be on time, you had to be present. The number of birthdays I missed. I just gave up every Friday night and Saturday afternoon for 14 years.”

It was a dedication that didn’t make her popular with other children at school. Ashton was bullied, and eventually moved secondary school when the threats of beatings from other teenage girls, who knew she was taking days off to film for TV, became too much. At City and Islington College, she found better friends who shared her love of poetry. She took A-levels and applied to do drama at Manchester Metropolitan University.

Then came results day. “I got hurried by my teachers into an antechamber. They were like, ‘Have you opened your results yet?’ I was like, ‘No? Should I? Oh my God, I’ve got three As.’ I was overwhelmed, because it had been a really tough year. My mum had been really ill with cancer. They all said, you have to take a year off to apply to Cambridge now. So there was this crossroads moment – you know, when you realise your life could go in two really different directions? But then the stupid, stupid girl – no, I’m joking. I’m really glad I did what I did.”

What she did was take a year off to look after her mum, and then went to Manchester Met anyway. The course was a bit of a disappointment, she says, the teachers intent on making Ashton less experimental, disparaging her idea to do things such as walk around the audience trailing a red ribbon behind her. (She pitched the same concept at a local experimental theatre a week later and it came second in a commissioning competition.) But she experienced student life, and the partying that she had missed while being such a focused child. She went to Manchester nightclubs and got into DJing, experiences that would prove valuable when she auditioned for Fresh Meat years later.

Written by Jesse Armstrong and Sam Bain, the duo behind Peep Show, the show is set in the fictional Manchester Medlock University. Vod is a blunt, libidinous raver; tub-thumping and workshy, with a thudding estuary accent and directional hair. She shares a house with a mismatched group of students – Jack Whitehall, “who makes me laugh so much”, plays the posh twit whose family money has bought the house. In one memorable scene she is made to read Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children and tells the class the book makes her feel “like I’ve got this pompous, fat, naked man sitting on my face, and he’s resting his big, overrated bollocks on my airways”.

Ashton auditioned for the part about eight times, and saw so many other actors there, of every type and look, that she realised she could make Vod her own, that she wasn’t being asked to play any kind of trope. I ask if there has been any negative response to the only black character in the group ending up as a drug dealer. “NEVER!! Oh my God, that’s never something that’s come up,” she says, clearly surprised by the question. “And I feel like, she’s not even as extreme as a ‘dealer’. Vod is someone who capitalises on situations, sometimes ones that are really misguided. It all goes really horribly wrong – I think Vod’s got a lot of obstacles this series. I’m quite excited about watching it.”

She might well be watching it alone, however, or certainly without her dad, who isn’t too keen on seeing her shows. She might have developed her sense of humour from her parents (“They are my favourite comedy double act”), as well as her love of language (“My dad is such a brilliant writer”), but he can’t get used to seeing her on screen. He pretends her shows are radio plays, so he can keep his eyes closed. “Actually, I told my dad he should watch the episode with Vod and her mum, and he said, ‘I’d love to.’ Then he came in and I was right in the middle of saying the c-word. And he was like, ‘Might just go and put the kettle on again.’ ”

She recently played another challenging role in Not Safe For Work, a much bleaker Channel 4 comedy by playwright DC Moore, about the jilted generation of thirtysomethings whose job security has disappeared. Ashton plays Katherine, one of a group of civil servants whose jobs are relocated from London to Northampton following public sector cuts, and who has to maintain a steely professional exterior to hide the way she is falling apart inside. Other roles have included a small part in Doctor Who (for a moment, she was the bookies’ first choice to become the first female Doctor), and the lead in Dreams Of A Life, Carol Morley’s documentary film about Joyce Vincent, the woman whose remains were found on her sofa three years after her death, with the television still on.

“I just always play these really extreme characters – they’ve all come with parental guidance stickers on them. I did this Abi Morgan play at the Donmar just now and she said, ‘You play a lot of outsiders, don’t you?’ And I was like, ‘Oh my God, I do!’” She looks surprised. “And she said, ‘Outsiders who don’t need much male intervention.’ ‘Well, yes, I do,’ I said, like I knew that about myself.”

Other theatre work includes Othello at the Globe and Gone Too Far! at the Royal Court, which is the theatre where she took the young writers’ course and wrote her play For All The Women Who Thought They Were Mad, at 24. It was inspired by research into the way that psychiatric medication affects women, and the way that black women in particular are often over-medicated, so that their health deteriorates even further. “There are stories of women in pretty powerful positions, in jobs, suddenly finding themselves in institutions, unrecognisable to themselves and their friends,” she says. “So I just had to sit in the research and think about it, but there was a writing competition. The night before the deadline, I said to myself, you really owe it to yourself to deliver – just do it. So I sat down and wrote it in an actual fever, staying up for 24 hours.”

Next up is the Genet play The Maids, a double-hander with Emmy-winning American actor Uzo Aduba (best known as Crazy Eyes in Orange Is The New Black), opening in London next month. “It’s going to be really, really interesting to explore two characters who are essentially ready to burst from the beginning of the play.”

After that, perhaps she will have time for a quick personal collapse, though it seems unlikely. “I don’t really have the luxury of having a breakdown,” Ashton says. “I’ve just been working for a really, really long time.” And yet that 200-year-old woman in the corridor has got another century ahead of her, at least.

[litgwritersroom]

Behind Closed Doors

Chapter Three of Love Island, Actually. NSFW.

read it on AO3 | chapter one | chapter two

The wedding dance is in full swing, and love is on the mind of not just the bride and groom ... but it's not always a good idea to act on instinct. At least, for everyone. Special thanks to @mrsbsmooth Suzi for writing a scene in this chapter.

DELILAH: cute, meet cute

Laughing over a shared joke, Delilah and Bridget had an easy fight to the bar. They held hands as they made their way over and Bridget was pulled into several rounds of congratulations and hugs as Delilah was bombarded with question after question about her own relationship status, and assured time after time in increasingly more condescending ways that her time would be next if only she set a little bit more time aside for romance. Like always, Delilah did her best to laugh it off with a smile on her face, just glad her mother wasn’t around to overhear and add her own weighted opinions to the mix.

“Thea, Honey-Tee, four shots please,” Bridget said, holding up two fingers. “Whatever you fancy, and have one yourself, too.”

It didn’t take long. When the bride requests a drink on her wedding day, she gets priority. Thea laid out their shots, pouring one for herself. The three held their tiny glasses in hand, raising it together until they clinked. All at once there was a cry of, “Cheers!” and they necked the shot.

After wiping at their lipstick and feeling that warm alcohol making its way down, Thea took the empty glasses to the dishwasher with a, “Cheers, Bridget. Enjoy the rest of your night.” She leant over the bar to give Bridget a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve said it already, but let me say it again, you are the most gorgeous bride I’ve ever seen.”

With a roll of her eyes, a blushing Bridget said, “So says the model.”

“So she knows her stuff!” Delilah called out, putting her arm around Bridget. “She’s right! God, I’d marry you, you look so gorgeous.”

Grinning at Thea, Bridget said, “Thanks, Hun.” As Thea went back to the busy bar work, Delilah and Bridget took their last shot. With a fiery look in her eye and the hint of a calculated smirk, Bridget leant in close to Delilah and said, “So, we’re a couple of drinks in now, tell me, has anyone been catching your eye?”

As Delilah rolled hers, Bridget swept her gaze across the room, where they landed on Bobby and Gary dancing to ‘Livin La Vida Loca’ together. The girls giggled at the sight before Delilah glanced wistfully away, doing her one hundredth sweep of the crowd that night for someone, anyone, that she didn’t know who was cute enough, but like the other ninety-nine times she’d done so there was no one… to… catch her eye ─wait, just who was that guy?

Dark brown hair with dyed blond tips, handsome enough that Delilah was baffled she hadn’t noticed him before. He was men’s-watch-and-perfume model handsome, the type of handsome that could sell handsome to other men like a promise. As shivers ran through her body top to toe, Delilah really kicked herself over not having spotted him before.

