#maybe ill write some of the more private moments later on hmm

[yuwuta]

crying screaming and throwing up at your rodeo station megumi series i need more of those two it’s the sweetest loveliest thing i’ve ever read. i’m deeply in love with you.

crying screaming and throwing up this is so sweet :(( there is definitely more to come, rodeo station megumi is currently my favorite megumi draft <3

[angeli-marco-writes]

Elizbeth Debicki - Reunion Revenge

A/N - I love Elizabeth with everything I am, I'm sure I've said this before. I don't know why there aren't more fics about her. As always, I do not know Elizabeth, nor do I claim to: this is a work of fiction and wholly my own. I mean no disrespect to any of the careers mentioned at some point in this, just bear with. This is a set at a high school reunion, but I went to a private secondary school in England, so my experience is obviously not everyone else's. Reader has a twin brother, have fun with that. I also based this on a Tumblr post I saw, and thought that would be a swell concept to work into a Liz piece of writing: ‘never understood the whole showing up at your high school reunion revenge fantasy cause, like, really? high school?? I don’t want anyone from that time in my life to have any idea where I am or what I’m doing. do not perceive me I am dead to you and you are dead to me.' 8k.

Warnings - a little angsty, mentions of bullying, smoking, mentions of homophobia and slurs, wlw explicit smut, fingering, sex toys (strap-on), bathroom wall sex in a semi-public place, the whole shebang (literally). 18+

Summary - At first, when your brother roped you into attending your high school reunion with your wife, you hated the idea. Now, all eyes are on you, all the focus on your career, and maybe this is the revenge you always needed, of course aided by Liz's quick thinking and hidden surprises.

AT THIS CURRENT POINT IN TIME, you would more than happily murder your brother for roping you into this. And for convincing Liz to come along, which is somehow worse than your own enforced attendance, as though your presence will make any difference to the people who made the seven ‘best’ years of your life a pure living hell.

Your brother did have your back through it all, and considering that he was supposed to be the best one to succeed, he needs you there for some moral support after his career took an unfortunate nosedive that everyone is undoubtedly going to be gawking over.

You never understood the whole ‘showing up at your secondary school reunion revenge fantasy,’ but that’s mostly just because they don’t deserve to know who you are anymore. They broke you continually, and you’re past it now: the only thing that could take you back to that mindset is being back in that great hall with the gossiping busybodies. It’s not your fault that you were a closeted gay for so many years. Well, that’s another cause of concern. Notorious homophobes, and you’re bringing your wife.

“Come on, honey, we have to go inside.” Liz tells you, her long fingers curling around yours affectionately.

She has a point. You’ve been in the car park for ten minutes now, your knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. Her continual lavishes of kisses to your neck seem to be the only redeeming factor of your procrastination.

“Hmm, kiss me first.” you say.

She doesn’t disappoint, curling your hair behind your ear—wearing special diamond earrings she got you on your second anniversary—and catches your chin tenderly between her polished forefinger and thumb, tilting your face up to meet hers, her lips slanting over yours, melding together perfectly.

She’s the only good thing about this situation, about any situation: the only reason your brother was able to bribe you to come. Your main qualm about today is that you don’t want anyone from that period of your life to have any idea where you are or what you’re doing. You’ve been dead to them for years, and they to you. You don’t want them to perceive you whatsoever. But maybe, with Elizabeth on your arm and a brilliant career under your belt—everything you ever wanted—you can reap revenge. No one is in touch with you, so your arrival will be such a surprise, not that you exactly care about that, having blocked out and repressed a whole lot of that time period. You wouldn’t be able to even do this without Elizabeth, though.

“Liz,” you moan when she nibbles on your lower lip in that signature way she does. “We can stay here, we don’t have to go in.”

You shift your hand over the centre console to rub over her clothed thigh, your grip more than a little suggestive, prying further up…

“No baby,” she coos, “later, I promise. We’ll be late.”

You grumble, but only momentarily. She has a point, and a thing about being on time to everything. So you load out of the car, Liz coming around to the drivers side where she offers you her hand. She’s more chivalrous than any guy you ever pretended to date, an absolute gem of a person. You don’t even get jittery on the short walk inside, not with her thumb caressing your hand, your legs brushing together.

You can’t say you’re surprised when, at first, no one even turns to look at you, though relief floods your system, Liz bending down to kiss your forehead in a conciliatory manner.

“Oh my God, y/n, I’ve been here twenty minutes! Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I was busy,” you say to your overzealous brother who is suddenly hounding you, attaching to your side.

He bristles, visibly shaking off his discomfort, before he’s linking his arm through yours and is tugging you along, out from beneath the wooden balcony, tugging you away from the shadows.

The hall is the exact same as it was both when you came and left the school, oak panelling everywhere, great glass windows stretching to the ceiling with sills too high for anyone to climb onto, a stained glass shrine above the stage. Put-me-up tables are littered around, sheathed with white cloths and ribbons with your school emblem on them, decorated with drink dispensers, mugs, wine glasses and cheap biscuits. The whole… scene brings back that awful sense of dread you got when forced to sit here, in tacky red woollen chairs, frayed and bobbled, that itched your legs, every Monday and Friday for assembly. It’s a beautiful room, truly, with a reinforced floor beneath the original boards, slightly splintering beneath your low heels, and you know every nook and cranny, every escape route, but the bad memories tarnish the space.

Liz, darling as she is, senses your discomfort, and creates small talk with your brother as you’re steered between groups of people you scarcely recognise until you reach the apex of the room, where his old friends stand, hunched over in ill-fitting suits, brooding over their brandy, no doubt complaining about their dead end jobs and lack of girlfriends.

“Hey buddy…” one of them says, trailing off once he hears a woman's voice, his eyes darting up—first to Elizabeth, then down to you. “Your sister and your girlfriend? Dude, she’s hot.”

“Isn’t she just?” Liz teases, a malicious smirk creeping onto her lips.

You haven’t even noticed, but some subconscious part of you has tucked your joined hands behind you, covered by Liz’s long, flowing dress.

“How you doing, wait, I know, don’t tell me…”

“y/n.” you snap. “Fine, thanks.”

“Well that’s good, good, isn’t it? I was just gonna call you mini y/l/n—”

“Don’t, that isn’t my name anymore.”

His eyes dart down to your left hand not held by Elizabeth’s slender fingers, instantly noting the glistening silver princess-cut ring nestled above a platinum wedding band.

“Married? Nice. No wonder the guy didn’t come,” another one chimes. You’re not entirely sure what he means, though it’s undoubtedly a dig at the fact Elizabeth is far hotter than you are.

Your brother is slowly growing angrier and angrier, the cords of thick muscle in his shoulders tensing, his nostrils flaring, his thinned eyes conversing with Elizabeth’s blues over the top of your ducked head.

“Yes, well,” you play along, and desperately look to your brother to continue the conversation.

“What are you all doing for work now?”

Everyone gives a boring answer: salesman, accountant, finishing up law school, working in an office, with one trainee chef in the mix. These men have all just done what the school or their parents expected and wanted them to do, no one has any ambition. No wonder you were always the odd one out.

“What about you?” the chef asks your brother.

“Oh, I’m on a sabbatical at the moment,” he replies sheepishly, eyes suddenly training on the floor before turning quickly, fixing on you. “My sister’s done really well for herself.”

Their surprise is palpable, seeping off them, dripping onto the floor via the loose threads of their cheap blazers.

“Yeah, I’m a translator for political and legal proceedings, you know, with cabinet ministers from all over the world, those who speak the languages I do, at least.” you answer pridefully. Your talents always were overlooked when you were at school, apart from by one special teacher, whom you haven’t actually seen yet.

“She’s marvellous, really,” Liz says, and you can’t help but feel a hint of guilt from neglecting her for so long, so you squeeze her hand a little tighter, and rub your thumb over her wedding ring. “I’m gonna get us some drinks, babe. What do you want?”

“Red wine would be lovely. Unless you want me to drive home?”

She pecks your lips, “Of course not, enjoy yourself. You want anything, mate?” she turns to your brother.

“I’m good, thanks.” He mock-salutes.

“Don’t be long,” you warn her, swinging your hands out from their cover with a sudden flush of courage, and detaching them.

She looks down at you curiously, but her smile quirks into a smirk the second you pinch her hip and lean up on your tiptoes, capturing her pretty pink lips with yours, swallowing the small surprised gasp that escapes her. You can feel eyes on you all over the room, the situation genuinely feeling as though everyone besides your brother is staring upon you with disgust as her lithe arms wrap around your body, her one hand straying lower than you were prepared for, arching into her chest as she nibbles your lip again, your one hand cupping her flushing cheek.

A moment later, she’s releasing her hold and strutting away, all eyes then glued to the sensual sway of her hips, her long legs carrying her across the room faster than they thought possible. Then again, being 6-foot-3 as a beautiful woman is quite the surprise to people, they all expect her to be garish, uncoordinated, and though she’s clumsy at times, she’s certainly better at general levels of human functionality than you are.

“Dude, stop staring at my wife’s ass.” you hiss to the first man. If only they were worth your bother or time, you might have remembered their dreary names.

He splutters for a moment, bringing a ring-less left hand up to loosen his lilac tie. “Wife? What the fuck? How are you married to a woman before we are!”

What a mystery.

“You gay or something?” the trainee lawyer chimes in again.

“You got a problem with that?” your brother accuses, puffing up his chest pompously.

“Well, no… just surprised.”

“Astonished.” another pipes up.

“Isn’t that a big word.”

You showed the tell tale signs of being a lesbian for years, the popular girls all pretended you were preying on them in the changing room, calling you a d*ke for years until you reached the point of just changing in the bathroom to stop yourself from snapping at them. They must’ve always had a hunch, and why ever they thought Liz was your brother's girlfriend is beyond you. Men truly are more trouble than they’re worth.

“Yes, I’m gay. Yes, Elizabeth is my wife. I didn’t realise this would be earth shattering information.” You cast your eyes up to the ceiling, erected like a great old Church steeple, and shutter them for a moment, gathering your bearings. “I’m going to find Liz, little man. Told you I shouldn't have come.”

“Don’t call me little man!”

“I’m ten minutes older than you, I’ll call you what I like.” you tease, sticking your tongue out childishly, receiving a sarcastic sneer from your brother. Right now, all you want is Liz. “I wish I could say it was nice to see you all again, but then we’d all be liars. Goodbye.”

They gawk in a greatly uncouth and infantile manner as you stride away, pep in your step as you approach your stunning wife, wrapping your arm around her stomach as she waits for her tea—English Breakfast, naturally—to cool down.

“Hey beautiful,” you greet.

“Hey, you. What happened?” she asks, instantly noting the sallow bags that have swiftly formed beneath your eyes.

“They were being arseholes, c’mon, let’s just stand in the corner until it’s socially acceptable to leave this hellhole.”

“We can go now if you’re uncomfortable, baby.”

Ever the forward, sympathetically thinking wife.

“No, no. I came here, I’d better make it worth my while.”

She tangles her fingers with yours, “Okay darling. Say the word, we leave.”

There aren’t words for how safe you feel thanks to Elizabeth, even just with this fractional amount of contact from her. She’s the answer to all your prayers and more, the thing in life you'll never deserve. Her love for you is endless, her affections infinite, and every day, you fall more and more in love with her, especially when she’s as kind as she is now.

It barely takes five minutes, the two of you hugging, kissing, leaning against a broad oak pillar, half shadowed, for someone to approach. One of the girls you despised, costume jewellery on her wrists, a self aggrandised smirk painted onto her fake lips. Martha? Mabel? Maddie?

“I heard you were here,” she starts, placing her tackily manicured hand onto her hip, “it’s so good to see you! How are you?”

“Great, thanks.” you say blandly, keeping your attention on Elizabeth’s hand entwined with yours.

“This is your… friend? Why did you bring a friend to this?”

She laughs mirthlessly, such a fake sound—like this cow's boobs—it makes your primal instincts flare. Elizabeth holds you impossibly closer, her arm around your waist tightening as you seek solace in her.

“y/n and I are married, thank you. I don’t appreciate the homophobic, disrespectful insinuations.”

She stifles another laugh, “You’re punching above your weight a bit aren’t you, y/n.”

“Don’t rise to it,” Liz headily murmurs in your ear, sending pleasant, calming vibrations throughout your whole body.

You gulp down as much air as you can, curling tighter into Liz, before saying what you thought all those years ago, “I’d rather be ‘punching’ and married to a woman I love rather than be a Goddamn trophy wife going nowhere, leeching off daddy’s money. People like you will never change. I’m happy, and I have a good feeling that’s more than the likes of you and your sad old minions can say.”

“Sweetheart, come on.” Liz whispers, and her hold on you increases until it begins to pinch, not that you mind, and then she’s thankfully tugging you away.

You barely make it out the door, Liz leaning down to kiss you heartily, passionately, before people are clamouring over you, what’s-her-faces friends, people you used to be in fair acquaintance with, all speaking together, their voices overlapping in what you can only believe to be expressions of acceptance.

“Um, thank you, I’ll just be back in a moment.” you say to those who bother to listen. Next thing, you’re darting out the way you came, tugging Liz down the great stone steps in front of the behemoth building, and then are leaning against the old wall, almost crumbling with rubble on the exterior at least, not as well preserved as the inside.

She joins you not a moment later, ferreting around the pockets in her skirt for the spare cigarette and lighter she slipped in earlier. Liz doesn’t condone your smoking in any way whatsoever, and in fact she’s the main reason that you quit, but she knows that when your anxiety is high during times like these, one can’t hurt. She always comes prepared.

She is definitely the most consistent, reliable thing in your life by a long shot. Naturally, you two have your fair share of ups and downs, and on the occasion you get your periods at the same time, you’re a complete dichotomy of furious fights and condoling cuddles, while the rest of the time you find yourselves in sheer throes of passion. You may be a dependable couple bound to stay together forever, but that doesn’t mean that the flame of lust once born there has even momentarily flickered: it’s why you work so well. Men are awful in bed, from both of your experiences. Only a woman truly knows how to please another woman. And in the many ways that Liz is a home-body and sticks to the safe side of things, sex is not one of those areas, and you frequently wind up in another one of her barmy—though blissfully pleasurable—experiments. Her daring never goes amiss, and you can’t help but pray that she has something up her sleeve (besides the cigarette) to dull the ache of the day, and also the growing desire pooling between your legs upon seeing have such a naturally demanding power, and looking so Goddamn stunning in her maxi dress. And the lip nibble, God—

“Before you ask, I’m not shagging you out here.” she says, lighting your cigarette with steady hands.

You inhale the smoke, allowing it to form dark halos around your head once you puff it out through pursed lips, hoping it obscures your sheepish smile and averted eyes from Liz’s view.

“I wasn't thinking about that.”

“Yes you were. You forget how well I know you.”

You shoot her a sardonic smile and take another deep drag, the bitter taste pouring into your senses, filling your lungs, calming your mind before you let it go with one long, shaky breath. The smoke has a way of revealing the air, making an artistry of its swirls and flow, something you’ve always been able to appreciate. Ever the wise one, Liz just sees the poison it’s creating within your body, and will do anything to make you stop.

The sick, intrusive thought that you might be disappointing her by this simple act alone rises a cough to your throat with the next puff, but in reality she looks so nonchalant, her eyes closed, a simple smile playing on her perfect lips as she revels in the moment, in your presence, her pinky finger looped just over yours against the crumbling brick wall. Nonetheless, the uneasiness is enough for you to stub the cigarette out under your shoe before it’s even half-way smoked.

“Baby, you okay?” she asks sympathetically, turning to face you so that her shoulder is pressed to the wall, her spare arm flying around to brush against your upper arm, thumb caressing the flesh there through your clothes.

“Yeah, course. Can we stay out here a bit, though?”

You expect her to wholeheartedly agree, because you could tell by the subtle sensing of her limber body and the sudden snap attitude she had that she was just as uncomfortable in there as you were, perhaps more so. Her reflexes may as well be yours with how used you are to them. That’s exactly how you know that she’s going to refuse your request by the almost imperceptible crest of her nails into your supple skin.

“Your brother texted, he asked you to come back in: people won’t stop badgering him about you.��� She pauses, but upon hearing you huff, hurriedly leaps back in. “I mean of course we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, this is about you, not your brother…”

But it is about your brother. You agreed to come here today to be of help to him. And besides, Elizabeth has almost as much loyalty to your brother as she does to you, the two of them having been friends before he introduced you to her. That certainly didn’t have the outcome he was expecting, but you’ve all remained close nonetheless. Mentally, you give yourself a shakedown. How could you be so selfish? Today isn’t about you, not really. Sure you’d like to make peace with your past and your old tormentors one last time before leaving and never seeing them again, but the main reason is support.

“No, you’re right,” you say after a long moment of lamentation.

“That’s a first,” Liz snorts.

You smack her playfully, “Watch it, you.”

“Hey, who’s the pillow princess around here?”

Your cheeks instantly flush. “That was one time.”

“More like five,” she umms and ahhs, but grasps your hand a little tighter regardless.

It’s a fair comment on her part: Liz does wield the majority of the power in the relationship, and is definitely more of a top that you are, but you ensure that you pleasure her just as much as she does you, it’s only fair. Apart from those few times you decided to try something new… you got tired of that pretty quickly, though, since you couldn’t go too long without tasting her while you were in bed. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, no matter how many mind-blowing orgasms you receive, your desire for her is never quite quelled. Frankly, you hope it never is.

“Stop thinking about fucking me, babe,” she scolds, and pulls you up fully standing from your temporary reprieve against the wall. “Later, I promise. Not here.”

Embarrassment heats your cheeks at the fact she so easily deciphers your filthy thoughts, but then again, she always has. She leads you back inside, and all but hands you over to your brother, practically jumping with impatience at the door to the hall.

“Thank God you’re b—” he cuts himself off, moving closer to you, imperiously sniffing your clothes. “Did you smoke again?” You nod. “Fucking hell, well, there’s another conversation topic, we’ll talk about this later. Can you believe this lot didn’t know you were gay? What morons…”

“Hey, I’m not that obviously gay, am I?”

The dead silence that envelops you gives you the answer you weren’t too keen on receiving in the first place.

“But!” Liz helpfully adds in her most cheery tone. “If you hadn’t been so obviously gay, I probably never would’ve asked you out.”

She beams even as you roll our eyes, “So endearing, babe.”

“Hurry up, this lot are arseholes.”

“I know.” you deadpan. He sends you a snarky smile.

Following him through the small clans of people meandering and congregating amongst themselves, all with some sort of beverage in their hands, you feel your hand grow clammy in Liz’s. Your mind doesn’t get the chance to run away with itself or whirr on for too long, though, before you’re pulled into a group of people—all three of you—and are all welcomed with enthused hugs and professions of well wishes.

“Oh how are you? You look so well, I hope you’ve been doing good!”

Well, you think, if they cared enough they’d have contacted you. Half of them are your brothers Facebook friends and he’s often posting pictures of you hanging out, or childhood throwbacks, and tagging you in them in plain view. Thankfully, your page is private, and Elizabeth doesn’t even have social media. She’s smart.

You engage in conversation—well, they do, you just listen and hum when you’re supposed to, making surprised faces at the right parts—about one classmate who couldn’t be here because she married a mobster and isn’t allowed to discuss her lifestyle. She isn't. She got pregnant straight out of school and is going through her second divorce: your brother saw her recently. Who are you to deny them gossip when you really couldn’t care less?

In minutes they seem to have exhausted all possible fascinating subject matters, or at least make it appear that way as they turn all eyes on you.

“So, y/n, we hear you have a girlfriend!”

Not again.

“Wife; this is Liz.”

“How are you.” she says, more by way of greeting than having any regard for them.

“Oh my God,” one woman clamours, “are you Australian? My boyfriend is Australian! Maybe you know him?”

Liz’s face breaks into a wide smile, the first one of the event. Who cares that it’s at the expense of another person's intelligence, or lack thereof? You and your brother struggle to stifle your own laughter as you loll your head against his broad shoulder, too.

“Australia is more than seven and a half million square kilometres. In context, the UK is only two-forty-two thousand. We have a population of 25 million. I’d be more likely to meet the queen and the president.” she quips. Ever the fount of useless knowledge; as are you both.

“Oh,” says the woman, casting a sheepish gaze away.

“But, um, yeah, I am Australian.”

“You’re tall,” another blatantly observes, “you look Dutch.”

“Polish-Irish. Not far off.” she says again, fixing a smile of nonchalance.

People turn to you for something to say. You have nothing: nothing to say to these awful sycophants, so you’re half relieved and half angered further when your name is called from somewhere behind you.

“y/n y/l/n!”

Great, another bellend. Star of the football team. You settle yourself after a sudden wave of dizziness from spinning on your heel to see just who was calling you, and you’re not particularly surprised, but not glad either, when he’s excited to join the dull circle.

“Actually,” you correct, “it’s y/n Debicki.”

Silence cools around the circle. What, have these people been living under rocks for the past God knows how many years?

“Oh, why?” he asks.

“I got married and took my wife’s name.” you grit out just barely, balancing from foot to foot, the wooden floor creaking around you. Some more wine would be really good right about now, but instead you just settle for an intoxicating peck from Liz’s lips, the chiffon of her skirt shifting again to reveal your held hands and glistening wedding rings.

“Oh!”

