#made a minor edit for accuracy

[k25ff]

[darthannie]

potential side effects

pairing: Jonathan Crane x f!reader summary: After giving you an experimental medication, Dr. Crane helps you get over your fear of intimacy.  word count: 2,143 warnings: 18+, minors DNI for the love of god, DARK, rough at points, I’m gonna go ahead and say NONCON, au where Dr. Crane has a private practice, abuse of power, reader is under the influence (kinda like the fear toxin), reader is sleepy, Crane doesn't take no for an answer, dacryphilia, inexperienced!reader, floor sex, spit, fighting back, a smidge of aftercare at the end. a/n: Please do not read if you’re not into what's in the warnings. I had fun experimenting with this one. I tried to be a little more thorough in the warnings. Better safe than sorry. I’m still toying around with Jonathan’s voice. Let me know if you want more of this kind of thing, or something different. I’d love to interact with you guys more!

Dr. Jonathan Crane had been treating you for the better part of a year and was in the midst of creating a new medication regimen for you. Your previous treatment plan was not working as intended, so it was back to the drawing board.

He selected you as the first person to receive an experimental medication. It was meant to be inhaled and doses were to be given during the time of the appointment. You didn’t necessarily know what to expect. He’d briefly mentioned that there may be potential side effects but didn’t go into much detail. 

You were nervous the first time you’d gone in to receive a dose. As you approached the door to his office you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. You knocked and after a moment he opened the door. Jonathan always wore the same thing most of the time. Today he donned a black blazer and slacks with a white button-up. His red tie was placed right at the center of his collar. His dark hair framed his face perfectly. He looks good today, you thought, better than usual. 

You exchanged your normal pleasantries and sat across from him on a couch. His office was spacious and dark. All the furniture was made of wood. In the corner, there was a big bookcase that consisted of books on fear, pharmacology, and different editions of the DSM. The DSM-4 was missing from the shelf, presumably on his desk. 

The room brought you a lot of comfort. It was the only place you ever got to see him. It felt like Dr. Crane was the only person in all of Gotham that understood you. It was his job after all. 

Soon the time came for him to administer the medication. 

“I’m going to spray in front of your face and you’re going to breathe in. It doesn’t take much to be effective.”, he said. 

You nodded and he sprayed. 

Your nerves subsided almost immediately and your mind became quiet.

“Any difference?”, he asked. 

“My mind is silent. All my racing thoughts have stopped.” 

“Good. That means it’s working. Some of the other side effects may begin to set in now.” 

He was right. Like clockwork, you started to get drowsy. It was like someone had given you a little too much Benadryl. It was hard to keep your eyes open. 

“Dr. Crane? Is this normal?” You couldn’t help but drag the ’s’. 

“It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just the medication working. How do you feel?” He seemed a tad on edge as he awaited your answer. 

“I feel all warm inside.” 

He then leaned back against his desk. “Any drowsiness?”

“Lots of it.” You chuckled slightly.

“That is normal.” He said, answering your question. “The medication was likely to make you feel tired.”

“Does it go away?”

“As your body builds up a tolerance, the effects will lessen. Now, I wanted to talk about the recent screenings you filled out. I would like you to check over them and rate their accuracy on a scale from one to five, five being very accurate.” 

He handed you a piece of paper and you looked it over. “Four.”

“Why not five?” His eyebrows furrowed. 

“Number six. ’S worse.” Question number six pertained to your interest in sex. More specifically how terrified you were of having it. 

It was a topic you were working on with Dr. Crane since it impacted your life so much. You were hesitant to mention it at first, but he assured you it was better to talk about it instead of holding it in. So, you spilled every detail. This included your inability to get yourself off and failed hook-up attempts.

You’d try very hard but when it came time for you to do the deed you shut down and found a way out of the situation. You hadn’t been getting out there much because, frankly, the thought of being intimate with someone was frightening. You didn’t know how you’d ever get over it. 

“Have you sought out any partners to help with your fears?”, he asked.

You took a moment to process what he said. “No, I haven’t. I can’t. It’s too-“

“Frightening, yes I remember you using that word.” He removed his glasses before continuing. “I think there’s a way I can help you with that. Personally.”

You yawned. “What do you mean by that doctor?” 

“I can make you feel better.” He looked down at you and brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. 

“How do you mean?” You could hear the apprehension in your voice. He ignored your question and reached down to the hem of your top, lifting it slightly. 

You pulled back a little too quickly and you got a bit dizzy. “I don’t know about that Dr. Crane. I can’t- I’m not well.”

He ignored you. “I think it’ll be easier if I just take you here on the floor.” 

He dragged you off the couch and onto the ground, sitting up. The hardwood was cold to the touch but started to warm under your body. He kneeled next to you. You tried to fight him as he reached for your sweater. He grabbed your wrists to stop you from thrashing around. 

“I would hate to have to tie you up, sweetheart.” You knew he would follow through so you did what he wanted. You stopped fighting back.

He neatly folded and put aside each article of clothing he took off your body. Eventually, you were completely bare in front of him. You were almost too gone to grasp what was going on. Almost. The fear began to creep in and he could tell. Maybe the medication was not working the way he intended it to. Maybe he lied about what it was intended to do. 

You slurred, “Dr. Crane, please don’t- Please don’t do this.” 

He leaned over you and you tried to push him away. He only offered a small smile and reached his hand down between your legs. You whimpered as his fingers moved lightly over your clit. You mewled at the new sensation. You gave in to the feeling and your eyes started to close. When they wouldn’t open again Jonathan lightly slapped your cheek. 

“No, no, no don’t fall asleep. I need you to stay awake for me.”, he said. 

You fought the exhaustion and watched as he used his fingers to tease you. 

He noticed you getting wetter and moved his fingers down to your entrance. He slowly stretched you with two fingers, watching your face as your mouth fell open. 

A tight-lipped smile appeared on his face. He started slow and then moved his fingers in and out very quickly, hitting a new spot until he found the one that made your legs shake. You lied back and let him work on you. All you felt was bliss. No one had ever touched you like that. 

He took his hand away and you whined. This was a first and you were glad you made it this far. This was a win. 

You thought it was over, but then you noticed him unbuttoning his pants. 

Your breath quickened and you put your hand out. “Wait! Please, no! I think I’ve had enough for today.” 

“We’re not done with your treatment yet, princess. Please hold still. It will be easier for the both of us.” 

Your body was made of putty. The side effects had gotten worse. He brought your legs into position before grabbing himself in his hand. He stroked his cock a couple of times before entering you. 

He gave you no time to adjust. His pace was slow but he fucked hard. You gasped at the feeling of him inside you. You’ve never been fucked like this before. But, that didn’t matter to him. All he wanted was to feel you around him. Make you his. 

The sounds in the room sent you reeling. You didn’t know you would moan so much. The sound of his skin hitting yours filled the room along with his heavy breaths and moans. He grabbed your hips as he thrust hard and fast. You were having a hard time coping with all the feelings you were having at once. The fear, exhaustion, and pleasure were beginning to mix. You wanted to scream. Instead, you cried. 

Jonathan moaned at the sight. He loved watching you cry. He’d seen it happen during sessions and couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like if you moaned while you cried. Now he knew. You were unable to keep quiet. Silent cries became sobs which became whimpers. 

He caressed your tear-stained face, “Shhhhhh, hush now it’s alright. You’re doing so well.”

You tried to talk through your tears. “Please Jonathan- Dr. Crane, Make it stop!”

This time he went deeper. You yelped as you felt him hit a new part of you. “I’m not stopping until you tell me it feels good. Tell me, does it feel good?”

“Yes,” you moaned, “it feels good.” 

“Yeah? Are you still frightened? Are you scared of me?”

“Yes.”, you admitted. It was hard for you to get out. How could you ever fear him? All he had ever done was help you. This was just another one of his unorthodox methods. 

He bent forward and put his arms next to your ears, locking his fingers on the top of your head to hold you in place. Your body was limp as he continued fucking you into the floor. Your eyes closed; you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

He shook your head slightly. “No, eyes on me. Look at me.” 

You looked at him wide-eyed. 

“Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spit in your mouth. In all honesty, you savored the taste. It was another way of him claiming you. 

“Swallow.” When you did he hummed contently. “Good girl.” 

You felt something weird tightening in your core. “Dr. Crane. I feel like I’m gonna-“. 

A long moan came out before you could finish your sentence. He fucked you as you rode your high and soon after his thrusts started to falter. He sat up and grabbed your hip to use as leverage. You mustered up as much energy as you could to move away from him, using your legs to drag yourself across the floor. He was much stronger than you at this point and he pulled you back. 

“No, come here. You’re gonna stay still while I finish. Got it?”

The tears kept flowing, but you obeyed. You lied back as he came inside of you. He stayed inside of you for a minute, savoring the moment. You were tired and blissed out. He pulled out of you without a word. He watched as his cum dropped out of you. 

“What a sight.”, he said matter a factly. He helped you sit up and wiped tears from your face with his thumb. He brought you close to him and kissed your forehead. 

He got up and put himself back together again. He fixed his clothing, tucking in his pristine white shirt and fastening his pants. He fixed his tie and looked past you into a mirror. 

Once satisfied, he grabbed a towel from his desk and cleaned you up. He helped you up to your feet and began dressing you. His demeanor was softer now. He took his time as he got you dressed. Once he was finished he helped you sit on the couch. You curled up into his side, seeking comfort from the man who had just used you. 

You’d never felt more confused. You knew this shouldn’t have happened. Every boundary had been crossed. But, the special attention from him felt better than anything. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He let you sleep on him for a while before he got up to write notes on what had just occurred. He found his glasses, put them on, and returned to his desk to begin writing. He included your reaction to the “medication” and how receptive you were to the treatment.

You woke up about an hour later, confused. You looked around and recognized his office. The memories of earlier events came rushing back. You felt your cheeks get hot.

Jonathan looked up from the paper he was holding up. “Rise and shine.”

He grabbed a sheet of paper from your file. He attached it to a clipboard and grabbed a pen. He handed you the materials and you looked down. It was another questionnaire. 

“Fill this out as accurately as possible.”

“What is it for?” You cleared your throat. He sat back down at his desk and picked up the paper he was previously inspecting. He looked at your file before looking back at you. 

“Our next session.”, he replied. 

[brabblesblog]

Whither is thy beloved gone? Edited / Expanded Edition is complete!

He would have to be the Ascendant again when the dawn breaks, and the Ascendant refused to be that spawn - refused to be anything that man was. The spawn could only ever be allowed to surface in the dark of night, between silken sheets and whispered words; a secret the Ascendant could not allow her to see.

Series Masterlist (AO3)

Art commissioned from @morebird

Whither was originally written in December 2023, in about a span of a month. It was written at a time when my skills as a writer were not as developed, and written at a rather breakneck pace. There were scenes that, as time passed, I realized did not fit my vision of the story. Certain factors in my life at that time prevented me from writing the version of the story that I wanted. Coming back to work on it again and to refine it has been a wonderful, exciting journey.

I would like to thank every single person who has read this work, who will read this work, and especially those who will be rereading it again. Thank you for each and every comment, kudos, like, and reblog. Thank you for walking down this path with Ban and Astarion, and for investing in them. Thank you to every single person who has given input, ideas, and help throughout these long months of writing. 

I would like to dedicate a small paragraph here to @editing-by-night for reaching out to me when I needed it most, and for allowing me the chance to reshape Whither into what I had always dreamed it would be. For holding my hand throughout, and managing me and my writerly tantrums at every turn. 

Thank you for loving my work. I hope you all will love the new and improved version of it.

For more information on the specific changes, my editor has prepared the following for you:

@editing-by-night’s Whither Patch Notes:

Now in simple-past tense

Grammar & punctuation improvements

Sentence structure improvements

Formatting improvements and cohesion

Phrasing & vocabulary improvements for more elegant and evocative imagery, and in some cases for accuracy based on writer’s original intent

Improved context throughout, but most particularly in Chapter 3’s climax (no pun intended)

Minor modifications to Chapter 5 for more appropriate consent

Continuity-kevlar (aka repairs & improvements), with the most significant modifications made to Chapters 6, 8, 12-15, and 19-20

Significant pacing improvements to Chapter 12

Improvements to flow for Chapters 12-15

Minor improvements to Gale’s dialogue in Chapters 13-15, because the wizard of Waterdeep ain’t no bitch.

Performed a vibe check on Chapter 18 and improved it all-around

Additional content added to Chapter 19, to allow for informed consent

In addition to the change above, minor changes to Chapter 20, for improved vibe

Thank you for reading with us!

[welcometowhore-rrorville]

𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝐸𝓃𝒹𝓈

Featuring: Michael Myers

Word Count: 3k 

Warnings: nsfw, mdni, unprotected sex (don’t do it, kids), basically just 3k of smut, probably ooc but y’all didn’t come here for accuracy, no verbal consent but y/n is into it, size difference, rip that pussy, rough sex, biting, fingering, blood mention, little to no prep, yeah just general nastiness :), proofread and edited but also probably some mistakes bc i am human

-

By the time you got home it was nearly two in the morning. Despite your insistence that you were fine, you wound up in the hospital, treated for your minor cuts and bruises. The entire time you were there the man that had interrupted you made conversation. From what he told you, the man you’d come into contact with that night was nothing short of evil, and he’d never seen anybody come that close to him without dying in the process. You also found out he was once his psychiatrist, which you thought was laughable. He sure did a bang-up job didn’t he? Regardless, Dr. Loomis was nice enough, despite his ominous warnings. 

You weren’t quite sure what to do with his information in the first place—you were certainly glad to still be on this plane of existence, but why were you the exception? What part of you intrigued him, and what would happen if you were to meet again? 

You let out a sigh, finally collapsing onto your bed after a long shower. Your skin was still moist, and you shivered in the open air. You couldn’t find the energy to do anything but lay there, still wrapped in your towel as you dampened the sheets. You thought about falling asleep just like that, but irrational fears of something crawling where it didn’t belong stopped you. You let out a huff. 

You lived alone despite your age, and found it quite nice most of the time. Tonight, though? You weren’t sure. It would be nice to talk to someone. 

You turned on your side, hands tucked against your face as you stared out the window. You could see the darkened front yard, street lights buzzing with soft light. 

Despite all that had happened, you couldn’t sleep. Your eyes refused to close, and you weren’t sure how long you laid there before finally sitting up, towel slipping off of you as you stared at your closet. You should get dressed, you told yourself, instead of sitting naked as you let your thoughts wander. 

Finally making a decision, you slipped off your bed and out of your towel, padding to your closet. You opened it, eyes scanning in the darkened room to find something to put on. You reached forward to grab a shirt off its hanger, hand resting against the fabric. 

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up. You felt exposed, and slowly turned around to find out what had spooked you.

You shouldn’t have been surprised at who you saw standing outside your window. You opened your mouth but nothing came out. You shut it again, grabbing the shirt and sliding it on, the bagginess barely covering your bare thighs.

You stared into the black voids of the masked man’s face. Michael’s face. He had returned. You didn’t bother to think about how he’d found your house. It was inevitable. 

Your heart rate accelerated with each step you took, cautiously approaching the shape at the window. With a shaking hand, you reached out, fingers gripping the window’s edge. Giving it a tug, you pulled it up just enough to feel the cool air wisp against your thighs. A flimsy screen flexed inwards with the wind. You stepped back again, taking a seat on the side of your bed. 

“Here to finish me off?” you questioned, arms crossing in front of your chest. “Couldn’t even give me a night’s rest, huh?”

He didn’t reply. You huffed.

“Your doctor told me about you, Michael,” you continued, elbows moving to rest on your knees as you leaned forward. Your fingers rested against your chin. “He says you’re evil. That you can’t be saved.” You scoffed. “Sounds like a pretty shitty doctor to me.” 

You shook your head. “You were how old when he started taking care of you? Seems like he just dropped the ball. But still. I guess you did try to kill me. So I can’t exactly argue with him.”

You weren’t sure why you felt so compelled to chat with the man lurking outside, but you supposed anything was better than being alone. Well, maybe anything. You still didn’t know where he fell on that scale. You might die tonight. Again. 

You let out a yawn despite your rapid pulse and the adrenaline flowing through your veins. Your body was tired of fighting or flighting. It was time to sleep. You closed your eyes, neck stretching towards the ceiling. A satisfying crack along with your muscles relaxing let you know you’d stretched enough, and you returned to stare out the window. He was gone.

You blinked. That wasn’t good.

You stood up, slamming the window shut once more before turning on your heels. Did you lock the door? The gentle creaking of hinges let you know your answer. Two heavy footsteps sounded at the entryway. 

You clicked your tongue, eyes scanning your room for a hiding spot before you nestled inside your closet, closing the sliding doors in front of you as you slid down. 

Was this a shitty hiding spot? Yes. But god-damn-it you were tired. You really didn’t want to deal with this shit again.

You held your breath, hands clasped over your mouth as you listened. Every creek of the floor let you know he was closing in. You had nowhere to go. Nothing to defend yourself. Hell, you didn’t even have any pants on. You were literally caught with your pants down and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it. 

You supposed it’s what you deserved for your earlier actions—getting frisky with a killer wasn’t exactly a smart decision. Still, you couldn’t help but let out a silent laugh. This was all ridiculous. Some Halloween this turned out to be.

You hushed your thoughts when the door to your room opened, and from your position on the floor you watched as a shadow cast itself across the floor. The large and imposing figure stepped inside. You held your knees against your chest, praying he wasn’t sane enough to check the only hiding spot in the room. You heard the metallic tap of a blade against the closet doors. Oh, lovely. He still had enough of a mind to check the closet. 

You knew if you sat here you were dead. Your hands fumbled in the darkness for something to grasp onto but all you felt were clothes. What a surprise. 

Still, you prepared yourself, getting on your knees and waiting to launch yourself forwards. With each passing second your pulse quickened. You knew he knew you were in here. Why wasn’t he opening the door?

You bit your lip. Was he waiting for you to come to him? To open the door only to be met with a knife to the chest? You were lost. Should you. . . ?

Your fingers brushed against the wood, finding the small slit between the two doors. You inched forwards out of the corner, eye peering out. You didn’t see him. 

You pulled backwards, tilting your head in confusion. This was a trap. You knew it was. So why were you so tempted to push the doors open?

Despite your brain screaming at you to stop, your fingers slipped outside, and you yanked the closet open, shooting up and out to press yourself against the nearest wall. 

Your eyes hurriedly scanned the room. Your door was wide open, but there was nobody there. Were you just going crazy? Seeing things? Where in the hell did he go?

Your shoulders relaxed and you rested a hand against your forehead. You could have sworn he was here somewhere. It didn’t make sense.

Irritated, you walked over to your wide open door, grabbing the handle before slamming it closed. That’s when you saw him, body formerly hidden behind your door now fully upright and ready to strike.

You couldn’t even scream, backing up until the back of your knees hit the foot of your bed. You stared in shock, hands balling up the fabric of your shirt. 