She was in the midst of waiting out to see if anyone else ─ perhaps an equally stunning woman who happened to be his date ─ showed up beside him, but by the time Bridget elbowed her in the side, the handsome stranger was still alone at the bar, watching the dancefloor and bobbing his head to the music.

“Who is that?” Delilah whispered, the words spilling out in a rush like she was trying to make up for never having known this human existed before now. She leant in close to Bridget, standing ever straighter.

A frown crossed Bridget’s face as she eyed him from across the bar. “I have no clue. He must be one of Gary’s work mates we only invited to the dance. He is cute. You should go say hello.”

Delilah barked out a laugh. “Right. Fuck. Yeah. Fuck, I’ve got to. He’s too fucking hot to leave him standing on his own like that. I have to do something about it. Also, I better not mention that I’m Gary’s twin sister.”

Bridget threw her an agreeing look.

After a moment of steeling herself, Delilah cast a wink to Bridget and then she headed over. She grabbed a full champagne glass on her way, her sight and mission on one thing and one thing only. She clocked the moment he spotted her coming; he must have seen her out of the corner of his eye.

In an instant he was standing up straight, eyes locked on hers, wearing a smile that lit up his face. It was infectious and Delilah was smiling brightly, her sexy smoulder having slipped off, by the time she got to the bar next to him.

Delilah put on hand on the bar to support herself as she squared up to him confidently. They were standing intimately close to one another, less like strangers and very much like that was the last thing they wanted to be with one another.

“I don’t know you,” Delilah said, breaking the ice the simplest way she could.

There was a flash of something behind his eyes before as smooth as butter he replied, “Is this you saying you want to? Cause I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“I guess so. I’m Delilah, what about yourself?” she asked.

He held his hand out for her to shake. When her warm fingers circled his, he replied, “Bruno. It’s nice meeting you, Delilah. How many ‘What’s it like in New York City?’ jokes can I get in before it’s too many?”

“One less than two, so I guess your quota is already up unfortunately,” she replied, jokingly sympathetic before letting out a small laugh.

“No worries,” he grinned, leaning onto the bar next to her hand, getting more comfortable. “I’m a professional fool, so making jokes is my speciality, and I get the feeling you’ve heard all the New York jokes before.”

Delilah nodded. “And it only gets worse when I say that working in New York is my dream.”

Bruno winced with much exaggeration. In a pained, strained tone he said, “That’s so cool, I don’t have any jokes in my fodder for this, so it’s fine, totally cool.”

She couldn’t help laughing. As Delilah eased up next to him she realised she wanted nothing more than to be charmed by him. “I solemnly swear to make no jokes regarding not talking about you, in solidarity.”

“That’s like half my material now,” Bruno said, deadpan. When Delilah laughed hard, he joined in, his eyes sparkling as he watched her. “I’m kidding ─ about that part, not about the jokester thing. I’m actually a comedian. Part-time.”

“Well, you’ve successfully made me laugh the whole conversation, but it’s been about what, thirty seconds?”

“I’m just glad I don’t have you laughing after thirty seconds for a whole other reason.”

Again, Delilah was left laughing hard. She pressed a hand to his chest, not wanting to move away, realising how badly she wanted to get closer to him.

“Let me get another round in,” Bruno said, flagging down Thea. He popped his near empty pint glass down closer to her as she approached and Delilah let her hand trail to Bruno’s waist as they both faced into the bar, the small sliver of space between them quickly eaten up. Bruno’s arm fell over her shoulders and he seemed to be ignoring the weirdly pointed look Thea was giving him. “Another pint please, Thee,” he said, the little nickname for her clueing Delilah in that they obviously knew each other.

A swirl of jealousy quickly ebbed away as Delilah paid close attention to the smile fighting in the corner of Thea’s mouth. Thea surely wouldn’t be even mildly happy to see Bruno flirting with her if there was anything going on there. They were friends at the very least.

Bruno looked at Delilah. “And what do you fancy?”

“A tall glass of water,” she said, eyeing him right up as she did, but quickly Delilah moved on, leaving him with a puffed-up chest and a little more package in his pants than a second before. “I’ll have a red wine please, Thea.”

“Sure thing, Delilah,” Thea said before getting busy.

While she worked on their drinks, Bruno asked, “Oh, so you know Thee?”

Delilah shrugged. “Not overly. What about you?”

“Yeah, we’re mates,” he said. “Do you want a seat?” He offered the one just behind him.

“You take that one,” she said, giving him a gentle shove onto it before she turned to the person on the nearest stool behind her. It was occupied, but she wasn’t fussed. “Uncle Graham, I need this seat,” she told him in a sweet voice that was used to getting its own way.

With a harumph, Uncle Graham got up and took his pint with him. Delilah shuffled the stool close to Bruno’s as he edged himself back up to her. They hadn’t lost any of their before intimacy, with their legs tuned in to face one another, Delilah’s planted between Bruno’s wide open ones. He laid one hand down her thigh, ever so gently, his fingers brushing up her tight fabric of her dress.

Thea handed them their drinks with a knowing smile before getting back to the other patrons.

“So, how do you know the happy couple?” Delilah asked. She wanted to keep talking to him, and was happy to spend the rest of the night in his company.

“I, uh,” Bruno started, “I don’t really know them that well, truth be told. I know, uh, Bridget?” He said her name with so much uncertainty. “The bride, right?”

Delilah smiled knowingly. “Yup, Bridge is our lovely Bride today, and I’m Gary’s sister.” There was a nod from Bruno but no recognition behind his eyes at the name, so Delilah smiled wider and told him, “The groom.”

And like that, Bruno gasped. “Oh, damn, your brother is the one getting married?”

Smiling and nodding at having got him caught up to speed with her, she graciously said, “Yes. Well, twin brother.”

“Damn, a twin. Well, if he’s identical to you then Bridget is one lucky lady.”

Chuckling once more, Delilah said, “Oh stop it, you,” with a grin that wasn’t going to leave anytime soon, “but don’t really.”

“Gladly,” he vouched, subtly inching that bit closer until Delilah’s knees weren’t just pressed up against him, but beginning to more accurately be sat on him.

And that’s when her own name pierced through the bubble they were in; sharp and foreboding, there was only one creature on this earth who could have made Delilah’s blood run cold like that, who could have made the hairs on her arm stand on end.

“Lilah,” Juliet screeched, barrelling through the crowd despite their attempts to part for her one-woman stampede.

Groaning internally, Delilah tried not to look like she’d be okay with the ground swallowing her up. Or that she’d rather it swallowed her mother up. She couldn’t help the small grind of her teeth however, and greeted her mother with as much enthusiasm as she would greet her high-school bully. So there was really no difference.

Juliet strode on over with her nose high in the air like she was hunting by smell. Voice high-pitched, she took Bruno in with an exaggerated sweep, showing exactly what she thought of his patterned shirt and jeans, as she asked Delilah distastefully, “Who’s this?”

Bruno got to his feet and extended his hand politely towards Juliet. “Um, I’m Bruno. Bruno Kaminski. Lovely to meet you.”

“Who are you?” Juliet asked, barely letting more than the tips of her fingers touch his hand. Once she let go, she took a moment to glance around until her eyes fell on a napkin on the bar. With a lot of animation, she made a show of wiping her hand on it before leaving the crumpled piece on the bar for someone else to clean up.

As Delilah pretended not to notice Bruno wiping his sweaty hand down his jeans, she answered for him, hoping to take the majority of her mother’s attention. “Bruno, mum. He’s a… friend.”

She was wary of explaining that Bruno was wedding crashing in case Juliet had him thrown out. She knew Bridget and Gary would be cool with it, but would rather stop the scene from happening at all.

Immediately Juliet was on it. She threw out at them all her whims and thoughts with rapid fire, not allowing either Delilah or Bruno a minute to think. “What type of friend? I’ve never heard you talking about any ‘Bruno’ before. You can’t just invite whoever you like to your brother’s wedding. Why haven’t you let me meet him before? This isn’t how you introduce a boy to the family, Lilah. What will your Nan think? What will Bridget think? This is her wedding, she doesn’t want some random man here she’s never met before!”