The silence is agony. Why can’t the ground just swallow you up already? Your brother's getting angry, his fist clenching, picking at his nails, while everyone else in the group is exchanging anxious eye contact. Liz and her insanely long legs could probably give you a leg-up to one of the immensely tall windows as a quicker, though slightly more problematic escape route…

“By the way, that’s totally fine.”

“Yeah,” someone adds, you can’t be bothered to look who. “We totally accept it.”

“It’s like you’re not even gay, but straight, and normal. N—not that being gay isn’t normal, just that we don’t see you any differently.”

“You’re the same y/n you always were.” one smiles at last.

Your brother is going to lose it in three… two… one…

“Oh yeah? The y/n that you all relentlessly picked on and victimised for years? The same y/n who was forced to hide her identity and everything she wanted to be for years just because you back-thinking bastards didn’t want a lesbian in the class?” he shouts, flailing his arms madly about, hissing one of the broad, tree trunk pillars in the process. He doesn’t flinch. Turning to you, he starts in a softer voice, “I never should’ve asked you to come here, I’m so sorry y/n, I was so selfish to bring you back to this hellhole. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to come with these dipshits tossing around! And Liz, you don’t deserve this either. Please, do us all a favour, and take y/n home, never bringing her back here. You were right all these years, sweet, it’s the place nightmares are born. And you scummy lot should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

His breath is ragged once he’s done with his rant, his forehead glistening with sweat, his knuckles white with tension.

“Liz, could you get him some water, please?” you whisper into her ear.

She nods affirmatively, and breaks from your grasp, steering your hunched, tense, seething brother in the direction of the drinks table.

“Thanks, I guess,” you begin, kicking your heels into the splintering oak floor, your wine long forgotten, “like, for the acceptance and stuff. But I’ve always been this way, he’s right. It’s not some earth shattering revelation, I was just too shy to come out because you all tossed slurs around like it was okay.” You take a deep breath, and in that time, Liz has returned and stuck herself to your side, your brother happily alone in the corner with a cold glass of water as you cast a glance over your shoulder. You comb your fingers through Elizabeth’s coiffed blonde hair to relieve some anxiety, and are further reassured when she presses her lips to your earlobe, glistening with the diamonds she gifted you. “Besides, this shouldn’t be a thing you have to zealously profess to accept, it should be just as normal as one of you walking in with your heterosexual partner.” As some of them have done, and no one’s batted an eyelid.

A din of agreement sounds out from them, but you know they’re all more than a little meek after being scolded like schoolchildren by your big scary brother. He’s a teddy bear, really, but when he flips, he flips.

When you arise no cohesive response from anyone, you rest your head on Liz’s shoulder, and ask, “Did you see that article on the BBC yesterday morning?”

You have no idea what article you’re on about, but one leaps in with something about climate change, and one about a rise in violent crime in the area. Thank God you don’t live there anymore.

“I forgot about that one!” you gasp with feigned surprise.

Liz looks down on you warmly, chuckling at the mischievous glint in your eye. She knows exactly what you’re up to. But after today, you can walk away from this place, despite the stunning old architecture of the gorgeous building, the beautiful panelling on the walls and the window you spent so many hours gazing at while daydreaming wistfully through assemblies and exams, never to return. Frankly, after this shit show, you’d have it no other way. The teachers will be arriving soon, and in the hopes you see your favourite old teacher, Mrs Alleman, you decide it can’t hurt just to stick around a little bit longer, even if you don’t listen to anyone's conversation. It’s not like they want to involve you.

*

Before you know it, ten dreary minutes have passed, and as each second slips by, you’re losing the will to live. Even these people are bored to death by the sound of their own voices, unsurprisingly. You’ve just busied yourself the whole time by playing with Liz’s long, slender fingers and her glistening silver ring. She’s becoming more and more antsy, though, so you’re unsurprised when she moves to stand away, speaking only when there’s a brief intermission of silence.

“I’m heading to the loo, honey. Which way is it?” she asks politely.

“Out the door we came, but on the other side of the corridor is a closed door, down that corridor it’s the fourth on the right, up a couple of stairs.”

Her eyes widen, “This place is a maze.”

“I know,” you chuckle, and lean up to peck her lips. “They’re the staff ones, down a cohorted route in a forbidden corridor so we wouldn’t use them.”

“You,” she shakes her head, bending down to kiss you again from her standing position, though she does practically double down, and has to press a hand to her chest to prevent her dress from falling, “are so randomly knowledgeable.” It’s really more of an awkward stowed away memory, but you take it anyway. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As she draws away, she catches your lip in her teeth. Again. If it wouldn’t arouse suspicion, you’d be after her like a bullet, but, well… So you just sit there, counting the minutes, the seconds until she returns and you’re able to make a quick exit, barely making an agreeable sound or two when someone deigns to involve you in the deathly boring conversation they’re having about the FTSE or something, but she doesn’t return. It’s only after five minutes—you meticulously checked your watch—that you realise she’s probably gotten lost, your heart fluttering into your throat.

“I think Liz is lost, I’m gonna go find her,” you say, not that anyone exactly notes your absence or offers you as much as a nod, so you stand and stroll away, not caring about your knocked over glass as you stalk out of the great hall, breaking into a slight jog as soon as the doors are closed behind you.

You could swear you catch your brother winking across the room as they close, but you can’t be sure, not with how crazy you are after Liz did that thing she does every single time she instigates sex. You’ve been together for more than four marvellous years, and yet it still brings fire into your veins, butterflies into your stomach, and lust into your mind.

She’s not in the foyer, or down the ostentatious portrait corridor, so you burst into the pristine white and purple bathroom, only to find Liz leant against the wall, a slight bulge in her dress.

“God, I was wondering if you’d ever get the message, I’ve been waiting for ages.” she huffs, slamming her mouth onto yours impatiently.

You gasp, winding your arms around her neck, not complaining in the slightest when you hear the door lock and you’re lifted high against the wall. Your hand flies down on instinct, and you’re not disappointed when your hand wraps around something long, hard and thick.

The squeak of surprise that leaves your lips only spurs Liz on more. “You wore the strap.”

“I went and fetched it from the car, thought we could have some fun, make this worth your while.”

“I love you so much.” you breathe, no time for courtesy.

Crashing your lips down onto hers, you lick filthily into her mouth, your tongue skimming her teeth, but your control barely lasts a moment before she’s overpowering you, nipping at your lip as she busies herself otherwise with gaining access to your throbbing, drenched core.

“Liz…” you moan. When she skims her fingers over the lace edge of your panties.

“So wet already baby,” she taunts, her breath hot on your ear, “have I done all this? Such a dirty girl…”

Her voice holds a gravelly quality, down to lust you’d wager. Her accent becomes so much more pronounced during times of passion, too. Her voice alone sends another wave of wetness gushing through you, soaking Liz’s fingertips as she slides them under your panties and into your folds.

“Oh poor helpless baby,” she croons, biting down on your neck harshly. “I don’t even need to use lube today, do I?”

You can’t respond, can’t even try to. She’s so intoxicating you could cry. All that’d come out is senseless babble. You can barely muster a breath with her gaze of such intensity burning into your fucked-out face. In all fairness, she doesn’t usually have to, since she makes you gush with a single glance, but the sensual jibe does make you a little embarrassed.

You can’t think straight when she plunges a single, long digit deep within your velvety walls, stroking at a torturous pace.

“F— fuck, faster, please.” you stammer.

“Only because my baby asked so nicely.”

Her hand begins to move faster against you, the rustle of clothes nothing compared to the sounds of your wetness. She adds another digit daringly, and pumps within you faster, her technique impeccable. If she’s not careful, you’ll be falling apart around her fingers in little more than a moment. Over the years she’s learnt how to bring you to mind-shattering climax embarrassingly quickly.

“Lizzie…” you moan when she hits that special spongy spot that makes you see stars behind your eyes.

Quick thinking as ever, she clamps one elegant hand over your mouth, her pale fingers digging into your cheeks, the metal of her rings cool against your lips. You can’t help yourself, your tongue darting out to lick the band of her wedding ring, skilfully wrapping your wet muscle around her. She can never resist when you do that, and her own knees begin to buckle, but her pace speeds up.

“Baby, I’m close,” you hiss against her hand, words muffled.

Your shoulder presses painfully into a ridge of the wall, but you can’t care, not when her wrist is flicking so quickly, yet somehow each thrust is deeper and more pleasurable than the last, the pads of her fingers catching all the right places within our quivering walls, continually hitting that spot. The heel of her palm keeps hitting your clit with a voracious intensity, needing to bring you toppling over the edge.

You come unravelled with a cry of her name, your legs unable to even partially hold yourself up as she settles you down gently on the floor, forcing you to lean heavily against the countertop. Stars and fireworks erupt to create images of Liz behind your eyelids, in the front of your brain. And the noise you made… After that, you wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall knows what you’re up to, and somehow, that only fuels your need for Liz further.

“How do you get hotter every time you do that?” she husks.

Purple glittery potpourri on the window-sill prickles at your upper arm as you shuffle backwards, reaching out to Elizabeth with grabby hands. Her petite chest heaves with heavy breaths, her hair sticking up a little in cute blonde spikes.

“You wanna sit, babe?” you ask breathlessly.

Your own vision is a bit blurred from riding on cloud nine just moments ago, your juices running down your legs, glistening in the harsh bathroom light.

“You’ve always got a seat with me.” You wink, and wet your lips with your tongue. “Come sit.”

She chuckles at you, instead moving to kneel between your open legs on the edge of the counter, hovering over you

“Wait until we get home,” she teases, pressing the cold rings on her hand to your inner thigh, “I don’t trust myself, I’ll never leave if I sit now.”

Her lips lace with yours filthily, and you find yourself unable to stop your legs reflexively bolting out to wrap around her hips again, hand coming up to cup her cheek and neck with a bruising hold. Her hips rock against yours, and with your core already opened and revealed to her, all it takes is a slight fidget and a particularly harsh rut of her pelvis, and the priapic extension of Elizabeth—attached, thankfully, by a harness—is buried to the hilt within you. Your gasp is silent, your mouth opening in an inaudible ‘o’, a soundless plea for more. She’s prepped you well as always, and sought to open you up fully, which means that only a moment later you’re tapping her shoulder to signal for her to move.

The bulbous tip of the toy gains your attention rather swiftly as it grazes that heartily stimulated spot that Liz was so focussed on just minutes earlier. Her hips move with such grace even in such an ungainly act, her years of dance training aiding her elegance. God, she’s just so perfect in every way.

“Fuck, baby, I think I’m close—” she murmurs in your ear.

She begins to suck hickeys into your jawline, rendering you utterly speechless at the onslaught of pleasure you’re receiving all at once. Your boobs are bouncing as she pounds into you harder on the counter, the base of the strap now hitting your clit.

“Me too,” you eventually garner to choke out.

Your own pleasure can wait, take a damn backseat, because sweat is beading on Liz’s forehead as she wrecks her knees to fuck you more furiously, delivering you all of the pleasure you could ever want. But Elizabeth? She deserves it far more than you do after everything she’s done for you today.

She bites her lip, probably to keep a moan down the same way you are by biting your tongue, and she proceeds to hook her willowy arms around the crooks of your knees, thus tugging your legs up onto her shoulder, allowing her to hit an even deeper angle than before.

You can’t help the obscene whimper that escapes you, shrill and so pleasured, “Baby, keep— ohmygod please!”

Your head falls back against the hard porcelain rim of the sink, knocking some sense into you. This is your chance, while her eyes are still closed and the veins and ridges of the fake plastic cock are driving deep inside you, squeezed by your clenching walls. Slipping your own arm down her body and between the two of you, you find your way beneath the strap and onto her throbbing pearl.

“Shit!” she squeaks upon the first spark of contact, her body temporarily seizing, but she falls back into her previous pace within moments.

You rub circles on her voraciously, suddenly darting up to capture her lips in a sloppy kiss as a cry threatens to spill from her lips. But then you feel it coming, and your entire body tenses in anticipation, your eyes flying wide open to watch heaven crash right before your eyes.

First, her shoulders tense, followed by her eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbone without her even being aware, then her legs try to involuntarily clench around your hand, her clit throbbing with anticipation as you speed up your movements. Her knees go next, then her arms, and she’s unable to hold herself up, but her hips don’t stop once. That’s when it happens.

“y/n, y/n, y/n.” she repeats like it’s her prayer of salvation.

Every muscle in her body quivers, her lips parting, her nose scrunching. Her teeth then catch your lip in the kiss you’re mixed up in, and her hips still. It doesn’t matter, since you’ve reached your own climax just from watching her fall apart at your very own mercy, your own legs falling from her shoulders, open wide on the counter as you chant her name in as quiet a whisper as you can muster.

Heavy breathing resonates through the small room, the stifling air now reeking of sex.

“C’mere,” you coax.

The counter is cold beneath you, the sink uncomfortable as you lie down flat, but when Liz crawls feebly into your arms, it matters a whole lot less. The comfort she provides is, and always has been, incomparable. Ethereal is the only way to describe her this way, too, blonde hair ruffled as she curls into your side, burying her nose into your shoulder, her arm slung over your waist.

“Do you think you got your revenge, babe?” she asks in a quiet voice, husky, laced with sex.

“Definitely. There’s no way they didn’t hear that.”

“Probably more than what most of those has-beens have got in years.”

You meet her twinkling eyes, and dissolve into a fit of giggles together, gripping her even tighter. It always was a secret fantasy of yours to do something like this, but you never imagined you’d be here nearly a decade later, fucking your wife in the staff bathroom. That’s just… beyond, but so hot.

“Ready to blow this place?”

“More than,” you answer, “but safety first.”

She gazes up at you, pouts and grumbles, but slips off you and into the left hand stall anyway, while you take the right. Once she emerges, the strap is safely stowed away in a discreet bag—one you purchased specifically should a chance like this ever arise since you’re not fans of handbags—and she turns the tap on. You wash your hands in a contented silence, and fix each other's clothes and hair the same way, until you’re at least half way presentable (though still more than mildly dishevelled) in order to just escape to the car and then hope at long merciful last.

“Should we text your brother?”

“I’ll do it when we reach the car,” you tell her, taking her hand as you unfasten the lock and pelt out into the corridor. “Wait, one minute.”

She watches you peculiarly as you pull out perfume from your pocket, spritzing it around the room, before re-entering fully and cranking the window open. At least this way the scent of sex is partially masked.

“Ever the resourceful one,” she chuckles, following your lead down the corridor, her long legs bounding beside you.

Your giggles carry around the high ceilinged building, bumping and bouncing off every wall so it seems, and once you're out into the foyer, she ensures to kiss you loudly, bending down to meet your height, just to test if your kisses have the same effect.

You don’t get to test that, however, before an all too familiar voice snaps you out of your trance, and suddenly, you’re fifteen and being told off for late homework again.

“y/n!”

You scurry to hide Liz behind you, as if that’s of any use whatsoever, and almost melt into tears when you see Mrs Alleman.

“Oh dear, how good to see you.” she professes, and before you quite know what to do with yourself, she’s standing right in front of you, wearing the same stylishly sensible shoes she always did.

“And you, Miss.”

“Who’s this?”

Glee forces a wide smile onto your face, standing aside to allow Elizabeth’s full beauty to be appreciated.

“This is my wife, Elizabeth,” you say, the proudest thing you’ve said all evening. “This is Mrs Alleman, my language teacher. She taught me everything I know.”

“Oh stop it,” she plays coy, but is gasping and gawking joyously beneath it. “Mr Smith owes me a tenner now. I predicted you’d come here with a female partner of some sort, he said you’d just come as an out and proud lesbian but single.”

Your jaw drops, and you can see Elizabeth’s chest rattling a little with swallowed laughter.

“I’m sorry, what? You had a bet on me being gay?”

“Oh yes, it first started when you were in year eleven and so helplessly queer, we couldn’t help but keep placing bets on how long you’d stay in the closet.” She places a gentle hand on your upper arm, noting the evident flush about you, and turns towards Liz. “Anyway, hi Elizabeth. You treat our girl well, she was a great student.”

“Always, Ma’am.” Liz answers dutifully, squeezing your hand even tighter in a silent promise. “She’s the most wonderful thing to have ever happened to me, and I’m glad she had an influence like you among all that lot of bogans.”

Mrs Alleman is impressed, you can tell since she’s wearing that same delighted expression she did when you told her you got into your top choice university with the results you aimed for, thanks to her teaching. “Tall, out, and Aussie? She really does have it all. And as much as I’d like to argue, you’re totally right, that year was a damn nuisance.”

“Somehow, no one has matured since we left?” you comment with feigned shock.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” It didn’t surprise you either. They were a fat lot of use, the whole lot of them. At least you and your brother were able to do good on your promise to get away from them all. “What are you doing now?”

“Oh, I work in translation for the home office and cabinet ministers.” Though your statement doesn’t hold as much pride as the one about Elizabeth being your wife did.

Her eyes grow wide, “That’s brilliant! I know you always wanted to do something like that.”

“I did, and I actually enjoy it.”

Mrs Alleman’s face softens, “I hoped you would. But promise me you’ll never become a teacher.”

You loose a chuckle, saying, “Never,” before stilling to a beat of easy silence.

“I love those earrings, by the way.”

“Oh!” You twist them subconsciously. “Anniversary present.”

“Y’know, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to get inside and make a speech,” she grumbles. “Drop me an email, I’d love to catch up and properly see how you’re doing. Bring this tall drink of water if you’d like,” she adds with a wink.

“I’d really like that Miss, thank you.” you say, flushing a little.

Mrs Alleman was always one for affection, so you’re not entirely surprised when she approaches you with wide arms, her court shoes muffled on the foyer carpet. You accept the hug, and you’re surprised when Liz does the same. You say your goodbyes, agree to meet again, and let Elizabeth lead you back to the car, your fingers woven together.

“Was that worth being dragged out of the house for?” Liz asks.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Perhaps shoving that strap down my throat will make it a little more worthwhile,” you say with a smirk.

“I heard that!” Mrs Alleman shouts from the top of the stone steps, gazing at you disapprovingly despite the laughs tumbling from her.

You cling to Liz, pressing your lips into a thin line when you feel your phone buzz, your brother's name popping up on the screen.

‘Everyone knows what you were doing. Don’t come back.’

‘We weren’t planning on it,’ you type back. Not now you’ve reaped your revenge, at least. You shut your phone after adding to the message, ‘Drinks at ours tonight.’

These people from your past are insignificant, Liz is your future and your forever.

[fanbynature]

Can you feel my heart?

OBIKIN X AU /PART 2/

Okay, so some comments before you start to read again.

The pictures are inspiration for Obi’s work place and apartment. Also for Asajj’s, Ahsoka’s and Rex’s appearance.

This is for sure still going to be Obikin end game it just got a little bit off the rails so bear with me. I need a little bit of love drama. My life is boring.

Also some more ages

Cody/Wolffe/Quinlan - 28, Asajj - 30, Aayla/Hera - 24

I noticed that there were quite a few mistakes in the previous one even though I checked it, but I apologise if this one got too. Again I do check them but I miss stuff.

Also if anyone has been feeling bad about themself let me tell you something that could probably make feel a little bit better.

I wrote a 5k word chapter for this but overwrited and I didn’t had the autosaved option on so now I need to try and remember what the heck did I write.

Enjoy

Ahsoka had just headed out to Uni and Obi-wan was cleaning the last things from breakfast. He headed to his bed, sat and starred and the card in his hand and then started typing the number on his phone. He pressed the call button and waited for the dialling sound.

 After a few seconds of waiting someone picked.

 “Yes?”

 “Hello, is this Anakin Skywalker? “

 “Speaking.”

 “Yes, this is Obi-wan from the band “Space Maniacs. I am calling you about the offer you made us.”

 “Ah, yes. Hello, nice of you to call. I hope you are going to give me a positive answer, I would be really glad to work with you.”

“Yes. I mean yes – it is a positive answer. We would like to meet you and tell us the details.”

 “Awesome. Okay just give me a minute and I’ll be back with you.”

 “No problem”

 “Okay then, let’s see. How about Thursday this week, is it okay for you?”

 “Yeah, we’ll work it out.”

 “Okay. The time - how about 2 pm?”

 “Yeah, that’s fine.”

 “Excellent. See you then.”

 “Yes, see you. Bye.”

 In Obi-wan’s opinion that went better than he anticipated. He let out a breath he was holding in and felt lighter. 

In that case, he better catch on some sleep for work. A scratching noise from the balcony door caught his attention. His furry friend was back. He sat on the floor and started petting it.

“Maybe I should give you a name. It would be easier for us, won’t it? Hmm, what’s a good name for a pet cat? I don’t have the experience for this. “

He starred at the purring creature for a little while longer and said.

“How about Spotty? You have two spots on your eyes, not that original I know. Do you like it Spotty?”

The cat continued rubbing herself in Obi-wan’s hands, putting her paws on his legs, waiting for permission to snuggle up in his lap. He took her from the ground and lifted her close to his face.

 “You don’t like it? Hmm”

 The cat put her paws on his face, lightly moving them across it.

 “What about Ziggy? Like Ziggy Stardust.”

 The cat let out a soft meow.

 “Oh, a reaction – is it a positive one? Or a negative one.”

 He put her on his lap and started petting her again.

 “Well, I’ll continue calling you Ziggy if you don’t like it just ignore it and I’ll go back to calling you furry friend and little one.”

 The cat looked at him and meowed then put his head in his lap and started purring.