“At least I’m not crazy,” you whimpered, back arching in a futile attempt to get further away as he slowly lumbered towards you. Each step sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. You were stuck like a rabbit in a snare. A feeling of deja vu washed over you. Would you be so lucky a second time?

You spotted the large kitchen knife clutched in his hand, the other hanging loosely at his side. Probably not. 

You held your breath, chest ceasing its frantic movements. 

You watched, speechless, as he rose the knife higher and higher, catching the light outside and glinting menacingly. You forced your eyes to stay open, teeth biting your lip so hard you tasted blood. 

The knife came down swiftly, impaling itself onto your bed frame. You stared, looking at the blade lodged in the wooden surface.

You turned your attention back to Michael, who was now hovering so close that you could feel your breath fanning off of his mask. You collapsed onto your bed as a large hand pushed against your sternum, forcing you against your sheets. 

If he wasn’t going to kill you. . . what was going to happen tonight? Your bare thighs smushed against each other as your hands gripped the edge of your bed. Was he trying to finish what he started in the kitchen. . . ?

His hands gripped both of your thighs, leaving you to let out a gasp as he shoved them uncomfortably far apart. There were no clothes to hide under this time. 

He stared, head tilted down as his fingers dug into your soft flesh. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. What was he doing? And why? You tried in vain to ease your thighs closer together, but he didn’t budge. 

“Have. . .” you whispered cautiously, “Have you done this before?” 

The more you thought about it, the more you realized he’d probably never seen this part of somebody so intimately before. He’d been in a mental hospital for all of his adult life. And you were fairly certain they didn’t give out porn-o mags to the criminally insane. 

There was something hilarious about this situation. He broke into your house, had you in his grasp, and was now. . . stumped? He seemed perfectly capable earlier, but you supposed it was different now that you were fully on display and there were certain to be no interruptions. 

He didn’t respond to your question—obviously—but he did tilt his head ever-so-slightly. If you could see his eyes, you imagined they’d be narrowed in concentration.

You moved to speak again, but any words were knocked from your throat as you were pulled harshly against his torso, one hand gripped tightly on your hip underneath your thin shirt as the other snaked up your thigh. A switch had been flipped, it seemed, and with no hesitation his large index finger thrust inside of you. 

You let out a gasp of surprise, cunt clenching around the intrusion. You didn’t have time to think before his digit pulled out and plunged back in, and you squirmed in an attempt to ease the sting. It’s not like you hadn’t done this before, but normally you get a little warning before being finger-fucked. 

His grip on your hip forced you still, and you froze, feeling his nails press threateningly against your flesh. He had no patience for you, it seemed. Every push and pull was exploratory, feeling the sponginess of your walls twitching with every movement. It was not unlike the violent pulsing of an open wound, but this was more. . . sensual. That same blood-lust that consumed him built, but this time with a different intent. He wanted to feel more. See more. Witness what you looked like squirming underneath his grip. Not pleading to stop, pleading for mercy, but pleading for more. He wanted you in a way so foreign to him and yet so achingly familiar. 

Your fists gripped the sheets, gasping and breathless as he fit another finger inside of you. They split apart, scissoring you open. You bit back a moan before it was forced out when a thumb brushed against your clit.

Your back arched, trying to meet his hand uselessly. The hand underneath your shirt moved from your hip to press firmly against your stomach. He pinned you against your bed hard enough to knock the breath out of you. This was not your experience to control. 

His fingers continued, forcing themselves as deep as they could go, twisting to feel everything. Every pulsing surface that writhed around him spurred him to go faster. 

You were a mess, your pussy throbbing as it took in his fingers over and over. You could only watch as they appeared and disappeared, each time thrusting deep enough to have you clenching around him. 

The sounds of your slick walls echoed in the dark room, making you close your eyes in embarrassment. They didn’t stay that way for long, however, flying open when his hands left your body, instead fixated on pulling down the zipper on his jumpsuit. 

You took the moment of freedom to scurry backwards until you rested on the bed fully. Your legs ached from being pressed against the side of the mattress, thighs already marked with the indents of large hands overtaking your skin. 

Each breath you took was shallow, and you fought to catch your breath. Before you knew it, though, he gripped your ankles, yanking you back until you hung halfway off the bed. You stared at him, mask still on but jumpsuit now halfway off, the dirty shirt underneath doing little to hide the solid rise and fall of his broad chest. You wondered if he’d ever take his mask off. It was ironic—refusing to show his face even during a time like this.

He was still so calm, even as his fingers raked against your leg to find a grip on the meat of your thighs. His other hand slipped past the waist-line of his boxers, and even through the dark cloth you could tell you were in for it. You may have done this before, but—a sudden vision of splitting in half filled your head. If you thought his fingers had you writhing—you watched with bated breath as he grabbed his dick, hand wrapped around the base firmly. You didn’t have time to process just how something that big would fit inside of you before he had already rested himself against your entrance. Suddenly, getting fucked by a murderer didn’t seem like such a good idea. 

“Michael,” you whimpered, “please be—” you cut yourself off with a scream, cunt stretched and stinging as he thrust inside of you. His hand on your thigh pulled you flush against him, leaving no room to arch away from the intrusion nestled all the way inside of you. Tears filled your eyes. Your hands reached to pry away the hand on your thigh keeping him shoved inside of you, but you were met with his now-free hand gripping both of your wrists, pinning them above your head effortlessly. 

“It—it doesn’t fit,” you whined, every breath stinging as you tried desperately to relax yourself around him. 

At your words he tilted his head, looking from your stuffed cunt to your teary face as if to refute your point. It fit just right. There was no space left, and your tightness surrounding him only encouraged him to begin to move. Your body relaxed when his cock receded, but it was short lived. As soon as you felt only the tip nestled inside of you, his entire dick was back, slamming into you so hard your thighs jiggled with the impact.

You let out a cry which morphed into a moan when he once again pulled out only to shove himself into your aching cunt. 

The stretch burned, but that pain quickly became your dopamine. Your walls were wet, providing easy lubricant for the massive dick with now thrust in and out hurriedly. He was rhythmic yet unpredictable, never hitting the exact same spot twice. You couldn’t wrap your mind around the speed he was keeping up, hands now limp in his grasp as you pressed the side of your face into your blankets. You did nothing, all your effort concentrated in not letting out another sound slip from your mouth. You didn’t know how to feel. This was wrong—stretched over a killer’s cock as you tried desperately not to moan his name. The name of the man who tried to stab you, choke you, snuff you out mere hours ago. 

You didn’t care. It didn’t matter, you told yourself. It wasn’t like you were dating the guy, just getting your brains fucked out of you. Did that make it better? No, probably not.

Still, there was no denying your ever-approaching release, and with energy you didn’t know you still had you weakly bucked your hips forward, only to have them thrust back as he drilled himself into you once again. He was too caught up in his own moment. He stared at your face from behind the mask, taking in every detail of your exhausted expression. You fought to keep your eyes open, mouth permanently open as breathless moans escaped you. You did this to him. Had him confused. You were the one to blame for the feeling in his chest and the hardness splitting you open. It was your actions that night. You puzzled him. Intrigued him. Had him picturing vulgar situations he hadn’t thought about since puberty. He’d never needed something like this before. Why now? Why you? Why did you do this to him?

It didn’t matter.

Once this was over he’d move on, kill you and get on with his life. This meant nothing. Was nothing. Just something he needed to get over with before slaughtering another victim.

A new feeling pulled him from his thoughts. He felt a pressure, like a heart about to burst open, and with every shove of his dick inside of your slick walls it increased. He chased the pressure. He pressed harder, deeper into you, hand on your thigh gripping so tight he saw blood begin to trickle from beneath his fingernails.

You winced at the pain, but it was so distant, so muted compared to the undulating pleasure stirring inside of you. Your entire lower half was almost numb, body trying desperately to soothe the piercing pain of his dick splintering you. It worked for the most part, but now you wanted more. Needed more. It suddenly wasn’t enough.

You let out a whine. “More,” you mewled, eyes clenched shut as you chased that familiar feeling.

The hand on your thigh vanished, only to reappear, gripping your ass and forcing your body to match his excruciating pace. You knew he was close, pace ramping up even more, becoming more random, needy, like he was trying anything in a desperate attempt to relieve himself. 

You managed to slip out of the grip holding your wrists, leaning upwards to wrap your hands around his neck. The position was different, allowing him to hit a different part of you—the spot you needed. Your head rested against his shoulder, letting out a whimper that turned into a moan as you finally hit your high, teeth biting harshly into the fabric of his shirt to muffle yourself. 

Your walls clenched harshly, clamping down around his dick, triggering his own release. You could feel every spasm as he came inside of you, mixing with your own cum to seep out of your filled cunt. Even after your orgasm washed over you, his continued, leaving you to gasp in over-stimulation. By the time he finally finished, a small puddle of cum had collected on the blankets. You could only stare, still pressed against him, as he pulled out, only to collect the spilled juices with his fingers, pressing them inside of you. You bit back a whine, watching as your cunt leaked with the white substance. You suddenly felt disgusting—every part of you was unclean. You supposed getting fucked by a murderer will do that to you.

Your eyes suddenly shot open, and you pulled swiftly away from him, crawling backwards until your head hit your headboard. What now? You served your purpose. Was he going to. . .

You watched as he tucked himself back into his underwear before re-zipping his jumpsuit. You noted the red splotch on the shoulder of his t-shirt. Where you bit him. You stifled a laugh. At least you left your mark. 

He turned his head to stare at the knife still embedded in your bed frame, ripping it back into his grasp with one fluid motion. You prepared yourself to run despite your exhaustion.

He stared at you, knife hanging at his side. He tilted his head, as if debating something, before finally turning on his heels and walking slowly out of your bedroom.

You could only watch as he walked down the hallway and out of sight. You heard the closing of a door.

He let you live. Again.

You let out a sigh, head limp against your headboard. You couldn’t bring yourself to move. “This is my life now, huh?” you muttered, looking down at the bruises and red stains on your thighs. “I guess that’s one way to spend Halloween.” 

[buckyalpine]

Imagine

18+ Minors dni

Bucky x f reader 

A/N: self indulging here with how we ended up down this rabbit hole. A lil cocky Bucky. 

Warnings: Dirty talking, a little smut, illusions to smut, swearing

The TikTok that started it all: https://www.tiktok.com/@hungrymathi/video/6948835965326707973?_t=8Tqbk2XuzbB&_r=1

Word count: 1.2k

You looked around you, sighing contently seeing no one else in the shared living room. You plopped down onto the large couch, snuggling into the cushions, pulling your phone out.

Tumblr.

Wattpad.

AO3.

The holy trinity; your latest guilty pleasure and favourite place to be. It all started with a tiktok.

Avengers walking in on you naked

You snickered at the accuracy of how each person would react; Tony, Steve, Sam, Peter but then the next avenger made your stomach clench. The one and only James Buchanan Barnes. The other avengers would run away or sneak a little glance. Bucky on the other hand, flicks his eyes over your body, licking his lips before walking in and shutting the door behind him. Sure, it was someone else pretending to be Bucky but that did it for you, you had entered a very interesting rabbit hole. You let curiosity get the best of you, searching his name and finding hundreds of TikToks. Some were some rather spicy edits of him working out or pictures of him shirtless. Those were nice, but what really sent you into a spiral were the stories.

It felt wrong but so right. He was your co-worker (disgustingly hot co-worker) for fucks sake but…

The first video you came across made you blush like a little school girl, momentarily confused about wtf y/n stood for. It was an elaborate story about you and Bucky pining for each other, classic idiots in love, there were almost 50 videos for the one story. It was sweet. Wholesome.

And then there were the ones where you were apparently Tony’s daughter (not too different from reality, Tony was very protective over you, more like a brother) and you were caught hooking up with Bucky. It started off with him teasing you, then you sat on his lap and then…. Butterfly emoji. You can imagine the rest?

You huffed because it was never enough, the videos always hinting to sexy times but with 0 details and fuck you wanted to details! You scrolled through the comments, seeing a number of people recommending Wattpad and AO3 stories that had all the details.

You figured just a peek wouldn’t cause any harm, you’d see what it’s about and it’d scratch the itch. You were so fucking wrong because with each story you read, you only wanted more. You allowed your mind to explore all the fantasies you always had, your heart racing and stomach erupting into butterflies with each spicy detail.

It didn’t help that all the fics were all so accurate. They all nailed Bucky’s personality and you were able to imagine everything perfectly. You did your best to hide your filthy little secret from everyone but it was becoming more and more difficult.

Which led you here; to this very moment. You kept the phone extra close to your face so no one would be able to sneak a peek at your screen, immersing yourself in the smuttiest of fics. Your heart was racing as the plot line was reaching its climax with Bucky ramming his cock into you against a wall.

“Whatcha reading there y/n?”

You shrieked, throwing your phone across the room, looking back to see Bucky with a smirk, his head cocked to the side right behind you.

How long had he been standing there?!

“N-nothing! I- cookies! It’s a cookie recipe!” You grabbed your phone and headed straight for your room without looking back, feeling his eyes watch your flustered form run away.

“Cookies my ass” Bucky smirked to himself, his cock stirring in his jeans.

You slammed the door shut, throwing yourself onto your bed to scream into your pillow. Ugh, why were you reading that in the middle of the living room like a perv. You had no idea how you were going to face him again, deciding to take a very cold shower because your entire body felt like it was on fire.

You let the cold water shock you, your mind racing hoping to Bucky didn’t actually see what you were reading but who were you kidding. He had super everything, hearing, sight, stealth, he was probably able to smell how aroused you were too. You shook your head, contemplating on sending Tony a resignation letter, maybe moving to Switzerland, live out your days as a cow on a nice pastoral farm. You switched off the water, grabbing a towel to wrap around you. You stepped out of the bathroom, your soul leaving your body; towel almost falling in the process.

Bucky was lying on your bed, casually scrolling through your phone, a shit eating grin on his face; how the hell did he know your pass code?!

You gripped onto your towel, bolting towards him, straddling him, trying to grab your phone, struggling as he grinned holding it out of your reach.

“Bucky!! Ugh, give it back! That’s private, you can’t just scroll through someone phone like that!” The towel nearly slipped off as you momentarily let go of it, squirming on his hips, your face flushing as you clutched it again.

“I thought we were friends doll, friends don’t hide secrets”

He continued to hold the phone out of your grasp, his eyes trailing the water droplets that were running down your neck, past your collarbone and into the valley of your breasts. He let out an involuntary groan each time your hips clumsily rocked forward, your breasts bouncing in his face, inching closer to his mouth.

“There are no secrets, you’re just being a creep right now, give me my phone back!” You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest, sitting back right on his crotch, your eyes growing wide as you felt his clothed cock pressing into your ass.

“Maybe you can tell me what you’ve been up to on your phone then, been noticing you’ve been glued to it recently”

Bucky grabbed your hips to sit right above his achingly hard length, moving you to grind on him. You gasped, unable to process anything that was happening right now, as he licked his lips, watching your mouth gape, your brain glitching. You could feel your core clench around nothing, arousal pouring out of you. Bucky gripped your ass, flipping you around, trapping you under him, his metal hand holding both of your hands pinned above your head.

“Tell me what you were reading”

“I…”

Bucky smirked, watching the way your eyes flicked between his eyes and lips, moving closer to your face so his lips would brush against yours as he spoke.

“You like imagining all the dirty thing’s Id do to you?”

You nodded, whimpering, your legs spreading apart further allowing him to rut his clothed throbbing length onto your desperate core.

“You like imaging me pounding you against a wall, wrapping my metal hand around your throat while I fuck your brains out?”

You moaned, squirming under him, trying to rub yourself on him, the growing ache between your legs was becoming unbearable. Bucky reached between your bodies, ripping the towel off you, leaving you bare underneath him. He sat up, tugging his shirt off before laying back on you again, his hand making its way down, teasing your folds while he kissed your neck.

“You don’t have to imagine babydoll, I can just show you”

-

Please let me know if you wanted to be added or removed from the taglist!

Tags:  @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyes @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987​ @teambarnes72​

[kinaesthetiqueer]

What These Hands Can Be

Rating: G

Words: 7,174

Pairing: Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos

Characters: Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, minor Nora, Ren, RWBY, Oscar, Ozpin, Theodore, & Rumpole

Other Tags: Post Volume 9, set in Vacuo, alternating POV

Summary: Pyrrha barely knows what to do with her hands these days. She's been gone so long that everything, and everyone, is so different now. Even Jaune. Especially Jaune.

Author's note: My gift for @ssarkosghost for @remnants-of-rwby-exchange! I am so sorry that is a day late; please forgive me. I went to edit and accidentally added 3k... It is in its entirety below but the AO3 link will be by chapters.

gloved

Pyrrha spends a lot of time looking at her hands now.

Her nails are often chipped, bitten. When she was young, her mother had her wear gloves to curb the habit. They were just thick enough to keep her from nibbling the thin keratin to ragged edges. Mittens helped protect her young hands from bitter Argus winters when she wanted to build snowmen at the park. Garden gloves kept dirt from gathering under her nails as she worked alongside her mother in the tiny flowerbed their townhouse called its own. As she grew older, darker pairs helped to camouflage the tell-tale glow of her semblance in use, carefully hiding her critical advantage. Gloves, for one reason or another, have followed her throughout her life.

The desert is too hot for them.

Without them, Vacuan sands and wind roughen her palms beyond belief. Her callouses toughen, her fingertips thicken, and her palms crack, no matter how much moisturizer she applies after showers. There are other ways to minimize the damage, but to keep one’s aura shield engaged all the time outdoors was one of many marks of an outsider. Pyrrha shrinks at the thought of attracting even more attention.

Most people don’t recognize her these days anyway. Pyrrha runs her hands through her ponytail, much shorter than she remembers. It had been like when she’d emerged from the glowing golden portal, blinking and confused, stepping into what appeared to be a war room meeting of her closest friends and many unfamiliar adults.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Pyrrha had whispered into the silence, rubbing her throat. Her bare feet made little plap plap sounds on the cool sandstone as she took a few unsteady steps forward before stopping just out of reach of the closest person- a young, wide-eyed boy she didn’t recognize.

The portal shrunk, fizzled, and faded into oblivion while she struggled to remember why she’d just stepped into their midst. She fidgeted with the ends of her sash in her hands. Still, the urge to rub her throat remained, as if she needed to warm her voice box before speaking any more. 

The crying and screaming broke the silence first- Nora’s shrieks, Ruby’s choked sobs, Yang’s cracking voice. Then came the questions- Blake’s skepticism, Ren’s disbelief, Weiss’ caution.

Are you really Pyrrha?

Oh, of that, she was positively sure.

What happened to you?

She had died, that was somewhat evident by the scar tissue that twisted and stretched beneath the fabric of her loose linen dress and the horrifying memory of searing heat. Ruby had nearly vomited on the spot at her halting recollection of her death, gaze pinned to the [place that Pyrrha massaged at her collar.