“He’s just a friend, mum. We were just catching up.” Delilah’s words came out with far more exasperation than she’d meant.

“Couldn’t you have done it on any other of the three-hundred-and-sixty-four days of the year? Why do you have to do it on your brother’s time and money?”

Delilah’s tongue was poking sharply against the inside of her cheek as she stood there nodding along to her mother’s words, too bridled with heat to allow herself to listen to more.

Before Delilah could reply, Juliet fired at Bruno, her head bobbing a little too patronisingly, and asked him, “And what exactly is it that you do, Bruno?”

The way she said it sounded a lot like she expected him to say he was unemployed and made it clear how she thought about that.

“I’m a comedian ─” He began, but the quick way Juliet’s ire turned to a condescending scoff left him floundering.

Juliet said nothing more to him, but threw a look at her daughter. “Come on, darling, Bridget said they’re going to cut the cake and I said I would find you and River.”

She strode back off without checking that Delilah was following. She wasn’t. Instead Delilah turned to Bruno, feeling both embarrassed and deflated.

“Sorry about her, she can be a bit of a dragon,” Delilah said.

“Hey, no worries,” Bruno said, his smile obviously forced and for her benefit. “If anything, being confronted by a scary mother the first time I meet the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen is really good for my stand-up. Having said that, please tell me your dad isn’t half as scary as your mum.”

“Is it more or less awkward if I tell you my dad left before I ever really knew him?”

“Um I’m gonna hedge with more awkward,” Bruno said, smacking his lips and hissing through his teeth. “I could make it worse with an inappropriate joke, but I try not to lean into that stuff.”

“Would you do it just for me?”

He took her hands and held her close. With joking endearment, he told her, “I would do anything for you, Delilah. Name it.”

Delilah realised she was fluttering her lashes, a flurry of something both light and heavy whirling within her as Bruno held her. It was easy to look into his blue eyes and have the world around them wash away. He really was beautiful, and he hadn’t been scared off by Juliet which was a rarity.

“Kiss me,” she said.

His lips split into a smile, the corners curling up to his eyes, making him look serene. “What was that?” He asked like he hadn’t quite heard her.

“I said kiss me, Bruno Kaminski.”

RIVER: clandestine meetings

Upstairs was nothing but a dark room with a chair, a double bed and a small bathroom.

Against her better judgement, River allowed Noah to take her by the hand and lead the way through the empty employees' passage, the both of them sneaking onto the second floor between giggles and kisses. Every time her mind would scream at her for getting herself into trouble and try to convince her of leaving, Noah would kiss her shoulder or bite her earlobe, making her body want to stay.

In the end, she listened to her body, letting her mind get foggier and foggier each time Noah touched her in a way that friends shouldn't. The dull reminder that he had a wife was long gone from her mind just as the physical reminder was gone from his finger. Now it was her coat hanging on a chair, her bare feet on the wooden floor, her hand pulling him by the tie and her dress rolled too high up for them to play innocent.

He pressed her against the wall and that's when River was done for. Her hands had a mind of their own, finishing untying his already loose tie and teasingly undoing every single button of his shirt. You should stop, the voice in her head told her again, but she dismissed it as soon as she felt the warmth of his bare chest brushing her nipples through her silky dress. She could breathe, feel, taste him — he was everywhere, raising her pulse and making her want him more.

Exploring her skin and curves as if it was the first time he had ever touched someone else, Noah's hand ran along her body. They fell back to her hips, sliding lower, and at the same time, he pulled from the kiss, panting. Their eyes locked and River could see a fire in his hazel eyes that for sure mirrored her own. With ease, he hauled her up, carrying her to the bed on the other side of the room before lowering her onto the mattress.

His lips found her neck at the same time his fingertips found her zipper. He carefully slid it down, freeing her frame as she pulled her straps down and took her dress off, revealing her bare breast to his sight. She threw it on the floor, not minding at all where it would fall, watching as his hungry eyes took her in again. 

"You are so fucking beautiful," he told her in a soft whisper, almost as if he was trying to wrap his head around the thought that she was real. He held her hand, bringing her wrist to his lips and leaving kisses as he trailed up her arm.

When he glanced back at her, River's breath caught in her throat, a feeling of pure bliss pouring through her. She had never seen someone looking at her like that. Noah's eyes were filled with a desire that could burn her skin if she would let it, almost as if he was physically incapable of paying attention to anything that wasn't her. She felt his hand grab her thigh and his thumb nonchalantly caressing its inner side, sending shivers down her back. Had she ever felt so wanted, she couldn't remember when.

"Come here," she said, grabbing him by the chin and bringing him in for another kiss, this time more desperately. She parted her lips and her legs, bringing them to each of his sides, letting him take up all the space between them both. His hands moved again, this time with purpose. He made a trail towards her breasts, cupping them and rolling her already hard nipples between his fingers. She bit his lower lip, breaking off the kiss with a giggle before fluttering her eyes shut and hanging her head back, displaying herself to him fully.

He took pleasure in it, she thought, when his lips followed the path of his hands. River had a hand behind herself, holding her in position, and the other on Noah's hair. She felt his lips lowering down, briskly kissing the tattoo under her breast as if it was calling to him, making her skin tingle. A plea drew out of her in the shape of a moan, prompting Noah's fingertips to dig deeper into her skin, holding her tougher, and his lips got quicker.

Lower and lower, his kisses were now hot and wet on her skin. He teased her inner thigh, biting and sucking in order to leave a mark, so damn recklessly that it made her gasp. An almost chuckle flew out of him but it died out forthwith as soon as he moved his thumb over her underwear.

She bucked her hips, allowing him to take her last piece of clothing off. Soon enough he was hovering over her centre again, his breath already enough to make her shudder. She could not remember the last time she wanted something as bad as she wanted him and, when he finally took her by his mouth, she was sure she had seen stars.

His tongue parted her open, inciting a hum of approval as her eyes rolled back. She pulled him by his hair but that didn't stop the teasing of his flickery tongue. Instead, it instigated a torturous pace of circles and patterns on her clit. She gasped, pushing him down to her and grasping the sheets.

"Oh, fuck," she whined and he groaned in response, sending waves of heat to her core. One of his rough hands pressed her thighs again, before moving to her entrance, while the other prompted her legs to spread even wider. 

Bringing his eyes back to hers, he pushed a finger inside, unleashing a long, high moan out of her as she closed her eyes shut. He pumped in and out, lips still working on her clit, and she rolled her hips against his face, matching his own pace.

"Noah," River called for him and she could swear to god she felt him smile.

She gasped when a second finger joined the other. He curled them, striking exactly where she wanted him most, turning her into a whimpering mess. "Fuck, fuck, ffffuckkkk…" She felt the pressure build and build, pushing his head onto her and rolling her hips harder.

And then it burst and she collapsed, as an explosion took over her body in the shape of tiny spasms and her groan broke the silence. If the sound was too loud, Noah didn't mind. He worked her through her peak and back down, again and again, until there was nothing else to her than crying moans and trembling legs.

He climbed back to her lips, kissing her softly. River kissed him back, arms surrounding his neck and bringing him closer. She could still feel her muscles twitching when he broke the kiss off, crawling out of the bed so he could take off the rest of his clothes.

River propped herself on her elbows, tilting her head and combing her hair to the side. "Are you planning to strip for me?" She taunted, wetting her lips with her tongue to a smirk that Noah mirrored.

"We will have to keep that for next time," he chuckled, turning away from her to grab a condom by the nightstand.

Next time? River wondered, suddenly aware that this, what they had, might never happen again. That she would never feel so wanted, so desired again. A need for him filled her and she crawled to him, moving out of the bed and standing behind him on her tiptoes, kissing his toned figure with more than passion… she had affection, kissing his neck and scratching his back, watching as goosebumps formed beneath her touch.

"Is everything ok?" He asked her in a whisper, almost as if he was too afraid of breaking their spell.

"Sit down," she whispered back.

She pulled him carefully to sit in front of her, eyes running up and down his body. Holding him by his chin, she raised his face, exposing his neck to her kisses once again as she positioned her knees on each side of his thighs, straddling him.