 “Well, now I have to sleep on the floor, Ziggy.”

 After just sitting there for an hour, the man stood up slowly and put the cat next to his bed on a pillow he wasn’t using so he could sleep.

-------------------------------------------------

The alarm woke him up five hours after that and he got up to get ready. Ziggy wasn’t at the foot of the bed neither outside. He decided to leave some food and water if she comes around later. After showering and drinking coffee he was ready to go out. He also started hearing Ahsoka’s nagging voice in his head making him eat something or take something for later but he couldn’t be bothered at the moment. Maybe he’ll buy something on the way there. 

 The traffic was always awful at this time of the hour. You would think that travelling in the air would lessen the traffic, well you thought wrong. It’s just as awful – this was Coruscant, you can’t expect anything less. That’s why he always left from his apartment with time to spare because he liked to be there on time. Also fairly speaking the cantina was posh even if it was on the lower levels. The costumers Cody accepted weren’t low lives. They weren’t pretentious people but they were with a decent amount of money in their pockets, didn’t shy away from spending them but they also didn’t create trouble. Or at least the kind of trouble Cody would allow. There were exotic dancers with some private activity they would do from time to time but everything was legit and it for sure wasn't a brothel and if anyone thought otherwise they wouldn’t be able to set even one foot inside the place. Well, places. Cody ran two cantinas, he and his third brother Wolffe. They were placed in different places on the planet, so they didn’t see each other that often but from time to time Cody would go and check if things are running smoothly. The Fett brothers are all reasonably level-headed and serious people, so in Obi-wan’s opinion, they won’t have problems running and growing their business. As you know there are always exceptions to the rules – Rex is a good man, but sometimes not as sensible as his older brothers, him and his kid brother Boba are true troublesome kids sometimes. But maybe that’s why Obi-wan has a soft spot for them. Especially Boba – the little rascal can get out of any trouble with his puppy eyes, at least as far Obi-wan is concerned. Those tricks, however, haven’t worked for a long time on his brothers or father. Sometimes Obi-wan ends up being a shield for Mando’a insults, which are quite colourful and fun in his opinions but no 13 years old should know them. 

 “Gar batnor shabiur.” /You drunk halfwit/

 “What did you call me, kid?”

 “You heard me, besom” /ill-mannered lout, unhygienic person/

“Kid, you better watch your mouth. I don’t care that your brother runs this place; you are going to end up beat up.”

 Obi-wan was minding his business on the bar, serving people when he heard a brawl from somewhere in the cantina. He looked around, squinting to find the source of the disturbance and he couldn’t believe his eyes. Boba was trying to pick up a fight with someone three times his size. It was a dowutin. Son of a bantha. Obi-wan thought. This kid sure knows how to attract trouble. He excused himself to his co-workers and went to stop whatever mess Boba dragged himself into. Cody is going to have an aneurysm from his kid brother.

 “Good evening, what seems to be the trouble?”

 “The little punk here is looking for trouble. I don’t pride myself in beating up little kids but who knows what can happen in the lower levels of Coruscant at night?”

 “Who are you calling little? Also, are you threatening me in my brother cantina, gar di’k-“

 Obi-wan put his hand on Boba’s mouth, signalling him to shut up.

 “I am so sorry about the trouble, miss. I’ll be sure to watch over this little punk here and not let him cause any trouble for you or the other clients here. Say sorry, Boba.”

 “Nayc”/No/

 “Boba work with me here,” the older man said with gritted teeth facing the teen 

 Boba humped exaggeratedly but complied.

 “Won’t happen again, sorry,” the teen said without any actual remorse in his voice.

 But the dowutin was pleased enough so Obi-wan gave a small nod to the client and waited for her to be out of sight. 

 “What the in the kriffing hells are you trying to do exactly?” The older man turned harshly towards the teen trying to compose himself as he was still at work and started pushing the boy next to the bar. “You are taking your things and going to Cody.”

 “No! Also in no way that was a girl. This-“ 

Obi-wan slapped him across the head before he could continue.

 “Lower your voice and stop insulting people. Also if you didn’t want to go to Cody you should have thought about it before you started picking fights with much bigger beings than you.”

 “Oh, please, Obi I’ll be good. Please don’t take me to my brother. It’s soooo boring. He just reads papers, signs stuff and doesn’t even spare me a glance.”

 “Well, that’s called working. It’s supposed to be boring so you can have more fun when you are not working.”

 “But your band is fun and that’s also working. That’s what you told me.” The teen was starting to sulk and Obi-wan didn’t have time to deal with this right now. It was rush hour and his co-workers were going to hate him.

 “Look, sometimes there are aspects of one’s job that are boring and then there are parts that are less boring or even fun. It can’t be all fun and games. Do you understand me? Sometimes people have to sacrifice something to be able to receive another thing, okay.”

 Boba was earnestly listening to him and he hoped that something went inside that buckethead of his. 

 “Yes, I understand. Can I go play in the backroom then? I promise I won’t disturb you anymore.” And the puppy eyes were on, how could he say no? He sighed and nodded. Boba did a little happy jump and hugged Obi-wan, took his things and went in the back room where the staff usually rested. 

 He returned to the bar and threw Asajj, who was next to him, an apologetic smile.

 “I am sorry for that. This kid is a magnet for trouble.”

 “No worries, love. We all know. It’s good that at least someone takes interest in him around here. You are more a brother to him than his blood one and teaching him more useful things that he’ll ever will.”

 “Oh, I won’t go that far.”

 “Sorry, what was that – one bespin fizz and two blurrgfire. Coming right up”

 “Well, I would and the people who haven’t arrived here yesterday would. Even Cody would go that far.”

 “I can’t be that harsh towards Cody. He is trying to run his own business and he is keeping it afloat plus is a pretty damn decent one.”

 “Here you go, love. That’ll be 12,50 cred. Thank you. Here’s the change. Didn’t say he wasn’t doing other stuff and living his life and so on. That doesn’t change the fact that you care so much for that kid. And not only because Cody is his brother and your best friend - his kid brother is a pain in the ass but you like the little troublemaker for whatever reason and you worry for him.” 

 “Yeah, I do. I guess I just have a soft spot for cute and small creatures.”

 Asajj smiled at him

 “Guess so.”

 While the Obi-wan was recalling the events of the previous month he had arrived at his destination. He got out of the hovertaxi and headed for the backdoor of the building. He got around 15 minutes to spare so he went to smoke a cigarette. Obi-wan stopped in his track as he saw the scene in front of him. Asajj was making out with her boyfriend and his childhood friend, Quinlan. It was already awkward for him so he tried to hide under the stairs and hoped they won’t notice him but with no such luck. As he lit his cigarette he heard the voice of his friend.

 “Look what the loth-cat dragged in? If this isn’t Obi-wan Kenobi?”

  “The one and only, hello Vos.”

 “Hey, come on, don’t be a stranger. Come here and let’s hug it out.”

 Obi-wan looked at Asajj trying to send some signal so she can try and stop this madness. She just smiled at him and shrugged. This, little-

Before he could finish his thought strong arms enveloped around him, crushing his ribs and stopping his breath for a second, after that he felt a stinging slap on his ass. 

 “Still a hot piece of ass.”

 “Your girlfriend is right there, do you have no shame.” Obi-wan rolled his eyes even though he knew better than to ask. No, this man had no shame whatsoever. 

 “Nah, she knows you are on my pass list. You are on hers too.”

 For sith’s sake, how did he even became friends with this person, he would never know. Okay, he knows but that was in his past, he is not like THAT anymore. Maybe just less.

 He looked at Asajj again, shaking his head in disapproval. She was smoking now and yet again she just shrugged but this time send him a wink. Okay, the image of him being in the middle of that sex sandwich was not what he needed at the moment. 

 The forgotten cigarette in his fingers was starting to get shorter and the heat from it returned him to the reality, he tossed it on the ground and put it out with his foot.

 “When did you come back?” Obi-wan asked Quinlan without looking at him as he was taking another cigarette out.  

 “Just last night. I heard that you were having some troubles.”

 Obi-wan stopped with his lighter mid-air. His mind and heart started racing. How could he know? Rex wouldn’t tell anyone. What if someone, what if that guy- 

 “The little rascal Boba is making your hair prematurely grey, huh.”

Oh, OH! Boba. 

 “He sure is” Obi-wan tried to shrug off the feeling of uneasiness and anxiety as he laughed and lit his cigarette.”But I won’t care for him any less. You know that better than anyone, Q” The ginger man looked at his friend through the smoke of his cigarette. He could see the sentimental emotions on the other man’s face written as clearly as his yellow tattoo across his face. Obi-wan glanced towards Asajj – her back was turned towards them, she was taking out her cigarette and going inside. Then his eyes landed on the man in front of him. Vos was softly smiling to himself, probably remembering something from their younger, much wilder days. Then the darker man looked at him again, extended his hand and started caressing his face.

 “Kriff, don’t I know it?” A few beats passed between them, staying in the same position, with Obi-wan continuously smoking and trying not to blow the smoke straight into his friend’s face. He hated smoking. Well, at least that’s what he started saying three years ago. Before that, he was like spice on fire.”You are becoming prettier each time I see you.”

 The ginger man snorted and rolled his eyes.

 “Yeah, I know but thank you.”

 “What I fool I have been, Obi, all these years.”

 “Have you just come to this realization or you just came to accept it?”

 Quinlan smiled and continued speaking.

 “That mouth of yours has put us into so much trouble and gotten us out of trouble as much. “

 “I got it from my daddy.” The ginger man arched an eyebrow at his friend and laughed. Quinlan laughed with him and went to caress his long locks. “This looks so good on you, truly.”

 “Don’t you have a girlfriend to throw your compliments at? As much as I am flattered I don’t know how she would feel. And honestly, I would love to just stand here and just have you adore me but I have to go to work. I am sure we can see each other these days.” Obi-wan threw his second cigarette next to first and stepped on it also. He turned his head to his friend and was taken aback by his friend leaning forward and tried to retreat as fast he could.

 Quinlan looked at him and smiled.

 “I guess it’s a little too late for that, huh. No hard feelings, Obi, none from me. I hope none from you too.” 

 Quinlan got close to him and kissed him on his temple. Obi-wan went cool as a dead star on the outside but his emotions were in a jumble inside. Why does Vos always have to come and make everything complicated? 

 “See you soon, Obi.”

 Obi-wan cursed in his head and headed inside the cantina. This was not the time for old feeling resurfacing, not at all. He spotted Asajj as she was preparing herself for opening and headed towards her. 

 “Can you please do something about your boyfriend?”

 She looked at him, confusion written all over her face.

 “Whatever do you mean, love?”

 “Please, don’t play dumb with me. You are smarter than that.”

 The woman laughed.

 “Surely but where’s the fun in that. I can’t see you antagonizing over it then.”

 “Do the two of you want to end me or something? “

 “Oh, come on, love. We are merely having a little fun.”

 “On the expense of other people”

 Asajj chuckled and looked at her watch.

 “I think you have to get ready, unlike Quinlan and I, you won’t be able to satisfy our boss that way as he doesn’t even like doin that stuff. And no matter how much he loves you as his dear friend he doesn’t like showing favouritism while he is working at least.”

 Asajj winked at him and continued sorting out the bar. The younger man death stared at the older woman and went to get changed.

 -------------------------------------------

 This shift was NOT going all right. Except Cody not being mad at him, everything else was going off the rails. He had more than 10 drinks poured on him, he was hit on more times than he liked to know, he got almost groped 3 times but thanks to his fast reflexes he managed to avoid causing a scene and was able to warn the people who even dared to think that was going to happened and this was not even half-way into the shift.

 Aayla was sending him encouraging smiles and thumb ups when she was on the bar. Aayla both served and worked on the bar and today was serving shift for her. He sometimes helped her when the bar wasn’t too busy as they had two floors and both floors had bars but not enough servers sometimes. He didn’t know what Cody was doing with managing the shifts or the personnel but it had been shitty for the past year. And he had the nerve to tell him that he couldn’t give him more shifts and told Ahsoka he didn’t need more staff. Huh, he should talk with him. 

 His attention shifted towards the loud voice that was coming from the side of him. He looked over from the table he was trying to clean up to his right, leaned forward a bit as he couldn’t see the whole scene. As every detail came into his vision he could see into one of the V.I.P boots, an extremely intoxicated client shouting at Aayla. He couldn’t make out what they were shouting about and he started heading towards the scene, trying to muster up his best customer smile. Inhale, exhale. He was starting to make up what all the fuss was about and it seems that he wasn’t happy with the drink he had been served but Aayla was trying to politely explain that this was exactly what he had ordered and if he wanted something else they could change it, there was no need for the foul language. And she was right – he was calling her names, how she shouldn’t be working here but at the back where the dancers usually gave private sessions to clients. He could see that Aayla was trying her hardest not to lose her cool but she was breaking. Obi-wan stood between them. 

“Good evening, if there is any problem that you are having I would be incredibly pleased to listen to it and forward it to my boss if we can’t resolve it between us that is. You seem agitated and you are orally abusing my colleague here. I hope there is nothing big that is worrying you or is there, sir?”

 The duros in front of him looked like he wanted to say something more, but decided against it.

 “Bring me another drink and hurry up.”

 “Of course, sir, I’ll bring you our finest liquor.”

 Obi-wan turned on his heels and grabbed Aayla by her forearm. 

 “Thank you.” She whispered

 “You don’t have to. You’ll soon learn how to deal with those kinds of sleemos. “

 “I hope so.”

 Obi-wan looked at the younger female and rubbed her back reassuringly.

 “Or you don’t have to. Just look for me or Asajj. Or if we are not here just someone who has been here longer - most of them know how to deal with them. Okay?” He smiled her hoping to comfort her more. She smiled weakly back at him and nodded. 

 --------------------------------------------------------- 

The rest of the shift passed rather slowly and nothing major happened except a few broken glasses from the washer. At the end of the shift, which was 7 am, Obi-wan had his feet up against the wall at the staff’s room, unlight cigarette in his mouth. 

 “Are you going to smoke that cigarette or suck it like a lollipop? “

 He could hear Asajj from behind him.

 “Ugh, I don’t even have the energy for moving my finger.”

 Suddenly the cigarette was out of his mouth

 “Give it to me then.”

 “Hey, give it back.”

 “You are not even using it.”

 “I was sucking on it.” he said with note of sarcasm in his voice

 At that moment the door opened and blue appendages came into sight.

 “Do you want to get a lift home, guys? My friend is picking me up so she can give you one as well? “

 “Sure” Asajj shrugged and stood up.

 “If it’s not much trouble” Obi-wan tried to spin himself to get off the wall but gracefully fell on his back

 “Ow”

 “Come on, you idiot. Get up.” Asajj extended her hand and he took it. He was eyeing the cigarette in her mouth and took it after he stood up.

 “Hey”

 “That was mine anyways”

 Asajj decided she was in a teasing mood so she bit back while getting closer to Obi-wan.

 “Maybe I tell you that while you are sucking off, Quinlan” she smirked and it took the ginger a few seconds before he could react.

 “VENTRESS”

The young twi’lek just slowly backed out from the room and shouted

 “I am waiting for you outside”

 “Look what you did. You are traumatizing the poor girl.” The younger man was trying to sound scandalized but couldn’t help a smile

 “Oh, she’ll be fine, love” Asajj threw an arm around his neck and they headed outside

 “You are unbelievable” Obi-wan shook his head in disapproval 

 “Thank you”

 The man looked at her like she grew a second head and lit his cigarette. Cody had left 30 minutes ago while they were still cleaning some stuff and the staff for the first shift was briefed on everything they needed to know. The first shift was usually a lot calmer but also very slow. People usually came for coffee and breakfast and sometimes brunch and early drink, but it wasn’t too much hassle. Maybe Aayla would feel more comfortable there. 

 His thoughts were broken by a ringing sound.

 “You are ringing”

 “Thank you for the observation, I can hear.”

 It was Rex; he is probably going to work.

 “Hey, how is it going?”

 “Same old, I am travelling to work. I hoped to catch you before you went to bed. How did the conversation go?”

 “We have a meeting in two days, at 2 pm. I know that you are working an office job but you can do it remotely when you have to, right?”

 “Yeah, sure, I’ll them that I need to do it from home. I am glad that this is going okay.”

 “Yeah, me too.”

 “I’ll call Ahsoka later, don’t worry. Go rest.”

 “Okay, thank you. Have a nice day at work.”

 “Hope I don’t decapitate somebody. Later.” 

 Obi-wan snorted and hung up.

 “Rex?”

 “Yeah.” 

 “What’s this meeting about, if it’s not a secret.”

 Obi-wan observed her for a bit and spoke.

 “Hmm, no one except the group knows and I haven’t thought of you as the first person to talk about it but sure why not? “

 “Am I that awful of a friend?”

 “What, no- wait, you think we are friends?” Obi-wan’s face and voice were full of confusion.

 “Are we not? “ The woman said matter of factly like she wasn’t even asking the question but it was an obvious observation.  

 “I mean-sure, yeah. I haven’t thought about it this way, but, yeah.”

 Asajj put a hand across her heart and posed melodramatically. 

 “I am hurt, Kenobi. We have worked together for how many years now.”

 “Four”

 “It was a rhetorical question, dumbass.” She said deadpan and continued “I know we are not on the level you have with your little gang of misfits but I have told you personal secrets, I have told you the story about-“

“Yeah, I don’t want to hear it again, thank you very much. It’s engraved deeply into my mind, thank you very much. I didn’t ask you for your secrets, but thanks, I guess.”

 Asajj scanned him for a second and continued.

 “You are a very comforting man. It’s a gift.”

 Obi-wan looked at her with absolute confusion painted on his face.

 “Me?!”

 “My friend is around the corner”

 They both looked at the younger girl, a little surprised at her as she hasn’t spoken until now. They were in their world really so they couldn’t blame her. They stood up and got closer to the girl.

 Soon enough a light grey light freighter with some yellow stripes on it came into their view. Its door opened with a hiss and a green female twi’lek came into view.

 “Dramatic” 

 Obi-wan snorted at Asajj’s comment. 

 “Hey, Aayla. Work was good?” the female went down to hug her friend.

 “Hey, I have seen better days but I’ll tell you later.” Aayla was trying to signal her friend about the people next to them.

 “Guys, this is Hera. Hera this is Obi-wan and Asajj.”

 “Nice to meet you” Hera extended her hand for a shake and the man took it smiling at her.

 “Likewise,” Asajj said and winked at her

 Obi-wan rolled his eyes and spoke

 “Just ignore her, she can be weird sometimes.”

Obi-wan smiled apologetically to the girl, she didn’t say anything.

 “Well, I won’t take more of your time; I’ll just take you home then. Hope on”

 “Yes, thank you very much for that”

 They started boarding the vehicle while looking curiously around. They don’t travel by that kind of transportation every day. This was usually used for planetary transportation of cargo, even fighting on the battlefront. How curious.

 “How did you come into having that kind of transport? Do you work for a transport company or something like that? “

 Ah, Ventress – blunt as ever.

 “Something like that. It’s an inheritance and my home away from home.”

 “Oh, very hippie. I can get behind it.”

[comfortsickboys]

Learning the Hard Way (Arlo)

warning: emeto mentions, alcohol consumption, and graphic descriptions of vomit

(Another long one, oops!)

Arlo had just finished writing the longest essay of his life. His eyes felt like they were bleeding, and his brain was officially out of commission for the rest of the year. He closed his laptop and fell back onto his bed, planning to stay right there for the remainder of the night.

However, those plans quickly changed when his door flung open, revealing Judah. He looked pissed enough that Arlo remained still, waiting for the snap. He watched as he went right for the chair in the corner, slinging his backpack off his shoulder and unzipping it. He closed his eyes, huffed out a breath, and then finally looked over at Arlo. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Judah broke the gaze and focused back on his backpack.

“Bad day?” Arlo ventured to ask when it seemed like Judah wasn’t going to say anything.

“Bad life.”

“Hey, careful. We’ve talked about this, Jude. What is it?” Arlo asked, a frown settling on his features as he pushed himself up to sit back against the wall.

“I know, sorry. Just a lot of shitty stuff with dad this morning. Shitty day at school,” he mumbled. “It...it would’ve been their anniversary.” The air hung thickly for a moment.

“Oh, Judah. I’m sorry.” He felt like there was nothing he could do or say that would help, because he just didn’t understand what that kind of stuff was like; he knew his own life had been too easy.

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. It is what it is, right?” He gave a crooked smile. “Besides,” he said then, lightening a bit. “I brought a present for us.”

“Hmm?” Arlo scooted to the edge of the bed, forcing his eyes to stay open. Judah needed him to be awake tonight.

Instead of answering, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a full bottle of vodka. A shit-eating grin appeared on his face as he looked at Arlo and held it like a trophy. Any trace of the broken boy he’d seen seconds before was gone, replaced with what Arlo had come to know as Judah’s shield from the world. Arlo’s eyebrows raised, and he said nothing, because words just wouldn’t form. He felt a little nervous if he was being honest.

“What’s that face for? This is life’s best medicine,” Judah laughed, standing up from the chair and coming to join him on the bed.

“Um,” Arlo breathes out, trying to find the right words. “I’ve just...I haven’t.” A blush crept up his neck at that, and he suddenly felt like maybe he should have just acted normal. Judah’s smile faded, and he never wanted to be the reason for that.