Where have you been?

That question haunts her, even now, a little over two weeks later.

One year, eleven months, three weeks, and five days. The number rolled off Nora’s tongue quicker than it had any right to, but with such fury and despair that no one questioned its accuracy. That was how long it had been since the Fall of Beacon, since she’d been gone, how long she’d been dead to her friends. It’s a massive amount of time to be unaccounted for and unexplainably absent. It had taken a woman Pyrrha had never met to get them to all finally believe that she was herself, that she wasn’t some trick of the enemy or especially vivid group hallucination. 

It was when she’d taken Robyn Hill’s hand that she had first noticed she was no longer wearing her gloves. Robyn was wearing fingerless ones, much like Nora’s, but black. Robyn’s grip was firm, her soft smile reassuring.

“Just tell the truth,” she said.

There was not, and still is not, much to tell.

She’d died. There was nothing. Then there was golden light and they were staring at her. She was herself. She was alive. She didn’t know why her hair was cut or why she had a sash that should be ash, just as much as she should. She answered question after question until they sort of devolved into a distressed, hopeful argument about her existence.

At that point, with the truth told and nothing more for either of them to do, Robyn helped her sit in an extra chair to watch the proceedings. The action of sitting only made her realize how exhausted she was by the affair, even if she wanted nothing more than to be accepted into their fold again.

That being said, the results of their argument mattered little. Instead, Pyrrha finally dared to look over to the one person, out of friends and strangers, that had yet to say a word.

Jaune?

He stared at her, blue eyes wide. His hair was cut in an unfamiliar way and streaked with white that she didn’t remember. The lines around his eyes spoke to an age that shouldn’t be possible, but his haunted expression was more than just seeing his old partner back from the dead. That expression spoke volumes, though he did not.

“Hey,” Jaune says now, knocking on her open door “You ready to go?”

Pyrrha looks up from the creases in her palms, the unbroken lifelines and calloused fingertips, the bare nails and chapped knuckles. The tanned skin there is some of the only exposed skin she has. The rest of her is covered in brown, sheer compression arm and leg sleeves, a burgundy athletic romper, copper vambraces and greaves, and long boots and UV goggles, both suited for the sand. Her sash flows to her calves as she stands and reaches for Mellon and Tora, bringing them to her side with just a thought.

Her red gaiter hugs her neck, making it difficult for her to reach up and massage her throat. Jaune nods and turns into the hallway without a second thought though, so it’s not as if he needs to hear her say anything.

Pyrrha pulls the fabric up over her nose and follows Jaune without a word.

2. clenched

Pyrrha is dead.

Three words, one truth. Through the past years, it’s the one thing he has forced himself to believe and remember, despite the pain it causes. He had promised to fight in her memory, to do what she would have done. The tattered remnants of her extra sash always hug his waist, taut when he twists or bends and flaring out when he leaps or falls. Its flowing length reminds him that its owner lost her battle so that he might win a war. Isn’t that the truth of it? Such things are unchanging, immutable. Decades to reckon with that truth and now here it is undone, just as surely as his aching bones and rusted armor.

Pyrrha is back, Jaune thought when she stepped out of the glowing portal. Pyrrha is… alive?

Her bright green eyes, darting with uncertainty and anxiety, were as expressive as ever. Her hair was shorter, though still a ponytail in that same brilliant red. Her crown was absent, though its charms hung from her ears. With the white linen dress and her sash wrapped around her waist, she looked a bit mismatched, contrasting youth with a world weary frown he often saw in the mirror.

Two weeks and three days ago. 

Jaune’s own tally picks up where Nora’s left off. 

He can hear Pyrrha’s footsteps behind him as he winds his way through the cool hallways of the Shade Academy dorms. Her footsteps don’t sound like he remembers them, less assured. He tries not to listen and focuses on finding the way out. Another quirk of Shade was a particular aversion to exit signage; early on, it was helpful to stick with some of the other students, whether those from Vacuo or those who chose to attend Shade after the Fall. Now he’s that person for Pyrrha, leading her to the open common area that exits to the main campus.

I bet Pyrrha could probably just use a compass to get out.

His chuckle dies in his throat. No longer is it a hypothetical. What once might have been a bittersweet thought is a plausible reality.

Pyrrha is alive. She’s right there. Right behind me.

His thoughts echo her name relentlessly, a plea, a prayer, a petition. It’s caught between his ears in a way that he can’t force it past his lips. 

It’s a trick. It’s just another trick- Jaune swallows, closing his eyes briefly to steady himself. In his mind’s eye, he can see Pyrrha behind him, cruel joy in her emerald eyes, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. He can almost feel the pain of Miló slicing through the gaps in his armor again. 

No, it’s not. She’s here. We both are.

He takes a deep breath, holds it, and exhales. He hears Pyrrha step around him, approach his left side, and take a deep breath of her own.

“You… didn’t actually explain… what are we supposed to be doing?” Pyrrha murmurs, brushing against his side. The gesture can’t be more than an accident but suddenly it feels like every eye in the common area is on him and her, together.

He sidesteps, awkwardly covering the flinch by heading toward the doors again. He does remember the stilted text he’d sent; it’d taken nearly three hours to compose it.

> Need you ready for combat in fifteen. I’ll come by your room.

“Oh yeah, right. Headmaster Theodore got a transmission from a couple of miles out that a relay tower was damaged badly by the windstorm last night. He wants you to clear and organize the metal before someone actually fixes it.”

Jaune times his shove of the door with the end of his explanation and hopes that Pyrrha will not ask the obvious question. They step into the hot afternoon sun. Jaune squints, but Pyrrha just lowers her goggles over her eyes. She looks even more Vacuan than some of the townsfolk. While the so-called Beacon Brigade students, like teams CFVY and SSSN had to earn their respect at the ‘Skirmish of Shade’ and Jaune and RWBY came upon their respect with their efforts in Atlas and beyond, Pyrrha managed to curry the favor of a fair number of Vacuans simply through her sacrifice at Beacon. Her new outfit, her weapons, even her rudimentary scroll- they were all gifts from local shops. In a way, she belongs to this desert kingdom more than anything or anyone else.

“Jaune?”

He flinches too hard to hide it this time, but her expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?” Jaune swallows bitter bile, waiting for the inevitable question.

“Where are we going?”

We. Right.

“West, out of the city. Come on, we’ll be faster on the rooftops.” Jaune heads for the closest wall gate, desperate to leave his thoughts behind him.

“Jaune, please accompany Pyrrha on this mission,” Oscar had asked simply this morning in Theodore’s office. Before that, Jaune had been unsure why he had been summoned; Oscar’s text had very few details. Probably because he would have already been walking in the other direction, soulless desert be damned, if he’d known what these three had planned.

Headmaster Theodore, Professor Rumpole, and Oscar- yes, actually Oscar, judging by the slightly guilty expression- watched him expectantly.

“A squall came through last night and the Western relay node has gone offline; we need the wind damage cleared before we can actually repair it,” Theodore explained further. “That’s where you come in. I’ve sent coordinates to your scroll. Clear the debris and report back.”

Jaune casually adjusted the straps of his chest plate, trying to conceal the hitch in his breathing. “Oh, well, I was supposed to-”

“Xiao Long has been reassigned to a different mission with her teammate Schnee. Mr. Daichi and Ms. Scarlatina are handling your original mission,” Professor Rumpole raised an eyebrow up at him. “You’re clear to help your partner with this.”

“I mean, sure, but what about back up?” Jaune swallowed, nervous. “I’m sure Nora would love to help! They’ve been pretty close, right? Oh, or Ren! Grimm have been really nasty in that part of the desert, yeah? Wouldn’t it be better if-”

“If her partner stopped avoiding her?” Rumpole finished, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “We’re spread too thin to have full teams on small jobs.”

The room was silent for a moment.

Professor Rumpole wasn’t quite as terrifying as Professor Goodwitch, but eventually, he still looked away.

“Fine. We’ll get it done,” he muttered, already turning to go. He could see Oscar making a face out of the corner of his eye. Good, he could stand to feel a little guilty about it. There’s no doubt this was his idea.

I don’t want to… not yet.

“What’s the problem here? Stop spitting into the wind!” Theodore retorted, standing from his chair, pressing his gloved hands to his desktop and peering at Jaune. “Didn't you miss her?”

He froze, a wave of rage passing through him. He clenched his teeth and fists as the feeling filled every crevice of his soul and simmered into a boil. Then, just as quickly, the wave receded, drawing back until he was hollow once more.

“Of course, sir.” Jaune turned and left without another word. 

It’s not as if anyone else would understand.

3. hesitant

Jaune leaps from rooftop to rooftop, with his only objective seeming to be to get out of the city in the westward direction. By the time Pyrrha’s moisture wicking underclothes have soaked up a gallon of sweat, they’re finally on the outskirts of the capital. They’re heading into the blazing sun, which isn’t relenting as it sinks lower toward the horizon.

Not once does he look back at her, only opting to look once she’s at his side in the shifting sands. Even then, he only glances at her and nods once. He pulls his scroll out,much higher tech than hers, and orients them with a map. In the distance, a blue objective waypoint blinks steadily. She nods and he puts it away as they set off.

Her words stick in her throat, like they so often do these days. As they jog through the sand, heat waves shimmer. The trick to running through the desert, as Fox Alistair graciously advised her last week, is to never give the sand a chance to know you’re there. Pyrrha springs from step to step, lightly pressing on the hundreds of grains under her sole for just a moment before pushing off again. Jaune runs alongside her, much more fit than she remembers. It almost makes her laugh, to see him so seriously engaging in exercise that would have had him gasping or swearing at Beacon.

Almost.

The sun has sunk lower into the sky by a few degrees by the time the mangled tower comes into view. Pyrrha almost skids to a stop at the sight of it, slowing her gait as they approach.

“Badly damaged?” She croaks out as they slide down the dunes that have been blown into formations around the structure. Once the sand settles under her, she takes a long drink from her water pouch. Jaune does the same, moving into the shadow of what’s still left standing.

“Emphasis on badly,” Jaune quips dryly. Then he looks over, startled, when Pyrrha snorts. The sound surprises her as well. She clears her throat and busies herself with another drink of precious water.

“Blueprints?” Pyrrha asks, conserving her words. 

Jaune passes over his scroll. She peers at them, looking up at the twisted metal structure. Some of it can be bent back into shape, mainly the huge looming top half of the tower that hangs at a seventy-five degree angle. Other pieces scattered around are definitely just scrap now.

As she looks over and over the structure, she circles it and memorizes the appropriate shapes. Scattered shrapnel gathers into a pile without much thought, neatly pulled from the sand before it can pose a trip hazard. On her third circuit, Pyrrha dares to look up at Jaune.

He still sits listlessly in the tower’s shadow, sand pooling around the ankles of his boots. He has his arms folded across his knees, chin on his arms as he watches her work. Their eyes meet briefly before his gaze darts away. Still, he remains angled toward her.

Pyrrha points up at the twisted spires where the forces of nature had torn the metal apart. “Some of these are too big for me to adjust–”

“That’s fine,” Jaune says quickly. “Do what you can and we’ll–”

“–by myself?” Pyrrha finishes, trying not to look too hurt. The face coverings help with that. Nothing can hide how her shoulders curl in for a moment, betraying how much she wants to shrink under Tora and let the sand cover her.

“What am I gonna do?” Jaune snaps bitterly. His anger carries like sand on the wind. They stare at each other for a long moment, at once a few feet and a million miles away. Pyrrha coughs, reaching beneath her gaiter to massage her throat.

“You could… boost me?” Pyrrha suggests gently. No sooner than the words have left her mouth does she regret them.

Oh… I should have let him tell me. She frowns, licking her lips nervously. Would he have though?

Blue eyes snap up, wide and betrayed. Jaune’s eyebrows furrow, putting the pieces together. His accusation is swift and accurate: “Nora.”

“She’s been catching me up on what I missed,” Pyrrha says apologetically, clearing her throat again. 

That was a bit of an understatement. Nora had spent an hour or so each night in their shared room rambling about JNPR’s misadventures after Beacon. Even though Nora falling asleep mid sentence was somewhat normal for them, she’d still double checked with Ren that she was okay, or at least close to it. They hadn’t yet gotten to the part where Nora earned the sharp, spider-webbing scars that adorn her skin now; Pyrrha hasn’t been sure if she’s allowed to ask.

“It has been a rough few months for us, Pyrrha,” Ren had said over mugs of cactus leaf tea, squeezing her hand kindly. “Let her enjoy talking to you again.”

It’s hard not to enjoy their late night talks. When the desert is dark and cold and the Shade dorms cool down enough for a light blanket, it’s positively cozy to listen to Nora ramble on about events she can only imagine. Besides, Nora doesn’t expect her to talk; she doesn’t need Pyrrha to clear the scratchy, annoying feeling in her throat to contribute. Her simple hums, sighs, and giggles do just fine.

“She’s mentioned it a few times so far,” Pyrrha explains as she fidgets, twisting her bare fingers around each other until her joints ache with the strain of contortion. There’s no escaping this awkwardness. There’s only the two of them, the blistering heat, and the dead reception tower for miles.

Jaune gets to his feet, stiffly approaching despite stumbling down the small remaining dunes. She watches him flex and clench his hands as he nears, until he’s just inches away from her, standing shoulder to shoulder. He stares up at the relay tower while she stares at the smooth expanse of his cheek.

Her fingers twitch.

“Yes. I can boost you,” he says finally, after they’ve stood there for a moment. She nods. After hovering with hesitation for a half-second, Jaune puts his hand on her shoulder.

Pyrrha gasps, reeling from the sensation.

Once before, she’d felt this power- the clear, pure, and deep well of Jaune’s soul. Back then, it had been just a moment, a passing awareness. Now, Jaune’s aura flows through her, intense and all-encompassing. It’s a cool stream, a fresh snow, a crisp mint leaf, an ocean wave-

“Hey, hey,” Jaune snaps, suddenly in front of her. He steadies her by the shoulders, searching her eyes with panic. “What’s wrong?”

Pyrrha surprises herself by laughing, joy as clear as wind chimes. When she lifts her goggles to wipe the tears of mirth from her eyes, they evaporate from her skin almost immediately. He lets go of her shoulders and steps back, swallowing hard.

“I was right,” Pyrrha gasps, trying to catch her breath. “You do have a lot of aura. Jaune, that’s amazing!”

For a moment, Jaune’s face is open and hopeful, beaming with something close to joy. Then something shifts; his expression shutters as surely as the city of Vacuo before a sandstorm. He takes another step to the side, keeping his hands to himself.

“It’s… well, yeah.” He sighs, looking up at the defunct lights that line the vertical beams of the tower. “I’m not the same stupid kid I was at Beacon.”

What?

Pyrrha opens her mouth but nothing comes out. She squeaks, furious at her voice for abandoning her. She reaches out for Jaune, but draws back almost immediately. He side-eyes her, gaze dropping to her hand, then to the sand at their feet.

“I can do less, if it’s easier. Just figured you’d want to get back to campus as soon as possible, you know?” Jaune continues, concentrating until his hands shimmer with aura. “I also don’t have to touch you. I should have asked. That’s on me.”

She frantically massages her throat with both hands, trying to get her fingers to find purchase on the sweat-soaked skin under her chin. Jaune frowns at the ground again, hand hovering near his belt now.

Finally, her voice struggles free. “Jaune, I–”

He hushes her. Somehow, that hurts more than anything else.

“Do you feel that?” He whispers, hand firm on the hilt of Crocea Mors now. Pyrrha feels anger swell and flare in her heart at the dismissal.

“Jaune, this is important–!”

It doesn’t matter how important what she needs to say next is. 

The ground beneath them explodes.

4. sweaty

Beware sudden dunes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jaune shouts as the burst of sand sends him flying several feet into the air.

The brisk advice had come from a fair number of people, namely members of CFVY who he'd tagged along with on missions in the early days of their return. The vagueness was purposeful, as any number of wildlife, geographic features, ruins, weather, or worse, Grimm, could cause new sand dune to arise. Velvet had at least elaborated with a story about a huge family of mole crabs.

This was no mole crab.

Jaune recovers midair, twisting to get his bearings as huge claws flail menacingly, reaching for purchase and prey. In mere seconds, the creature uncovers itself, shaking off sand to reveal its inky black carapace, ashen boney plates, glowing red markings, crimson eyes, and golden stinger.

“Deathstalker!” Jaune calls out, unsure where Pyrrha is. He expands his shield and lets its hard light wings catch the wind, carrying him out and away from the relay tower. He stumbles into a run at the far edge of the crater made of dunes. Now that he turns around, frantically sweeping his gaze across the landscape, it’s relatively obvious that the dunes that allowed the tower's full height to be revealed were hiding something dangerous. Relay towers didn’t sit in craters of their own making, not in this ever-shifting landscape.

Not again. No, no. Where is she?

He searches for bright red among the settling sand cloud, shielding his eyes as the Grimm hisses. It swivels its body toward the communication tower. Jaune’s heart sinks as he sees the object of its focus.

Pyrrha crouches within the twisted spire of the relay tower, precariously balancing one of the remaining beams. Her newly forged weapons, not too dissimilar from Miló and Akoúo̱, glint in her hands. The blade of Mellon, in its short sword form, retracts on its cord as she watches warily, making the sound that the creature hones in on. Though she is still, the whirring is like catnip; this Grimm is on the hunt.

“It can hear you!” Jaune shouts to her, running down the dune to the fight. Nothing else is likely to be here, right? A Grimm this big shouldn’t tolerate too many others. But a Grimm this big shouldn’t be so close to the settlements either! …I guess anything’s possible with three Kingdom’s worth of stress calling every Grimm on Remnant.

As he’d expected, the Grimm swivels toward him, its beady red eyes glimmering in the sunlight. With the scattered sand settling, the heat becomes oppressive again. He ducks and parries the pincher that swings toward him with his sword, then blocks the other with his shield. The impact nearly squashes him, but he activates his shield to force it back. His timing is perfect, almost instinctual now.

“Jaune!” Pyrrha shouts from above. As the deflected claw rears into the sky, a swarm of shrapnel attacks the creature’s face, piercing its eyes until they weep black and red sludge. Jaune scrambles out of the way as it flails and screeches in agony. Pyrrha clambers down the ladder-like structure, face unreadable behind her goggles.

The sand explodes in front of them as the Deathstalker slams its stinger into the sand where he’d just been standing.

“Great!” Jaune shouts bitterly as they sprint away from it, putting the relay tower between them and the monster. “Now it’s pissed and blind!”

“I’m sorry! It was about to crush you!” Pyrrha cries out. “What else was I supposed to do?”

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer. What else indeed.

The Deathstalker screeches behind them, drowning out Jaune’s harsh bark of laughter. Still, Pyrrha looks at him oddly, tilting her head. He ignores her, looking around. The Grimm itself is nearly half the size of the crater. The only thing nearby is the tower, its twisted metal, and the concrete platform that anchors it in the desert. Above them, the bulk of it twists to the side like a misshapen crane arm.