He engulfed her, hands grabbing her ass as hers held his face. She kissed him, positioning herself before pressing his tip on her centre. "Fuck," he groaned between kisses. Tantalised, she slowly slid down, the delicious stretch of him inside her inciting a moan out of her that matched a groan of his own as he rested his forehead against her skin. "You feel so good…"

River never thought she was one to enjoy the praise but having Noah like that had set her body on fire. She ran her fingers through her hair, flipping it back so he could see her wholly as she started moving her hips. She held him by the knees, supporting herself so she could lean back and reach the perfect spot.

Tiny whimpers mixed with his name escaped her mouth as if that was the only sound she could make right now. That must have turned on a switch inside Noah because he carelessly brought her closer, not minding the sudden roughness of his motions, took one of her breasts to his mouth and used his hand to grab the other, rolling her nipple against his palm, never once faulting her gaze.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she cried out, over and over again, trying to keep the pace but it had turned sloppy, her legs feeling weaker and weaker. Taking control, Noah thrust deep inside her, building and building the pressure again, until…

He pulled out. River protested with a loud groan but he left her breasts and grabbed her hair, pushing her to another kiss. She whined, hips searching for him again. Instead of giving her what she wanted, though, Noah slapped her ass and cupped it, fingers finding her centre and parting her again, replacing his cock.

"Noooo," she whimpered.

"What do you want, Riv?" He curled his fingers while still stroking her. "Tell me…"

"Fuck you," she soughed. He had stopped the movements completely now, raising one eyebrow, and she groaned again, moving her hips into his fingers. Prick, she thought of saying, but it took one touch of him to ignite her soul again. He could convince her of everything, so she had to relent. "Fuck me."

"Look at me." He held her by her chin, pressing her cheeks. His voice implied everything but that this was a question. She obeyed him, snapped her blue eyes at him and watched her messy reflection on them. "Beg for it."

He let the grip on her face and pulled his fingers out of her, leaving her empty and missing his touch, even if she could still feel him everywhere. River leaned forward, with her lips right next to his ear. Two could play this game and she was fucking good at it.

"Please, Noah, fuck me," she said, each and every word pronounced carefully. "Just like I know you've been wanting for months now."

“All fours. Bed. Now, ” he muttered under his breath.

With a bite on his earlobe, she diligently obeyed him, positioning herself face down, ass up, legs almost shaking as she bit down her lower lip in anticipation, a smirk playing on it just with the thought of him behind her. Yet, when she felt the heat from his hand slamming her cheeks, she couldn’t refrain from the whine that flowed from her throat.

“Good girl,” he commended behind her. She could hear the absolutely pleased grin he had on his lips and she hated how much that turned her on. In a silent supplication, she arched her back more and more, close to begging him to be back inside her.

He rested his hand over her ass in a tight grip while the other dug deep on one side of her hips. Her heart hammered in her chest and she leaned back again, hips moving on their own accord. She felt the pressure of his tip against her core once more and parted her legs to his pleasure before he pushed inside her steadily.

“Fuck, so tight…” he gasped over her moan. And if he had been gentle before, that was long lost as soon as he started thrusting inside her. He was merciless, so hard and so fast River doubted she would last more than a few seconds without breaking. Even so, she didn’t want him to stop. 

She brought a hand to her mouth, trying desperately to keep quiet so they wouldn’t get caught — or, even worse, interrupted. However, Noah had other plans. He didn’t seem to care about the sound. Instead, he slowed his pace down and reached for her arm, bringing one after the other to her back, keeping them locked behind her.

“I wanna hear you,” he told her before slamming her ass with his hand again, drawing a loud, breathless whimper out of her and raising the tempo of his thrusts. He pushed her face into the sheets, each thrust making the fabric brush against her nipples.

“God, Noah,” she muttered. “Ffffuckkkk.”

His hand let her arms free only to take her hair hostage this time. He took hold of it, pulling her by her strands so she would be kneeling, her back almost touching his chest. She turned to face him, his other hand pulling one of her legs up, reaching deeper. 

“Yes!” She cried out, nodding desperately. “Right there, just like that. Oh, my god.”

She gasped, feeling the pressure build again, more and more and more… until it crashed onto her, a loud, lustful sound coming from her chest and falling from her lips. She could feel him everywhere, deep inside her as he kept thrusting, riding her through her climax. Hands holding her together when her legs were about to fail her. Breath against her ear getting sharper and sharper as he followed her over the edge. Fingertips sunk on her skin when he finally unloaded inside her.

River ran her fingers through her hair, sweat dripping from its ends as it moved away from her chest. She could barely keep herself steady, legs trembling. There was silence for an instant, only broken by the sounds of their breaths out of their compass. 

“Fuck,” he gasped.

River tried to catch her breath and leaned against his chest as her own moved up and down, synching the beat of her heart. “You can say that again.”

He laughed, hands relaxing as he turned her to face him properly and brought her to a kiss, much sweeter than the others. She circled his neck, smiling into the kiss, and he reflected her movements, embracing her waist with his arms.

Noah broke the kiss off, resting his forehead against hers, and looking down at her body. His thumb caressed her underboob tattoo again, tingling her skin.

“I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit,” he read out loud, looking up at her. “Dorian Gray.” She nodded, and he smirked, kissing her softly again.

“It’s pretty accurate if you ask me."

THEA: good friends

Watching the party that was still going in full-swing on the dancefloor, Thea shook her head a little, an indulgent smile pulled at her lips. She didn’t mind pitching in and working the bar when fucking Rocco left them in the lurch on such short notice. There were two bartenders from the catering service helping with the fancy cocktails, but all the beer and shots were coming out of The Sterling and they needed someone to keep an eye on everything. Naturally, Thea had volunteered.

She grabbed her phone and looked at the texts she’d exchanged with her fiancée a while ago when she’d let her know she would probably be working until very late ─ or very early, depending on how one looked at it. Talia had replied commiserating on her situation:

Tals ❤️: if it makes you feel better I’m also working on my deadline mess well into the night xx

Thea: look at us such a hardworking couple xx

She put her phone away and got back to serving drinks, but it wasn’t long before she saw one of her colleagues walking through the crowd towards her. The Asian girl with bright red hair had left a few hours ago after the reception dinner as she’d had other plans for the evening, so Thea was surprised to see her making her way behind the counter.

“Hey, girl.” Thea said with a smile and a somewhat confused frown. “What’re you doing here? I thought you had a date or something.”

“I did,” Gabi replied with a sigh. “But he’s not replying to any of my texts or calls for a few hours now.”

“Is he that idiot you found out was married?” Thea raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Separated actually, and he’s getting a divorce.” The other woman clarified with a roll of her eyes. “But yeah, I should’ve known not to get my hopes up. Anyway, I figured instead of sitting at home feeling dejected I’d pop in here and help you out.”

“Aww you didn’t have to do that,” Thea said with a smile, giving her a quick side hug.

“It’s not all out of the kindness of my heart,” Gabi said with a light laugh. “I figure if that fucker’s gonna ghost me I might as well try my luck with one of Bridget’s uni friends.” She gave her a wink then nudged her hip with her own. “Now go on, have some fun at the party, you’ve worked enough for the night.”

Thea thanked her with a bright smile. She quickly mixed up two cocktails then came out from behind the counter and made a beeline for the bride, who was practically the centre of attention as she danced and laughed with everyone around her. She loved Bridget, as she was not only a good boss but her friend, and there was no one with quite her infectious energy and good humour.

“Hey, babes!” Thea greeted her with a bright smile as she swept one arm across her back and shoulders, careful not to spill the drinks.

“Honey-Tee!” Bridget beamed back as she swayed a little and threw her own arms around her. “You’re finally here! Come dance with me!”

“You can thank Gabi for that, she came to relieve me of bar duty for a bit.” The taller woman said with a small laugh even as she gave her a one-arm hug back before pulling back to look at her face. “By the way, here.” She said, offering one of the drinks in her hands.