“Oh. I mean, you don’t have to drink any. We can just—“

“No, no it’s not like that...I think I want to. But that’s why I was, um, making that face,” he explained awkwardly, trying desperately to dissolve the tension he’d created.

“Alright, cool. But you really don’t have to, you know.”

“I know,” he replied, feeling his nervous energy slowly morph into something more electric. “I’m gonna go get some cups, okay? And um, should I find like something to mix with it or...?”

“If you want to. I use soda usually.”

Arlo nodded, getting up from the bed feeling like he’d been set on some sort of secret mission. As he quietly went down the hall, his heart pounded, and a sneaking, private smile painted itself on his face.

Having mostly been a “good kid” and never stepping much out of line, this felt like something big. He knew his parents were upstairs somewhere, and here he was about to get drunk. It felt weird in the best sort of way. He deserved to feel like a normal teenager for one night.

He retrieved everything he needed from the kitchen, carefully balancing it all as he returned to his room. He found Judah already on the floor with an Xbox controller in his hand. He looked up and grinned, following Arlo with his eyes as he came to sit down on the patch of carpet next to him.

The nerves curled and sparked over his skin, fizzling out into a mixture of anticipation and fear of the unknown. He surely didn’t want his parents walking in on them, so he excused himself briefly to go lock the door.

When he returned to his spot, Judah had begun to pour himself a drink, and Arlo watched on. It seemed like a lot, but he figured he didn’t know enough about alcohol to make an argument. He picked up his own cup and the bottle from Judah’s hands, hesitantly pouring in about the same amount.

He topped it off with the Sprite and stared at it for a moment, unsure of how fast he should go. He spared a look over at Judah, who was drinking it like a glass of orange juice at breakfast.

Alright, yeah, I can do this, Arlo thought brightly, finally looking away and bringing the cup to his lips.

It was sour and burned in a choking sort of way. He winced but held back the cough that twitched in his throat, not wanting to seem too fazed. He caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye and saw that Judah was watching him.

When he turned, though, Judah’s gaze quickly steeled, and he looked back at the TV. Arlo felt a creeping warmth seep into his cheeks at that, and it prompted him to take a bigger sip.

It hurt just as much, making his nose sting and prickling down his esophagus. He couldn’t tell if it was the carbonation, alcohol, or both, but he couldn’t say he was enjoying it. Still, he figured there had to be a reason why so many people liked this shit.

Three more cups and a few games of Mortal Kombat later, he discovered that reason.

He felt great, like—insanely free. Warmth blossomed from his chest and radiated throughout his whole body, making his eyelids heavy and limbs loose. It sloshed in his empty belly when he moved, but it wasn’t too uncomfortable. It made him laugh until he couldn’t breathe, and he felt like he could say anything in the world and there would be absolutely no consequences.

That was very dangerous when he was sitting so close to Judah, and he knew it.

He tried to push those thoughts as far back as he could, because he was determined to have a good night. It was going pretty well so far, and he wasn’t planning for that to change any time soon.

The only drawback he found was that he had to pee—a lot. Probably every ten minutes, they had to pause the game so one of them could venture down the hallway to the bathroom. It all seemed inexplicably fun, though, and Arlo often found himself stuck staring at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

His cheeks looked flushed, and he smiled at himself lazily, bracing his weight against the counter top. Everything was just the right amount of fuzzy, and above all, he felt safe.

He flickered his eyes between his own gaze one last time and turned off the light, leaving to stumble his way back to the room. The hallway was a bit of a difficult stretch by that point, but he didn’t mind.

One of the biggest perks, he found, was that the more he drank, the less it burned. So, when he got back to his spot, he poured himself another drink. It might have been a little stronger, but he couldn’t really tell anymore. He frankly couldn’t have given less of a damn, either.

After a few sips, Judah’s hand landed on his shoulder. “I’m hungry, Lo. Please say you know something we can eat,” he breathed out, words colliding a little messily. His hand felt so warm and real in that moment that it took Arlo an extra second to think.

“Frozen pizza,” he finally responded, eyes going wide. Judah’s eyes grew too, and before they knew it, they were sneaking their way to the kitchen. Not falling down the stairs was quite a task, but they both managed to make it to the refrigerator alive.

“Preheat to 400° please,” Arlo whispered, trying his best to laugh softly. He didn’t even know what he was laughing about, but it didn’t seem to matter, because Judah was laughing too.

They did everything in their power not to stir up too much noise, so they ended up just sitting on the counter top, snacking on chips in relative silence. There was another burst of random laughter, but that time, it tapered off slowly, and they found themselves a lot closer than usual.

The laughter faded to smiles, and eventually those faded too, leaving both boys staring at each other, ears ringing. Arlo’s fingertips buzzed and his heart very nearly seized to function, but it felt too dangerously good. Judah’s eyes looked like pools of molten gold, swirling and glowing in the warm light of the kitchen. A curl hung loosely on against his forehead, and Arlo fought with everything not to brush it back or give it a soft tug.

The oven timer made them both jump.

Arlo blinked a good few times before embarrassment flooded through his veins like boiling water, and he hopped off the counter top unsteadily. His stomach sloshed again with the movement, but that time, it made him feel a little seasick. He caught himself on the island counter, but just barely. His own breathing sounded too loud in his head, and it was making him want to panic, so he focused on his task.

He put the pizza on the pan and opened the oven, surprised at how the heat there mirrored the warmth already brushing his cheeks. It took extra effort not to fall forwards as he pushed the pan in, closing the door behind it.

It was silent, then, and he couldn’t bear another close call like the one they’d just had. He needed a drink.

“I’ll um, I’ll be back,” he started, his own voice sounding a bit foreign. Judah looked at him from his spot on the counter, face terrifyingly unreadable.

Did I make it too obvious? I did, didn’t I? Fuck, I am so fucked. Arlo’s brain was no friend to him as he stumbled back up the stairs, gripping the wall so he wouldn’t come tumbling back down. Everything was swimming in front of him, and he no longer felt loose and happy. He felt ill, but he blamed that on not having any food to stop the swirling feeling in his tummy. He also somehow felt like Judah read his mind back there, and even though that’s impossible, he couldn’t help but get the feeling that he’d ruined something.

When he finally reached the room, he was desperate to go back to being carefree. He grabbed his fresh drink from where they’d hidden them and took a breath. He hesitated for only a second before bringing the cup to his lips and finishing the entire thing in one go.

Panting, he shoved the cup back into where it was. His stomach whirled audibly, but the warmth reignited, melting away most of the worry from his chest. At that, he considered his mission a success, so he turned around to leave.

When he did, the world became his enemy. It dipped and tilted under his feet, but he found himself laughing about it again. It felt like some sort of video game. He hiccuped and burped into his fist, feeling some of the pressure inside him give way. It felt nice, but everything did at that point. 

As he stumbled his way down the hallway, he felt more carefree than he’d ever been since he was a kid. He even scooted down the stairs in a sitting position like he was three, but it was all part of the game in his mind. He giggled all the way down, peeling himself from the floor with some difficulty when he finally made it to the bottom. He just couldn’t wait to see Judah again.

When he turned the corner into the kitchen, he tried to regain a little composure, but he couldn’t stop smiling. Everything was dizzy and made him happy in a childhood sort of way. He wanted a hug.

He suddenly realized that whole monologue had happened while he stood slumped against the kitchen island, staring unashamedly at Judah. He was staring back with his mouth pulled into knowing smirk.

“You drank more, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question, and all it did was set off another fit of laughter from Arlo. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled, burying his face into his hands. “I’ve created a monster, God help me.”

“Heeey,” Arlo drew out in false offense, coming closer to give Judah a weak punch in the arm.

“Don’t make me file for divorce,” he murmured back, smile evident in his muffled words.

“I take back th’punch. M’sorry. Forgive me,” he begged, taking Judah’s hand in his.

The universe must have been looking out for him, because the timer beeped once again, and Judah jumped from the counter with renewed enthusiasm. He didn’t even wait for Arlo, he just took the pizza out himself, going straight to the drawer he knew held the pizza cutter. That house was more his home than where he actually slept at night, and they both knew that.

Arlo figured that Judah taking the lead was probably a good idea, because things were getting a little too spinny. All he could seem to manage at that moment was bracing himself against the cabinets and breathing. He watched on as Judah started to slice the food, but his eyes traveled possibly too much.

The fabric of Judah’s t-shirt looked extra soft where it was stretched over his back, and Arlo wished he could brush his hands there. His eyes flitted up to his hair then, and fuck, did he want to touch it. He wanted to run his fingers through the curls over and over and forget about everything else.

These thoughts that he usually didn’t let roam were now stuck on repeat, twisting and weaving like his vision. He blinked hard and tried to come back to his body, but it wasn’t listening. He told himself that he just needed some food, and that maybe it would would give him his land legs and his sense back.

Stepping forward just as Judah finished cutting, he grabbed a slice and took a big bite. It tasted like nothing he’d ever tasted before—it was exactly what he needed. They dug in, hardly acknowledging each other as they finished the entire pizza in record time. Arlo could feel the food lining every inch of his stomach  once he’d finished, pushing possibly a little too tight for comfort. He burped unexpectedly, covering his mouth as the tail of it rumbled out. It was a lot and definitely made him feel better, but color burned up his neck when he remembered who he was with.

“Sorry,” he breathed out, “ate way too fast.”

“Don’t be, that was pretty impressive,” Judah laughed, even reaching to grab the bowl of chips and continuing to eat. Arlo, whose stomach was definitely not in a state to handle any more food, had a different plan.

“Wanna take these upstairs so I c’n whoop your ass in Mortal Kombat?” he managed to say, beginnings and ends of his words running together. Judah’s eyes lit back up with the challenge.

“I think you’ve got that backwards, Arrie.” With that, he started towards the stairs, entirely too fast for Arlo’s body.

He laughed as he bumped along the walls, following as closely behind as he could. Somewhere along the line, he realized he couldn’t feel his legs, but it was kind of nice. Crawling up the stairs, he thanked the powers that be that his parents didn’t emerge; he wouldn’t have had any explanation.

He somehow made it to his room without breaking any bones, but as soon as he sat down, he realized there was another problem. Judah was already pouring him another drink. His full stomach suddenly rolled in protest, and he knew immediately that he shouldn’t have moved so fast after eating so much. His belly ached a little, straining against the amount of food and booze he’d just stuffed it with.

Still, he didn’t want to seem like he couldn’t handle himself, so he forced himself to take a couple of sips just as the first match started. He set the cup down and started to fight, his fingers fumbling to remember the attack combos. Failing miserably, he quickly got trapped in the corner, taking hit after hit.

He somehow remembered how to teleport to the other side, but when the screen shifted, something uneasy settled over him. Suddenly, the movement of the screen was making his vision swim even more, and the heavy mass of food in his stomach felt like it had instantly curdled. He resisted the urge to rub it in favor of staying in the game.

His efforts were useless, though, because he’d already lost the first round anyway. His character’s death was graphic and gory, abruptly bringing on an unexpected wave of nausea. Usually that kind of stuff didn’t bother him too much, but when his stomach was already so upset, he couldn’t help it.

He hiccuped just as round two began, and it started a chain reaction of movement inside of him. It was a churning, muggy sort of feeling, making his palms sweat against the controller. He started to surprisingly get the upper hand, but only because he was desperate to focus on anything apart from the turmoil in his stomach.

A burp traveled up his chest and he let it out, wincing at how strongly it burned with alcohol and carbonation. It brought no relief, and a general feeling of unease washed over him again. It felt like another burp was going to come up, but he quickly realized that it was going to be much more than air. He panicked just as he won the second round, which triggered another gory scene of someone’s head being split open across the screen.  

Arlo’s stomach turned violently, and he brought a trembling hand to his mouth. The only solution that his brain provided was that needed to get out, and fast. The last round started just as he began to flee, trying to push himself from the ground with unsteady arms. The small movement made his stomach rise, muscles rippling as they prepared to heave. He realized that he couldn’t get up; he was past the point of no return.

A wet burst of air came up, and he couldn’t stop it before it brought up a bit of frothy vomit. He choked it back down, but the urge to heave ticked at the back of his throat. The world tilted around him queasily, dramatically increasing the bubbling in his insides. He abandoned his controller in favor of protectively holding the overfilled stomach. Closing his eyes, he begged for some control over his own body.

“What are you doing? This is the last round!” Judah protested, quickly pausing the game. Arlo stayed quiet, putting all his efforts into holding off the inevitable. “Are you okay?”

Arlo eventually felt the warmth settle back into his stomach, giving him a moment to decide if it was actually a false alarm. The nausea still weighed on him, but less, so he figured he might be okay. Maybe Judah knew of a way to help.

“I don’ like the way this feels anymore, Jude. How d’you make everything stop spinning?” He asked, voice unnaturally tight.

“Oh, no,” Judah drew out immediately, looking a lot more sober all of a sudden. It made Arlo nervous—it was hardly the reassurance he was looking for. He felt himself pale.

A fresh wave of crippling nausea stirred his stomach, and he brought his hand back over his mouth. In an instant, the dam broke, and a rush of thick warmth burst from between his fingers, coating his legs in secondhand pizza. He pitched forward with the next heave, and a larger wave splattered onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” Judah cursed, taking his nearly empty chip bowl and shoving it under Arlo’s dripping chin.

His stomach writhed again, sending a torrent of orange, burning vomit splashing against the plastic. He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look at it, but that only made him dizzier, and he had to throw up again. The only thing grounding him to reality was Judah’s steady, warm hand on his back.

He burped, choking up another wave of his disturbingly undigested dinner. It was revolting, but it made him feel so much better to get it out of his stomach. He retched again.

It went on like that for another minute or so before the realization of what just happened hit him abruptly. He finally peeled his eyes open to see the absolute mess he’d made, and no words could begin to describe how mortified he felt. Tears pinched at the back of his eyes, but crying would just be the cherry on top of the humiliation sundae he’s just made himself.

He cried anyway.

As the first few tears finally spilled over, Judah scooted closer. “Please don’t cry, Lo, I’m so sorry. I really shouldn’t have let you drink that much.” Just the mention of drinking made Arlo’s stomach clench, and something like the mixture of a hiccup and a gag hitched in his throat. He audibly swallowed back the impending rush of round two. “Oh—okay, Arlo...I think we might need to go camp out in the bathroom for a little while. Um, can you stand?”

Arlo truly didn’t know, but anything would beat crying in a puddle of his own sick, so he figured trying couldn’t hurt. Judah hooked an arm around his waist and helped lift, and although they definitely swayed at first, they didn’t topple over. It was a miracle.

Another miracle was that they made it to the bathroom in one piece, just in time for Arlo’s stomach to start really gearing up for an encore. It felt like whatever was left inside of him was sticking to his throat, and it took a good few heaves to finally get the next load up.

It landed unceremoniously into the toilet, splashing a bit of water back into his face. That made him retch again, and the cycle continued. The streams gradually became more bile and less burning alcohol, but he didn’t know which one was less torturous.

The crying definitely didn’t help either, especially when he inhaled sharply with a sob and was left choking on aspirated vomit. The coughing brought up several more watery streams until he was squeezed dry, hanging lifelessly over the swirling, sour water.

It was then that the fuzz in his ears cleared and the spots in his vision began to fade, and the first thing he noticed was Judah’s proximity. He was curled at Arlo’s side, and Arlo hadn’t even noticed that he’d been rubbing his back the whole time.

Still dizzy and fairly impaired, he found himself overwhelmed with feeling. The fact that he somehow hadn’t run Judah off already felt too big, and he didn’t know where to place that amount of sheer feeling. He just ended up shuddering out another sob and releasing a string of curses that echoed back to him from the porcelain.

Judah flushed the toilet for him and his hand stilled on his back, still radiating the warmth that he so desperately needed. “You didn’t deserve all that, A. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that...I’m the one who...fuck,” he panted, words becoming impossible as another wave of nausea wracked his body. A relatively small wash of acid came up with an involuntary burp, but it somehow finally made him feel much better. “I’m th’one who overdid it. Made a fool of myself, look at me,” he finally managed, heart swooping low at the thought of how widely he’d fucked up.

“And I’m the one who dragged you into my stupid tantrum tonight. You’ve never even had the chance to learn your limits, I’m sorry.”

“Learned them now. Wearing the proof.” His poor attempt at a joke fell flat, but it did effectively remind him of the layer of filth sticking his clothes to his skin. He tried hard not to throw up again.

“Right. Let me just—I should get you some clothes. Um, give me a second.”

While he was gone, Arlo put all of his effort towards not thinking about how much he already missed him. It felt pathetic. He shut his eyes and the room tilted; he was definitely still drunk. He didn’t know how all of that worked, so he just sat there and sniffled quietly, trying to ground himself.

When Judah returned with the clothes, he turned on the shower and made sure Arlo would be okay before leaving him to it. The most he could do was undress and sit on the tub floor, letting the lukewarm water fall on him. His head had begun to pound, too, and the fact that it was still spinning made him incapable of doing anything but sitting with his eyes closed.

The stayed there until the water ran cold. It started to make him feel worse, so he shut off the water, climbed out, and dressed himself like he’d just freshly come out of a coma. The bathroom still smelled like sick, and he prayed that his parents wouldn’t come in before he could burn the evidence in the morning. He wished he could burn the evidence from his mind.

Without his permission, the events started to replay, and tears rushed back to his already raw, red eyes. He was exhausted, drunk, embarrassed, and so, so fucking in love. He knew that now more than ever. He was torn between begging Judah to never leave and hiding out in the bathroom forever. As unrealistic as it seemed, he actually tried the latter.

Inevitably, though, a knock came at the door. He had finished washing his mouth out a while ago, but he’d been leaning against the counter in a state of catatonia ever since. His body throbbed.

“Arlo? You okay in there?” His words came out gentle, but Arlo still flinched. He hated himself. Instead of responding, he bit the bullet and opened the door. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been crying the whole time until he watched Judah’s face fall. He looked like he didn’t know what to say. Arlo didn’t either.

Judah led him wordlessly to his bed, and Arlo noticed that the room was nearly spotless. All that remained of his shit-show was the shadow of a stain on the carpet in front of his TV. He imagined Judah there, scrubbing and scrubbing all because Arlo couldn’t control himself. He let himself break then, coughing out a loud sob. Judah startled a bit, pausing before he brought the blankets to cover Arlo’s collapsing chest.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he soothed, a line forming between his brows as his frown deepened.

“No, it—it’s not alright, I’m an idiot.” Arlo’s voice broke and cracked, raw from heaving.

“You’re not an idiot, Lo, I promise.”

Arlo looked up at him, absolutely floored. “Why are you being so nice to me? You’re...”

“An asshole for not watching out for you, that’s what,” he huffs, closing his eyes and letting out a measured breath. “I’m serious...don’t settle for people who treat you like that.”

His voice was just above a whisper then, and it made something icy curl beneath Arlo’s sternum. The guilt radiated off of him almost visibly.

“Don’t let people treat me like this? People who clean my room when I drink too much and puke everywhere? Don’t let them comfort me while I get sick and then put me to bed when I’m finished?” He was on a roll, and he even managed to tone down the remorse on Judah’s face. His words were still a bit fuzzy around the edges and the room still spun, but not too much. Sleep pulled heavily at his aching eyelids, but he never wanted to stop looking at Judah. All of a sudden, everything seemed so right, and he couldn’t stop himself. “No one would ever do this for me. You’re—you’re so good to me, for what, Judah? S’making it really fucking hard not to love you.”

And as soon as it’s out, he wanted it back in. His eyes shot open, and he froze, gaze fixed on the wall behind Judah. More words came up but died in his throat before he could get them out. His whole body ached with searing regret, and time stood still. Another fragmented apology came and went, refusing to fall past his chapped lips. He swore that silence lasted so long that he figured it must be his punishment to live out the rest of his life trapped right there.

Mercifully, Judah’s voice finally broke through the torturous stillness. “I...” he swallowed. “Later, okay? Get some sleep,” he murmured, voice achingly soft. His lips pressed together in the ghost of a gentle smile, and then he was retreating to the padded corner of the floor he’d claimed years ago.

Somehow, it didn’t feel like the end of the world. It really didn’t. But still, if it wasn’t for the glorious, magnetic pull of liquor, Arlo was sure he would’ve never slept again.

[sage-nebula]

mannnnn thank you for validating my dimitri salt because the fandom take of (usually f!)byleth """saving""" him with their (usually her) """warm hand""" etc. etc. gives me the heebie jeebies. i get that there's a lot of young people in this fandom who haven't necessarily worked out yet that no one should feel responsible for "changing" their significant other! but seeing it everywhere is annoying and i'd rather be over here in my own private salt mine, thank you very much >:(

You are very welcome. Putting the rest of my response under a cut so those who don’t wish to see this don’t have to.

First off, as a disclaimer, I just want to say: I don’t think you necessarily have to be young to be attracted to the “power of love saves all” trope, and I am also a firm believer that you can enjoy something in fiction without endorsing / liking it in real life. I myself am a fan of some dark tropes; I love drama and angst, and I have been known to put characters into downright awful situations that I would never want anyone to suffer through in real life. Fiction serves many purposes, but one of those purposes is to allow people to explore ideas that are dark or terrible in safe avenues that hurt no one. This is why there has been fiction that depicts things like gruesome murders, for example, for centuries. People who write books about murderers (usually) don’t actually murder people themselves, nor do they want anyone to be murdered. They’re just telling a story they thought might be interesting, and others who enjoy that type of story (but also probably aren’t murderers and wouldn’t want to murder anyone in real life) are reading it. So it’s entirely possible that people who are drawn to the idea of F!Byleth “saving” Dimitri from his “darkness” with the power of her love are adults, and are also people who wouldn’t go for that sort of thing in real life. That’s completely possible, and I don’t begrudge those people for it. You do you, and all that. If that’s your type of thing, great. More power to you.