“Get us up there!” Jaune demands, gratified that Pyrrha questions neither his order nor his tone. She immediately crouches and launches him off her shield. Carefully composed as he soars upward, Jaune grabs one of the steel beams and pulls himself onto it. Pyrrha follows, wrapping Mellon’s grappling cable around a piece of metal a few feet away. It carries her to safety for the second time today just as the Grimm scuttles over, ramming its stinger into the sand again. Its struggle to remove the stinger conceals the sound of the cord retracting this time.

Small mercies.

Pyrrha looks over her weapons in her hands, perched next to him. “Jaune-”

“I’m thinking!” he hisses, watching the beast howl with frustration as sand sprays up into the air and its stinger comes up empty. 

She yanks her neck gaiter down to her collar and lifts her goggles into her bangs. “Listen to me!”

“What part of thinking-”

“Jaune,” Pyrrha cries out. “I’m not going to lose you again!”

“You didn’t lose me, Pyrrha!” Jaune snaps back. “You can’t lose something on purpose.”

This high in the air, the hot, dry wind whips around them. Pyrrha licks her lips, expression pinched in a rare moment of irritation.

“What?”

The tide within Jaune swells. The wave crests, but it doesn’t break. He looks away, trying to spot the shimmering mirage of Vacuo city in the far distance. At this time of day, it’s too hazy with the darkening sky to see much of anything.

“I thought you remembered everything,” he mutters. Then he swallows, “this isn’t the time for this.”

Get it together.

“I fail to see any other time for it!” Pyrrha exclaims, voice cracking. “Why is it that it takes mortal peril for us to talk to each other?”

“No way! You don’t get to put this on me!” Jaune snarls, unable to quell the vicious bite in his voice. “All I ever wanted to do was talk to you! You couldn’t even let me return the favor! You kept me going at Beacon, day in and day out, but when the time came for you to actually trust me, you shoved me away! You didn’t even give me a chance-”

“Ozpin didn’t even want us fighting her!” Pyrrha puts her shield on her back so she can balance better, coiled like a spring on the precarious perch. Jaune mirrors her, except he sheaths his sword instead. Old, buried anger comes to the surface. He’s kneeling amongst the rubble of Vale again, trying to make sense of the locker he’s just crawled out of and hoping against hope that he’s having a particularly bad nightmare.

“Exactly! Ozpin died fighting Cinder! But you thought you could do it by yourself?” Jaune laughs bitterly, all too aware that there are tears streaming down his face. “Do you know how many times I’ve defended you and your last choice? Surely, I thought, surely my partner didn’t ship me off and go get herself killed in a fight she knew she'd lose! Of course she thought she stood a chance! Of course she just needed to get me out of her way!”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Even the Grimm is quiet beneath them.

“Did you… Did you just think I thought you were in my way?" Pyrrha shouts, eyes wide in disbelief. 

Jaune doesn’t hesitate to snipe back. “What else was I supposed to think?”

Pyrrha’s face twists with pain or anger; they’re so unfamiliar on her countenance that it’s hard to tell. She clenches her empty hand, pressing her fist against her thigh. 

“I was protecting you!”

“I didn’t need you to protect me!” Jaune counters, as the wave of anger finally crashes to shore. “I needed you, Pyrrha!”

5. gentle

In two weeks and three days, Jaune has not once said her name.

His initial silence was unsettling. His surprised stare was unyielding. After all of the excitement and questions had settled, he’d finally spoken, cutting across the chatter.

“Robyn, could you?”

She’d taken Pyrrha’s hand again, almost apologetically, then nodded at Jaune. He’d taken a deep breath, before looking her in the eye, seeing her and not just past her. She’d shivered, feeling undone by his intensity.

“What are you?”

Those three words inspired nothing but confusion. “I… I don’t think I understand. What am I? I’m… a huntress-in-training? A girl?”

Your partner? 

She’d kept that one to herself.

Despite wanting to puzzle out the expression on his face, she glanced down in time to watch Robyn’s aura shimmer from pale purple to bright green. She looked back up at Jaune, at Ruby and her team who looked between her and him with varying levels of disapproval and understanding. Finally, Jaune sat back in his chair and sighed, apparently content with that answer. The tension still did not leave his shoulders.

“Alright then,” he said quietly into the silence. “Welcome back.”

The greeting felt hollow, especially since he went out of his way to avoid her from that moment onward. In fact, between her miraculous return and their current mission, she could count their conversations on her fingers. 

Now, she rubs her fingertips on the woven texture of her compression tights, savoring the distracting sensation. There’s nothing else to say but the truth.

“I knew I was going to lose you,” Pyrrha insists, using the word that had started this entire argument. “But I wanted you to at least be alive if I had to.”

Jaune is pale, his fury waning by the moment. The tear tracks on his cheeks dry almost as quickly as they’re created. “What did that matter? We could have both made it out. It wasn’t… You didn’t… Damn it, Pyrrha.”

“Jaune, hear me please. Running would have killed me, even if I still drew breath,” Pyrrha swallows nervously, but the lump that has plagued her all these days is completely gone. She continues, “I thought if I fought, I might survive. I could live or die with that, if you were okay. I hadn’t abandoned my duty and I hadn’t failed you.”

“But you made me abandon you.”

Pyrrha smiles, just for a moment. “That was selfish of me, wasn’t it?”

“It was!” Jaune shouts, flinging his free hand out so hard he nearly loses his balance. Pyrrha flings her own hand out, yanking his breastplate toward her with her semblance. He yelps as he stumbles forward over the metal trusses, nearly colliding with her. He flails for a moment, but quickly regains his balance.

The tower groans. With both of them tipping the scale away from the base, its stability compromises rapidly. Pyrrha glances down at the scuttling Grimm beneath them, still wandering in the fugue of its own rage and agony.

“Yes. It was,” Pyrrha whispers. She relaxes her semblance, allowing him to move away from her. 

Jaune doesn’t budge. Neither of them do, knelt precariously across from each other. Her hand hovers between them, still outstretched and bare. Gently, she places her hand on his cheek, expecting him to flinch. But he doesn’t. He leans into it, sighing and letting his eyes slip closed. His skin is rough to the touch, with soft barely-there hairs that tickle the ridges of her finger pads. It’s a wonder all of its own, the feeling of her skin pressed to his.

“I have always loved fighting by your side, Jaune,” Pyrrha murmurs, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone and wiping his tears away. “It terrified me that you might die by mine.”

“Then let me choose that,” Jaune whispers. “You owe me at least that much.”

The metal scaffold beneath them shudders, nearly throwing them off. Pyrrha keeps them both pinned to it, gasping with the force of the continued ramming. Below them, the Grimm has finally given up on trying to reach them directly. It slams its pinchers into the heavily fortified poles at the base, screeching in frustration. They gawk at it, then at each other as the metal beneath them begins to creak and sway even more. The Deathstalker screeches and turns in a circle, viciously  stabbing into the stand with its claws.

“Okay,” Pyrrha promises quickly, though the thought of it seizes her heart in a familiar vice grip. “I swear I won’t… I won’t make that choice for you again.”

Jaune nods into her hand, closing his eyes briefly. He sighs.

“To be clear though,” Jaune says with a tiny, watery laugh, “I’m not trying to die by your side anytime soon. Or ever?”

Pyrrha responds with a tiny giggle of her own as the Deathstalker begins to slam the tower again, jostling them. “So not today?”

“Definitely not today!” Jaune yelps. “Fight and live?”

“Fight and live!” Pyrrha repeats, pulling away to put Mellon back in her belt. They scramble to their feet, running for the main tower as the metal twists and groans beneath them. Jaune turns back to grab her hand, helping them both stay steady as they leap for the tiny grate that acts as a service platform within the main body of the tower. Some twenty feet below, the Deathstalker continues to bellow and batter the foundation, its single-minded hatred fueling it beyond reason. That fury makes it dangerous to fight up close, but in a few more hits, they won’t have a choice.

“Jaune?” Pyrrha shouts over the cacophony of bestial rage and structural collapse. He tears his gaze away from the furious Grimm and raises an eyebrow at her. She squeezes his hand and grins. “Help me?”

He smiles in understanding. This time, when Jaune activates his semblance, Pyrrha is ready for the burst of power and energy that flows through her. She flings out her free hand toward the huge piece of tower that had been their perch, seizing it and flipping her wrist to twist it off the main structure.

The motion shakes the tower, but Jaune catches her by the waist, anchoring them both by clinging to the foundation beam nearby. Pyrrha gasps her thanks, then continues to focus on the task at hand. She lifts the huge chunk of metal as easily as a handful of ball bearings, then crushes her fist, shaping it into a wicked javelin of steel.

Then, with Jaune holding her steady, she flings the makeshift weapon at the Deathstalker’s back. The Grimm screeches in agony as its carapace rips in two, expelling viscous sludge several feet into the air. Flailing its stinger, it struggles where it's skewered into the sand, then finally goes limp. It, and its sludge, dissipate, carrying black ash onto the wind and into oblivion.

They both relax their semblances as one, exhaling with relief. Still Jaune doesn’t let go of her; she makes no effort to move away. Further beyond the relay tower, the sun sinks below the horizon, throwing reds, oranges, and dark purples into the sky.

“Uh, well… if headmaster Theodore asks…” Jaune clears his throat, looking down at the metal carnage below them. The Grim had completely destroyed every bit of the distribution box and shredded the cable connection. CCT technicians, they were not, but anyone could see it was beyond hope. “It was like that when we got here?”

Pyrrha snorts once, then again and again until she’s howling with laughter. She turns and throws her arms around his neck, gratified when he hugs her back with the same intensity. The tower trembles a little underneath them, but it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Neither are they.

She’s been back for two weeks, three days, and a handful of hours, but only now does Pyrrha feel that she’s home.

“Hey, Pyr?” The love in the nickname punches the wind out of her lungs. She nods into his shoulder until he continues. “The next time you want me to leave, just ask, okay?”

She nods again, clinging to him even tighter. However, she knows, just as well as he does, that she could want nothing less than that. She pauses, concerned.

Does he know? Please… I need him to know.

Choked, Pyrrha murmurs, “I never want you to leave me again, Jaune.”

She can hear the tears in his voice as he replies, “Okay, good, we’re on the same page then.”

Let’s stay that way.

Their trek back to Shade takes much longer than their breakneck outgoing pace. They take down small Grimm here and there, chatting about pasts both separate and shared, walking shoulder to shoulder in the cooling desert. He hugs her before leaving her at her room door, promising breakfast together. It’s both the most normal and oddest thing that has happened in her whole second life.

Exhausted, Pyrrha showers and crawls under her blanket. Whatever missions she had today, Nora isn’t back yet, though it’s plenty late enough for their nightly life updates. Somehow though, she knows she wouldn’t be able to listen for very long. Her eyelids droop shut and she snuggles into her pillow, grateful for its softness.

“I can only do this for you,” whispers the memory of an unfamiliar voice, just as she’s drifting off. “You’ll arrive just when you’re needed and you’ll arrive just when you need it. You’ll say what you need when the time is right to say it and you’ll listen when you need to hear. Everything beyond that is up to you.”

When she wakes the next morning, it’s because Nora is bouncing on the end of her bed.

“Pyr, wake up! It’s Friday! It’s five-thirty and it’s already hot!” Nora announces gleefully. Moreso than other mornings, she can’t help but notice her energy seems more genuine than usual, more like the joy she once had at Beacon. “Get up, get up! I want breakfast!”

Pyrrha sits up slowly, combing her fingers through her hair. Small grains of sand fall to the blanket. She also has the distinct sensation of a dream slipping through her fingers. She frowns, grasping for the memory to no avail.

“Pyrrha?” Nora asks, coming to rest on her knees in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

She blinks at her friend and smiles. “I had a dream I think… I just can’t remember it anymore.”

At this Nora beams and crows, “Dreams, scheams! Who needs them? We have the whole day ahead of us!”

Her hope and enthusiasm is contagious. Pyrrha grins and sweeps her into a tight hug. Nora squeaks and hugs her back, obviously startled but not unhappy about it. When she finally pulls back, neither of them mention the tears on the other’s cheeks.

“You said something about breakfast?”

Nora takes her by the hand and drags her out of bed, then throws her combat outfit at her face. She catches it easily.

“Yep! And it waits for no one! Come on, we have so much to do today!”

Pyrrha can feel her heartbeat quicken with joy, tugging her lips into a smile.

Today, and everyday after that…

It’s a life worth fighting for.

-

Epilogue

Thursday Evening

Theodore sighs. “Oz, this is a risky gamble you’re taking.”

The nickname makes him twitch a little bit.

Half a dozen conversations have come and gone, not to mention a host of different people needing their audience. Oscar makes no decisions without Theodore’s council and he makes none without Rumpole’s. They’ve been in this office for hours, and yet there’s no question of the gamble to which he refers. It’s been a few hours since he’d called Jaune in for a mission assignment.

“Oscar,” he reminds the headmaster. True, it was Ozpin’s memory of JNPR’s initiation shenanigans that had given him the idea, but it was a plan all of his own. “And it’s nothing they can’t handle.”

 “How long do you think it’ll take for them to realize we’ve sent them to a defunct relay tower with an active Deathstalker den?” Rumpole mutters.

“Hopefully longer than it takes for them to say what they need to say to each other,” Oscar replies, sipping his cactus leaf tea.

Rumpole is even shorter than Oscar, but her unimpressed glare manages to make him shrink into his chair a bit, chagrined.

“I may… also have Ren and Nora on standby at the current Western relay node, just a half mile way?” Oscar admits, flushing. “If something goes wrong, they’ll handle it.”

This made Theodore laugh loudly, his voice booming in the tiny office. Oscar winces at the sound, but it’s impossible to escape it. By the time the older man finishes, he has tears in his eyes.

“Ah yes, the other partner duo famous for currently getting along!”

“How convenient,” Rumpole drawls, dusting off her vest with a roll of her eyes.

“Two Nevermore, one bullet,” Oscar quips. He salutes them with his teacup and heads for the door.

Well, you certainly seem rather pleased with yourself, says Ozpin, amusement plain as day.

Oscar smiles into his tea, a small smile just between them.

By magic and miracles beyond his own power, Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha, and Ren had each other once more. With these little nudges, team JNPR will surely ride again, changed but whole.

It’s the least we could do, don’t you think?

[legacygirlingreen]

Christmas with the Sallow Family: Chapter 4 || Sugarplum Fairy

Authors Note:

I am back! I apologize for taking so long, school really heated up, but I graduate in about 10 days so I am finally getting free time back! Thank everyone who’s continued to support this story. I really hope this has been worth the wait, and soon should have more availability to work on future chapters! I haven’t had much time to edit, but I figured it better to post and edit later. Again, thank you all! Special thanks to @anto-pops for the advice on writing NSFW content, as this is my first attempt at it… So strap in folks because things are finally getting a tad serious.

Also, I usually go for historical accuracy, but couldn’t resist throwing in the Nutcracker during a fic set at Christmas. Historically it wouldn’t become a ballet till about a year later, but for the purposes here we can bend the rules a tad… Anyways, sending positive vibes to you all!

Warnings: NSFW content! (Finally). Minors do not interact! 18+.

Reminder: This work is part of a larger collection of work, see Masterlist (Pinned on Profile) for the rest of this fic!

Word count: 9,000 words

previous chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/legacygirlingreen/713708165693308928/christmas-with-the-sallow-family-chapter-3?source=share

After an uneventful dinner in the Sallow home, the four young adults migrated out into the center of the hamlet with the rest of residents to partake in Christmas Eve festivities. Some of the older men played enchanted instruments to the tunes of upbeat folk songs, as children ran around playfully dancing to their song. Solomon who had opted to stand guard with some of the town’s men in case of another goblin attack, left them without the looming sense of awkwardness that had existed while they ate a few hours prior.

Sebastian had opted to change back out of his father’s jumper, as it was slowly getting colder, and he didn’t want to damper the mood with its presence. She still wore the same dress as before as they watched as Anne was playfully spinning with one of the young boys in their village. Ominis had laughed as the small boy, who had grown quite smitten with Anne as she remained behind in Feldcroft, politely asked her to dance with him. Shortly there after, Ominis himself was roped into showing the younger sister of the boy dancing with Anne how he was able to use his wand to move about despite his blindness, as the girl was also heavily vision impaired. Sebastian watched as his twin had to duck quite low to move her head under the small child’s arm as the boy attempted to spin her as he saw the adults of their hamlet do for the women. At the same time, Ominis was cautiously moving the small girl about in front of him with his wand pointed out in front of the both of them. It made him smile seeing his friend and his sister engaged so sweetly with smaller children who lived next door.

Without thought, he turned himself towards the girl next to him. She sat perched on one of the low stone walls surrounding the main circle of their village’s center. Sebastian found himself standing behind her, arms coming to rest on the sides of her, as she leaned back slightly onto his chest in her seated position. She turned her head to the left, noting how Ominis was entertaining the little girl by sharing how he navigated the world with a child who shared his condition.

“I never knew Ominis was so good with children” she said as she noted the way he helped lift the girl, who was nearing the end of her toddler years, and moved them both towards Anne and the young boy with the help of his wand. The little girl shrieked in laughter at how she, like Ominis, had a vague sense of the world around them with the help of the sentient wand.

“I do believe it may just be that child in particular” Sebastian sad with a chuckle before continuing “He usually finds kids off putting and overtly loud”.

“I guess I can understand where he is coming from… it is still sweet nonetheless.” She said, words trailing off in deep thought at the sight before them both. Anne and Ominis had rejoined with the young siblings, forming a small circle where they all were slowly spinning together.

Sebastian watched for a moment longer, before allowing his eyes to wander back to the girl. He couldn’t help but notice the way the moonlight cast lovely shadows on her face, or the way the firelight danced in her eyes. Hearing the melodic laughter of the children, yet his own eyes lost as they danced over her distracted form, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to a place they could both inhabit in the future. How he could home from work, crossing the threshold to greet her, before reaching down to observe whatever mischief some smaller version of them had created during his time away for the day.

“What are your thoughts on children?” She asked, breaking his train of thought before it could fully develop.

“In general or…?” He asked, aiming to figure out exactly what kind of answer she was desiring from him. He didn’t doubt for a second if she asked him, despite their age, he would give an honest answer. He simply wanted her to ask him without any reservations and on her own terms.

“Well I mean obviously in general, but also… having kids? Is that something you want some day?” She asked him, wavering for a moment before finding confidence to turn her body around to face him as she firmly planted her stare in his own.