“Ughhh, you’re the absolute sweetest!” Bridget said, taking the glass and immediately sucking on the straw. “You and Gabi are the best, I can’t believe you had to work tonight. You were supposed to be partying with me!”

“Yeah, we should’ve known we couldn’t count on Rocco,” she replied with a small of her eyes, causing the bride to huff loudly. “But don’t worry, I’m having my share of fun.”

“You should be having way more fun. You know what? That’s it, I’m firing his ass,” Bridget declared with a solemn look that was completely ridiculous when paired with her inebriated state.

“Don’t make any decisions while you’re drunk,” Thea cautioned her with a laugh.

“I’m not that drunk,” Bridget countered, her nose wrinkling up in protest. “And don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, coming over and tricking me into drinking a virgin mojito!”

Thea gasped theatrically at that. “I would never!”

“I’ve been mixing drinks for a decade, Honey-Tee! You can’t trick me!” She countered, wagging a finger back at her, but she was still smiling and sucking on the straw of her drink despite her protests.

She snickered back a little. “I know you had cake, but that was hours ago. You need some sugar to go with all that booze. Trust me, you’re gonna thank me later when you get to the honeymoon suite, babes.” Thea said with a salacious wink, causing her friend to burst into giggles.

“Oh God,” Bridget huffed out, then she stepped closer and cupped her hand around her ear, lowering her voice ─ but probably not as much as she thought she was. Thankfully the loud music around them made it unlikely that anyone else heard her next words. “What if I told you I already had my way with Gary in my office?”

“I’d say it’s nothing less than I would expect from you two,” Thea said with a laugh, shaking her head a little.

“As if you wouldn’t! And by the way, where’s that gorgeous fiancée of yours?”

“Hey, you just got married!”

“I still have eyes!”

“Eh, can’t really blame you, she’s ridiculously fit.”

“You two are such a hot couple!”

They laughed, dancing around and joking easily with each other. Thea got easily swept into the partying and as she looked around she couldn’t help but notice that it was a while now since she’d last seen her best friend and the Maid of Honour.

Hmmm interesting.

DELILAH: sparkling

Bruno kissed her in the main room; he kissed her out in the back hallway; they kissed up against the door to the apartment that wouldn’t open; he kissed her as they made their way outside, through the fire escape and into the empty car park, under the stars as they sparkled in the dark sky, coming out to make the evening more enchanted than it already was.

There was a confidence in his kiss that she knew was only part alcohol; the slow, deliberate movements of a man who knew precisely what he was doing. It only made her want him more, urging him closer with her legs around his waist. Even without the hard bulge in his jeans, she could tell he wanted her just as badly, the desperate squeeze of his fingers into her thighs making her see stars with each subtle grind of his hips.

She could fuck him right there, against the car park wall, the risk of being caught making it ever the more exciting, but she wanted him exposed. She wanted to see all of him, not just a peek of him through his zipper. She wanted his naked chest to hers, his hands on her body; she wanted those delicious lips to part as she stripped for him, showing her just how badly he wanted her. 

As if he was right there in her imagination, he groaned deeply into the kiss, gently biting her lip, and dropping his lips to her neck. Delilah moaned a soft approval, twisting her hand through his hair as his lips hungrily grazed over her skin.

“Get in the car,” she whispered, and he let one of her legs fall back to the ground. 

With a final thrust up against her, he groaned back, “Yes, ma’am.”

Delilah bit back a grin, realising how much she liked it. It was insanely cold out; her bare skin was freckled in goose pimples, her nipples hard through the soft material of her dress. She delighted in the way Bruno eyed them as she made her way to the one car she knew was never locked.

It was Bobby’s but she knew he wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon. He wouldn’t leave early for anything, so they had as much time as she dared. Still, Delilah wasn’t about to waste any time. Not when she had Bruno and her thighs were burning this hot.

Delilah couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this overcome by lust, but he just looked so damn good. His hair was unruly from her wandering hands, his lips swollen, his once-sparkling eyes now darkened by his own imagination. His weight on top of her after they climbed into the backseat was more intoxicating than anything she’d had to drink that night, as was the feeling of his breath on her skin as he resumed his trail of kisses down her neck. 

Her hand moved on its own, edging between their bodies as he rocked against her, deftly undoing his jeans, and slipping into his underwear. They breathed a coordinated moan, his in pleasure, hers in delight at his positively glorious size. She gently rolled her hand over his tip, teasing him, and she felt his kisses on her neck slow to a stop. Bruno must’ve liked what she was doing, because he’d lost all concentration, his needy groans heavy in her ear as she flirted her hand up and down his length.

“God,” he whispered, brushing his lips gently against her cheek. “That feels so good.”

Her pace quickened like her heart rate, watching his eyes flutter shut as she stroked him. He leaned down, capturing her lips with his as he groaned his approval into her. But in place of the passionate, controlled kisses, these were ravenous, biting at her lip, before hungrily kissing down her neck once more. 

Bruno's hand moved back to her thigh, and he wasn’t gentle, pushing her dress up to her hips and sliding his hand between them. He didn’t hesitate to move her underwear aside, masterfully circling his fingers around her clit as he softly groaned at her wetness. He pressed one, then two inside her, and Delilah tried to talk herself out of replacing them with his cock. She still had her hand wrapped around him, so she matched his pace, letting him control the speed as they moved in unison.

Suddenly, a light flicked on, and Bruno’s head shot up. 

“Someone’s coming,” he gasped. 

“Is it you?” Delilah teased, as he shot her a playfully disapproving look.

“No,” he laughed, dropping his head back down to her shoulder, trying to stay out of view.

Still giggling away, Delilah muttered out, “Fuck. If we get caught─”

Before she could even finish ─ what a habit that was becoming ─ Bruno added, “How far is your place?”

THEA: crash & burn

Damn those drinks and Bridget’s comments for getting me all hot and bothered.

Thea sent Talia a quick text letting her know she was on her way. Earlier when she’d thought she would have to stay until the party ended she’d let her fiancée know she would crash at her own apartment, but now she had other plans in mind. And she was certain Talia wouldn’t have any objections.

What is it with everyone ghosting everyone today? 

She couldn’t help but think with a silly chuckle to herself when she got no reply to her text. But maybe Talia had gone to bed already so she tried calling her when she got close to her place. There was no reply, but Thea was unconcerned, thinking of all the fun ways she could wake her up in the middle of the night.

She let herself in using her key, frowning a little in surprise at finding all the lights on in the front hall and in the living room. “She cannot possibly still be working…” Thea murmured softly to herself as she left her bag on the coat hanger by the door and turned her wrist to check the time on her watch.

She wondered if maybe Talia was handling a bigger publishing emergency than she’d thought. She passed by the empty office where she could see clear signs that she’d been working until recently, as her laptop was still open next to a mug of coffee and several papers that littered the desk. As she absentmindedly walked through the apartment in search of her, Thea suddenly stopped in the middle of the hallway as her foot caught on something. A shoe.

A man’s shoe.

What happened next was like an out-of-body experience. She could feel her heart thumping loudly in her chest and an icy feeling rushing down her spine, chilling her to the bones. She felt hot and cold at once, and she was suddenly hyper-aware, as she could feel the blood rushing through her veins even though her vision seemed a little blurry at the edges. She felt rooted to the spot for what seemed like ages, then her legs moved almost of their own accord as she continued down the hall. She barely blinked when she saw a jacket thrown on the floor in front of the closed bedroom door.

The roar in her ears was so loud that surely other people would be able to hear it and it took her a moment to register the noises coming from inside the room: soft moans, gasped words and little creaks of the mattress that pierced through the fog clouding over her mind. It didn’t seem real as she stepped forward and pushed the door open, the sight that met her eyes, something she’d never thought possible.

“Oh god, oh god…” She could hear her voice, that voice that she loved so much, in the same tone that always managed to spread out tendrils of pleasure over her own body at the thought that she was the one causing that reaction, but that now only pierced through Thea’s heart like a dagger.

“Oh my god!” Another, more gravelly, voice suddenly exclaimed in alarm as green eyes met Thea’s dark ones and she finally snapped out of it.