But as you’ve gathered from your posts, I personally don’t like it at all.

I haven’t finished Azure Moon yet, but so far I hate … pretty much everything about the way Dimitri’s character has shaken out, and how his relationship with Byleth is being forced now. Because let’s get one thing clear: Dimitri’s feelings that Byleth “saved” him are almost as much of a 180 as his feelings regarding not wanting to kill Edelgard, with potentially even less explanation if you can swallow that he, for some reason, believed that Patricia was the first Flame Emperor because Cornelia (enemy and known liar) said so as she was dying right off the bat without any proof to back up the claim. When Dimitri first saw Byleth after five years, he at first thought they were a ghost, and then accused them of being a spy, and THEN went on to say that he didn’t really care either way so long as he could keep murdering people (and still later said that he would “use [Byleth] and [their] friends until [their] flesh fell from their bones” so, yikes). It wasn’t until Dimitri saw Dedue that there was any sign of his behavior changing even slightly. Dedue’s reunion got the romantic sounding music. Dedue brought out the softness in Dimitri. Dedue comes across as a far more natural love interest for Dimitri than Byleth ever could. Once Rodrigue kicks the bucket, Dimitri still pushes Byleth away until he breaks down into a Woe Is Me speech and Byleth offers their hand. At that point Dimitri’s gratitude and fondness for Byleth begins being pushed very hard, in a way that feels unnatural and unrealistic given how he’d behaved up until that point. If Dimitri had been more broken up and touched at Byleth’s reappearance after five years, sure, maybe. But as it stands it feels unnatural, and leads me as a player to believe that Byleth flat out just did not mean as much to Dimitri as they meant to Claude or especially Edelgard.

But all of that—the bad writing, of which there are other instances in Azure Moon, to the point where in my opinion this feels like the Conquest of Three Houses—is a minor issue. The bigger issue is the fact that the game pushes that we’re supposed to sympathize with Dimitri and see him as a tragically heroic figure when I … don’t, at all, for multiple reasons.

The first, and perhaps biggest, issue is the way his trauma and mental illness is being used by the narrative as the defining reason for why we should sympathize with him. Dimitri was traumatized when he was about fourteen by seeing his parents, friends, and others killed brutally in front of him during the Tragedy in Duscur. (Note that in this same incident Dedue witnessed GENOCIDE CARRIED OUT ON HIS PEOPLE, HIS FAMILY MURDERED RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM, but the trauma that he should have from this is basically never touched upon, and instead he acts as though people from Faerghus—you know, the kingdom that COMMITTED GENOCIDE AGAINST HIS PEOPLE—should not associate with him lest it stain their reputations. Hmm. Hmmm.) Somehow, at the tender age of fourteen, Dimitri went on a brutal killing tirade during this incident, delighting in bloodshed, which understandably disturbed and traumatized Felix (whose own brother was slain during that incident, mind, albeit not by Dimitri obviously), who then cut ties with him, not wanting to be friends with someone like that anymore. (Note: Everyone acts as though Felix was the bad one for this, rather than thinking it reasonable to not want to be friends with someone who delights in murder and bloodshed.) As a result of all of this, Dimitri regularly hallucinates the ghosts of his dead relatives and friends, and devotes his entire life to avenging them by murdering whoever was responsible for the Tragedy of Duscur, as well as whoever gets in his way of accomplishing that. (Note: “Who was responsible” is something Dimitri will accept with basically no evidence. He believes Edelgard was responsible because she called herself the Flame Emperor and wore a similar outfit to the one he saw back then. Never mind that she is his age and thus was also a fourteen-year-old child at the time; no, he believes she must have magically made herself the size of an adult and was capable of killing not only her own mother, but also his father (who carried a Hero’s Relic!) and countless others. Because that makes sense.)

So. It’s clear that Dimitri has deep-seated trauma, and it’s understandable that he would have trauma from such a grisly, horrible event. It is also true that not everyone reacts to trauma in the same way, and that there is a definite stigma against those who don’t react to their trauma in ways that people can twist to be “cute” or “endearing”. I’ve talked about the Good Survivor vs. Bad Survivor dichotomy among fans on my blog before, and I stand by everything that I said. However, there are several key points to keep in mind:

Not all behaviors can be classed as just “Good” or “Bad”, and furthermore, even if two behaviors are agreed upon to be “Bad”, that doesn’t mean they’re on the same scale. Being asocial and snapping verbally at people isn’t the behavior of a “Good” Survivor, but it’s also not nearly as bad as actually murdering people and doing it as slowly and painfully as possible. Getting on someone’s case because their trauma makes them reluctant to socialize or trust isn’t the same as calling them out for torturing people to death. This shouldn’t have to be said, but this is tumblr, so I’m going to say it.

Succinctly, a shitty past does not excuse a shitty present. Yes, Dimitri was traumatized. No, this DOES NOT justify his actions even before the timeskip, much less after it. Similarly, Dimitri lampshading that his behavior is bad and calling himself ~a monster~ doesn’t make it better, either. If anything, it makes it worse, because Dimitri knows that what he’s doing is horrible and he continues to do it anyway. Just because you’ve been traumatized (rather through a single incident or years of abuse or whatever) doesn’t give you a free pass to do whatever you want. You are accountable for your actions and behaviors, always. Trauma may explain why you behave the way you do, but it does not excuse it.

The problem with the narrative portrayal of Dimitri on Azure Moon (and arguably Verdant Wind as well, since we had an Alas Poor Dimitri moment when he was killed on Verdant Wind despite him literally calling for the deaths of everyone on the field in that path, straight up telling Claude to his face that he was going to kill him) is that the game pretty much flat out tells you that you should sympathize with Dimitri because of his trauma. Oh sure, Felix calls Dimitri “the boar prince” and routinely chews him out, but if you tell Felix that you’re not going to talk to Dimitri shortly after the timeskip, Felix tells you to “not give up so easily” and that Dimitri surrendered his humanity in pursuit of becoming a better killer, as if that’s supposed to make him sympathetic. Rodrigue tells Byleth that he wishes that he had the courage to “scold” Dimitri, but doesn’t actually do anything about it. And every single person present, including both Rodrigue and Gilbert, go along with whatever Dimitri wants, even when what he wants ignores the problem of the fact that Faerghus citizens are starving to death in the streets because of the situation in the capital. Dimitri flat out tells EVERYONE that he is all but abdicating his duties as king in the name of revenge, but rather than Rodrigue or someone else experienced coming to the logical conclusion taht he is therefore no longer fit to be king and relieving him of those duties (not necessarily violently; I doubt he would have put up an argument), they instead just go, “welp, nothing we can do about it we guess” and go along with what he wants, leaving the people to suffer, because Dimitri is of the Blaiddyd bloodline and, well, he’s a sad boy and they feel bad for him.

I shouldn’t have to say it, but I’m going to: This is disgusting. It’s disgusting that Dimitri’s trauma is used as a way to try to make the player feel bad for him despite the atrocities he commits time and again right there on screen. When Byleth first returns to the monastery after five years, it’s to find that he’s decorated the place with Empire soldier corpses. Byleth has to mercy kill Randolph before Dimitri can rip out his eyes, something Dimitri grows angry with them for. Dimitri says, immediately after that, the line that has stuck with me: “I’ll use you and your friends until your flesh falls from your bones.” He’s told that the people in Fhirdiad are starving and dying in the streets and need help and he flat out says he doesn’t care. He relishes in bloodshed and crows at every opportunity about how he wants to kill. While both Claude and Edelgard look regretful about the battle at Gronder Field, Dimitri just once again roars about how he wants his soldiers to kill every single person present. And through it all, we’re told that this is okay and we should forgive and feel sorry for him because he’s traumatized. It’s not really his fault, it’s just, ooh, that darn trauma!

As someone who has C-PTSD from years and years of abuse, I can’t begin to tell you how much narratives like this infuriate me. Those of us with trauma aren’t mindless infants who are unaware of our surroundings and incapable of controlling our behavior. When I say “a shitty past doesn’t excuse a shitty present” and “traumatized individuals are responsibel for their behavior,” I say that from the perspective of someone with trauma that affects me to this day. My abuse was such that sometimes I still have nightmares about my biological mother that leave me dazed and distracted for the whole day. I’ve really been through it. But I’m also 100% responsible for my own behavior. It’s my responsibility, and no one else’s, to make sure that I don’t hurt others. If I do something wrong, that’s on me, and my trauma will never excuse or justify it. 

So for the narrative of Three Houses to act as though Dimitri’s rampant murder, (attempted) torture, and love for bloodshed and violence is excusable and forgivable because of his trauma is infuriating to me. It’s infuriating to me how, after that insipid ~warm hand~ moment, Dimitri launches into constant Woe Is Me speeches where we’re meant to reassure him that it’s okay that he committed so many murders for no reason other than to quench his blood thirst, it’s okay that he wanted to use his former friends as meat shields to get what he wanted, it’s okay he abandoned his people to die in the streets, that he’s still a good and worthy king and ~just what Faerghus needs~. We’re supposed to see his return to Fhirdiad as a good thing, an inspiring moment. We’re supposed to side with him when he (I assume) later acts the hypocrite by telling Edelgard that People Dying Is Wrong and that she should surrender to him instead. (Never mind that deaths caused by Edelgard’s actions were caused as a result of a war that was necessary to take down the Church of Seiros, which actually had been ruling all of Fodlan under the guise of letting the different territories rule themselves for ages, while Dimitri just killed Empire soldiers for his own blood thirst and revenge, but you know. If you ask most of the people in the fandom, Saint Didi can do no wrong.)

But the thing is, all of that is bullshit. It wasn’t okay that he committed so many murders for the sake of his own revenge fantasies and blood lust. It wasn’t okay that he wanted his former friends to be his meat shields. It wasn’t okay that he abandoned his people. None of that was okay. And I don’t want to sit here and console him and make him feel better just because he apologies and cries about how he’s The Biggest Monster Ever as a result of his actions. Because a.) his actions were monstrous, and b.) that’s an emotionally manipulative tactic, and I’m here for none of it.

Before I go any further, let me state flat out: I’m not calling Dimitri an emotional abuser. I don’t think that was the intent behind those Woe Is Me pity parties of his, from a writing standpoint, and therefore that’s not what he’s thinking he’s doing when he goes on them. I will call Dimitri many things, including a murderer, but I won’t call him an emotional abuser because I don’t think that was the intent in the writing. However, regardless of whether that was the intent in the writing or not, it doesn’t change the fact that one of the oldest tricks in the emotional manipulation book is, when emotional manipulators / abusers are called out on their behaviors and forced to answer to the things they’ve done, they’ll flip the script and start degarding themselves and talking about how awful they are so their victims end up comforting them. A very basic demonstration of what I mean:

Victim: “It really hurts me when you act like you can’t trust me and go through my phone to see who I’ve been talking to. I feel like my privacy is being violated and like you think I’m dishonest.”

Manipulator: “You’re right, I know I should trust you more. I just get so insecure and scared that you’ll leave me.” 

Victim: “I know you deal with insecurity, but that doesn’t give you a right to go through my things. It really upsets me when you do this.”

Manipulator: “I know, I’m such a horrible person. I’m the worst partner. You deserve so much better than me, I understand that you hate me, I’m just the worst and am absolutely useless and terrible and not fit to be even your friend, much less your partner.”

Victim: “No, wait, that’s not true …”

And on and on. Even if they pepper in “I’m sorry”s in there, it’s never once a genuine apology, because they spend so much time tearing themselves down in an exaggerated fashion that the victim feels like they have to comfort the person who hurt them. Similarly, when Dimitri goes on his speeches about how he’s ~unworthy to be king~ or a monster or whatever, the answer choices given are Byleth comforting him one way or the other. We’re never given an option (beyond telling Felix we won’t talk to Dimitri right after the time skip) to tell Dimitri that he is awful, that he doesn’t deserve to be king, or really to revoke our support in any way at all. And because Byleth is not given that option, the narrative is telling us that the correct “choice” (because there really isn’t one) is to sympathize with and empower Dimitri despite how heinous is behavior is. Because Dimitri was traumatized, poor thing, and thus it’s okay that he brutally murdered all those people for no reason other than his own satisfaction. 

(Note: The game never once says “revenge is wrong because it just breeds more revenge.” Even though it seemed like they were going that way with Randolph and Fleche, it’s not Fleche wanting to murder Dimitri that makes Dimitri realize that what he’s been doing is fucked up, it’s Rodrigue dying defending him from Fleche. So even if you wanted to say that Dimitri being blood thirsty and out for revenge was meant to teach him a lesson about how he should behave, it’s not, because that’s not a lesson he ever actually picks up on.)

And that finally ties into what I think you were driving at in your ask (boy, I’ve been at this for a long time), which is the narrative of someone “saving” someone else with their love. By telling the player that they, as Byleth, should excuse and forgive Dimitri for his atrocities because he was traumatized and sad, the narrative (and all the characters in the narrative) are basically pushing Byleth to be Dimitri’s therapist. And as I said in the tags on one of my Azure Moon hate posts (or maybe on twitter, I can’t remember, it all blends together), I am not here for that.

Aside from the fact that both Edelgard and Claude seem to genuinely care for Byleth the whole way through, the other primary difference between them and Dimitri is the fact that Byleth doesn’t have to play therapist for either of them. Claude, for the most part, doesn’t have any major traumas; he did have to grow up being outcasted for being mixed race, and that is its own kind of trauma which I am in NO WAY diminishing, but that trauma he faced was the more realistic type of trauma that people in real life face every day. He is still the most well-adjusted of the three. As for Edelgard, she is in my opinion even more traumatized than Dimitri, but not only is her trauma handled in such a way that it’s never used as an excuse for her behavior (the experiences that traumatized her helped her form the beliefs that spur her actions, but her actions always route back to those beliefs, not to “ghosts made me do it”), but she also pretty much keeps her trauma to herself as best she can and never hinges her emotional stability on Byleth. Yes, Byleth’s presence helps balance Edelgard since Byleth is a secondary confidant and can therefore offer counter-influence to Hubert’s toxic influence (not bashing Hubert here, I’m just saying, he is the WORST influence), but although it’s made clear that Edelgard deeply missed Byleth for the past five years to the point of lamenting about it constantly to the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force, she also kept her shit together and didn’t wantonly murder people as a result of Byleth’s absence. When she comes to Byleth with issues, they’re usually tactics or strategy related. Byleth is only ever able to learn about Edelgard’s past in late night moments of emotional vulnerability, such as after a nightmare. And even then, Edelgard sharing those moments is less “HEAL MY PAST TRAUMA AND MAKE ME BETTER, PROFESSOR” and more “okay, I trust you enough to tell you this.” It’s not about helping stabilize Edelgard, it’s about earning enough of Edelgard’s trust to learn of her past.

This is in stark contrast to Dimitri, who, again, is completely off his shits, and him being off his shits is treated as a problem that Byleth (/the player) needs to “fix.” Felix tells you to do something about Dimitri. Rodrigue asks you to steer Dimitri in a better direction. Gilbert and Dedue both thank you for “saving” Dimitri even before he finishes being off his shits. The Azure Moon route is about forcing Byleth into the position of therapist and having them do emotional labor for Dimitri, which is hilarious if you think about how Byleth didn’t even start having emotions until teaching at the academy, but also unbelievably aggravating to me, as a player, because I don’t want to be a therapist for a murderous sadboy. I don’t like Dimitri. I don’t approve of his actions or behaviors. And I don’t give a shit what his reasons are for it. I’m not here to be his therapist or do that emotional labor, and I shouldn’t have to be. No one should have to be, except a paid therapist, and only because they’re being paid and have agreed to take on the job. But even then, Dimitri is still his own responsiblity. He is a grown fucking man. It shouldn’t be my or anyone else’s job to do this for him. Neither Edelgard or Claude (or Yuri, for that matter, in Cindered Shadows) required this much emotional labor and bullshit, for fucksake.

But of course, in all of this, I think what gets me more than anything present in the entire game is the fact how, from what I’ve seen, people in fandom by and large worship Dimitri and bend themselves into pretzels painting him as heroic while simultaneously spitting bile at Edelgard and making her out to be a villain. The contrast in their respective pages on TV Tropes is stark. I know I shouldn’t be surprised, given that Edelgard is a woman (and a queer woman, at that) and Dimitri is a blond white boy, and that’s just the way these things tend to be, but it still pisses me off and frustrates me to no end. Fandoms are simultaneously the best and worst of times and this will likely never change. (But honestly, if Edelgard’s role was filled by the blond white pretty boy while Dimitri’s was filled by the woman, I guarantee you that reception to them would be flipped right around. Guarantee.)

Anyway, this turned into a huge rant. I didn’t even expect it to be this long when I started writing. But suffice to say that while I’ve not yet finished Azure Moon, it’s currently my least favorite of the routes I’ve played (best is Crimson Flower, then Cindered Shadows because shut up I’m counting it, then Verdant Wind, and then Azure Moon; I’m ignoring the existence of Silver Snow since I cannot imagine ever not siding with Edelgard when I’ve chosen the Black Eagles), and I cannot stand Didi. He is the worst of the House Leaders by far. Considering how much he has in common with Rhea, it shouldn’t be surprising I feel this way about him, but boy, do I feel this way about him. So go ahead and feel validated, anon. You will not find Didi or Azure Moon love on this blog. You are not alone in this, trust.

[starkercrossedlovers]

Call Me, Maybe? 📞

This is part two of the sex line fic Hotline Bling and I hope you all enjoy!!

————————

Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe

Peter’s had the song stuck in his head for days, humming it under his breath in class, as he patrols, singing off key and loud in the shower...it’s silly, but he can’t stop.

It doesn’t help that he’s made it the ringtone for Tony, and when he’s not in class, it blares every time the older man calls or texts.

Which is a lot.

Because they sext and text and call each other...all. The. Time.

He swerves and dodges a blast from a robot seemingly intent on homicide and hisses when one of its lasers slices through his suit and into his ribs.

He should be getting ready to meet Tony, but no, some maniacal asshole had to go and ruin his date. He’s already sent Tony a text that he’s not going to make it—last minute paper to finish!—but he’s hoping that if he can just—

The robot tangles in the webs he shoots and then blasts it with an EMP, grinning in delight when it collapses to the pavement below.

He webs it down more securely until SHIELD arrives and then swings away, back to the apartment. It’s only when he’s in the shower that the wound on his side makes itself known again and he hisses as blood streams down the drain. His fingers shake as he wraps a bandage around his torso after the shower, wincing at the ache in his side.

He can’t go meet Tony like this...

Sighing, he pulls on soft sweatpants and a T-shirt, toweling off his hair as he heads for his desk.

He does actually have a paper to work on...even if he’d much rather be somewhere else...with someone else.

Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe

He grins when he sees his phone light up with a new text from Tony.

Tony: hey baby, I know you gotta paper to write, just wanted to say I miss that pretty face

He melts.

Snaps a pic of him, post shower, pink cheeked and shirt slipping off one shoulder and sends it.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Tony: oh baby...ur so pretty...wish I was there to mess you up, get you all dirty

Peter: me too...I’ll call you when I’m done?

Tony: yes plz baby 😘😘😘

Peter grins and sets the phone aside, determined to focus and get this paper done.

Then he can play.

———————��——

When he’d first met Tony at the coffee shop two weeks ago he’d kinda expected to be taken somewhere private and fucked senseless. Instead, Tony had bought them coffee and guided him to a corner table and they had talked...for hours.

He’d found out the older man is a mechanic and former race car driver, with a penchant for sex line work on the side. He’d explained that he likes the work; he’s always enjoyed making his partners cum and being a sort of blank canvas for other’s needs is something he finds enjoyable.

Clad in a flannel button down with a Black Sabbath T-shirt underneath, jeans that clung to his thighs, and combat boots, he was...entirely unexpected.

They talked mechanics and engineering, biochemistry and history, social justice and morality and before Peter had realized it, his stomach was demanding food. When he tried to apologize, Tony just laughed and guided him out to his car—a 75 Aston Martin Vantage, cherry red with gold accents—and took him to dinner.

He finds out that Tony’s 45, single, divorced with no kids, and co-owner of Stark Industries with his ex wife, Pepper Potts. Peter can barely believe he’s sitting with a man named in the top 100 wealthiest people in the world eating burgers from some hole in the wall diner, but yea, it’s real.

When he dropped him off after that first date he asked if he could kiss him and then proceeded to do so until Peter was hard and aching, clinging to the older man and gasping his name, whispering a plea that Tony had struggled to refuse. He sent Peter inside and called him minutes after he got home, listened to him jerk off and beg for Tony, cuming alongside him just a few short minutes later.

They’ve seen each other nearly every day since then, talked just about every night, texted constantly, and still, Tony hasn’t fucked him yet. This weekend though, he’s going to make it happen. Aunt May is going to Chicago for a conference and he’s assured her he’ll be fine, nudged her out the door and then waited ten minutes to text Tony.