“I like children. I enjoy the way their minds work, and how they are honest to a fault. I admit, I haven’t had much experience with them up close I am afraid. My parents only had Anne and I, as it was a traumatic delivery for my mother, so they decided one pair of rambunctious twins to be enough. Solomon has never even attempted to find a woman. We have no other family, so the extent of my experience has been back here during the summers with the few children in the hamlet.” He said, fingers playing with the strings of her corset unconsciously as his eyes wandered around the bustling hamlet to observe the youth spread about.

Sebastian remembered small moments where he had been asked to watch over the siblings dancing with his Twin over the past summer, and how while nerve wracking at times, he enjoyed getting the chance to entertain them. They never failed to make him laugh at their antics.

He looked back up into her pleading eyes, and he knew what she wanted to hear. “I definitely want children someday” he said confidently. Even before he had met her, he knew that at the very least he wanted to pass on his family’s namesake, as there was little chance Solomon would, and he was the only remaining Sallow who could. Although, with as much as he knew Ominis hated being a Gaunt, it wouldn’t surprise him if one day their friend took Anne’s name…

“You do?” She asked, seemingly shocked at how open he was on the topic, especially at his age. While the Twins were due for their 17th birthday shortly after Christmas, she was surprised he already had come to a conclusion on his future while still, in the eyes of the law, technically being considered a child himself. While in her muggle village he may be considered old enough to already have started that path in life, she had come to learn that in the Wizarding World, they were not quite as quick to marry off their sons and daughters…

“Of course” he said, smile beaming at her pleasant surprised expression. She briefly looked down at her lap before reaching forward to tug his jacket only slightly so he would come closer to her. He chuckled at her desire to pull him closer as he admitted he wanted children.

“Hey now, just because I desire children someday does not mean I want them now” he playfully retorted while wiggling is eyebrows at her action and he loved watching as she turned bright red at his teasing. She scoffed but didn’t push him away. She smoothed a hand over the trim of his lapel before straightening the simple “S” pin he adorned on the same side as his heart.

“What about you Missy? Do you see yourself having children?” He asked her, realizing she hadn’t commented on the matter. While her smile had told him that she most likely held the same ideas as him in the matter, he didn’t truly know.

She lifted her hand to cup Sebastian’s cheek as she carefully brushed a hand over the planes of his face. Her other hand migrated to his shoulder, fingers slowly tracing the soft hair at the back of his neck as his eyes slowly drifted shut at her soft contact. A small smile worked its way onto his face, as no matter how much she did it, he truly never got over how much he adored her gentle fingertips brushing along his skin and hair. However this was short lived, as she began speaking, his eyes snapped back open to watch her reply.

“I could see myself coming home to a little girl maybe… with a thousand freckles spilling across her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose” she said, softly tracing a path across the center of his face with her pointer finger before coming to frame his eyes as she continued “perhaps she would even have big doe eyes, full of the same mischief I see right here”. She softly traced the skin under his eyes as she gazed up at him. He felt a shudder run through him as she kept going.

“Or a young boy… with a big toothy grin” she said, fingers lightly brushing over his lips as he suddenly felt a weight drop in his stomach, but she didn’t stop there. The fingers in his hair continued as their movement went from unconscious to deliberate. “Maybe he’d have thick, unruly, brown hair that would need to be tied back while he played like his father…”

Sebastian couldn’t help but notice the way she seemed to remember what he had told her about himself as a child in the Undercroft that so long ago. The day he decided he would do anything to be able to show her his love. He loved how comfortable she felt confirming that he would in fact be the father of these idealistic children. Even more, he loved the thought of her desiring a possible daughter to have his dark eyes or a son having his thick Scottish hair.

He always had wondered what parts of his parents he inherited, as well as what one day he would pass on. While he wasn’t particularly fond of his skin’s blemishes from spending so much time in the sun, a small part of him was relieved to hear how much she seemed to adore the marks that covered his body.

If he focused hard enough, Sebastian could almost see the same image in his head. A little girl with similarly colored locks to her own, framing chubby cheeks filled with freckles. The shallow slope of his nose, but her soft smile paired with his dark eyes and her long eyelashes. He could almost cry thinking of how sweet such a child could look being perfectly comprised of both their features. He had always loved the name Estelle.

She paused for a moment, worried her words had frightened him, as he continued blinking rapidly with a far off look in his eye. He was shocked back to reality when her hand started slowly trailing off his face to return to her lap. Sebastian pushed it back up before she got very far, his fingers caressing her own as he took in a deep breath to steady himself.

“While I like your train of thought…” he started, slightly startled by how the lump in his throat made itself known as he began to speak, but he powered through as he stared in her eyes.

“I think that’s entirely too much of myself in children I one day hope, will take after their mother’s beauty”

“Yo-you want your children to…” she couldn’t find the words as she had a thousand thoughts running through her brain at his admission that one day, he wanted to share a home and children with her.

“To look as lovely as you, yes.” He said, noting the way she had a small tear leak out without realizing. Sebastian simply brushed it off her cheek without commenting on it. He understood how such words might draw such a reaction. He had felt such an odd stirring in himself at the conversation. All the sorrow he’d known for losing his parents mixed with the joy he felt knowing he was building something with this lovely girl.

“I disagree… I think their father to be quite handsome” she said, loving the way his dimples appeared at her comment.

“Then its settled. One day we will make beautiful children and people can argue which one of us contributed more to their good looks.” He responded making her laugh so hard she clutched his shoulder as he joined in her laughter.

“We should probably join in the festivities” she said, looking around to see if anyone was lingering too close to hear their conversation. He leaned in, as if he was going to tell her a secret.

“I would much rather stay here and talk about making babies with you…” he purred in her ear and she pushed him away slightly.

“Sebastian!” She exclaimed, noting the way her reaction only spurred him on further as he dipped his head back in laughter.

“I didn’t know you were such a prude” he said, drawing her to stand from her seated position on the wall. Sebastian carefully escorted her to where the hamlet were still dancing in the late hours of the evening in the grass. As he pulled her close, one hand resting on her waist, and the other holding her hand, he noticed the slight pout she had on her face.

“I am not a prude…” she mumbled as she allowed him to slowly start moving about in small circles while holding her.

“Could have fooled me” he responded, noticing the way her eyes quickly darted around to see if anyone around them was watching before she leaned closer, resting her head on his shoulder. She sighed before she tipped her chin towards his ear: “talking about your desire for future children, and discussing the act of making them are two very different conversations” she purred.

Sebastian’s hand on her waist tightened, holding her closer to his body. In fact, he was slowly beginning to feel the beat of her heart through the fabric of his undershirt, his own sweater, and jacket. Not to mention the layers she was wearing… He felt the need to pull her close despite the fact he was warming up along every inch of his body. He barely recognized that a very light snow was beginning to fall because how hot he suddenly found himself. The only reason he noticed was seeing the way small flakes began to get caught in her hair, and he imagined he looked similar.

“Could you see yourself entertaining…” he trailed off as he noticed Anne and Ominis standing a few feet away. Ominis was holding her hand as Anne was beaming at himself and the girl. He looked back down at the girl in his arms, “can we pick this conversation back up later?” he asked her. She nodded as they continued their simple dancing to the slow song of the band. Every so often Sebastian would lift her arm, twisting her gracefully, before returning her to their pose. He was by no means a wonderful dancer, but he seemed to understand a simple box step, and that’s all she needed. It however, warm her heart to be dancing again after so long. It wasn’t long however before the song came to an end.

Throughout the evening the pair had heard the almost continuous sound of instrumental music playing, so the sudden silence that permeated the air was mildly jarring. As she lifted her head to see if the band was retiring for the evening, she was surprised to meet Anne’s mischievous expression.

Ominis stood near the band, conversing with some of the men as Anne attempted to drag the girl from Sebastian’s arms. He let out a sigh as he tightened his arm around her a little confused why his twin was attempting to get the girls attention so intently.

“Anne is something wrong?” She asked, slightly concerned as to why the girl was attempting to remove her with the degree of effort she was aiming to use. Anne shook her head, finally successful in unraveling the couple.

Before Sebastian could question what was happening, Anne whisked her away and Ominis quickly came to drag Sebastian off in the opposite direction without a word. “Ominis, what the hell?” He asked annoyed as his friend simply shook his head no, a small smile stretched across his lips. Whatever Anne was planning must not be too terrible if Ominis was going along with it.

Sebastian found himself suddenly off to the side of the area everyone had been dancing, with the two young siblings from next door, as Ominis left them to join some of the adults of Feldcroft. Sebastian was extremely confused what they were doing, as many of them started talking amongst themselves and using their wands to start conjuring a small wooden platform on the ground. A proper dance space replaced the uneven ground. But why now?

It wasn’t long before he found an answer to all his questions in the form of Bernard Ndiaye coming forward. The members of the hamlet all stood to the side of the platform, allowing the shopkeeper to cross the small stage, to make an announcement.

“It appears that we had a dancer in our midst and didn’t even know it. After speaking with young Anne Sallow, this year’s newest addition has agreed to showcase a muggle tradition I hear is very popular this time of year.” Ndiaye spoke briefly before quickly standing to the side.

Sebastian recognized the sounds of Tchaikovsky, as his mother had adored the composers work. Every year around this time they would all make their way into the muggle portions of London just to watch the ballet for his mothers sake. Sebastian had almost forgotten about it, but Anne seemed to have remembered. It had been years since they had be able to watch a performance.

Looking around he was surprised to find Anne back at his side as she carefully wrapped her slender arm around his own, lightly squeezing his bicep. Sebastian looked to see if she had returned with his twin but was disappointed seeing she returned alone. Before he could question Anne as to where his love had wandered off to he immediately felt his knees almost give out.

In the corner of the small wooden platform there she stood. She must have used some sort of transfiguration charm to change her long green dress, as she now was a vision in soft lavender. Her delicate arms, exposed to the cool air, as only thin straps held up the bodice around her breasts and abdomen. At her waist soft lace and tule flared, just barely covering her most intimate areas. Sebastian couldn’t stop his wandering eyes from noticing how the thin tights she wore clung to her soft but muscular legs, especially given how much of them were displayed before him. Atop her head rested a small diadem, shining in the moonlight.

She had pulled her hair back into a small bun, leaving her nape exposed. Sebastian was struck so suddenly by how his mind l seemingly split into both thoughts of how downright ethereal she looked and how incredibly sexy she was. He was both smitten and feeling himself with growing arousals at how delicate yet strong she looked.

As the band softly played transitional music, she lifted her gaze to Anne, giving her a shy smile, before taking a deep breath. She refused to let her gaze wander to Sebastian, for fear she may loose her nerves if she saw his eyes on her. She nodded to the few men with instruments that they could begin and she closed her eyes, attempting to remember the steps she had all but memorized from her years partaking in the muggle study of ballet.

The opening notes of dance of the sugar plum fairy started and she was off. The playful melody of the Russian composer, although missing some of the instruments a full orchestra would have, filled the air. Almost as if riding a horse, the steps immediately came flooding back to her memory as she gracefully moved about the small stage on her toes, arms extended.

She tried her best to not think of how much the movements were causing her abdomen to ache with pain or her lugs burn. After mentioning to Anne in Hogsmeade that she had studied ballet for years, the girl had all but pleaded on her knees to see at least some part of The Nutcracker, as it was their mothers favorite. She conceded knowing it would lift the girls spirits, however she had not known the full extent to which she had been roped into until the girl had escorted her away from Sebastian.

Sebastian watched her earnestly as she moved about the space with the same grace she used when she dueled. He had been right in his assumption she did in fact know how to dance, as here she stood, body moving with such a lovely flow it replicated that of a stream. Her movements both soft and delicate, yet poised and full of strength. The way the stars and the falling snow framed her feminine form. The way the moonlight and firelight made the diadem and crystals on her bodice sparkle replicated that of a princess. Her soft smile at the confidence in her movements. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on.

He hadn’t even realized he was crying until he felt a small handkerchief being thrust into his hands. He didn’t even look down to see that Ominis’s outstretched hand had been holding his own pocket square, as he refused to tear his eyes away from her for even a second. The world could come crashing down around them and he still would not be able to look away from the delicate creature in front of him. He half wondered if she was part nymph or siren, as the way she moved her body enticed him in ways he ought not know to be possible.

It wasn’t long before the band began to quicken their pace, with her rapidly increasing her tempo as well. She began moving about in such fast twirls, constantly upon her toes, matching the musicality. She was like a flurry of snow, twisting her body with such speed and skill. As fast as the dance had started, they quickly drew their instruments to the close, as she stopped, drawing her arms into an outstretched pose to conclude the dance.

As the people of Feldcroft began to cheer for her, clapping loudly, she began searching the crowds for Sebastian. With all the townspeople and snow picking up its pace, it was difficult to see where he had gotten off to. As she drew herself into a soft bow she saw a single white rose land in front of her. She quickly drew it into her hand before slowly making her way off the wood floor.

She barely heard Bernard speaking to the hamlet as she made her way to the left side of the stage. The people around her parted, allowing a direct path towards Sebastian. As she got closer she saw the soft glistening of tears in his eyes and on his face.

Sebastian felt like he was watching an angel make its way from heaven, down to him as she took soft steps towards him. He was thankful his neighbors had respected them enough to separate, making her journey easier. He hadn’t even attempted to brush the tears from his eyes, proudly wearing them as she deserved to know what a lovely reaction her talent had brought out in him.

When she had finished, he had found himself transforming the handkerchief in his hands into a single rose, tossing it at her feet the same way that he’d seen muggles do in London. When he found her situated directly in front of him, beaming up into his eyes, he didn’t care who was around them. The young siblings next door, his own sister, the townspeople, hell even Solomon: they were all irrelevant to this beautiful angel. His beautiful angel.

She softly brushed the tears off his face as he smiled, a few more continuing to slip out. The girl laughed softly, not in jest, but in elation at how much love was pouring from his eyes.

Sebastian brought his hand up, to firmly hold hers against his face as he ground himself in the moment. A selfish part of him never wanted this wonderful day to end.

It wasn’t long before the chilling Scottish air made itself known again, as she shivered against him, given how much of her body was exposed. He quickly unwrapped her arms, sliding off his jacket, before gently laying it around her shoulders.

“You must be freezing, sorry I didn’t think of that” he whispered out. The town around them had resumed dancing, wandering off to let the young adults converse as they pleased.

She brushed off his comment, but pulled the jacket tighter around her body. She looked back up at him, eyes still shining with amazement. He took the rose that had been held in her hand, placing it behind her ear. His fingers trailed down her cheek and jaw before his hand plant itself against the side of her neck. Sebastian softly pulled her into his tall frame, as his other hand came to rest on her bent elbow. They continued to softly sway as he held her head close to his chest, and she let her arms stay wrapped around his waist.

“I don’t think I have ever been happier in my entire life” he softly hummed out. She tightened her grip on his lower back, softly inhaling his woody scent.

“Me either” she replied, unable to fill her senses with enough of Sebastian Sallow as they softly turned in the moonlight. She wanted more. She didn’t care that her legs were freezing or ballet slippers were terrible shoes to walk in. She simply wanted to bottle up this feeling and keep it close to her heart forever.

As another song started up they heard a throat being cleared not far from them. She lifted her head from its place over his heart as Sebastian noticed Solomon standing near by, his expression unreadable.

“It is getting late. I think it is time you all retire.” He spoke firmly, but didn’t comment on how they were dancing nor her costume.

Sebastian only nodded, before spinning her around to head back towards their tent. Anne and Ominis were already back inside when they arrived. Immediately upon entering Anne jumped the girl.

“Oh Merlin! That was so amazing! Thank you so much, it truly meant so much to be able to experience one of our old traditions. You are so talented.” Anne blabbered on as she continued a string of “you’re welcome” and “thank you” in response to all she kept saying.

Sebastian leaned against the support beam for the main room watching as the girl demonstrated some of the poses for Anne. She shrugged his jacket off inside the tents warmth, thanks to Ominis having started the fire. Once again he found himself staring at the lovely lines her legs were creating as she lifted her weight onto one foot, and moved her other leg to the height of her waist with ease. When she lifted her arms, the skirt also raised, giving him a very open view of her tight and bloomer clad rear. What he would give to always have her in such attire.

She turned around after demonstrating to Anne some of the basics she had come to know, and when she did she noted the down-right sinful look in Sebastian’s eyes. She moved to grab his coat off the cushions from when she had set it down, while Anne sat next to Ominis by the fire. When she approached him, she noticed a small plant extending down from the support beam, to rest just over his head. Mistletoe.

Sebastian looked up at the small plant he was conjuring with the wand at his side. He knew the tradition would make her laugh, and when she caught sight of it she grew slightly pink knowing what he wanted from her.

The boy drew her close, pulling her under the small white bulbs with him. The devilish grin upon his face making her grow even warmer. He pulled the jacket from her hands, letting it fall to the floor with no regard for how it crumpled, before wrapping his other arm around her waist.

“Your opinions on mistletoe m’lady?” He asked, staring intently into her eyes.

“I suppose it is a fun tradition, although if you wanted a kiss, you need not ask”

Sebastian needed no further encouragement, pulling her waist directly into contact with his. Her eyes grew wide at realizing his manhood was pressing into her clothed center, but as his lips made contact with hers, they fluttered shut. His other hand planted on the small of her back, and both of hers finding place on his shoulders. He playfully lowered her weight, as he dipped her forward while continued kissing her. She sighed into his mouth as when he lowered them both, his weight pressed into her most sensitive area even more than it had when he pulled her against his body.

Sebastian returned her to her feet reluctantly, pulling his mouth from hers to give a small kiss to her cheek before nuzzling his nose to the side of her face.

“Have I succeeded in sweeping you off your feet darling?” He teased and she shivered as his long eyelashes tickled her cheek. She nodded, holding him close, breathing in his scent.

“You two are appalling.” Anne said while standing, breaking up their moment as she reaching a hand out for Ominis. The pair migrated towards the boys side of the tent together.

“Where do you two think you’re going?” Sebastian asked, playfully taunting his sister.

“To sleep” she said, continuing to pull the blushing blond with her.

“Mhm… and I am the appalling one” he responded sarcastically as she rolled her eyes, sliding into the privacy of the other room. Ominis gave a shy wave before following her.

“You know if it were anyone other than Ominis I’d ring their neck” he playfully chuckled watching his best friends shy allowance of his twins rule breaking.

She scoffed “Please, as if you are much better in that arena Mr. Sallow” as she poked a finger into his chest playfully.

Sebastian stiffened at her words, grabbing her hand as he pulled her backwards into the privacy of the other room. As soon as the curtain gave way he cast a simple silencing charm, throwing his wand to the side.

He lowered his mouth to her ear, lightly nipping it. “Say that again” he all but growled against her skin.

“Say what again?” She asked playfully as his hands found their way under the many layers of tule, fingers splayed across her lower cheeks.

“You know what” he said, feeling his self control starting to waiver as the events of the last few days were building. Their stolen kisses, almost watching her die, sharing a sensual bath, waking up next to her, her body on display during the dance and their conversations on a future. It all felt too much, as if he’d wake up and it all had been a dream. Sebastian needed the chance to prove he was worthy of their lofty expectations for the future, that he was worthy of her love and adoration. That he could be the man she deserved. Someone who could take care of her, provide for her, protect her and give her the life she deserved.