She turned away and headed down the hallway aimlessly as she heard muttered curses and a scramble of movement back in the bedroom. Thea turned this way and that but she still wasn’t sure what she was doing. She felt like she was going to be sick.

“Thea, oh my god, babe.” Talia said as she came out of the bedroom wrapping a robe around her. “I swear, it’s not what it seems.”

“It’s not─” Thea stuttered as she drew up short and turned to look at her. “It’s not what it seems?! Talia, I just caught you riding a man into fucking oblivion on your bed! What the fuck is that supposed to be?”

The other woman flinched at her words as she tied a haphazard knot at her waist and reached her hands forward, but Thea stepped back out of her reach. “What I mean is that I never meant to do this, I don’t know how this happened─”

“You don’t know how this happened? For fuck’s sake Talia, you don’t just fall on some guy’s dick like you’re taking a walk and trip down on a sidewalk!”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking─”

“You weren’t─!” She turned around, running a hand through her hair and caught sight of the hastily dressed man as he snuck past them down the hallway, stooping to retrieve his shoe. “And you! How could you do this? You knew she was in a relationship with someone, you knew we were engaged!”

He stopped, his pained green eyes avoiding her accusing stare as he glanced away, one hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Yeah I─ I’m sorry, you’re right.” He let out a sigh then raised his eyes to her. “I don’t have any excuses, it just happened…”

“It just happened.” Thea repeated in a cold tone as she crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could protect herself with the gesture, but at the same time she wanted to face him, she wanted him to know she wasn’t letting him off the hook, either. “You just happened to fuck her? Your own boss, Suresh?”

He grimaced and looked away again, making a vague gesture over his shoulder. “Look, I think I should leave you to─”

“Yeah, you should. Get the fuck out of my sight.” She didn’t care if this was Talia’s place, she couldn’t stand being around him anymore.

He slinked away down the hallway and they barely heard the front door close as Talia kept on supplicating and trying to explain how they had come to this, but Thea kept pacing away, out of her reach as her eyes burned and she felt like a scream was trapped in her throat. She wanted to rage, she wanted to break things, she wanted to fall asleep and wake up to realise this was nothing but a terrible nightmare.

But it couldn’t be a nightmare. This pain was too real. It was stealing her breath, suddenly flaring into anger then simmering down into despair before cycling back over as the tears spilled from her eyes. And she knew deep down in her heart that for as much as she’d loved Talia before this had happened, there was nothing she could say that would fix this now. It was a line that couldn’t be uncrossed and Thea would never trust her again.

And if she couldn’t trust her…

“I have to go.” She said, her voice suddenly calm as a few silent tears still coursed down her cheeks and fell to the floor, but she finally felt like she could breathe now and she knew this was it.

“Thea, please, we can talk about it. We can work this out. You have to let me show you how sorry I am and make it up to you, because I am so sorry─”

“It doesn’t matter.” Thea interrupted her with a half-shrug, a resigned expression on her face. “It’s over, Talia. We’re over.”

The other woman let out an anguished sob, as if she could hear the finality in her voice. Talia’s hands trembled as she reached out to her, but once again Thea stepped away and didn’t let her touch her. She removed the ring from her left hand, placing it on top of the kitchen counter before she grabbed her bag and walked out the door.

[autumnbrambleagain]

Yhelm p9 - readmore for full

Drizzle hadn't left Flyhhnemonia yet. This was day eleven of constant rain.

Rumors had it she'd gotten into a tiff with another god--most said Solid--and was hiding behind Flyhh until the fight was over. Others were saying she'd fallen in love with a mortal, who'd finally died, and she was taking comfort with the Heir of Love. Whatever the truth was, it was day eleven of her stay in Flyhhnemonia, and day eleven of constant rain. The Guild of Porters and Fishermen were already busy enough keeping things from washing away. Yhelm had to help dig a literal ditch last night to help with the run-off.

And now some idiot had gone and gotten herself arrested and now it was Yhelm's problem. Which was fun.

She was currently dripping in the entrance hall of the Cabdrydal courthouse. The ceiling was tall and arched, each marble beam decorated with little iron-work statues Yhelm couldn't even make out from all the way down here on the ground. But each drop of water from her soaked-through tail onto the colorful tiled floors echoed far deep back into the building and it made her feel just a bit self-conscious.

"Umbrella didn't do you much good did it?"

There was an adversary sitting at a little booth off to the side of the entrance. Of course Yhelm's umbrella wasn't going to protect her from the rain--using a narrative reassignment to turn umbrella into sword meant sword couldn't keep you dry. "I don't see why it should," Yhelm said. "I had to swim half the way here."

The security-dog laughed, but he also stood up and stepped out of the booth. "You ask me, Drizzle needs a good, hard dicking."

"Wow," Yhelm said. "In times like this, the world mourns our lost Apat."

The security-adversary checked Yhelm over for weapons, and found none, because her umbrella was a weapon but only for her, and so she was let through. At the end of the hall was a tall, rounded wooden desk, a single contiguous piece at least twenty feet long, very impressive and very expensive. Two clerks were seated there, their pen-scratchings echoing out into the vast cavern that separated them from Yhelm.

Hopefully one wasn't her little brother?

She started the long walk over. Why was it so long? Was it to facilitate lines? There were benches along the sides of the entranceway, and more statuework lining the walls. And there, hanging from the ceiling on heavy wires, a great iron-cast statue of Cabdrydal herself, some winged breacher lawyer of ages past. She was kinda hot. Yhelm wondered who would be in blamed the day the wires inevitably broke and the statue fell and crushed some poor person. Maybe it'd be a criminal and everyone would say Cabdrydal got one more.

She decided to not walk directly under it.

And. Well. Fuck.

The desk was divided into several booths for several lines, but Yhelm was the only person here. There were two clerks here, and that mean she could have her choice of which one she wanted, and one of them was some freeperson she'd never met, and the other was her little brother. Fuck. It'd be worse to go to the other one and ignore him, right? It would probably be worse.

"Heyyyyy baby brother," Yhelm purred.

Bodo looked up. There was a split-second of recognition in his face where he saw her as his sister first and that was a real nice second and after that he caught up to his own opinion on her and now he was looking at a criminal, a disappointment to the family. "How can I--what do you want, Yhelm."

Fine we can be business like Yhelm couldn't do business she was here for business. "A gaitsbird was arrested last night for assault and public what-have-yous."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss any on-going--"

"Yeah that's nice," Yhelm interrupted, and she clacked her umbrella-tip on the tiled floor and it echoed a good long second. She could be shitty to family too watch her go. "This is a Guild issue and I'm here to take her into our custody."

A demented smile broke over Bodo's face and even his coworker stopped and looked over in concern. "Haha. Hah! And you really think I'm just going to let a criminal go free because you asked nicely? Really?"

Yhelm sighed. "No, you're going to entrust the criminal into our custody so we can punish her by Guild laws."

"Guild laws!" Bodo looked over at his coworker. "Do you hear this? Criminal laws. Criminal courts. She wants me to believe that!"

Yhelm glared at the coworker. He'd obviously been working here much longer, because he said, carefully, "Ah, s’ent, I can send for the lawizard on duty for you?"

Bodo's face fell. Yhelm just smiled thinly. "Yes. That would be appreciated."

The clerk turned to what Yhelm had assumed was another sculpture, set up behind the desk, but oh, those great brass tubes were some kind of… instrument? Giant bells? The other clerk picked up a padded hammer and struck a few with slow, deliberate gongs. Everyone's ears flinched at it. Clearly no one liked this.

"The lawizard on duty will be with you as soon as he can, s'ent," the clerk said. "You can have a seat while you wait if you like."

Bodo huffed. "She's a criminal, we shouldn't be giving her what she wants."

"Dude, it's not our call," the freeperson said.

They slowly turned back to their work. Yhelm didn't sit. She stood right where she was dripping. "So," she tried. "How long do you have until you become a lawizard?"

Bodo's pen stopped scratching. "I'm at work, Yhelm."

"So am I."

"No, no you are not."

"Pfft. My boss told me to do this it’s work."

Bodo's coworker looked up from his paperwork with a sort of 'what is going on' expression.