Peter: home alone this weekend, come over?

He bites his lip, pacing as he waits for a response and then jolts when his phone starts playing that familiar ring tone.

Tony: have a few more meetings at SI 8 ok?

Peter: yes!

Tony: see you later sweetheart 😘

Peter sighs, it’s noon, which means he has to wait all day for Tony. It’s an in service day so he’s home alone, with nothing to do. A grin creeps over his face and he runs to his room, shedding clothing until he’s in his boxers.

Screw homework, he’s going to tease Tony till he comes over early and fucks him.

He plays with his nipples until they’re sore and achy, chest flushed pink with desire and hair messy from writhing on his bed. He snaps a pic and sends it—missing you—he captions it.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Tony: baby...Jesus...u look so good

Peter shoves a hand into his boxers and takes another pic so Tony can see. Wish you were here he sends along with it.

Tony: Christ kid...trying to focus on this budget mtg and that’s not helping

Peter grins and records a small video of his hand stroking his cock inside his boxers, loops it into a gif and sends it.

Tony: fuck...baby boy, ur making daddy hard. Gonna get in trouble if u can’t behave

Peter records another short video and allows himself to gasp and moan, need you daddy he whispers, grinning as he sends it.

There’s a long few minutes of nothing and then—oh...Tony’s sent him a video of him, in the bathroom presumably, stroking his cock and murmuring.

Look what you did to daddy baby, look how hard you made me...daddy can’t even get through a meeting without his baby needing him, huh? Gotta leave work early and come take care of you?

Tony groans as he cums, and Peter moans with him, spilling over his own hand, grinning as Tony huffs and murmurs—be good baby, I’ll be there soon.

——————

Soon, it turns out is three more hours. Which is still much earlier than he’d originally said he’d be there, but still, it feels like an eternity to Peter. He’s actually done his chores; laundry, cleaned his bathroom, completed his bio homework, and he’s thinking of going out for a patrol when there’s a knock at the front door.

He tugs on a T-shirt and hurries out, beaming when he sees it’s Tony through the peephole. He manages to get out a surprised gasp at the sight of him in a suit before the older man pushes him inside and kicks the door shut. Tony’s on him all at once, hands cupping his ass as he lifts him, mouth hungry on his as he presses Peter against the wall, devouring him.

Peter whines as Tony’s mouth trails over his throat, marking it deeply before he fists a hand in Peter’s hair and pulls, tilting his head so he can kiss all along his collarbones and lick at the soft space in the hollow of his throat.

Tony rolls his hips into Peter’s so he can feel the hard line of his cock as he growls in his ear.

“Can’t even get through a few hours alone, huh baby? You that desperate? Hmm?”

Peter’s breath hitches and he nods, gasping when Tony’s fingers tighten in his hair to hold him still.

“Gonna have to teach you how to wait baby. Gotta learn patience.”

Tony backs away from the wall and carries Peter to his room, lays him down and strips him bare, and then just sits back, looking at him. Peter makes a soft noise, needy and pitchy, slides a hand down to wrap around his cock, only for Tony to bat it away and then capture the other, pinning them above his head in one easy move.

“No touching baby. That’s for daddy,” Tony tells him, smiling dark and dangerously. Peter whines but nods, arches his hips up as though he thinks it’ll get Tony’s attention to his cock, but the older man just backs away, keeps his hips high so Peter can’t make contact.

“Keep your hands there baby,” Tony instructs before sitting back, his weight on Peter’s thighs so he can’t move. Peter watches as he strips off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves so the bronzed skin of his forearms is exposed. He’s so densely muscular, years of working on cars honing his body into a solid weight that feels perfect on top of Peter.

Tony grabs the lube Peter had out earlier and slicks his palm before wrapping his hand around Peter’s cock, smirking when he gasps and tries to arch into it. He strokes him slow and steady, eyes dark and hungry as Peter moans and writhes, gasping Tony’s name as he gets closer, heat building in his stomach.

I’m gonna... he manages to gasp out...and Tony’s hand is gone. Peter sobs at the loss of sensation, whining as his orgasm fades away, tossing his head on the pillow unhappily.

When Tony resumes stroking him he moans and shudders, but it’s only a few minutes later that Tony removes his hand again. “I told you baby, you gotta learn to wait,” Tony croons, hand rubbing Peter’s thigh soothingly as he keens and writhes.

Peter’s not sure how long it goes on for like that—hours, days? All he knows is Tony’s hand on him and the ache in him growing each time it isn’t allowed to break free. He’s sobbing for each breath, tears wetting his lashes as he begs and begs, every nerve in his body like a live wire.

“Want you...in me,” he manages to gasp, begging please please please, and it seems like Tony softens for moment, considering his plea. He nods slowly and grabs Peter’s hips, rolls him into his stomach and then pulls him to his knees, gently pushes his head back down when he tries to lift it.

“Okay baby,” Tony murmurs, “just hold on.”

Peter expects his fingers, lube maybe, but he doesn’t expect—Tony’s tongue, hot and wet over his hole, licking fervently into him. He cries out shrilly, gasping and clutching at the sheets as Tony devours him; licking and sucking at his rim until it feels puffy and loose, tongue thrusting in and moving inside him.

It’s joined by a finger and then another, thick and calloused, firm inside him, stretching as Tony continues to attack his rim. Peter keens when Tony nips at him, the sensation nearly overwhelming as a third finger joins the other two.

He can feel Tony searching, and when his fingers find it, Peter lets out a strangled scream and thrusts back, eyes rolling back as Tony fucks into him. He’s loose and wet and it’s loud, the sound of Tony’s fingers inside him—sloppy in a way that should be disgusting but makes his gut burn with pleasure.

He can feel it rising within him, hot and desperate and he tries, but he can’t form words, just strangled moans of Tony and daddy as he drools info the mattress and then everything goes white; soundless, sightless, senseless.

As sound and sensation creep back in around the edges he’s aware of how hard he’s cum, and the fact that he’s still hard. Tony’s fingers are still in him, and the older man is murming softly.

“Look at you sweetheart, look at the mess you made. That pretty little cock is still hard, huh? Well, you don’t get to cum again till daddy does,” he warns. Peter can hear a belt being undone and a zipper sliding down and then Tony’s fingers slip out of him and he moans at the loss, rocking back to chase them.

Tony laughs softly and turns him around, pulls him into his lap where he’s still dressed, but his cock is out, hard and red and throbbing. He guides Peter up and holds his hips as he pulls him down, eyes hooded and dark as they watch him.

Peter sobs at the sensation; Tony’s cock is thick and long, and it’s, it’s breaking him apart as he sinks down onto it, breath hitching as the head slips past his rim, a sobbing moan sliding from his throat as Tony pushes into him slowly.

It’s too much, too thick, pressing into his soft insides, and it hurts, but not real pain, pain like when he makes himself cum too many times in a row or pokes a bruise—heavy, throbbing sensation that makes him ache for more.

Tears blur his vision as Tony fills him, hard and heavy in his gut, the head of his cock pushing into his prostate like a punch to the gut. He shudders and curls inward, tucks himself into Tony’s chest panting and whining as Tony pushes the rest of the way into him.

He’s so full...it feels like he could split apart at the seams from how Tony’s cock is seated inside him, pressing into him, the weight of it taking his breath away. He’s shivering and breathing unsteadily, and when Tony’s hand makes slow circles over his back and his lips press into his hair, he whines and nuzzles into him further.

“You okay baby? We don’t have to keep going,” Tony murmurs, lips against his ear, voice warm with concern.

Peter shakes his head and sniffles, “S’really full,” he slurs, “s’alot.”

Tony nods and kisses his temple, “I know baby, just breathe, mmkay?”

Peter manages a weak nod and turns his chin so his nose is in the crook of Tony’s neck and his scent floods his nose; warm and spicy with undertones of grease and metal. Tony keeps making slow circles over his back and eventually he realizes he’s rocking his hips, making slow circles of his own on Tony’s cock.

“You ready baby? You gonna ride daddy’s cock?” Tony asks, voice a low hum in his ear.

Peter nods and wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders as he sits straighter, a little bleary eyed as he stares into Tony’s eyes. The older man smiles and lifts a hand to cup his cheek, a tender expression on his face as Peter gains his rhythm.

“You’re so beautiful baby, all pink and flushed and fucked out from daddy cock. Love those little noises you make,” he murmurs, thumb pressing into Peter’s lower lip and then into his mouth as the boy moans and rolls his hips faster.

Peter is dazed and a little light headed, need swelling within him once more as he rides Tony, gasping and moaning around the fingers in his mouth. His ass burns, stretched open and throbbing at the weight of Tony’s cock thrusting into him, the heat of it filling him till he’s like a ripe fruit, swollen and ready to burst.

He sobs a little as he thrusts faster onto Tony, arching his back as he finds that spot within himself, pleasure like white lightning up his spine every time Tony’s cock drags over it. He’s not even coherent as he lifts himself and slams back down, cries loud and wrecked, chest heaving with every breath.

P-pleaseeeee...daddy! Uhn Uhn Uhn

Tony’s grip tightens on him as he watches his boy, flushed and crying, cock bouncing as he rides him, loud desperate moans filling the small apartment.

He wishes he had the foresight to record this, so he could watch it over and over again when they’re apart—next time, he promises himself. Pleasure burns in his gut as Peter bounces on his cock, tears on his cheeks as he begs to cum, cock drooling heavily on his stomach.

He’s close himself now, and decides to take mercy on his sweet boy. Wrapping his hand around his cock he strokes, twisting at the head and thumbing at the sensitive tip, groaning as Peter wails and jerks, sounds strangling as he bounces harder, faster.

Peter can’t tell where pain ends and pleasure begins; he’s too stretched out and Tony’s touch on his cock hurts, but he needs it, needs to cum, and the thrust of his cock inside him is hard against the bruised walls of his body, but it’s good, so so good and he can��t, he can’t—

Tony sucks a mark to his neck, “Cum for me baby,” he gasps, pressing his nail into the tip of Peter’s cock just as he slams down on Tony’s length. A wail rips from his boy’s throat and then his cum is splattering over his stomach and Tony’s hand and on his suit and he’s shuddering and following after him, spilling hot inside Peter with a groan of his name.

Peter sobs, rocking down on Tony as his cum fills him, hot against his tender insides, slipping out around his puffy, raw rim and he cries, shuddering through each spurt of his own cock into Tony’s hand until he’s got nothing left to give and he’s limp in Tony’s arms.

The older man hushes him as he cries, holds him tight and presses kisses to his face and throat and hair, crooning praise. “So good baby, you were so good. I’m so proud of you.”

Tony gently guides him back against his pillows, pulls out slowly and hushes Peter’s whine at the loss. Peter buries his face in Tony’s shoulder and breathes unsteadily as the older man runs his hands over him, shudders when his thick calloused fingers slide into his hole where he’s wet and open.

“God baby, look at you,” Tony rasps out, voice low and gravelly. “You’re a mess sweetheart. All open and wet with daddy’s cum.”

Peter whines and pushes his face against Tony’s throat, embarrassed but pleased.

“C’mon baby, look” Tony encourages and he finally pulls away, leans up and peers down, flushes when he sees the way his thighs are coated in sticky white, his and Tony’s cum staining his skin.

He collapses back and throws an arm over his eyes, entirely exhausted and wrung out. A dull ache throbs inside him where Tony was, and he can feel his hole trying to tighten, but he’s still loose and dripping cum and he shivers, enjoying the slick sensation of it.

Tony kisses his cheek and pushes his arm off his eyes, gaze worried and soft. “Are you okay Peter? Anything hurt?”

Peter laughs softly and slings his arm around Tony’s neck, draws him down for a kiss that’s uncoordinated and sweet. “I’m ok, promise,” he breathes against Tony’s lips. The older man studies him with a hint of suspicion and then nods, smiling softly.

“Mmkay sweetheart. We’re gonna shower and then you’re gonna eat and watch a movie with me.”

Peter stares at him for a long moment, throat working to produce the words he wants desperately to ask.

“You’re staying?”

Tony’s gaze softens and he nods, leans in for a kiss, “Baby, of course I’m staying—you’re never getting rid of me now,” he promises with a wry little smirk Peter can feel against his mouth.

He grins and pulls him closer, “Good. I don’t want you going anywhere...except inside me.”

Tony laughs and drops his head to Peter’s shoulder, body shaking with laughter and Peter grins; he’s so glad he called that line and found Tony.

Found this.

Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me maybe

———————

@sluttystarker @starkerchemistryy @pantastic-peach @thebadthingshappen @ciel-mio @hpspazz @starker-4ever @w1nters-stark @foof-a-loof @confused-trash-kitten @panicdotexe @stqrker @honey-honey-darling @mariketa12 @itsmeryshipper @dramione90 @starker-flame @pretzelpoetry @seriouslystarker @starkerthanreality @ikneelbeforemygod @professional-fangirl75 @virgilismypoorshadowling @godlovesstarker @sapphicfreak @veronicashipsit @the-dark-obsidian-princess @ikneelbeforemygod @laughing-oreo @sensei-sans-sugoi @ruelukas22 @tom-starker @yourlittlemelody

[rwbyremnants]

TRIGGER WARNING: Racism and abuse.

NOTE: Merry Christma... well, Boxing Day! Sorry this chapter isn't exactly the most festive it could have been. Hopefully you enjoy it anyway!

=Chapter 9

That early evening, Weiss felt content in her knowledge that she and Yang were on good terms, and that they had already logged some study time to help Yang improve her grades. Things were going well. Now, she only had to solve one other new problem that had presented itself.

“Search me,” Pyrrha sighed as she gently stirred her milkshake with the straw, gazing into the far corner of the malt shop. Weiss had elected to have only a cherry phosphate, not wanting to spoil her dinner since she was eating at home tonight. “I’m an only child.”

“I might as well be,” Weiss admitted. “Whitley is a pill, and a boy anyway, and Winter’s been gone away to college for a couple of years now. Father won’t even tell me if she calls or writes since he’s so disappointed in her career choice.”

“But the WAC is a noble field! I’ve actually been thinking of enlisting myself, if I don’t train for the Olympics…”

Lowering her voice, Weiss whispered, “I think he expects it to turn her into a lesbian. Since the army is ‘men’s work’ to him. Which is pretty ironic, isn’t it? Worried about the wrong daughter.” Then in a more normal tone, she added, “Plus, he wanted her to take over the company reins. I’m not as well-suited, even though I want to - and Whitley is completely useless, the selfish little toad. But it’s too late; she’s even more stubborn than me, and won’t change her mind for anything.”

Pyrrha nodded to herself as Danny And The Juniors came on the jukebox. A few of the kids in the far corner got up and started to dance, even though it always made the elderly man behind the counter roll his eyes. Privately, Weiss thought that if he hated modern music so much, he shouldn’t provide it for the clientele.

“Well… are you sure you want to take over the business?”

“Huh?”

“It’s not set in stone. If you want to do something else with your life, I think you should. We only go around once, don’t we?”

“Thanks,” Weiss snorted as she patted Pyrrha’s hand. “You’re a peach, Pyrrha. But no… I do think I’d like to take over Schnee Communications. Really do something big with it.” She noticed her other hand was tapping the stem of her soda glass, and she smiled. “Did you want to dance?”

“Hm? Dance? Me? To what?”

“To ‘At The Hop’, you dunce,” she giggled.

“With you?” An instant later, she blanched and followed up, “N-not that there’s anything wrong with that! I just m-meant… well, we’re in public, a-and I’m not like you are, a-and-”

“No one cares if two girls dance together, Pyrrha. As long as we don’t start necking in the middle of the malt shop, it’s fine! Besides… maybe we’ll get asked to dance by boys.”

Still flushed, Pyrrha glanced over shoulder at the crowd. “You really think so?”

“I do. And who knows? Might get your mind off a certain Jaune Arc.”

“Shhh!” she hissed, but even while Weiss was giggling she slid out of the booth and grabbed her by the hand, dragging her just far enough from their booth to dance.

Neither of them were very good at it, but at least enough to keep time with the music and avoid knocking anything - or anyone - to the floor. Weiss had to admit she was impressed with Pyrrha’s jitterbugging, and even herself for not falling on her behind even once. She did see out of the corner of her eye that a few of the boys were watching them with slight astonishment, but she made up her mind not to care; if she projected confidence, showed that she didn’t care in the slightest, they would eventually go back to their own dance partners. And she was right; a couple of other girls did the same, and even two boys, laughing at the absurdity. Maybe they would start a trend!

When “All Shook Up” came on next, she couldn’t seem to help herself; she really thought Elvis was the most. Pyrrha took a step back and let Weiss put on a show by herself, mostly just swaying and snapping her fingers. Neither of them minded much, and she got a few cheers when the song ended. Vaguely embarrassed, she curtsied and moved to sit down.

Then someone put in another dime and cued up “Lollipop”. Pyrrha kept dancing, but Weiss decided that it was time to put on a show of a different kind.

“Call my baby lollipop, tell you why,” she belted out in time with the Chordettes, earning her wolf-whistles and thunderous applause from all but the elderly soda jerk. “His kiss is sweeter than an apple pie! And when he does his shaky rockin' dance, man, I haven't got a chance!”

Everyone started singing along with the chorus, and Pyrrha laughed and clapped louder, clearly enjoying herself. Weiss was, too. For some reason, she had always thought it too unseemly to dance in public anytime other than an actual school sock hop. Singing was another matter, but her father expected her to keep her performances to operetta and hymns. As much as she liked popular music, it was discouraged and seen as “pedestrian”, so she had never owned any records of her own.

Finally worn out, the two of them finished off their drinks and then made their way home. If they settled in quickly, they could study for an hour or so before suppertime.

However, as it turned out, life had other plans.

“Weiss!” her father called out as they passed through the living room. “May I speak with you a moment?”

“Yes, Father?”

He glanced pointedly at Pyrrha. “Alone?”

“Sorry,” she whispered to her friend. “I’ll be up in a minute?” Pyrrha nodded, waving at Mr. Schnee as she headed upstairs. He did not deign to acknowledge her.

“Good. Sit.” He motioned to the couch before reclaiming his armchair. Weiss obeyed, sitting primly on the edge of the cushion. “I was hoping you would be able to shed some light on certain information that has come into my possession.”

“Sorry, what information is that?”

“Apparently, you have been consorting with known delinquents.”

As she stared at her father, the bottom dropped out of Weiss's stomach. Someone had seen her with Yang. Who?! They hadn't been very discreet so it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise that they had been caught - and yet it did. She was completely gobsmacked. Still, there was no reason to cop to everything right away; maybe he didn't know very much, and she certainly didn't want to accidentally volunteer information that wasn't necessary to volunteer.

“What?”

“Don't play coy with me,” he went on with a slight sneer that lifted the corner of his mustache. “Whitley saw you sneaking out of the house in the dead of night. What could you have been thinking?”

It was worse than she thought. Of course her father would believe Whitley, that little toad. “W-well, I only went to retrieve a school book I loaned out.”

“To that Chinese girl, hmm?”

“Yes. I'm helping her with math and-”

“You expect me to believe that the only reason you climbed down the side of our home was to retrieve a book? Just what sort of fool do you take me for?”

“The best sort! Wait- I mean, no fool at all, Sir!”

Shaking his head, he crossed his legs and leaned heavily against one elbow. “All the money spent on tutoring, already wasted when you insisted on going to a public school instead of a private academy. Your mother made the inane decision that if it was what you wanted, it was worth the sacrifice. And now look where we are! You’re running around Vale with some kind of… opium fiends on motorbikes!”

“Opium…” Weiss rolled her eyes when she made the connection. “Just because she’s half-Chinese doesn’t mean she’s ever even seen opium, Father. And as far as I know, she hasn’t!”

“Oh, really? You have enough experience with the fruit of the poppy that you can tell the difference?”

It was very difficult for her not to get upset with him. “I’ve literally never spent a moment thinking about her being Chinese. She’s being raised by her mother, who’s from America.”

“Hmph. The fact remains, she is not the sort of friend you ought to be keeping company with. I forbid you to see her anymore.”

“You what?” Blinking up at him, she waited for him to elaborate, or to rescind his edict. He did not. So she burst out, “You can’t do that!”

“I just have.”

“But she’s-” It took quite a lot of effort to suppress some kind of ill-conceived confession of love. “Father, she needs my help in school, a-and we’re good friends! And you won’t tell me I’m not to see her!”

His eyes flashed dangerously. “Watch your tongue, young lady. This is my house, and what I say goes.”

“NO!”

“Excuse me?”

“Not this time!” she snapped, leaping to her feet. She knew this wasn’t a spectacular idea, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself; it was as if the anger pulsing behind her temples was taking over her body, separating her from being able to command it any longer. “All I ever do is what you tell me to! I’m a good student, I practice my singing every day, a-and I’ve even been keeping up with tennis! With Yang! So why… I mean, how can you forbid me to see someone you don’t even know? That isn’t fair!”

She could have predicted he would say “Life isn’t fair” before he even formed the words, and was only further angered to hear him say them after all.

“So what?! That doesn’t mean you have to be unfair along with it!”

Jacques Schnee shot to his feet and snatched up her bicep, jerking her forcibly toward him with an iron grip. His cold eyes stabbed down into her own and her heart stopped beating to see his barely-concealed rage.

“You will stop speaking to me in this manner, and you still stop associating with the Chinese girl. My decision is final. If you continue to disobey me, there will be further consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

“No.”