“Only if you answer me this” she said, trailing off as he caressed her skin through the tights. He mumbled out what she assumed was “sure” against her neck as he continued to kiss and suck lightly on the delicate skin exposed but her bun.

They were playing with fire and she knew it. She just hoped that when it was all said and done neither of them wound up burned.

“Would you like to resume our conversation from earlier now that we are alone?” She tried to keep her voice as sultry as possible but finding it difficult with the wonderful way he mapped out the skin of her neck and shoulders with his lips while his fingers traced her lower regions.

“While I would love to have that conversation, I don’t particularly feel like talking right now, do you…” he huskily whispered into her neck making her shudder.

She shook her head at his words as he carefully walked the both of them backwards towards the bed. When her legs made contact with the edge of the mattress, he gently helped her sit at the edge before lowering himself to the floor in front of her.

She raised a tentative eyebrow at him as he sat on his knees in front of her. In his mind, she looked downright ethereal, still in the beaded costume, head covered in jewels.

Sebastian carefully brought his chin to rest just above her knee, looking up at her through his eyelashes as she curled a hand into his hair.

Lowering his hands, he slowly began to unravel her ballet slippers off each foot, carefully tracing his finger up her leg as he did so. She felt a deep warmth spread about her at his soft traces, as the tights were not thick.

He placed soft kisses on the skin of her thigh as he whispered against her skin. “My Angel… goddess divine…” she heard against her legs as she continued to pour his love into her.

Sebastian looked up into her eyes again as he tried to find an ounce of his slipping self control. Her fingers still wound in his tresses and her soft gaze upon him as he laid more gentle kisses upon her skin. “Aphrodite herself” he said with a groan.

Let me worship you.

She was caught off guard at his words but he continued to plead with her. Sebastian shook her hand from his hair, rising as much as he could while still on his knees for her. He held her hand close to his heart, eyes imploring hers as his body softly shook in anticipation. Sebastian hoped she could feel the way his heart beat against her fingers. The way it beat for her.

Let me show you all the praise you deserve, my goddess. Please I beg you.

She couldn’t help but feel herself giving in, as seeing him beg on his knees for her was something she never thought possible. What happened to the proud Slytherin boy she met her first day Hogwarts who taunted her in class? He had wound his way into her very soul, loosing the arrogance that plagued him, now ready to be whatever she needed, as she graciously returned the same sentiments. She softly nodded, bringing his face up as she tipped his chin forward to meet his lips in a soft kiss.

Every moment they spent alone plagued with teasing and playful comments built into a strong sense of longing, only being held back by external rules of propriety. As he moved his mouth against hers that first time, cracks began to form. Now in the privacy on Christmas Eve, That’s when the damn finally broke.

Sebastian carefully pulled himself from the floor, helping her rise gently to her feet as he softly turned her around. His fingers lightly brushed against her corsets strings while his lips continued to softly press kisses and sweet words of praise along her shoulders.

My beautiful angel…

Most beautiful part of this world…

His movements were careful as he slowly unraveled the soft lace from her skin. As it became loose he slowly allowed the material to fall to the floor. She remained unclothed from the waist up, only bloomers and tights covering her lower half.

She turned to face him in the dim light, seeing the adoration in his chocolate eyes as she slowly slid her hands under his sweater, pulling it up his torso. Sebastian allowed her to carefully slip it off his body before she did the same for his undershirt. When his chest finally was exposed again she couldn’t help but lightly whimper at seeing his soft flesh, and he quickly pulled her back into his towering frame.

His left hand held the juncture between her jaw and neck, fingers softly tracing the skin he found there. Sebastian carefully lifted her face up to his own as her trembling fingers wound there way into his hair once again. With her pressed into him, he could feel her hardened nipples against the planes of chest, loving the way their skin to skin contact created a fire in his stomach.

His other hand slipped lower, find purchase along her waistband, toying with it as he kissed her gently. As he did so, her fingers continued weaving in and out of his hair, and it wasn’t long before he ran a testing swipe along her bottom lip with his tongue. Sebastian couldn’t help but groan when she opened for him, letting their kisses to deepen as their tongues carefully danced together. It wasn’t long before she was pulling away, feeling breathless at their actions.

Taking the opportunity of their pause in kisses, he gripped the band of her remaining clothing, and slowly lowered himself to the floor as he slid the material from her body, undergarments coming with it. He did so carefully, afraid she would snap to her senses and stop him. Sebastian was surprised when her bloomers touched the floor, and he found himself once again on his knees, this time directly in front of her naked form. His found himself carefully helping her step out of the clothes, tossing them into the unknown as he caressed her calf as he once again lifted his gaze.

When the cool air exposed her womanhood she quickly sought to cover herself not just from the cold but his gaze, as his eyes were only a few inches away from her most sensitive area.

She should have ran, should have stopped his advances, but truly there was no reservation within her that he did not already own every fiber of her being. He had her from the moment she met his mischievous gaze, beside the fireplace that day seemingly so long ago. They were destined to remain with one another, a very conviction they both seemed to understand. These physical acts were merely a way at demonstrating their devotion to one another. Damn the rules, they both broke every rules around them always. What’s one more in the name of such a love?

He carefully laid his cheek along her stomach, her hands preventing him from closing the gap between his face and her womanhood. As he gazed up at her, eyes darker than she thought imaginable, she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he planned to do. He seemed to be allowing her to guide him to whatever boundary she desired. And while she was enticed seeing him still at her feet in such a manor, she was taking her time to become comfortable giving herself to him.

Being so close to her heat, Sebastian could smell her arousal, and it was slowly feeding his own. From the moment he’d spoken with her that evening along the wall, about a future together, he had maintained a slight strain in his briefs. When she had danced before him, that feeling grew more intense. Now having her looking down upon her, unclothed, still wearing that semi-ridiculous crown he felt the intensity of his own erection threatening to burst out. He wanted to see her, feel her, and even though it was vulgar he wanted to taste her.

Sebastian allowed her to take her time. He simply laid his head against her, continuing to breathe her in as she grew comfortable with the image of him half nude on his knees in front of her. His fingers wound around to her backside, slowly tracing patterns on her soft curves. If she was paying attention she would have realized those patterns weren’t aimless, as he traced the word “mine” into the skin of her ass.

Eventually she unwound one hand from guarding her sacredness. She carefully brought her fingers into his hair, hoping to calm the storm raging inside. He groaned against her, as her nails scraped along his scalp. Sebastian continued looking into her eyes, and without even having to say the words he felt their soft exchange through their expressions.

“Please allow me to make you feel good” his eyes plead

“I trust you” hers responded as she let go, allowing him to finally see her up close.

He nearly lost his composure seeing such forbidden fruit right before his eyes. Ever so carefully he moved a hand to lightly trace the skin of her inner thigh. Her breath caught in her throat as he continued the slow torture of quiet gasps and soft touches.

Dragging his gaze back up to her, he carefully whispered out, “so beautiful” with a choked sob before he placed his lips on her.

Her hips bucked involuntarily at the feeling of his warm mouth against her lower curls. Slowly sliding her legs apart, he shifted between them to lick a testing stripe along her slit. As he did so, her slick arousal coated his tongue and he found himself moaning into her womanhood at the taste.

While he initially was gentle, after one small sip, he dived into her, lapping as if he was a man wandering the desert. She felt herself slowly trembling at the ministrations of his tongue on her sex, legs going weak. If his strong arms weren’t holding her upright she surely would’ve fallen over.

He continued to use his mouth on her in any way possible. He licked along her entrance and tasted every drop she provided for him. When his tongue finally found her pearl he brought his lips around it, lightly sucking on her clitorus as she cried out, hands tightening into his hair, pulling his face closer to her heat.

At her involuntary reaction he groaned around her, the vibrations becoming too much for her to bear. She looked down at him one last time before falling over an edge she didn’t even know she was standing upon. As she did so, her legs buckled and he did his best to keep her upright as his tongue continued to prod her entrance through her orgasm. Her unintentional aggression towards him , paired with the sounds she made, was enough to send him barreling after her. His cock twitched inside his trousers as he coated his underwear with his own seed. When she finally came down he softly lowered her onto the bed, dropping his head to her lap as he pulled back.

When she stopped seeing the stars she looked down at him. With red cheeks and her arousal coating his mouth and chin he looked absolutely divine. He smiled at her, carefully dragging a finger around to collect her own wetness from her now swollen opening before placing it in his mouth. Licking the remains from his lips, he sighed.

“You taste heavenly” he told her as she carefully brushed a weary hand through his curls.

She blushed at his words, feeling the need to cover herself, but she restrained realizing if he was willing to do such an act there’s no reason to cover now.

“I may require guidance to return the favor” she said shyly, gesturing in the darkness towards him. Sebastian laughed against her skin enjoying the way her fingers lovingly toyed with his hair. Of all the ways he had felt her deft fingers in his locks, this moment was now his favorite.

“That won’t be necessary love” he said with a chuckle, turning his face to kiss her other wrist.

“Of course it is… I understand that there’s a give and a take to these matters…” she tried to explain but he shook his head, before slowly standing.

Ever so carefully he lifted her wrist to place a delicate hand over the wet spot on his trousers. Her face went from confusion to recognition as she felt his cum through the material. Oh.

“But… how..?” She asked, realizing she hadn’t even touched him directly. Sebastian shrugged before he leaned in closer to her.

“I really enjoyed making you feel good I suppose” he spoke as he looked into her eyes. For a brief second he swore he could see hearts in them as she sighed.

Carefully she lifted a hand to cup his cheek before she responded “you beautiful, selfless, man”

He let out a soft chuckle at her kind words, his nose carefully caressing her own lovingly as he nuzzled her soft skin. Sebastian gave her a gentle peck before pulling the both of them down to lay down on the bed. She found herself smiling at the unique lingering taste of her on his lips as he kissed her slowly.

After a few moments basking in the afterglow together, he rose to his elbow to gaze down at her. He carefully brushed a hand over the few strands of hair escaping her slowly slipping bun before sliding off the bed. He knew if he was to sleep in the same bed as her, he should have the decency to change his briefs since sleeping in the nude may be too much of a line to cross now.

Carefully he slipped out of their half of the tent, making his way over to where his belongings were on the other side. As he approached the room he knew contained his sister and his oldest friend he worried about barging in unannounced, but also felt awkward about raising his voice in case they were asleep.

When he found himself directly in front of the flap he was met with the relieving sound of their hushed whispers. Unable to prevent himself from ease dropping he listened to their quiet voices for a moment.

“I can’t believe he transformed my good pocket square into a flower” Ominis chuckled softly and Sebastian remembered that he had in fact ruined his friends possession.

“I will make sure he replaces it, I promise” he heard his sister respond with a sigh.

There was a beat of silence and Sebastian found himself almost taking that as a good opportunity to announce himself but he stopped at Ominis’s voice.

“Was Sebastian really weeping during the ballet?” He asked, no malice in his tone, merely curiousity.

“I wouldn’t call it weeping… more like tears of joy perhaps… like being moved to such extremes in the face of something beautiful. Like how a man may cry at the birth of his child.” Anne explained, and Sebastian found himself thankful his sister attempted to explain what she observed in a way that would exonerate him of being weak.

“That is surprising. I never imagined Sebastian of all people to feel such adoration for another… not that I see him as incapable of those feelings, its just…” Ominis trailed off unsure how to explain his thoughts on the matter, worried he would say something to upset Anne on the status of her Twin’s love affair.

“I think I understand what you mean… the intensity to which it is apparent they feel for each other is shocking I suppose. It reminds me of our parents in a way” Anne replied taking his hand into her own, fingers carefully tracing the callouses on his palm from constantly holding his wand to guide him.

Sebastian felt himself surprised knowing his twin saw the same love his parents held for each other in his own feelings towards the new 5th year. It made him feel as if they’d be proud of him.

“Do you think they will… move forward with things in the near future?” Ominis asked cautiously.

“Perhaps” Anne replied, pondering what Ominis was asking. They had both heard his confession the day outside with Solomon, and had witness their share of moments where even the blind boy could practically see the love rolling off the pair.

“I selfish part of me hopes they do” Anne spoke softly into her lap as Ominis raised a questioning brow at her, confused why she wanted her brother to move forward with such adult acts like engagements and marriage.

Sebastian also found himself leaning closer, curious. Anne felt her eyes blur a bit as she carefully swallowed a small lump in her throat before continuing.

“I don’t know how much time I have left… I want to…” she stopped for a moment to collect herself before she kept going. “I need to know Sebs is going to be happy. That he will have someone there for him when I am gone.”

“Don’t say that Annabel-“ Ominis found himself using her full name, not liking her train of thought. He didn’t like acknowledging her curse, same as the rest of their party, but knowing he may only have limited time with her was a painful reminder.

“I believe in their ability. I know if anyone can find a cure it is the two of them. But if they cannot… I just want the chance to see them both devote their lives to one another.” Anne said in a hushed tone. Sebastian felt a weight in his heart, having not realized that his sisters condition could lead to a place in which a vacancy existed during his important life moments.

Sebastian couldn’t stop himself from pushing back the flap of the tent, eyes glassed with tears as he startled the pair. Anne sat up, wand ready as she recognized her twin’s face in the darkness.

Sebastian rushed forward, forgetting the reason he was in there to begin with, forgetting the love of his life was waiting for him. Ignoring Ominis sitting to the right of them. As he brought Anne into his chest he heard her soft cries as she wound her arms around them. They had tried their best to ignore the direness of her illness for so long, to acknowledge it now felt frightening.

When she quickly recovered he found himself softly whispering into her hair “I promise you will be there to see that.” At his words she looked up at him, slightly grimly. For a moment she thought he was referring to his never ending search to find a cure.

“Sebs… I am not sure there is a cur-“ she began but he cut her off.

“I am not talking about finding a cure Anne.” He spoke defiantly.

Anne realized that he was confirming he would make sure to wed if she became worse off.

“You don’t have to… I don’t expect you to rush into a commitment like that on my behalf.” She worried that she may push the pair together faster at her declining health.

“Anne… I would marry her tomorrow if I could figure out the logistics. But I would do so in a heartbeat to make sure you can be there.” He said and she found herself nodding. Sebastian let his sister go, navigating towards his bag he brought back from school.

He was worried that she would begin to worry at his absence, and didn’t want his sister realizing there was still a mess in his trousers…

“It’s Christmas. Let’s just try to focus on being together, and we can figure out the rest tomorrow, a’right?” He asked, collecting some clothes, before lingering by the entrance.

Anne nodded, returning to Ominis’s side. Sebastian watched as his friend cautiously lifted a hand to place it on his sisters. He smiled, realizing they too were operating on possible limited time.

“Take care of her Ominis.” He said, giving his friend the permission the Gaunt boy had been struggling to ask for since he grew attached to the girl.

Sebastian didn’t need to hear the boys reply, so he merely stepped back and snuffed out the fire in the main room.

When he returned, he found his love laying on her side, curled up along the foot of the bed. Shrugging his pants and briefs off he carefully used a wet cloth to wash himself before sliding on fresh underclothes. Bringing the same cloth, he carefully turned her over enough to help wash away the mess on her womanhood.

As he did so, she carefully cracked an eye open. She slid her legs open more as he continued to clean her to the best of his ability before dropping the cloth to the floor. She sleepily leaned up as he undid the pins holding the diadem to her head, carefully placing it on the floor, before helping her to let down her hair.

As it tumbled free, covering her shoulders and breasts he sighed. He was always surprised how she continued to look more and more beautiful in his eyes.

Sebastian helped lift her sleepy arms up enough to work the sleep shirt he brought onto her form. He figured that she’d be comfortable in his clothes, as his size would turn a simple shirt into a dress on her small body. As he slid it over her, she smiled, feeling enveloped in his earthy smell.

Ever so carefully he helped her slide under the covers, so she would easily be able to slip back into her slumber. Joining her, he brought an arm up to pull her against his body. When she snuggled backwards into him he smiled, thinking about his conversation with Anne. That night he found sleep difficult as he pondered the logistics of addressing the topic.

As he finally drifted off to sleep, he decided his best course of action to be a lengthy conversation with Solomon, and for once he wasn’t concerned about the outcome…

To be continued…

[thedarkestgreys]

A YVOR RELATED PSA

i'm finally starting the slow moving process of adding time stamps into the first two acts of yvor. the first three chapters have already been updated. there might be other minor edits made along the way as i account for my own continuity errors. i suspect this might take me a while to complete in full as i'm rereading chapters for accuracy on dates as my outline is vague on exact dates in some sections.

if any major changes are to occur, you'll hear it here first 😘

[thoroughlymodernminutia]

A Wisp of Smoke - Chapter 1 (Mike Duarte x F!Reader)

Summary: An unconventional member joins the Bronx Gang Unit.

Word Count: 3364

Content Warning: This is mildly canonical but like not really, so if that bothers you, then I’d skip. Some physical description - gave hte reader some gray hair cause I'm old and I want to represent some old people lol. Edit that out of your mind if you need to. Foul language (if that bothers you?), Gang talk, coworkers who don’t like each other, this part I don’t think has anything that would be triggering, but if you feel differently I can update the warnings.

A/N: When I tell you that I started writing this in October…it means exactly that. This has morphed into something different than I was expecting and I imagine I will have to scrap some stuff I have written once the next episode airs, so this is EVOLVING. Who even knows what this will be about by the time it’s finished. God help me. If there are typos, I apologize - I proof read this a few times and i'm sure somewhere there is something wrong

UM, Minors probably shouldn’t read this but I’m not your mother.

—-

The thing about the subway is it takes time to understand the quirks—the nuances—of the subway lines you take. The majority of your time is taking one line to and from work if you’re lucky. You’ve been taking one train line for so long, you’re at 90% accuracy of predicting when something is about to go wrong. You like the routine of it—knowing if you get to the platform right at 8:01 AM you’ll only have to wait a minute before the train comes and you’ll get to work early. It’s an art and a science, but it takes practice. It’s why taking a job so far out of your usual subway line is annoying; you have to learn it all over again. It’s made even worse by having to switch to another line, if something goes wrong on that first leg of the commute, you’re fucked for the rest of it.

And today, you feel like you’re fucked. You leave your apartment like a parent leaving for the airport; panicking about the time and trying to make sure you have everything. You feel smug catching the subway right when it pulls into the platform and getting in a nearly empty subway car. The smugness fades when you transfer to another train that happily sits between stations for 30 minutes and then decides to switch to the express track. It’s not express for you though, of course. It puts you a good mile away from where you need to be, instead of the five blocks you planned for. The extra distance isn’t an issue, for once you might show up on time without having to walk around the block ten times. It is, however, unseasonably warm for February and now your coat is overkill. You stop and take it off, juggling your bag from hand to hand as you remove it. It’s insane, not even being able to feel cold in February in New York. 