"He's my brother," Yhelm whispered, which, no, whispers didn't work in this oversized hall they just echoed as loud as anything else.

Bodo didn't take the bait and the coworker went back to his work with a sort of 'wow okay not my business' expression. Yhelm contented herself to stand there right next to her baby brother and drip all over his floor. Bodo did an amazing job of ignoring her, though. It was sad. They used to get along really well? He'd been so happy when she'd come back home from the Cazirizahd. Of course now he resented her for it. That was neat. That. Was. Neat.

The lawizard finally arrived. Try not to laugh but he was an honest to goodness meadow deer. Tall antlers and red tie and black jacket and nothing else. The absolute stereotype. Yhelm was an adversary criminal, though. Meadoe wasn't a very original writer, Yhelm considered.

"Ah?" he announced into the room.

Bodo stood up--was he standing on his chair? He was kind of short. Or was there just a platform there for height-challenged races back there anyway? "Ah, Prim'ent Apples. This uh, adversary wanted to speak to you about a recent arrest." Look at him go, all business when the game was on. Yhelm was proud of the little bastard. He wasn't actually a bastard she was technically a bastard but like whatever.

The lawizard swung his head back to Yhelm.

"Dentsiles," she said. "I'm Guild of Porters and Fishermen. You have a gaitsbird, Lastsong, in your lock-up. She started a fight in a Guild of Brick Layers and Ditch Diggers bar and stabbed a Guild of Lamp Lighters and Wood Cutters member most-of-the-way-to-death. Which sounds like the lead-up to a joke but the punchline is she's in a lot of trouble."

"Ah, ah," the lawizard smiled. "We expected you much earlier you know. We almost had to start process on her ourselves."

"Yeah well so long as Drizzle keeps crying gopaf has our hands full keeping the docks from flooding out. I'm running on three hours of sleep." Which was normal for her, but don't tell anyone that.

The lawizard nodded and Yhelm had to take a step back to not get stabbed by his rack. Apat preserve he was actually kind of handsome. What deer didn't look good in a suit though? That was cheating, God was a deer in a suit, of course it was a good look. "I don't envy her," he said. "I need to confirm you before I can hand her over."

"Yep."

Red lights of Law sprang to life from the lawizard’s very body, twisting into a picture-frame that settled in front of Yhelm's face. The color bled and spilled out into neatly-written words floating mid-air, within biting distance. Someday Yhelm was going to bite a Law construct. "All right, S'ent Machato--hah! Machato! I wonder if there's any relation to our own S'ent Machato behind the desk there!"

The lawizard smiled but Bodo just looked up miserably.

"He's my brother," Yhelm said.

"Oh. Oh! Really! What wild things life holds for us all. I hope you two can still get along?"

"Of course," Yhelm said, and Bodo sat up like he wanted to say something but probably not in front of his boss. "We good though?"

"You check out," the lawizard said, dismissing the inquiry spell. "I'll go grab S'ent Lastsong and transfer custody."

"Wait!" It was Bodo, now fully standing on top of his seat, Yhelm could see it he was actually standing on it. "Wait, you're actually handing a criminal over to criminals?"

Bodo's coworker was giving him a look like 'holy shit dude stop' but he didn't say anything.

"Isn't that a bit of a rude thing to say to your sister? She hasn't been accused of anything. If she had been I would have seen it when I did the inquiry, you know."

"No--but--wait--I don't understand." Bodo was now scrambling over the desk to join them on the floor. Adorable. He was basically still twelve years old in Yhelm's head. "I'm sorry, Prim'ent, but, I don't understand how this is legal? Isn't it our duty to, to put her on trial and punish her for her crimes?" The way he was saying that, Yhelm thought, he was probably talking about Lastsong but she could feel an argument could be made he was talking about Yhelm herself. She wondered if Bodo realized that.

But the lawizard was just chuckling. "I'm sorry, S'ent Machato, he--well I don't have to apologize for your own brother do I? No, Bodo, the Guilds have a Legal Authority in their own prescribed jurisdictions, and their jurisdiction takes full precedence over ours here. Don't imagine she's getting off free. She'd probably prefer to be tried by us?"

"Ooh yeah," Yhelm agreed. "You'd put her in jail or proscribe behaviors or something right? Oooour boss is probably just gonna. I don't know. Break her arms? Pull out her teeth? I dunno. Criminal stuff." She winked at Bodo.

"This--this is Legal," Bodo said, dumbstruck. "This is actually Legal-legal?"

"Don't like, hold this against him," Yhelm said, gesturing to All Of Bodo. "He's still upset I used my college education to become a guild academage instead of, I don't know. Sitting in a tower writing self-congratulatory essays all day? What do wizards do. This apparently I'm a wizard and this is what this wizard is doing right now."

The lawizard was smiling but also clearly running out of patience. "If you'll excuse me then," he said, and he left Yhelm and Bodo there to deal with one another while he got Lastsong. Except Bodo just stood there staring up at her in confusion, and Yhelm just stared down at him with a little bit more smug satisfaction than she'd have liked but it wasn't like she could help every feeling she had all the time.

"I had hoped you wouldn't be working today," she finally said. "Like. I don't want to actually cause problems for you."

"You're doing a good job of it," Bodo huffed. "I, I just." He looked down at his wrist and little lines of Law flowed from his fingers and wrapped into a red wristwatch. "I have ten minutes before I'm done for the day anyway. Let me finish up my work."

"Wanna escort the prisoner with me?" Yhelm offered.

"No," Bodo said, clambering back over the desk and into his seat, "I want you to be gone before it's time for me to leave."

She'd tried. No one could blame her for trying, Yhelm thought.

Finally Lawizard Apples returned, leading a yellow gaitsbird on chains of Law. As custody was officially transferred--wow okay now the chains were on Yhelm's wrist and they felt really weird and warm--Bodo apparently finished up his work and he was already speeding down the hallway to the exit without even a goodbye to Yhelm. Sort of rude, but okay. Whatever.

"So like if she runs does this give me the power to like, do something to her?" Yhelm asked, holding up her end of the chain.

"Yhelm I swear to Aiax I'm not going to run!" Lastsong said, and everyone braced themselves because she'd done the dumbest thing and swore to Aiax and yep here was the sudden rush of pressure constricting everyone's chests and the light in the room for just a moment was blindingly red as the Heir of Law took special interest in the situation to make sure the oath was fulfilled. Yhelm snarled and bopped Lastsong on the head. Not especially gently.

The lawizard laughed. "I don't think that's going to be a problem now. Is Bodo already gone? Lucan? Did he already leave? I wanted to have a talk with him."

"Hey," Yhelm said. "Really don't hold it against him. Mom never let it go that I became a gangster-wizard and now all of the family's disappointments are his to fix. He does good work when I'm not here, right?"

"All the same," Lawizard Apples said. "Nice meeting you, S'ent Machato."

"Yup," Yhelm said. She gave an experimental tug on Lastsong's chain and the poor thing stumbled. "Seriously Song I can't get over how bad you fucked up why did you stab him?"

Yhelm started into a walk and Lastsong hopped to keep up. "We--Yhelm we were playing cards, okay, and--"

"And he cheated?"

"N-no. He. He was winning. A lot. So."

Gaitsbirds, Yhelm sighed. She was sure somewhere Bodo was sighing and thinking the same thing about adversaries, though. It didn't matter she had a job to do and even if Lastsong was a workplace friend Yhelm was an enforcer and she had to actually look intimidating when someone was in trouble and she could do that pretty well at least. She gave a nod to the adversary at the door and then they were back out into the rain.

Bodo was still here. Out in the rain, by the statue of Aiax. There was another freeperson with him, young looking, tall and in patterned clothes that weren't native and they were talking. Yhelm really, really didn't actually want to interfere in her little brother's life and she was literally in the middle of a job but she still slowed down to make sure things were cool and that's when the tall freeperson hugged Bodo?

Huh. "Huh," Yhelm said, not realizing she'd stopped walking.

Bodo spun around and his loafers couldn't make angry stomps like hooves could but they splashed at the puddles and got his pants even more wet all the same. "Yhelm! Are--can you--can you just leave!?"

"Yeah it took a bit to get--" Yhelm rattled the Law chains but they didn't rattle. Lastsong swung her arms to keep up with the movements. "This sorted out. Not even a good-bye for me? And I think your boss was kinda upset with you."

The tall freeperson, his hands holding themselves in front of his lap and trying to make himself look small despite being taller than Yhelm, whispered, "Lottle, war saet dar?"

Haha holy shit. And here was Yhelm in the pouring rain looking intimidating with her fucking leather jacket and umbrella that was secretly a sword, holding a gaistbird by a set of chains, staring down poor Bodo and this poor--poor fucking soul was here having no idea what he'd just gotten himself into.

"Ehs sesster," Yhelm answered, before Bodo could find the words himself. Holy shit. "Arest dayr et loozah at myrs bretter?"

The freeperson stammered. "Ah--sait."

Bodo sputtered. "How--how, how do you know, where did you even learn--"

"I went to magic fucking college, Bodo," Yhelm said. "Do you know how many theses come out of Upper Retlay? Traverse's sake I soft-dated a Retlayn while I was there. So."

Yhelm had intended to have a dramatic pause, but Lastsong whimpered, "It's, it's raining all over us can we not be standing out here please? I'm getting soaked…" Everyone ignored it, though, and Lastsong just warbled miserably to herself.

"… so. Do you want to introduce me to your boyfriend?" Yhelm asked.

Bodo groaned. "Yhelm this is Latyzell, Latyzell this is my sister Yhelm, okay, that's fine, we're done here?"

Latyzell leaned in again and whispered to Bodo, "Why are we angry?"

"It's--a family thing," Bodo huffed.

Don't be an adversary don't be an adversary don't be an adversary, "Does mom give you guff for being in a non-productive relationship?" fuck she fucked it up.

Bodo didn't answer right away, which was actually an answer.

"Oh no," Yhelm said. "Oh you haven't told her yet. Because you grew up seeing how much she hated me dating a phanteasel."

Bodo stared. Yhelm stared back.

Latyzell and Lastsong watched on helplessly, the rain pounding at their shoulders and heads. Roped in to a sibling-stare-down, prisoners to a conflict no one wanted to actually be a part of, especially the siblings forced to carry it out.

Bodo blinked first. "Don't tell her."

"She won't talk to me. And fuck her anyway. Mom can go up to Princess Flyhh and complain and see how far that gets her. You two look cute together. Don't let her ruin it for you."

Bodo huffed.

"Bring him next time we do coffee. We can welcome him into the family when we aren't standing out in the middle of a rainstorm."

"N--next time," Bodo started, but Yhelm didn't give him the chance to get around to declining.

"The forty-third. We'll see you then, kid. Latyzell, al mat myr svitch darit. Groop dayr carr ruber myrs bretter. C'mon Song."

Yhelm tugged Lastsong with her and started off, hooves splashing on the soaked stone walk. Behind her, Bodo stammered. "Wait--wait what did she say that was too fast for me to get it?" Yhelm glanced back just enough to see Latyzell kiss Bodo's forehead in answer. Freaking adorable.

"Your family's kind of messed up?" Lastsong offered.

"Haha yeah," Yhelm said, "you almost killed another guild, Song, you are so screwed."

"I knoooow! He was winning though!" she whined. "Do, do we have to go right to Prim'ent Pio? Can, can we get like, can we stop by Alzzard's Curry first? You know? Like a last meal? Before he plucks and cooks me?"

"Yeah that's fine, I could eat," Yhelm agreed. "Just a little bit though. I don't want to spoil my appetite. I hear we're having roast gaitsbird tonight?"

"Yheeeeeeelm that isn't funny! We're friends pleeaase!"

"Yeah but I'm not your friend when I'm working," Yhelm said. "What kind of sauce do you think you'd go best in?"

"Aaahahaaa someone save meeee!"

[codenamehazard]

InFAMOUS Headcanon: Storm clouds and rainy days

Hello! It's cold where I'm at so I decided why not jot down some more headcanons about my favorite character, Cole MacGrath, and see what everyone else thinks! Hope you guys like it!

If Empire City is similar in climate to it's real world counterpart, then I'd imagine that overcast skies, dreary weather and the odd storm are fairly common sights in inFAMOUS' version of the city that never sleeps.

That being said, I bet Cole had a bit of a love-hate relationship with rain and storms, even before his powers were awakened. Being a bike courier means he probably had to deliver packages to people in some really foul weather before. The only thing that would stop the company he worked for from sending him out to make his rounds is if Mother Nature was really baring her teeth, severe weather like massive storms, hurricanes, blizzards, coldsnaps, things that could get a person killed and all.

In this regard, Cole's isn't a fan of being out in particularly poor weather, even with wearing the proper clothing for the conditions, it's still miserable to be cold and wet, especially if the wind was cutting though the layers he put on. There have been a few times the poor man was stood outside in the rain, waiting for the recipient of a package to come and take it so he can be on his way to the next delivery.

Rainy days also didn't make for good days to be out and doing some urban exploration. Wet bars and poles made him one slip away from a broken neck or back and even as skilled as he is, there will be days he will misjudge a landing and if the ground is wet, that misjudged landing will give him a one-way ticket to slipping and landing on his ass. Makes for light hearted stories later, but they aren't funny in the moment.

On the other hand, if he knows he has a day off during a rainy day and he's not planning on being outside any longer than 5 minutes at a time, he does enjoy the soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof. He knows he's gonna be waking up bright-eyed and bushy tailed in the morning when a storm rolls through at night. The distant rolling of thunder and pattering of rain acting like a lullaby for Cole. Helping to quiet his busy mind and he sleeps like a baby.

After the blast, some things do change a little.

His distain for being out in rainy days intensifies. He already didn't like being out in the rain before, but now with his powers, it's even more of a nuisance. The rain falling on him making him look more like a human bug-zapper than he usually does. I could imagine that while the rain doesn't hurt him like being submerged in water does, the electricity popping off of his body from being coated in rainwater probably is still irritating to him, like pins and needles all over his body. He might entertain a light misting or drizzle, but a downpour? Nope. The Electric Man is taking shelter somewhere where he's not looking like a drowned rat that just got electrocuted.

Thunderstorms on the other hand? Hooooooh boy.

I'd imagine that Cole's powers of electrokinesis (radar pulse specifically) would give him a slight ability to sense changes in the weather, it's not to the extent of being able to accurately predict the weather to a T, but it's enough to give him an idea of what he should be expecting so he can plan and dress accordingly.

With this in mind, when the Demon of Empire City senses the tell-tale indicators that a storm is coming? Good luck getting him indoors. That man is gonna be outside as is he was wanting to challenge every single god of thunder in every pantheon he can think of.

Seeing as he can absorb natural lightning, thunderstorms are the perfect opportunity for Cole to really flex his powers and experiment, seeing as he pretty much as unlimited energy, not to mention he feels like a total badass doing so. It's the prime chance to go absolutely hogwild on everything. Enemies quickly learn to stay hidden during thunderstorms and the citizens best hope that the lightning they see crashing from the sky is blue and not red, lest the Demon come a-knocking.

As for his opinion on rainy and stormy nights? That hasn't changed, if anything, he's even more thankful for them so long as he has a place to sleep that's out of the rain. Stormy nights are a little bit harder to fall asleep to as his body naturally wants to get in on that electric goodness crashing outside, but once he's out, he's out like a light.

The rainy and stormy nights are now one of the few times when Cole can actually get a decent amount of shut eye post-blast. Nature's lullaby calming Cole's mind, drowning out the thoughts caused from his PTSD. (let's be real, with all the crap he went though? He most likely has some form of it.) The demons that plague him in his sleep are quieted by the gentle sounds and the heaviness of the systems acting like a weighted blanket on his body, it calms the Electric Man enough to get a nice, deep and restful sleep. One where his body is fully relaxed and the expression on his face is one of peace and contentment.

----

Sorry if this is a novel, but I hope everyone likes it!