“Try that again,” he growled, shaking her arm.

She didn’t know why she said it. Her father had already proven he had no interest in what she had to say at all. Perhaps it was the fact that Yang had become a lot more important to her than she ever thought possible, and that connection was too precious to be severed for no reason other than Yang’s race and the fact that she wore a leather jacket. Something within her was glowing white-hot and could not be cooled down until it burned something else.

“Or what? You’re going to hit me? Again? Like you hit mother when you think we’re not looking? Like she hits Whitley when he smarts off? Is that just what this family does? It’s pathetic! You are pathetic!”

His eyes flicked to her scar, and Weiss felt the dark thrill of a very unsatisfying triumph. A rough shove sent her falling against the couch, grasping at the arm to keep from winding up in the floor.

“I knew it was a mistake to entrust my company’s future to a woman. You never see the bigger picture. Whitley may be a low-grade moron, but at least he understands loyalty. All you care about is your sock hops and giggling with the girls - now including some foreign wok-woman. Squandering your potential. There’s too much of your mother in you.”

“I don’t care,” she lied as the tears began. How desperately she wished they wouldn’t.

“You will. When I’m disciplining you until you straighten up and act in a way befitting the Schnee name, you’ll care.” Smoothing the front of his suit, which had barely been disturbed at all by shoving his daughter, he grunted, “Get up and stop that blubbering.”

Weiss obeyed. Back straight, she stared him down, even as her cheeks glistened.

“Better. Now, you will sever all contact with the ruffian girl, and you will focus on your studies. Is that clear?”

“It’s clear.”

“Do you promise to obey me?”

Teeth clenched, she hissed, “Never.” His hand came down hard across her face. “AH!”

“Do you promise to obey me?!”

Furious in a way she didn’t know she could be, Weiss turned and screamed, “NEVER! I’ll never obey! You can slap me, you can kick me, y-you can chop me into pieces and feed me to the birds! I don’t care! I’m never going to let you tell me who I can and can’t be friends with, EVER!”

For a long moment, he regarded her and the angry red throbbing on her cheek. His face was completely impassive, even though he was breathing hard. Then he turned to stare into the unlit fireplace.

“That’s ‘with whom I can and can’t be friends’. Clearly, she’s already having a detrimental effect on your grammar.” The sigh was weary, as if this were nothing more than a tedious board meeting. “Very well. I’ll take care of the matter myself. And don’t think there won’t be further consequences.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“You’ll see.” Turning back, he glared down at her. “You are dismissed. Go and study. Do something useful for a change.”

After a few seconds of huffing and puffing, Weiss managed to growl out “I hate you!” before she fled from the room and stomped upstairs.

She had fully intended on going to her room. Pyrrha was probably worried about the screaming, if she hadn’t somehow missed all the noise. Halfway there, she changed direction and burst into the drawing room, fists vibrating at her sides.

“MOTHER!”

Willow Schnee was draped over the piano bench, an empty bottle of red wine dangling in her loose grip. This was sadly a standard state of being for the woman; it had been for many years. Weiss had some hazy memories of a glamourous woman who didn’t fall to pieces so often, who could resist the pull of strong spirits. Hazy, distant, and with no impact on the present day.

“Wha…?”

Sinking to her knees beside her, Weiss sniffled and whispered, “He hit me again! H-he promised he wouldn’t, and he did, a-and I… Mommy, I need you to come back! Come back to us!”

The skin between the woman’s perfect eyebrows crinkled as she tried to think her way through the fog of alcohol. “Hm?”

“He slapped me! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Oh… no, no he didn’t. He said no more… only me.” She groaned and pushed a hand into her face. “Winter, stop the train, Mommy needs to lie down…”

Of course it was useless. Sighing, she took the bottle and set it aside, then managed to heave her mother to her feet and guide her to the chaise lounge under the window. The setting sun was just starting to pinken the sky, and she thought the view might help.

“Please don’t go,” Mrs. Schnee murmured. “I… want to… you were always so sweet, Weiss…”

“At least you got my name right that time,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Leaning down, she pressed her lips into her mother’s pale forehead. She and Winter looked the most alike, and she definitely had their mother’s gentle eyes. But Weiss had her nominal stature and her angelic singing voice, which were nothing to sneeze at. “Mother?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“Mmm…” Her hand came up to rest on the side of Weiss’s neck. “Love you, too, sweetheart. You’re my little…”

Before she could even finish her sentence, her arm flopped to one side and she began to doze. “Snow Angel,” she finished for her. That was most likely what she had been about to say. Weiss decided to leave her there and simply sneak back out of the room. Compared to that mess, her life was entirely tolerable.

When she regained the safety of her own room, she found Pyrrha twisting the hem of her long poodle skirt in her hands. She looked panicked. Seeing her friend in the doorway, she stood, eyes full of fear as she whispered, “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Edging the door closed, she approached her desk in the corner and rested a hand on her books. “Let’s just… do our homework.”

“Your face…”

“What about it? Am I really that hideous?”

Pyrrha put her hands on her friend’s shoulders and held her fast. “Don’t do that. He… he shouldn’t be allowed to…”

Suddenly, Weiss needed to be alone. She wouldn’t tell Pyrrha to leave, but that didn’t prevent the desire from rising up powerfully within her. The desire to disappear. The desire to be anyone but a Schnee. “Nothing happened. Do you understand?”

“I don’t,” she whispered in a tight voice. “I can’t pretend this away, Weiss.”

“Then try. Try really, really hard.”

Then arms were around her, holding her as close as was possible. Even though she hated herself for it, would have given the entirety of her trust fund away to stem the flow, the tears started pouring forth in earnest. And they didn’t stop for some time.

[sheerioasteroidpanda]

Couple’s Holiday, Getting Dicked Good and Monster Girls

Uhh so as usually, when I’m most stressed I write and lately I’ve been reallyyyyyyyyy feeling some Ed Sheeran story so I wrote this. It’s just short and silly and yeah. Just blah. I know I haven’t written anything for tumblr in a while and my AO3 is kind of dead but its cause I let a snide comment get to me plus I’ve been super busy with finishing up college so. Anyways enough rambling. Here’s my first Ed fan fic in a long time. And yes, I used my name cause I’m lazy and selfish and needy for Ed. 

"Babe?"

"YEAH?" amanda shouted from her position on the couch, which was currently upside down, legs on the head rest and head on the foot rest.

"Why are you yelling?" Ed asked not looking up from his phone as he entered the condo he had rented for the holidays. 

"Oh sorry, thought you were farther away. All the blood is rushing in my ears and it's kinda hard to hear."

"What the hell are you doing?" Ed asked finally looking up to see his girlfriend sitting the complete wrong way with her head nearly touching the floor.

"I dunno, what are youuu doing?" Amanda grinned back. They had been staying at a luxury condo in Colorado Springs for the past 2 weeks and she was getting antsy. While it was supposed to be a holiday vacation, Ed had gotten together with a few music buddies and of course, being Ed, had worked the whole 2 weeks. She didn't mind, she loved seeing him happy and working but still… antsy.

"Wanna go to a party tonight?" Ed checked his phone again as it dinged.

"Hmmmmm what kinda party? We takin party hard party? Rave party? Club party? Pub/dive bar party? You gotta fill a girl in here, ginger boy" amanda rolled over so she was sprawled on the long couch laying on her stomach, her feet kicking in the air.

"Oh I'll fill a girl alright!" Ed wiggled his eyebrows and quickly pocketed his phone so his hands were free to grab Amanda's sides and tickle her. "Fill her right up with my ginger cock is what i’ll do!"

"Edward!" Amanda squealed and wiggled trying to get away. Or maybe get closer, it could be hard to tell sometimes. "You're so lewd!" 

"Aye but you love it" ed said as he nuzzled his nose against her cheek, his body now laying fully on top of hers.

"Nah, i love you" amanda said while pushing her hips up to rub against his groin.

Ed nearly growled at the friction. "Babe before we start, do you want to go out tonight? It'll be club and my friends will be there" ed explained as he trailed kisses behind her ear and down her neck.

"Oh" amanda said softly trying to focus. "Which friends?"

"Hmm?" Ed mumbled while he rested back on his hunches and started to push up Amanda's top.

"Ed which friends are going to be there tonight?" Amanda asked a little more firmly.

"Uh, I don't know, probably Dillion and JB and Dia and…" ed listed off a few others.

Amanda felt her heart sploot a little, these were definitely not her types of people. "Uh, why don't you just go. I know you'll have a lot more fun without me to be your ball and chain" saying a little more cheerfully than necessary.

"You don't want to go? Is it cause of Justin? You know he's grown up now. Just like I did." Ed says seriously, all future sexy times are thrown out the window.

Sighing amanda scooted out from under ed so she could sit properly. "I know ed but i just don't enjoy his company not to mention a few others you mentioned would be there. You know that's not my scene anyways. Id just be awkward and distract you from having a good time. Go have fun with your friends. Seeing them is just as important as seeing me or seeing family."

"Dear god I love you" ed said, cupping Amanda's cheek and giving her a sweet and light kiss. "What about you, love? What will you do if i go out?"

Amanda laughed loudly "darlin i have a bottle of wine in the fridge, internet connection and my kindle app. I promise ill be fine for a few hours." It was amanda's turn to give ed a peck on the lips. "Go. Have fun. I'll be here enjoying me time."

"God i fucking love you!" Ed said excitedly as he jumped up after kissing her again and grabbing his jacket and ran towards the door.

"Wait!" Amanda shouted just as he was about to close the door. Ed poked his head back in with a question. 

"Phone?" A nod. 

"Wallet?" Another nod. 

"Keys?" Amanda asked with a raised eyebrow as she looked from him to the coffee table in front of her with his keys sitting on it.

"Have I mentioned you are the most wonderful woman ever to exist?" Ed said as he sheepishly came back inside and grabbed his keys.

"Hmm ill be sure to let your mom know you said as such" amanda grinned wickedly.

Ed gasped "you wouldn't"

"I will if you don't leave right now. You're gonna miss all the fun." 

Ed rushed out the door with a final, ‘love you!’ and left Amanda on her own once again. Sighing to herself, she allowed herself to pout at being left alone once again but only for a moment. She truly meant what she said about wanting him to see his friends. And it wasn’t that she didn’t not  like some of his friends, she just knew she wouldn’t enjoy herself. If she wasn’t enjoying herself, she didn’t want to distract Ed with her problems. 

But honestly, did he have to leave her all hot and bothered? Just rude. Thinking about ways to fix her problem she slammed her fist in her other hand. “I’ll need my laptop and that bottle for sure” Amanda giggled. If Ed is going to have a good night, so was she. 

----

“Dude? And she just let you go?” Justin looked at Ed in disbelieve. “Sounds fake but okay” he muttered as he sipped his drink. 

“Well I think it’s nice” Dillion said. “You two are so good for each other, she has totally got your back.” 

Dia snorted, “That or she’s fucking someone else.” 

“What the fuck?” Ed slurred a little. “She wouldn’t do that to me. If she wanted me to stay in, she would have told me. Besides, she loves my dick. Why would she look for another” Ed said smugly. 

Dia eyed Ed up and down while sassing her head. “Who said she’s looking for some dick?”

“She is pan” Justin chimed in unhelpfully. 

“Let Ed be. Y’all should learn to trust your partners. That’s why y’all can’t stay in a relationship while our boy Ed here is in a 3 year relationship with a lovely girl.” Dillion praised with red cheeks. 

“I don’t know about that. You have seemed to be avoiding her lately” Justin muttered, glancing at Ed before looking away just as quick. 

“No I’m not!” Ed said a little louder than he had meant to. He was more drunk than he thought. 

“Ed, you two have been here for nearly 2 weeks on a ‘couples holiday’ and all you’ve done is work. Amanda hasn’t even been coming with you cause me and her don’t mix well” Justin pointed out. “If I gave up seeing my family and friends for the holidays to go on take a trip with my boyfriend to a luxury condo resort only to be left almost daily cause said boyfriend is working, I’d be a little irritated myself.”

Ed sat with a large pout while he picked at the label on his beer. “I always ask before I leave and she has asked for me to stay a few times and we’ve gone out and skied and went ‘round her old hometown. Even went to that coffee shop she remembered as a little girl.” 

Even Dillion started to look doubtful. “I don’t know Ed. I don’t think Amanda should have to ask  you to stay when you’re on a couples holiday.” 

“I know my girl,” Ed stated again louder than he meant to, setting his beer bottle down a little too hard on the table. “If she had a problem with me going out, she would have said so. She isn’t seeing anybody else and she isn’t sleeping with anyone either.”

Dia raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Sure Teddy, but I know females and that girl is totally feeling ignored and pushed aside.” Dia stood and winked at the whole table, “I’m going to dance, see you boys later.”

The 3 men sat in silence for a moment before Justin spoke up. “Okay, I can see what Amanda was saying about not being sure about her.”

“You talked?” Ed looked shocked at his friend. 

“Hmm?” Justin looked to Ed after watching the girl he was currently talking to start 2 guys eyeing her like meet. “Uh yeah. We don’t click well but we’re civil enough, jesus Ed. It was on the 3rd day you two showed up and I came to pick you up to record. You were still in the shower and I waited and we talked a bit. 

“Amanda seemed a little more off than usual with me so I asked. She confessed that Dia made her uncomfortable and didn’t think she was a good match, before back-peddling and saying she didn’t mean to intrude on my private life and apologized. And... “ Justin stopped and looked a little embarrassed. His red cheeks from drinking didn’t help hide his guilty look. 

 “What?” Ed asked irritated for some reason. 

“And she said she was sorry for not being able to get along with me. That she knew we were really good friends and didn’t want to ruin that but she wasn’t going to change herself to please you. Then she hoped she was wrong about her feelings for Dia and wished me luck.” Justin looked away, too embarrassed to look Ed in the eye. “I gotta say man, I got a little jealous of you right at that moment.”

“See Ed, there’s nothing to worry about. Just relax and enjoy yourself.” Dillion said with a pat on Ed’s back. 

Ed squinted at Justin, taking in his words. He had a sudden swell of unbelievable pride in his girl but the ear worm had gotten to his brain already and now he couldn’t stop thinking about Amanda being in bed with another man. Or woman. Oh god, or both. Ed stood up abruptly, almost knocking his chair over. “I have to go!”

“Wait, Ed maybe you should sober up a bit first” Dillion looked worried. 

“I’m fine” Ed grumped and marched out of the bar. They weren’t that far from the condo complex and the cold air would sober him up just fine. 

After walking the 10 minutes back to their room, Ed’s head had cleared and realized how stupid he was being. Ed smiled to himself as he unlocked the door and shook his head at how silly he was and what a great girl he had. 

Until he heard a long, wonton moan. 

Ed froze and could literally feel his heart break. His shoulders slumped and let his coat and keys fall to the floor. He dragged his feet but couldn’t stop his movements towards the bedroom where he was hearing more moans and obvious sounds of sex.

He raised his hand to open the door when he stopped again. There was another moan but listening again, he realized it wasn’t Amanda’s moan. And then another voice groaned and then… someone speaking Japanese? 

Then to top it all off, he heard Amanda snort and laugh out loud. 

Now he was mad and confused so he peeked inside to find Amanda sitting on the bed, cross legged and in one of his nightshirts and a pair of boy short panties. She was sipping wine from a plastic bright green wine glass and was watching something on her laptop. 

Again Amanda being Amanda, she was positioned oddly so her back was actually towards the door and Ed could see what was playing on the laptop. 

“Oh my god! Are you watching tentacle pron?” Ed shouted as he stepped inside fully. 

Amanda screamed and jumped, spilling her wine all over herself and the bed. Ignoring that, she slammed the laptop screen down so fast, Ed barely saw her hand move. “What are you doing here back so soon!?” Amanda shrieked. 

“I, well, uh. That doesn’t matter right now, were you watching tentacle porn?” Ed asked again trying not to laugh. 

“You were supposed to be gone the whole night! And you left me horny! And you weren’t supposed to be home so soon!” Amanda rambled, blushing so much her neck was turning red too. 

 “I didn’t know you were into that” Ed said smirking. 

“Shut up, ginger boy!” Amanda shouted as she stood up off the bed but now standing she didn’t know what to do with herself. “I just. The thing is. You see it started. I mean, I discovered it when I was in high school. I mean, why am I explaining myself? Why were you skulking about trying to scare me?”

It was Ed’s turn to look embarrassed. “If I explain my embarrassing story of the night, will you tell me about your kink I never knew about?”

Amanda crossed her arms and looked away with puffed cheeks. “I’ll think about it after you explain yourself.”

“Okay well, I was a little drunk when it was brought up how I was ‘allowed’ to go out without you and then the guys were saying how great that was that you were cool with it but then Dia had to say something about you maybe looking to find some dick somewhere else and then Justin pointed out I’ve been working almost this whole holiday and I’ve been a rubbish boyfriend. So in my drunken stupor I thought I’d come back to find you and dick you down so good, you’d never even think of another man but then I came through the door and heard moans and sex and panicked and felt my heart break and followed the sound and then found you looking so beauiful in my shirt and those panties on that lushous ass of your’s and you watchin porn after I left you alone, I just… My brain stopped working.”

Amanda stared at him with a raised eyebrow and a doubtful look on her face as she listened to him ramble. Though once she heard that Dia had started spewing her poison, she wasn’t surprised to learn that a seed of doubt was planted. “Wait you’re telling me that brain of yours works sometimes?”

“It’s up for debate to be honest, love” Ed smiled sheepishly.  

“And you were gonna ‘dick me down so good’ huh?” Amanda said as she still kept her arms crossed but now jetting her hip out as well, sass surfacing in defense of the embarrassment of being caught. 

“Okay so maybe my brain isn’t working at all tonight” Ed said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Not the most romantic thing I’ve said.”

“Ironic sense you know, Ed Sheeran and all” Amanda smirked and nudged her chin in his direction. 

“Are you seriously gonna keep sassing me when I caught you watching tentacle anime porn?” Ed said exasperated.

“Are you seriously gonna keep bringing up the hentai?” Amanda sighed.

“Oh it has an actual name? Please tell, love, why haven’t I learned about this private enjoyment before?” Ed said, slipping into to his low baritone and stepped up to cupped Amanda’s warm cheek. 

“Cause I haven’t needed to watch porn in a while and plus it’s just sort of a once in a blue moon type thing” Amanda confessed, blushing straight to the tips of her hair. “Plus it wasn’t tentacles…”

“Oh? Please correct me than?” Ed smirked, loving the way her whole body was warm. 

“It was monster girls and aliens” Amanda whispered. “I like the succubuses” Amanda muttered as she placed her face against his chest.    

“That. Is. So. Cute” Ed laughed as he hugged Amanda. He lowered his head so he whispered in her ear, “Would you like to watch it together?”

“Well…” Amanda snuggled her face more into Ed’s chest. “I spilled my wine of the bed.”

“Wanna do it on the couch?” Ed asked simply.

“Edward!” Amanda pulled back and slapped her hand against his chest. “You’re so lewd.”

“That wasn’t a no” Ed wiggled his eyebrows. 

“You’re right, it wasn’t” Amanda giggled back.

[theperfectladiesman]

Saiyuki meme part 2

34) What character do you think is least like yourself?

~Probably Ukoku. I’m not a psychopath or sociopath looking to snuff out life and light. And he’s super cunning and manipulative. 

35) What is a shipping you’re not on board with? (Be respectful!)

~I pretty much ship nearly everything under the sun for the most part. Or can at least understand or respect a ship. I ship I wouldn’t really be on board with though would be Li Touten x Nataku. Or Dokugakuji’s mom x Doku/Gojyo. Just not my thing.

36 ) Which Saiyuki character do you think could easily adjust to modern times?

~I’d say nearly all the main cast. I think they’ve all been through so much & they’ve learned to get really good with adapting and rolling with the punches. But if I had to narrow it down, perhaps Goku. Followed closely by Gojyo. They seem the most easy going & quickly accepting & adaptable. Likewise, I think Kougaiji would be one of the ones who would struggle the most perhaps. 

37) What is your favorite quote?

~There’s A LOT of good ones. Seeing as I have the opposite of a photographic memory... I can’t remember what my fav would be. A really good, memorable one though is where Kou overcame Ukoku’s mind control & gave him the whole speech where he wont be controlled again & his friends helped him to the light. Idk, something to that effect. Maybe I’ll come back to this question later after I find the exact lines.

38) Do you binge read the entire series or read selected chapters?

~Usually when I binge read or binge watch, it’s from start to finish on the entire series. If I just want to research something or remember a specific thing, it’s selected chapters.

39) Are you more a fan of Gensomaden Saiyuki or Saiyuki Reload/Gunlock?

~With the anime, Gensomaden. With the manga, its definitely Reload. 

40) Your favorite character became a mythical beast. What would they be?

~This.... is a tough one. If I wanted to take the easy option, I’d say it would be Kougaiji and he’d totally be a dragon. Or if I wanted to be funny, saying Gojyo being a kappa. I could see Hakkai being the male form of a Dryad. But I think my favorite is Sanzo... and the only thing I can think of to liken him to is the Phoenix. Sanzo’s “like the sun” and Phoenix is a sun bird. Phoenix’s rise from the ashes and Sanzo got burned by Kou’s fire and still rose to his feet. 

41) If you HAD to choose a character to die, who would it be?