While you walk the unfamiliar sidewalks of the South Bronx you think about how this is your brother-in-law Tommy’s doing. You don’t even know how or why he’s sending you up to the Bronx as some kind of backfill in the Gang Unit. You aren’t a cop, so you have no idea why they’d want you up there. You feel like it’s going to look pretty strange, a senior analyst for the NYPD in the Intelligence Bureau, joining the Gang Unit. Gangs in the Bronx aren’t really on your radar; the majority of your time is spent juggling mostly empty threats against NYC. Analyzing the message boards and social media where people spew garbage 24/7. It’s weird to think that maybe this will be a break from that. 

You do know a little about Duarte’s reputation. For as much as Tommy thinks gossiping is a female trait he certainly loves to partake in it. You heard all about the drama between him and Captain Benson–Tommy was almost gleeful when recounting it. You get the impression that like most men in the NYPD Duarte is only happy when he gets his way. You could be completely wrong, it’s not like Tommy is the most reliable narrator. 

—-

The precinct looks different than you thought it would. You had imagined something along the lines of a bland box with windows, but this is a beautiful limestone building. Some of the stone work looks like it belongs in an Italian palazzo in the 16th century. The inside reminds you of an old library with the heavy wood furniture and dim lighting. It’s really quite something—all these disappearing architectural gems throughout all the boroughs. As you walk towards the Desk Sergeant you wonder how much longer it will be around before the city turns it into a glassbox citing progress in the neighborhood. 

When you ask where you can find Captain Duarte you realize the charm seems to end with the interior and doesn’t really extend to the people. She looks like you’ve just ruined her day by speaking to her. She nods her head towards the stairs and says it’s the third floor. You thank her, thinking maybe that’s her problem, no one ever sounds grateful for her assistance. Halfway up the stairs you do consider turning around and walking right back down and out of the building. You suppress the urge; dealing with Tommy in the aftermath of flaking would probably be worse than whatever fresh hell is waiting for you a few flights up.

You duck into the bathroom when you get to the third floor and are relieved when you find it empty. You set your bag on the edge of the sink, and drape your coat over a stall door. You turn back to the mirror and give yourself a once over. You were going for an overall look of extreme competence so you went with all black. Black silk button down, black skinny jeans, black thick soled loafers. You think maybe you look like you’re about to attend a funeral—probably your own. You hike up your jeans a little and try to ignore how much your feet hurt. You look back up to your face in the mirror to check your makeup. It still looks good; your eyeliner is intact and hopefully giving the impression that you’re precise, detail oriented. Your hair looks fine, the gray pieces framing your face, glossy under the overhead lights. You used to hate that you started going gray fairly young; you must have spent thousands covering it up over the years. At some point you stopped caring and just let it be. It came with a fun bonus, men you worked with suddenly thought you were old and left you alone. You give yourself one last once over before washing your hands. As you grab your things and head out of the bathroom you run through the little information you have like you’re cramming for a test. 

An officer shows you to Captain Duarte’s office and tells you that you can wait inside, that he doesn’t know when he’ll be back. It’s very you to think that you’re going to be late to something and be the person that ends up waiting. When the officer leaves you put your bag on one of the chairs and drape your coat over the back. His desk is neat and you don’t see much in the way of personal effects on it. There’s a few books and you’re tempted to go to the other side of his desk to get a better look, but restrain yourself knowing the moment you do, he will come walking in. You sit down in one of the chairs and wait. 

—-  

As Duarte approaches his office he can see you sitting inside. He had put your arrival out of his mind once McGrath had told him and seeing you now throws him off for a moment. He should be prepared, he only knows what McGrath told him. Although, he’s sure that since McGrath is the one who sent you here, the information isn’t reliable. When you get up and introduce yourself, his initial impression is that you’re prissy. The way your coat is folded over the back of one of the chairs. How you’re now clasping your hands in front of you. Your outfit, a far cry from the recently departed, hoodie-clad Muncy. He can’t tell what he hates more right now, the way you look or that you were foisted on him by McGrath. 

Duarte closes the door to his office and turns back to face you.

“I don’t really know what you’re doing here. You have no gang—no actual police experience. I’d wager to say you’ve never used a gun. I don’t care about your intelligence experience. Frankly, you could single handedly bring down all gang activity in this city and it wouldn’t matter to me. If you think whatever relationship you have with McGrath is going to help you here, you’re wrong.”

It’s a lot all at once and you try to ignore the way he says ‘relationship’. As if you slept with Tommy to get you a job with the Gang Unit. If you’re going to sleep your way to a new job in the NYPD, it wouldn’t be for a mostly lateral position all the way in the Bronx. You can feel yourself about to do that thing where you match the energy that’s being directed your way. It’s great when the person you’re dealing with isn’t an asshole. But if they’re looking to take the low road, well you own a home there.

“I’m sorry, I must have blacked out. I think I missed a part where you said something like ‘I’m glad to have you on the team.’” 

The look on his face tells you he was expecting you to be more yielding in your response. Maybe eight or ten years ago you would have been. You’re tired of minimizing yourself to make men in the NYPD feel better.

“If I felt that way, I would have said it. This is real shit we deal with, no one here has time to babysit you.”

“Well, I’ll just have to cut the crust off my own sandwich then, won’t I?” You try to keep your voice calm. “Look, I’m good at my job and whatever it is I’m supposed to do here, I’ll be good at that too.”

Duarte grabs a box off of his desk and thrusts it at you. 

“I think you’re going to find your confidence is misplaced.”

You balance the box on your hip as you pick up your coat and bag from the chair. You consider not saying anything else, but when you get to the door you turn around and smile.

“I just have to say, this has just been so pleasant. Really looking forward to working with you.”

He huffs in your general direction before turning back to his desk. You know he’s setting you up for failure—not giving you a single inch already. He’s probably looking forward to watching you spin your wheels and flame out. If there’s anyone that can dig their heels in it’s you, so if he is looking for some kind of low level fight you’re ready.

—-

You’re unpacking the box at your desk when you see a friendly face standing at the desk across from yours. It could be Satan smiling at you at this point and you’d take it. You both introduce yourselves as he sits down.

“Should I call you Jordan or Williams? I know how much everyone in the NYPD loves going by their last name.” 

“Ha! True. Honestly, either is fine.”

You pull another stack of files and a hard drive out the box and look at your computer for the time. When you see it’s barely 10AM you know it’s going to be a long rest of the day. 

“Well, Jordan, can I ask you something?”

“Let me guess, your face is giving me, is he always like that?”

“Ha, yes that is the question.”

Jordan lets out a sigh, “It depends. He’s still pissed at McGrath I think. After he let Captain Benson snatch Muncy from us. And then Benson gets attacked, I don’t know, there’s a lot going on.” He pauses for a moment. “It’s fucked up, but he’s probably worried McGrath sent you up here as a spy or something.”

“What if he did?”

Jordan leans back in his chair and scans your face trying to determine if you’re telling the truth.

“Did he?”

You give Jordan a wry smile.

“No. But it will be fun letting Captain Duarte think so.”

You can’t help but laugh because it’s so dumb; that someone would think you were sent up here to spy. It seems like something Tommy would do—send someone up here to unknowingly spy for him. Tommy is an idiot, but you’re not. 

Jordan chuckles as he shakes his head.

“I think it’s going to be good having you around.”

You both chat a little more and you’re able to get from him what you couldn’t from Duarte; what he’s actually looking for. You already had a feeling that he wanted to treat gangs like terrorist groups and your theory proves true. It also proves true that he wanted someone with your experience but who was also a detective. He must think Tommy short-changed him with you so he could have a person on the inside. At least now you have a clearer picture of why he hates you. You’d probably hate you too if you were in Duarte’s shoes.

You spend the rest of the morning going through everything Duarte gave you. It’s strange trying to apply everything you know to a completely new set of circumstances. You can already feel some doubt creeping in. Yes you’re good at your job—but this is not that. You think that Duarte probably views you as some interloper trying to use this as some kind of play to get ahead. Take credit for fixing a problem and leave behind other growing problems. It’s only partially true; you don’t care about taking credit for things but you are an interloper. It’s not like this is really your community; you don’t live in areas impacted by gang violence. You don’t have the depth and breadth of knowledge on the specific systemic issues that allow this type of thing to flourish. With counter-terrorism it always seems like a much broader issue where the violence impacts many, where gang violence only affects the few. It’s something that you feel like you’re going to be unpacking for as long as you’re here. 

Duarte and Williams leave early in the afternoon. You don’t know if you were expecting Duarte to tell you what’s going on, but he doesn’t. He just gives you an annoyed look as he passes by your desk and you give him a tight lipped smile. You think back to this morning and wish you would have taken the high road and acquiesced to his running commentary of your lack of abilities. It’s the ‘relationship’ jab that’s bothering you the most for some reason—probably because it was so unnecessary. You wish you were the type of person that could just move on from comments like that but you’re not; it’s probably why your last relationship ended. So you know you’re going to hold on to that relationship comment much longer than necessary. 

With Duarte gone you feel like you can finally relax; your shoulders drop and you take a few quiet breaths. You plug in the hard drive to your laptop and try to figure out where to start. When you first started with the bureau in counter-terrorism, it was overwhelming, but you quickly found your footing. It was a lot of research and developing counterintelligence reports. It was your job to plan, research, develop, and communicate in-depth analysis of targets, networks, and issues to key leaders in the department. You know how to plan and implement strategies based on a combination of information and gut feeling. At least here you won’t be starting entirely from scratch. You have your experience—and while this is a different set of circumstances you know what’s needed. You settle in and start familiarizing yourself with all the information you have. 

You want to memorize the faces, the names, everything about the people in the files and computer in front of you. You know right now the focus seems to be BX9, but you also know as these groups collapse they splinter off or join existing gangs. You work on putting something together that you can leave for Duarte. The thought crosses your mind that if he doesn’t expect anything of you then why bother, but you have enough self respect to not do that.

—-

He sees you in his office as he comes into the squad room. He can see through the open blinds that you’re standing behind his desk, looking out of the window towards the street. He was hoping you’d be gone and that he wouldn’t have to deal with you again today. He just wants some fucking peace.

“Do you need something?” Duarte’s voice is quiet as he enters his office but he sees you jump a little in place at the sound of it. As you turn around and see it’s him you half smile. He recognizes it as the kind of smile that says you didn’t want to see him either. He thinks for a moment how this could have gone differently. How he could have been given someone qualified—a real detective. He wouldn’t have this generalized annoyance he’s been feeling since this morning.

“No, sorry. Was just leaving something on your desk.” 

You brush past him as you say it and it breaks him from his train of thought. He watches you grab your things from your desk and then turn to leave. He sees you stop as Williams comes back to his desk. He watches as you say something to Williams but it’s not loud enough for him to hear. Whatever it was it must have been funny because Williams laughs. Duarte calls him into his office and he hears you say goodnight as you’re walking out of the squad room. 

“You need something, Cap?” 

“I want you to keep an eye on her.” 

“Yeah, of course.”

“I need to know if she’s—”

Williams cuts him off and shakes his head.

“I don’t think she’s like that if that’s what you’re getting at. I like her.”

“Good for you. Just do what I ask.”

“Aye, aye Cap.” 

Williams turns to leave and Duarte closes the office door behind him. He goes over to his desk and opens the bottom drawer and pulls out a bottle of bourbon and a glass. It’s incredible how fucking exhausted he is every day. Every day since the subway attack in Manhattan has steadily been draining him. And then Benson getting attacked and her inserting herself into the investigation; he feels like everyone is coming at him from all sides. He feels like a tire slowly losing air. He uncorks the bottle and pours himself a drink and downs it before sitting in his chair. 

He mulls over the decision the DA’s office made every single day. On the surface he understood the reasoning behind it. But deeper, he felt it was a mistake, a decision made for optics. A lie that Manhattan has rid itself of BX9. That only the poor fucks in the Bronx have to deal with them from now on. Well that went out the fucking window once Benson got kicked in the ribs. If she had listened to him instead of only thinking about her case it would be a different story. Instead he has two dead kids in Rikers and he’s hunting for more. He pours himself another drink while he tries to ignore the pressure building in his chest. He’s grateful for the nearly empty floor, the quiet.

He leans in his chair and notices a manilla folder on his desk; it has a post-it with his name on it scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting. Maybe you’re already resigning, it wouldn’t surprise him. He knows he wasn’t very welcoming. He has no desire, no energy to be—this job is all consuming. He grabs the file folder and opens it. Inside he sees you’ve put together a briefing based on all the information you went through. You seem to have analyzed what you view as gaps in the systems that are being used to monitor gang activity currently. You’ve even outlined the resources you’ll need. It’s not even entirely focused on BX9–you included other gangs in your briefing, gangs that weren’t included in the information he gave you. He feels a little sting of something reading through everything. He can’t tell if he’s impressed or irritated that you put this much together in a day. He realizes that he knows almost nothing about you, having put in almost no effort to find out. He closes the folder and starts making some calls. He wasn’t expecting so much from you on your first day.

[lunarilyrics]

Re;writer (English translation)

"I don’t want to see any sad tales(!)"

I did it... a translation of typical song length without any errors, minor or otherwise! This is a huge milestone for me~

Artist: Mucha feat. Ooka Miko

As long as you credit me (lunari162), you’re free to use this translation. *This translation was checked by Violet330 for accuracy, but no edits were made this time

As far back as I can remember, my playmates have been a pen and a notebook I’ve continued to depict the endlessly spreading fragments of my daydreams

Eventually, I grew older and learned of many sad stories My transparent tears flowed for the characters who weren’t saved

“The pen is mightier than the sword” My mama taught me that That’s right, that’s definitely right! This pen should be able to save someone

“I don’t want to see any sad tales(!)” and so I opened up my notebook, Rewriter The stories that have been rewritten will spread throughout this round earth and surely become someone’s treasures

This isn’t for someone else’s sake or something like that This is my egoism And I don’t want to become a god I don’t want to become a savior either I just want to see happy endings, that’s all

The lonely girl, the hated monster, and such The witch who died without being loved by anyone The separated lovers, the abandoned puppy I felt as if I heard a sign from everyone like that, so

“I want to save all the people(!)” and so I opened up my notebook, Rewriter The stories that have been rewritten will spread throughout the large universe and surely become someone’s treasures

As far back as I can remember, my playmates have been a pen and a notebook I’ll always keep on writing stories aimed at the person I was back then*

“The pen is mightier than the sword” My mama taught me that, so Until you smile, until that time comes, this arm has to keep moving!

“I don’t want to see any sad tales(!)” and so I opened up my notebook, Rewriter “I want to save all the people(!)” and so I opened up my notebook, Rewriter The stories that have been rewritten will spread throughout all the worlds and surely become someone’s… and surely become your… and surely become my treasures

*the use of に向けて suggests that the singer views their past self as not just the person they’re writing “to,” but rather the target audience that they’re writing “for”

[dataintegrationthoughtentity]

Yuki Nagato's Bookmark from "The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya"

長門有希の栞（涼宮ハルヒの消失）

The 2010 movie “The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya” (JP: 涼宮ハルヒの消失) released its limited edition Blu-ray DVD with the chance of getting different anime goods add-ons, depending on the platform through which the BD was ordered. This is succinctly summarized in this 11 year old review video linked here, In the video, the reviewer mentions that if the Limited Edition BD of the movie was ordered through Rakuten Books, they would receive bookmarks printed with designs from the series/movie. Due to the limited time aspect of this offer and the rather low demand for the selling and purchasing of what are at this point 10 year old bookmarks, in our current time in the year 2022, these specific goods are rather difficult to obtain.

This problem has already been described and solved in the past. In fact, 8 years before this post, a reddit user by the name Leoxyn (u/Leoxyn) mentioned having difficulty obtaining this exact merchandise, and as a result found their own solution, which was making the bookmarks themselves. They based theirs off of images found online, replicating the look of the official merchandise to near perfection. The Deviantart page and Reddit post can be found here and here respectively. They even have PSD and image files if you want to print your own.

However, the close imitation of the official bookmarks is where the major flaw of that design lies. As one can see from the earlier video review, the text of the bookmark seen in the movie is not at all similar to the merchandise in real life.

This flaw is carried over to Leoxyn’s design. Furthermore, the official merchandise also gets the colours wrong for the front of the bookmark, where in the official merchandise, the colours behind the snowflakes are blue, whereas in the movie the colour is closer to purple, matching the hair colour of Yuki Nagato. This is another area where Leoxyn’s bookmark design differs from the in-movie depiction. 

In light of these differences from the official merchandise and the movie, my goal was to design a bookmark that more closely matches the design of the bookmark seen in the movie.

In the movie, you are able to get a few good glimpses of the bookmark, allowing for good reference images to be taken, making the job of designing the bookmark much easier. I based my design off of a standard bookmark width and height, which is 2x6 inches, this is also a pretty standard dimension used by printing companies.

Despite my earlier criticisms of Leoxyn’s work, they have done a really good job with the overall design in terms of its accuracy. The snowflake design that they have made is already more than good enough for my goals even if it has minor design differences. The main thing I sought to correct when I used their design was the highlight colour of the snowflakes. Instead of the bluish gray colour, I changed it to a dark purple, matching the look of the in movie design. I also modified the rotation and relative positions of the snowflake. This change was relatively easy to undertake.

The main challenge was in the writing on the back of the bookmark. The writing on the official version is reminiscent of a very casual handwritten look, and in an effort to adhere to that idea, I looked for handwritten fonts that would match the sans-serif look of the in-movie depiction. Unfortunately my search was in vain, and none of the fonts that I tested matched the look of the in-movie bookmark. However, upon testing standard japanese fonts in microsoft, I found the look of a standard font to be uncannily similar to that of the in-movie version. As a result, I took to looking through the Google Fonts font library in order to find a matching font. I stumbled upon a font which I thought matched the best, called BIZ UDPMincho. When I typed out the writing, the text mostly lined-up; however, it was clear the text on the bookmark had been stretched. In my efforts to match the original, I modified each one of the characters on the bookmark to match the original text as well as changing the writing from black to gray to more closely imitate a handwritten, pencil lead look. 

With these two aspects of the design finished, I moved onto smaller finishing details. 

Using the bookmark from the movie, I determined from pixel measurements that the diameter of the hole in the bookmark was approximately 9mm. I then positioned the hole using the same technique of pixel measurement. This allowed me to position the text in order to create the final version of the front and back designs.

If you scrolled down here and didn't want to read the above design process, here are the changes that I have made from Leoxyn’s design in order to more closely match the original:

Changed the highlight colour of the snowflakes to purple

Changed the positioning of the snowflakes

Changed the font of the text to more closely match original

Changed sizing and positioning of the hole in the bookmark to more closely match original

Below I have included the PSD and PNG files for both my design as well as files adjusted for those who want to use vistaprint to print bookmarks. Leoxyn’s design basically made my efforts possible so you should check their links out which have been linked in the previous paragraphs above.