~Well, this doesn’t say -MAIN- character. I wish I could say Ukoku... that would spare everyone so much misery... but I like the psycho bastard. So...Gyokumen Koushu. Then maybe Kou would get his mom back & he could team up with Sanzo!

42) Would you rather: Have all characters die or Have only one survive

~The question is.... would it be like Goku? Have them forget & then be reunited with the reincarnations? On one hand, it would be nice to have one survive to carry on the memory of everyone who died. But....I feel like there’s something incredibly unfair & cruel about having only one survive... so I guess I’d rather them all die. 

43) If [character] got into a fight with [character] who would win?

~Lol its hard to do these ones when I’m just answering them myself. 

44) What does Gojyo’s marking look like to you?

~I answered this one already, basically, a tribal flame

45) If Sanzo became a demon, what kind of marking do you think he’d have?

~I kinda wanna say something like the youkai Suika. Something small & round on his forehead in place of the chakra. Or it would probably be somewhere more discrete like his back or upper arm, a red color instead of black...idk the shape/design.

46) If [character] died, what do you think they’d be reborn as?

~I think Zakuro would love to be reborn in the golden age (Elizabethanera) cuz that’s when theatre, music, poetry & literature flourished. Perhaps Kougaiji/Hazel in the Victorian age and Ukoku in the Edwardian era... I know that’s not what the questions asking, but it is interesting to think diff era’s you’d put them in. 

47) After the journey, what do you think [character] will be doing?

~Hmm... I’ll just stick with Gojyo for this one. Assuming he’s still alive after the journey. I think he’d stick with Hakkai. (grudingly)Helping out around the shop if Hakkai worked/owned a shop. I could see Gojyo maybe being a bar tender or an escort/host... or whatever those equivalents are in the Saiyuki era, or just keeps raking in money with his gambling while being domestic with Hakkai.

48) If [character] had a tumblr, what would they reblog?

~This one’s a fun question. I think if Gojyo had a tumblr, the majority would reflect the 3 things he likes most- women, booze, and smokes. Probably sprinkle in some selfies of himself being all sexy, cheesy pick up lines and puns, maybe some crude jokes, more scantily clad women, and gambling tips. Then there’s probably some stuff he’d reblog for the sake of Sanzo,Hakkai, and Goku if they had tumblr as well. Monkey posts to tease Goku, life hacks for Hakkai, & random stuff that would piss off Sanzo. Probably jokes about cranky old men or something. 

49) What is your favorite animated scene?

~umm.... idk... all of Gaiden?

50) [Character]; Boxers, briefs, or commando?

~I feel like Gojyo would have an occasion for all three. Briefs when he’s planning to get with a lady or impress. Boxers when he’s lounging with the boys. And sometimes commando, mainly when sleeping if he has his own room. 

51) What 3 or more tropes fits your favorite character?

~ummm.... running gag, ship tease, and funny moments. (gojyo)

52) What are 3 tropes that describe [character]?

~fiery redhead, the alcoholic, and jerk with a heart of gold (gojyo)

53) If Saiyuki got a 4th series, what would it be called?

~Well now that there is a 4th season coming out... Saiyuki Reload Blast XD (now we just need an Ibun OVA!!!)

54) If your favorite character could control an element, what would it be?

~Fav charater’s always been between Sanzo and Kougaiji... though recently I often wonder if it’s not Hazel now. I think Lightning suits Sanzo. Fire for Kou. And Ice for Hazel. Earth for Goku & Hakkai. Wind for Yaone.

55) Was there a character you used to love but no longer do?

~I dont think so actually. I think everyone I love I still do and everyone I hate I still do. 

56) What has been the saddest moment for you in the series?

~Yakumo’s death. Yakumo’s whole chapter arc.  And the end of Gaiden.

57) What is your favorite anime/manga genre?

~Psychological thriller/horror (but I also like romance & action & drama)

58) Name 5 other characters you like along with your fav Saiyuki character.

~Spike Spiegel, Axel, Seto Kaiba, Zelos Wilder, Alvin Svent, and Snow Villiers

59) Do you prefer subbed or dubbed anime?

~Dubbed. But most of the time subbed is 100 x’s better... obviously.

60) Did you watch the anime first or read the manga?

~Gensomaden anime came first.

61) Do you seek out spoilers or avoid at all cost?

~I avoid them at all cost, most of the time. Unless it’s something I’m not planning to watch or read.

62) Do you write fan fics or draw fan art? If so, link!

~I do, on both accounts. I don’t have any Saiyuki fanfics though. If anyone really want links, I’ll send them privately in IM’s. My Saiyuki fanart can all be found on my blog. Other fan art of diff fandoms is on DA. I only have a couple of completed fanfics on fanfiction.net... most of my work isn’t finished so that’s not really worth linking, I wouldn’t think.

63) What was the most pointless filler in the anime?

~I can’t really think of anything... maybe the sauna one where Goku thinks Sanzo turns into a demon. Or the kitty one. Don’t get me wrong, I loved both those episodes... but in regards to the plot, they don’t contribute a thing. 

64) How do you describe Saiyuki to a friend who has never heard of it?

~Four guys travel west to stop the resurrection of a demon lord. Um... there’s lots of humor and action. It’s amazing. It’s.... kinda gay without actually being gay.

65) If you RP what is your favorite thing to Roleplay?

~answered this one~

66) What is your favorite Saiyuki Opening or Ending for the animes?

~The opening for Gaiden is very gorgeous, perhaps that one <3

67) What’s something you think would improve the series?

~HAVING MORE MANGA TRANSLATED AND PUBLISHED HERE IN AMERICA! And bring back some minor characters, that’d be cool to see.

68) Who, in your opinion, has the most tragic backstory?

~Geez... that’s like comparing a life time of stomach issues to someone who has a life time of mental illness... both are equally tragic. If I HAD to pick.... Yakumo.... I’m just gonna go with Yakumo. Technically, it’s not really a backstory but what’s he was presently doing. Having such a kind, soft heart... wanting nothing more but to save, shelter, and raise youkai kids... and choosing to kill them when they go berserk, perhaps with the whole mentality of ‘kill a few to save the whole’. It’s so tragic. Other than that, I can’t choose 1 over the other for tragic back stories cuz everyone has it equally bad in some way. 

I guess I can say the tie would be between Gojyo, Sanzo, Hakkai, Goku, Dokugakuji, Hazel, and Nataku.

69) Who would be best at pleasing their lover?

~It kinda depends on what said lover wants most our of their partner and if it’s true love or a fling. If they both knew what they were doing, Goku & Kou would be very thorough, patient, and thoughtful lovers. Gojyo would be best at bringing the skill/pleasure in a pure sexual aspect. Hakkai’s difficult to pin down. He’d be gentle with the same qualities I listed for Gok/Kou.... but he’d have this wall up at the same time. Sanzo... just probably wouldn’t be the best, if he got intimate at all to begin with. Hazel’s so... antagonistic. I’ll just go with Gojyo or Dokugakuji. 

70) What do you think Saiyuki would be like if Kougaiji and co were the main protagonists? Do you think you’d still enjoy it? 

~A lot less humor and more dark because it would be more from the “villains” POV. Kou’s kinda angsty. I don’t think Saiyuki would be as well recieved and loved from Kougaiji’s & co’s pov... and there’s several characters we might have missed out on.... but I think it’s something I would still really enjoy. If its written by Kazuya Minekura, she’d make it amazing regardless. 

71) What minor character had a significant impact on the plot?

~I think that would have to be Hazel Grouse.

72) On a scale from 1 - 10, 1 being not much and 10 being too much, how much does Saiyuki Gaiden hurt you?

~TEN

73) What character is still a mystery to you?

~Perhaps Koumyou or Ukoku (maybe even Yaone in the sense that we kinda know next to nothing about her... that I can recall). But with Koumyou especially, both of them are just so complex & different than I am that they’re difficult for me to understand. 

74) What is the funniest moment in the series?

~It really says something about how much a perv I really am if the very first scene that pops into my mind after thinking about what my fav moment could be is.... Gojyo & Goku wrestling & arguing on the bed and that lady walks in & thinks they’re doing, or about to do, something naughty. Oddly, I Really like the scene where Gojyo mimics Sanzo too. 

75) Who is your favorite minor character?

~Hazel or Banri or Zenon ...... Yakumo & Zakuro are p great too

76) Which character has had the most growth?

~I think that would have to be Goku

77) Which character needs more development?

~hmmmm........Lirin maybe? 

[daringyounggrayson]

You said you wanted birdflash prompts, and I think that #58 on the angst-to-fluff ("Very Mature. Asshole.") fits them nicely

Hey, thanks so much for the request, I really enjoyed filling it! I had a cold and an ear infection when I started writing this, so enjoy some sick birdflash.

In Sickness and in Health (AO3)

Dick is calling it: he’s officially sick. And not “just a common cold” sick, but “stay home and move as little as possible” sick. He can’t remember the last time he could really think clearly and his throat feels like sandpaper from all the coughing. He’s achy, has the chills, and feels nauseous. He needs meds—obviously—but he hasn’t been in Bludhaven very long and he hadn’t thought to buy decongestions for his new place. He also doesn’t think he can physically leave his blanket cocoon.

Luckily, his boyfriend is a speedster; he’ll be able to get meds faster than anyone and has no problem helping Dick out in his time of need. So he texts him with his needs for drugs and company and Wally is there before Dick can even completely (unintentionally) doze off.

“Hey, Babe,” Wally greets, kissing his forehead almost as soon as he walks in the door. “Woah, you’re really warm.”

“Hmm,” Dick hums, leaning into the palm on his forehead that has replaced Wally’s lips.

“How long have you been sick?” Wally asks, pulling away from Dick to shuffle through the plastic bag.

“No clue,” Dick replies. And really, he can’t remember.

The shuffling stops and Dick can feel Wally staring at him.

“What?”

Wally’s stare intensifies. “You can’t remember?”

“I’m tired,” Dick wines, toppling over onto his side. He opens one eye to find Wally still looking at him, so he thinks for a second and explains, “I thought I had a cold—um, maybe a week or two ago—but it was no big deal. Guess it came back with a vengeance.”

The shuffling starts again and this time Wally pulls out some small boxes.

“Did you bring presents?” Dick asks cheekily, sitting back up again to lean against Wally.

“Well, if Mucinex and cough drops count, then yes,” Wally says, smiling.

“Those are the best kinds of presents,” Dick jokes, taking the goods from Wally and gets to work on popping the Mucinex from its packaging.

“I’ll get you some water.” Wally pats Dick’s arm, then heads for the kitchen.

Dick opens the box without a problem, but he can’t seem to get the tablets out of the foil. He can’t rip the supposedly pre-scored rectangle to peel of the top foil. His arms feel weak and his hands are shaky. And now he’s frustrated and doesn’t want to deal with it.

“Wally,” Dick calls, suddenly very aware of how different his voice sounds due to his illness. “Come back.”

“One sec,” Wally calls. And, literally, one second later, Wally’s back, glass of water in hand. “Here.”

Dick takes the glass, trading it for the tray of Mucinex. “I can’t open it,” he explains.

Wally gives him this sad look, but he doesn’t hesitate to take it. “I don’t know why they make this packaging so difficult to open.” Wally hands the now freed pill to Dick, who immediately swallows it. “I mean, they designed it knowing tired, sick people would be using it.”

Dicks shrugs as he sips his water. He sets the still mostly-full glass on the side table as Wally takes a spot on the couch next to him.

“Wanna watch something?” Wally suggests as Dick unwraps a lemon-flavored cough drop and pops it into his mouth.

“Sure,” Dick says, then sucks on the cough drop and curls up next to Wally.

Wally pulls up Dick’s Netflix account and plays the last thing Dick was in the middle of watching. It turns out he had been watching another nature doc, but Dick has no memory of watching the first half. He wonders how feverish he actually is.

At some point, Dick’s head winds up in Wally’s lap. Wally’s hand is playing with Dick’s hair, and Dick has Wally’s other hand draped across his stomach. It’s comfortable, and Dick kind of likes this domestic moment, even if he had to be sick to get it. It’s hard being in a long-distance relationship sometimes, even if your boyfriend has super speed and you see each other regularly. But there’s nothing to be done about it. Dick won’t leave Bludhaven and Wally won’t leave college. Neither asks the other to do so, of course; it’s just an unspoken rule.

They finish the documentary, Wally pausing it when Dick’s coughing fits get too intense to hear the narration. Wally puts something else on once it finishes, but Dick keeps falling in and out of sleep too often to really follow the plotline. When he wakes up next, the TV’s off and he’s still on Wally’s lap, although he’s clinging a little tighter and there’s an extra blanket on top of him. He feels miserable and not quite himself, but he’s also glad that he’s not alone right now.

“You’re probably contagious,” Wally muses, seemingly out of nowhere.

“What? Afraid you’ll get sick?” Dick asks, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “The great Kid Flash can’t handle a cold?”

“My metabolism is too fast for me to actually get sick. I’d have symptoms for like an hour—tops,” Wally reminds him (reassures him that he isn’t putting Wally at risk of illness and as a result doesn’t need to feel guilty about asking Wally to come over). “But I’m glad the idea of you making me sick amuses you.”

“You’re so whiny.” Dick waves him off. “Why even bring it up?”

“I was just thinking you probably shouldn’t be around normal people until you’re over this,” Wally tells him. “If this bug has you feeling this terrible, it’s probably worse than your run-of-the-mill cold; not really the thing you want to push through and risk getting other people sick.”

Dick nods passively. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t really planning on it anyway.”

There’s a pause. And Dick knows that he doesn’t really have a reputation for consistently taking care of himself when he needs to, but Wally doesn’t have to be that shocked that Dick’s planning on taking a few sick days.

“Want me to stay here with you tonight?” Wally asks, and Dick nods, grateful he doesn’t have to ask. “Okay. It’s getting kind of late, should we order dinner or something?”

“You can order something,” Dick tells him, “but I’m not hungry.”

“Have you eaten at all today?” Wally asks.

Dick shrugs. “Yeah, a little.” The “I think” goes unsaid, but somehow Wally still picks up on it.

Wally sighs. “You should eat something. It’ll make you feel better, or at least keep your energy up.”

“Nauseous.”

“Then eat crackers or toast or whatever.”

Dick just pulls his blanket tighter around himself, his stomach protesting the mere idea. But Wally does have a point …

“Fine, I’ll have toast. But you should still order food for yourself,” Dick says.

“Later,” Wally tells him. “Plain toast or do you want something on it?”

“Plain.”

Wally goes to Dick’s small apartment kitchen, returning with Dick’s toast and a sandwich for himself a few minutes later.

Dick takes the plate Wally holds out to him. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Wally hums back. Wally sits down next to him again and starts on his whole, uncut sandwich while Dick picks up one of the pieces of toast. There are two pieces of toast in total, each cut in a diagonal. He nibbles at it and manages to swallow a few bites, but mostly he just stares at it.

Wally notices.

“You have to actually eat it for it to have any effect,” Wally tells him, sandwich already finished.

Dick is going to reply with something sarcastic about placebo effect and mindsets, but then he feels his stomach lurch. His hand goes to cover his mouth as he moves off of the couch and practically runs towards the bathroom.

He lifts the toilet lid and vomits into it, stomach convulsing so fast that he can’t get a breath in. Wally’s right behind him, rubbing his back up and down until Dick finishes.

Dick pants as he catches his breath. “Told you I was nauseous.”

“Thanks for trying,” Wally mumbles. “Mouthwash?”

“Please.”

Wally leaves to let Dick clean up in private, which was originally just going to be washing his face but turned into an entire shower. Part of it is to wash off some of the sick feeling covering his body—maybe help ease the aches in his body, too—but mostly for the steam. He won’t mention it to Wally (because it’s not that bad and he would just worry), but his chest hurts and even with the meds, he feels like his breathing is on the verge of a wheeze. He’s in there longer than he intended, but it felt good, and the steam did actually help.

Now he smells like soap and he’s in new sweats and a loose, long-sleeved shirt. Wally’s waiting for him on the couch, and the plate of toast is long gone. He curls up against Wally, half on top of him by the time he finds a comfortable spot. Wally says something about it, but Dick finds himself passing out before he can really figure out what had been said.

oOo

Wally wakes up not knowing he had fallen asleep. He’s surprised when he realizes what happened, groaning when he realizes he and Dick are still on the couch. Dick should really be in a bed. He probably needs another dose of meds, too.

There’s some noise that Wally can’t quite place, though, and it’s taken top priority on his mental list. He finally figures out that it’s coming from Dick, and that’s when he realizes what it is. Shit.

“You’re wheezing,” Wally says out loud, lifting both of them into a more upright position.

“Whu—” Dick’s confused voice breaks into a cough. He pushes himself up more and scoots off of Wally to try to break the cough, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. Wally rubs his back until it stops, and when it does, Dick is out of breath and wheezier than before.

“Gross,” Dick says, starting at the crook of his elbow where his sleeve had caught the mucus he coughed up.

“You good now?” Wally asks. Dick nods, and the wheezing is going down, so that’s good.

Dick rubs his chest. “I think I’m wheezing.”

“Yeah,” Wally agrees. “Do you have a humidifier or something?”

Dick shakes his head.

“I could go buy one?”

“No; don’t go,” Dick begs, slumping down against Wally again.

“It would only take a few minutes,” Wally tries to convince, but he doesn’t push that hard because he honestly doesn’t want to leave Dick alone either. He holds him a little tighter. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Tired.”

“Alright, c’mon,” Wally says, lifting Dick up with him. “Drugs, and then into an actual bed.”

oOo

Dick gets worse, so bad that they’re both up at four in the morning. Dick has coughed so hard that he burst a blood vessel in his throat, and he coughs up blood-streaked, yellow mucus for a good three minutes. Wally pulls Dick into the bathroom, turning the shower as hot as it will go so he can breathe in the steam, hoping it will help the coughing. He can’t tell if it does, but at least it’s something.

They try to get some more sleep after that, but it doesn’t really take so they just sit in bed together. They doze on and off for a few hours, but they never really sleep. Dick’s too uncomfortable and Wally’s too anxious.

After Dick finishes his latest coughing fit, Wally asks, “Do you want me to take you to Urgent Care when it opens?”

Dick nods, one hand pressing over the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think this is a cold.”

Wally pulls out his phone to check the hours. “They open at eight. Just one more hour, Babe, and then we can get you some medicine.”

Dick nods again, coughs some more, and then slumps against Wally.

Just one more hour. They can make it one more hour.

oOo

They’re the first ones at the urgent care, and Wally is almost embarrassed that he didn’t take Dick to the ER hours ago. He’s short of breath now, and Wally doesn’t think he’s going to catch that breath at this point. But Dick had said it wasn’t an emergency and that, while his chest hurt and breathing wasn’t easy, he was still breathing fine. Wally agreed, but still felt that twinge of guilt as he pulled his wheezing boyfriend into the Urgent Care the second the doors were unlocked.

They’re taken back almost immediately, and the entire appointment only takes about twenty minutes. By the end of it, the blood-streaked mucus was confirmed as just a broken blood vessel in Dick’s throat (no big deal), the yellow color of the mucus was a sign of a bacterial infection, and Dick’s symptoms and wheezing turned out to be from acute bacterial bronchitis.

Which means Dick gets antibiotics and an inhaler.

So Wally drags Dick with him to the closest pharmacy—which turns out to be inside of a grocery store—and they wait for the prescription to be filled. The pharmacist tells them it will be another ten minutes, so they decide to go look for junk food to pass the time. Particular, frozen junk food.

Dick is pushing (read: leaning heavily on) the cart while Wally suggests a variety of treats. He doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite and just shrugs or shakes his head at Wally’s offerings. Luckily, Wally does have an appetite and manages to fill their cart with enough food to last both of them a good week.

Wally can’t wait to get Dick back home and in bed. Seeing how exhausted this trip is making him is making Wally feel a little guilty for not dropping him at home first or using the drive-thru pharmacracy, but he didn’t want to make Dick wait any longer for the medicine than he had to. And they did need to restock their supplies because there is no way Wally is going to let Dick starve to death or go another night (hour, really) without a humidifier.  

Wally keeps looking over and asking how Dick’s holding up, saying that they’re almost done. Between the wheezing and the raw throat from coughing, Dick hasn’t been very verbal this morning, but he does offer reassuring smiles to Wally. (Although, he also rests his forehead down on the cart’s handle when he doesn’t think Wally is looking—and that really helps Wally’s conscience.)

They finish up with the groceries and head back to the pharmacy area. Dick goes up alone and returns with his antibiotic and inhaler. As they make their way back towards the checkout, Wally picks up the bag to inspect the inhaler.

“You know, I think this inhaler is the last item you need to get your official nerd card,” Wally teases, walking right into the cart that a certain Dick decided to stop upon hearing the comment. “Very mature,” Wally says, rolling his eyes. Dick smirks, so Wally flicks his ear before smiling back and adding, “Asshole.”

“I think sick nerds get to be assholes,” Dick decides.

“Fair,” Wally agrees, leaning over to kiss Dick. It’s good to see Dick smile at his lame banter, especially after the morning they’ve had.

Dick kisses him back and starts pushing the cart towards the self-checkout again. “And for the record, just in case you get sick, sick geeks don’t get to be assholes.”

“I won’t get sick,” Wally says automatically. Then, after fully registering what Dick had said, “Hey, wait a minute!”