The next step is of course printing the bookmarks. I used the service Vistaprint, which is a tad more finicky and required tweaking of the original files that were made for the back and the front. If anyone wants to go through that service to print their bookmarks, I have included the pngs of those designs in the download links as well.

Once the bookmarks are printed, they must have some finishing steps applied. First the 9 millimeter hole must be punched. In the files I have indicated that with a gray circle. Finally, a blue ribbon must be inserted and tied in the hole. Below are images of what I did to finish the bookmarks as well as the final finished product. Note that I was unable to purchase a 9mm hole punch and as such the hole seen in the photos below is made with a 10mm whole punch.

The blue ribbon in the images below is bought from Offray and is their ¼ inch Double face satin cobalt blue ribbon. In hindsight it might have been better to get the ⅛ inch size of ribbon or something between ¼ and ⅛ of an inch to better match the original in the movie.

Either way, I am pretty happy with the final results of the bookmark and hope you make your own or even improve further upon the design seen here.

信じて

[hominivorax-hematovore]

So, I recently bought an SS10 Jazz, and as all of my Jazzes need Prowls to accompany them, I decided to embark on a project to make one for him. This idea had already been brewing in my head for a while, so now I had the perfect excuse to carry it out. I had a base in mind already-this guy:

Protoform OP might not look much like Bayverse Prowl at first glance but he’s got the most important feature for me-the chest window placement. Bayverse Prowl has got that weird red bra-like design going and this figure is the only one that was close enough to it to work for me, making him the obvious choice for a starting point. Those awful monkey feet had to go, though, but more about that later.

After that was taken care of I needed a head and spent way longer than I would like to admit flailing around online, digging through files on 3D printing sites to try to find something that could work, either on its own or with some kludging together of multiple files as I’ve done before. I failed pretty hard and was at a loss, and then I had a lightbulb moment: I had a leftover Bumblebee movie Ratchet head from a custom Strongarm I did. With some minor modifications I’d have a perfectly serviceable movieverse Prowl head. (Pictured here with the very quick and messy test paint job I gave him post-modification.)

Now that the head was sorted out, I needed to find a few other bits. Bayverse Prowl has distinctly clawed fingers, so off I went to Cults3D again, and found some very nice Warhammer conversion parts that worked beautifully with a little editing, since he has three-fingered hands and not four-fingered ones. (I’m not going to talk about how many tries it took to get prints of those that were a) scaled correctly and b)didn’t lose any fingers when I tried to remove them from the printing supports.) Eventually I had some that worked beautifully. After that came the feet, which I put together from a base of existing TF parts files and more Warhammer conversion parts from Cults. (I’m also not going to talk about how long this took or the fact that I had to try three times to get the scaling correct.) They’re not accurate to what I can see of his feet in the comic, but I’m going more for vibes here than perfect replication and accuracy.

Using those and the wings from an AM-style printable Prowl I have saved, I put together a rough digibash of what I wanted to do. I eventually decided, once the figure was in-hand, that the Earth-mode wings would look too weird with the distinctly Cybertronian body and made him some new ones based on his Defiance comic appearance which I put together from an axe I found on Cults. These are what I had in mind at the time, though, so they’re what’s in the bash. 

Now actually having a plan laid out and the figure in hand, I started modifications. I took off all of the bits I didn’t want, and started changing the parts that needed some alterations to be closer to his comic design. First was the legs, where I added on to the top of the thigh at the hip ball. Then I reused some cut off bits on the front of the pelvis, and took a mould from another figure’s hip plate and cast in in miliput for the back. I ended up hating it and changing it fairly quickly, but this is what the initial modification looked like:

I also reused parts that I’d taken off to modify his back so that I could fit the new wings on and refit the lip that holds up the plate containing the socket for the head. Once I got that done, I took off the original hands, put the clawed hands on, and fit his upper torso together to see how everything was looking so far. Pretty good, I think.

I moved on after that, redoing the back waist using more bits I’d removed from the figure and adding details to the ab section to match the reference I’ve been working from, and adding some Lego car fenders to the shoulders for the same reason as well as cutting off those bits sticking up on the torso so that I can attach his missile launchers in their place. It was about then that I thought I was finished with the modifications, as everything was looking good to me. I was, alas, not quite done. I accidentally snapped off the peg on the end of a wing, so I had to do one last bit of modifying by cutting them down so they didn’t stick out so far and then making the mounting holes bigger to slot them in. 

Once that was done, I actually was finished and put him together to get an overall view of how he was looking compared to my main ref image. 

Pretty close, I think, paint or the lack thereof notwithstanding. As it stands right now, the hard part is done and I just need to wait for the white paint I ordered to arrive so I can get him painted up properly and looking his Prowliest.

[peachentertainment]

Disney's Past with Racism in their Films Resurfaces due to The Little Mermaid. How They are Overcoming Those Barriers.

A new Disney film adaptation is coming to full screen next year, so exciting! Or is it bringing up something from the past that Disney wishes hadn't?

Throughout Disney's history we have seen mainly white princesses or characters, and if we did see any other person of color (POC) their characteristics were made sure to be blown out of proportion in a mocking way, have stereotypical connotations around them, or even become something non-human. This mainly seems to happen with the black community. An example of that could be in the 1940 production of Fantasia, here I have attached a YouTube link to show how they portrayed the black centaur compared to the white centaurs. However, the final cut on DVD edited her out of the movie completely. While the next example is not using black characters, but racist connotations, we have a movie about a elephant, named Dumbo, who is made fun of for being different. Dumbo comes across a group of crows, and all seems normal until we find out one of the crows is named Jim Crow. This is in reference to laws that legally segregated African Americans and white people. Black people have had to deal with the humiliation of being made fun of in Disney films since the beginning of the company. Black people are not the only minority group to be affected, as Native Americans have been stereotyped in the 1953 Disney film, Peter Pan. In the movie of Peter Pan and Wendy, the group of kids come across Native Americans. The Native's mannerisms and characteristics are harmful stereotypes, as they made them smoke heavily and speak in gibberish. Not only that, but all the Native's skin were red, and they happily sang about why their skin is red, even when Native Americans had voiced their opinions of their dislike of that description. People always bring up the fact that this was a different time period. These movies described were made before the Civil Rights Act was signed into the law in 1964. Despite this, I still believe that we need to acknowledge how we can grow as people when portraying people of color.

Something that has been pointed out by many is the fact that black people in Disney animated films always end up becoming something non-human.

In 2009, Disney released Princess and The Frog, their first movie to have a black princess. Her named is Tiana. Little girls all over the world of course are so happy to have representation, as they should, only to find out that Tiana transforms into a frog for the majority of the movie. This isn't the last film to do this. The new movie Soul follows an African American band teacher, Joe, trying to live out his jazz musician dreams. He "dies" early on and is brought back as a cat. Once again not continuing the movie as a human. This continue's as the movie Blue Skys: Spies in Disguise has Will Smith voice the lead of the movie. An African-American agent named Lance Sterling, eventually turns into a pigeon for the majority of a movie. It is clear there is a huge problem with representation for black people in Disney movies.

It seems now, Disney may finally be headed in the right direction. While older fans are stuck in the past.

In the year 2023, the new live action Little Mermaid movie, starring Halle Bailey as Ariel, is releasing. This is one of the most trending topics right now as Halle Bailey is a black woman who is "replacing" the former white mermaid, Ariel. Many people are enraged that the once white Disney princess is now a black princess. They claim it is not historically accurate to the original, and even go as far as to say scientifically she wouldn't be black as her skin would not be touched by the sun. I find this funny people are concerned with accuracy when mermaids and singing crabs are not historically accurate to begin with.

Halle Bailey auditioned for the lead just like everyone else. Her voice was perfect for the role and got the part fairly. Many are protesting the movie and even going as far to send threats to Halle Bailey.

How can we be surprised by the actions of these people? These people are the same ones who grew up with the racism in old Disney movies. We only have the past to blame that continued the cycle of lack of accurate representation of people of color. Now, we can only move forward, and it seems that is exactly what is happening.

As times have changed we have gotten more diversity in Disney movies, from CoCo, Turning Red, Encanto, Moana, and more. (Despite Turning Red having Mei turn into a red panda, she changes from time to time and doesn't stay this way the whole film.) This is thanks to people of those movies cultures and races working as writers, animators, and directors. Having someone there who can red flag racist stereotypes is key in creating good, accurate representations of POC, and just better films all together.

While Disney's past can never go away, they can learn much from their mistakes and create a better movie world for children and adults to enjoy.

[photographyeditsblog]

Elevate Your Images: The Power of Photo Cutout Services

In today's digital world, high-quality product images are essential for e-commerce success. But what if your product photos have distracting backgrounds that take away from the product itself?

This is where photo cutout services come in, offering a powerful solution to enhance your product presentations.

Behind the Scenes: The Photo Cutout Process

The photo cutout process involves meticulous image editing techniques. Here's a simplified breakdown:

Image Upload: You submit your product photos to the service provider. Path Creation: Skilled editors use specialized tools to trace a precise path around the product, separating it from the background. Background Removal: The unwanted background is meticulously removed, leaving a clean, transparent cutout of your product. Quality Control: The cutout is reviewed for accuracy and any minor adjustments are made. Delivery: You receive your final, high-resolution product images with transparent backgrounds, ready to use on your website or online store.

Finding the Perfect Fit: Service Tiers for Every Need

Photo cutout services often offer different tiers based on the complexity of your product photos. Here's a general breakdown:

Basic: Ideal for simple products with solid backgrounds. Simple: Suitable for products with slightly more complex shapes or basic patterns. Medium: Designed for products with intricate details, hair, or fur. Complex: Perfect for highly detailed products with challenging backgrounds, like jewelry or reflective surfaces.

Real-World Success: How Photo Cutout Services Drive Results

Many businesses have leveraged the power of photo cutout services to achieve significant improvements. For instance, an online clothing store might see a rise in sales after replacing photos with cluttered backgrounds with clean, professional cutouts that showcase the clothing in all its glory.

Answers to Your Questions: Photo Cutout Service FAQs

Q: How much do photo cutout services cost?

A: Prices vary depending on the complexity of your product photos and the service tier you choose. However, most services offer competitive rates, making it an affordable investment for businesses of all sizes.

Q: Can I do photo cutouts myself?

A: While basic photo editing software might offer background removal tools, achieving professional-grade results requires expertise and specialized software. Photo cutout services guarantee high-quality, consistent results, saving you time and effort.

Q: What file format will I receive my final images in?

A: Most services provide cutouts in industry-standard formats like PNG with transparent backgrounds, ensuring seamless integration into your online platforms.

Clipping World: Your Trusted Partner for Professional Photo Cutout Services

By harnessing the power of photo cutout services, you can elevate your product presentations, capture customer attention, and ultimately boost your online sales. At Clipping World, we offer a comprehensive range of photo cutout services tailored to your specific needs.

Our team of skilled editors utilizes cutting-edge technology to deliver high-quality, transparent product cutouts that will make your brand stand out online.

Contact Clipping World today to learn more about our services and how we can take your product images to the next level!

[s10safecare]

The Smart Pen Renaissance: How Live Scribes Are Reimagining Note-Taking For The Digital Generation

In the digital age, note-taking has evolved from pencil and paper to electronic devices. However, the act of note-taking itself has mainly remained the same: the user records information as it is presented, either by typing or writing on a screen. But what if there was a way to capture notes in real time without the need for manual input? This is where live scribes come in.

What Are Live Scribes?

Live scribes are digital pens that capture handwriting or drawing on paper and transfer it in real-time to digital devices. These pens use sensors and software to record every stroke on the paper and then send it wirelessly to the cloud, where it can be accessed on multiple devices.

How Do Live Scribes Work?

Live scribes work by combining traditional pen and paper note-taking with advanced digital technology. Here is a step-by-step overview of how live scribes work:

Pen and Paper: Live scribes start with the traditional pen and paper. Users write notes on special paper that is printed with a unique pattern of dots that help the pen capture the movements and strokes of the handwriting.

Infrared Camera: As the user writes, an infrared camera located at the tip of the pen captures the movement of the pen and records the strokes on the paper. The infrared camera records the position of the pen on the paper by detecting the unique dot pattern on the paper.

Digital Conversion: Once the notes are captured on paper, the live scribe pen converts the handwriting into digital text or graphics. This is done through optical character recognition (OCR) or other software that can recognize and convert handwriting into digital form.

Bluetooth Connectivity: The converted digital notes are then sent via Bluetooth to a paired device, such as a smartphone, tablet, or computer. The notes can be saved to the device, and in some cases, they can be held to cloud storage platforms like Dropbox or Google Drive for easy access and sharing.

Editing and Sharing: Once the notes are in digital form, they can be edited, organized, tagged, and shared with others. Many live scribe software applications offer features that allow users to highlight, annotate, or add images to their notes. Users can also share their notes via email, messaging apps, or cloud storage platforms.

In conclusion, live scribes work by capturing the user's handwriting on special paper using an infrared camera in the pen, converting the handwriting to digital form, and sending the digital notes to a paired device via Bluetooth connectivity. The digital notes can then be edited, organized, and shared with others. Live scribes offer a powerful combination of traditional pen and paper note-taking with advanced digital technology, making note-taking more efficient and effective for users in various settings.

Recommended Reading: Live Scribe For Healthcare Practitioners

Benefits Of Live Scribes

Live scribes offer several benefits over traditional note-taking methods. Some of the main benefits are as follows:

More Efficient Note-Taking: With live scribes, users can capture notes in real time without the need to type or write on a screen. This means that they can focus on the presentation, discussion, or lecture at hand and capture all the necessary information with ease. Since live scribes capture handwriting on paper, users can take notes as they naturally would, without having to adjust to the layout or keyboard of a digital device.

Improved Accuracy: Live scribes capture every stroke made on paper, which means that notes are more accurate than those taken manually. This is because live scribes can capture even the most minor details and nuances of handwriting that might be missed when taking notes manually. As a result, live scribes offer a more complete and precise record of the information being presented.

Flexibility and Convenience: Live scribes can be used with any paper without special notebooks or paper pads. This means that users can use their preferred paper and take notes as they usually would. Additionally, users can easily switch between paper and digital notes as needed, making it easy to take notes in any environment or situation.

Easy Collaboration: Live scribes allow users to share their notes with others in real-time, making collaboration easier than ever before. This is because live scribes can quickly and easily transfer notes to digital devices, which can then be shared with others via email, cloud storage, or other digital platforms. This makes it easy for students, professionals, and others to collaborate on projects, presentations, or assignments.

Enhanced Organization and Searchability: Live scribes convert handwriting to digital text, making it easy to organize and search notes. This means that users can quickly and easily locate specific notes or topics without having to manually search through pages of handwritten notes. Additionally, live scribes often offer features such as tagging, bookmarking, and note categorization, making it easy to organize and group related notes together.

In conclusion, the benefits of live scribes are clear. They offer a more efficient, accurate, and flexible way of capturing information, making note-taking easier and more convenient. With live scribes, users can capture notes with ease, collaborate more effectively with others, and easily organize and search their notes for quick reference. Whether in the classroom, the office, or at home, live scribes are an essential tool for anyone looking to improve their note-taking and information-management skills.

Applications Of Live Scribes

Live scribes have many applications, from personal use to professional settings. Here are some of the key applications of live scribes:

Education: Live scribes are particularly useful in educational settings, allowing students to take notes more efficiently and accurately. Students can easily capture lecture notes, write equations or diagrams, and even draw out concepts. Additionally, live scribes allow students to easily share their notes with classmates, making collaboration and group study more effective.

Business: Live scribes are also helpful in business settings, particularly for professionals who attend meetings or conferences. Live scribes allow professionals to take detailed notes during meetings or presentations without worrying about missing important information. Additionally, live scribes make it easy to share notes with colleagues, enhancing collaboration and improving project management.

Healthcare: Live scribes are increasingly used in healthcare settings, particularly by doctors and nurses. Live scribes allow healthcare professionals to take detailed notes during patient consultations without worrying about missing important information. Additionally, live scribes make sharing patient information between healthcare professionals easy, improving patient care and treatment outcomes.

Creativity: Live scribes are also helpful for creative professionals like artists and designers. Live scribes allow artists to sketch ideas or draw out concepts easily without worrying about transferring their work to a digital platform. Additionally, live scribes allow artists to digitize their work, making sharing and collaborating easier quickly.

Accessibility: Live scribes are also helpful for individuals with disabilities, particularly those with visual or learning disabilities. Live scribes allow individuals to take notes more easily without worrying about handwriting legibility. Additionally, live scribes can convert handwriting to digital text, making it easier for individuals with visual impairments to read their notes.

They benefit individuals who need to take detailed notes quickly and accurately and who want to improve collaboration and project management. With the increasing use of technology in various settings, Robot medical scribes are being used as live scribes. They are essential for enhancing their productivity, creativity, and communication skills. S10.AI’s Robot Medical Scribe is a great option for live scribing. 

Conclusion

In conclusion, live scribes have many applications, from education and business to healthcare and creativity. Live scribes are a revolutionary technology that can transform how we take notes. Their real-time capturing and conversion of handwriting to a digital text offer a more efficient, accurate, and flexible way of capturing information. Live scribes have numerous applications in various fields, from education to healthcare. Live scribes like S10.AI’s Robot Medical Scribes are the future of note-taking, and we can expect to see them increasingly adopted in the coming years.

[lboogie1906]

The Negro Motorist Green Book, known as the Green Book, was a travel guide intended to help African American motorists avoid social obstacles prevalent during the period of racial segregation, commonly referred to as Jim Crow. The Green Book listed businesses that would accept African American customers.

The book was the vision of Victor Green, an African American US postal employee from Harlem. The first guide focused on Metropolitan New York. In 1937, he expanded listings to other locations. His book would include every state and several international destinations before ceasing publication in 1964. The book was the most popular of several tourist guides created specifically for an African American audience.

African American motorists, for example, were warned to avoid sundown towns which required minorities to be outside the city limits before sundown. African American travel could be fraught with risk and guides like the Green Book were an important resource.

The Green Book provided a service that made lodging reservations for clients. The listings were verified annually to ensure accuracy. The books included travel articles, driving tips, and essays highlighting locations of interest.

The guide’s format varied and early versions listed a variety of businesses such as hotels, tourist homes, restaurants, barber shops, beauty parlors, service stations, and taverns. As the geographic scope of the guide expanded, entry types were reduced. Between 1949 and 1959, listings expanded to all 48 states, with a 13% increase in the number of cities. The 1959 Green Book listed only hotels, motels, and tourist homes.

He died in 1960 and the last edition of his guide was published in 1964. The 1956 creation of the national highway system diminished the need for these travel guides because highways minimized contact with local communities, decreasing chances for discrimination against African American motorists. The passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act made the Green Book and similar publications obsolete. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence