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[honeyslibrary]

Sunshine | Luke Hughes

Pairing; Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, fluff, overuse of '—' probably (I can't help myself I'm sorry😞), edited once! 

Request; 'can you do one about luke where like they are long distance since he moved to NJ and they finally get to spend the summer together after being apart the whole season’

Word Count; 7.8k

Authors Note: Thanks so much for the request, friend!! This was pretty fun to write, and I hope you like it!!. I won't spoil anything in the author's note, but let's just say this is kind of a self insert, aka something I occasionally fantasize about. Any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated!! Love you guys!! -Honey

The scent of fryer oil clung to your clothes as you pirouetted between tables, delivering plates with a flourish that wasn't part of your usual workday choreography. You caught yourself humming between orders, your smile wide enough to make your cheeks ache by mid-shift. Every time the door chimed, your heart performed a little somersault before settling back when it wasn't him, even though you knew perfectly well Luke wouldn't be walking through the restaurant's doors tonight.

"Earth to crazy girl," Mia teased, bumping your hip with hers as she passed with a tray of drinks. "Table six has been trying to get your attention while you've been daydreaming about hockey boy." 

"I wasn't—" you started to protest, but the knowing smirks from your coworkers silenced you. Marcus, wiping down the counter, made exaggerated kissing noises. 

"Two months," you reminded them, feeling warmth creep up your neck. "You'd be excited too."

"Oh, we know," Mia laughed. "You've only mentioned it every fifteen minutes since you clocked in." 

You'd originally planned to join his parents at the airport, had even begged your manager for the night off, but Friday nights were non-negotiable at Lakeside Grill. The bitter disappointment had faded to resigned acceptance, tempered by the knowledge that in just a few hours, the distance that had stretched between Michigan and New Jersey would finally collapse. 

When you finally shed your name tag and push through the back door into the crisp April air, the clock on your phone reads 11:32 PM. Your fingers trembled slightly as you unlocked your car, the exhaustion from your double shift evaporating at the prospect of seeing Luke. You slid into the driver's seat and immediately called, pressing the phone to your ear as it rang. 

You'd texted him obsessively throughout the day. First when their plane departed Newark, again when they landed in Detroit, and several times after that with increasingly transparent excuses. 

"Hey, you," Luke answered, his voice a warm rumble that made your stomach flip. In the background, you could hear the familiar chaos of his summer home. Dishes clinking, Jack's laugh, what sounded like ESPN playing on the TV. 

"I just finished up work," you said, trying to keep the breathless anticipation from your voice as you navigated out of the parking lot. "I'm on my way over." 

There was a pause, some shuffling on his end. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped a notch lower. "How about you just come over tomorrow. It's late." Your hand froze on the gearshift. A car behind you honked as the exit to the main road remained clear but your vehicle didn't move. 

You waved an apologetic hand and pulled out, trying to process his words. "You don't want to see me?" The question slipped out before you could soften it, vulnerability naked in your voice. The red traffic light ahead bathed your dashboard in crimson, matching the flush of embarrassment warming your face. 

Luke's chuckle filtered through the speakers, but it sounded strained. "Course I do, don't be silly." A pause. "It's been torture, honestly." The light changed to green, its glow illuminating the empty intersection as you accelerated through. 

Something felt off. The Luke who had FaceTimed you just yesterday had been counting down the hours until you'd be together again. "Then why?" You didn't bother hiding the confusion or the hint of hurt that crept into your tone. The late-night streets of your small Michigan town stretched empty before you, streetlights creating pools of yellow that your car passed through rhythmically. 

"It's late, sunshine. I don't want you making the drive over." His voice was gentle but firm, the tone he used when his mind was made up about something. 

Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "It's only half an hour." Even that was generous at this hour, with the freeways clear and most of the town asleep, the drive to the lake house where he spent his summers would be closer to twenty minutes. You'd made the journey so many times you could navigate it half-asleep, following the winding roads until they opened up to the glittering expanse of water and the cape cod style house that his brothers had bought after making it to the NHL. 

The property had quickly become your second home over the past two years. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft rush of air from your car heater and what sounded like Luke moving to another room, the background noise fading. 

He let out a small sigh, that particular sigh you'd come to recognize, the one that signaled the conversation was effectively over. "I'll see you tomorrow, I promise. I'll come and scoop you around eleven?" 

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying the chapped skin there as disappointment settled heavy in your chest. Two months of falling asleep to texts instead of his heartbeat, of watching his games on a screen rather than from the stands, and now another night alone when he was just a short drive away. "Fine," you finally conceded, the word coming out more clipped than intended. You softened your tone, not wanting your reunion to start with tension. "I miss you, that's all." 

"Miss you more," he replied, and despite your disappointment, the familiar phrase made your heart constrict. "See you tomorrow, okay?" 

As you hung up and turned your car toward your apartment instead of the lake, questions swirled beneath your resignation. In two years together, through multiple separations due to his hockey schedule, Luke had never once not wanted to see you immediately when he got home. Something wasn't adding up, but perhaps it was just exhaustion clouding your judgment. Tomorrow would bring clarity, you told yourself, even as a nagging unease settled beside the anticipation that had carried you through your shift.

Sleep came fitfully that night, your dreams a fragmented mix of anticipation and unease. You didn't set an alarm, allowing yourself to sleep however long your body wanted. Once awake, you reached for your phone with eyes still half-closed, only to jolt fully awake at the notification glowing on your screen.

Lukey [8:12 AM]: Good morning, baby. Wear your favorite sundress today. 

You blinked at the message, sleep evaporating as your thumbs moved quickly across the keyboard. 

You [9:34 AM]: Good morning to you too. Why the specific request?

The reply came almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for you to wake up.

Lukey [9:35 AM]: Don't worry about it :)

You [9:35 AM]: What are you up to?

Lukey [9:36 AM]: If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it? See you at 11 ❤️ 

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, you tossed aside your comforter and padded to the bathroom, suddenly grateful for the deep conditioning treatment you'd given your hair last night. The disappointment of not seeing him had translated into a lengthy self-care ritual. Face mask, hair treatment, a leisurely shower, a coincidence that now seemed to be luck. 

Standing before your closet an hour later, freshly showered and made up with more care than your usual weekend routine, your fingers skimmed past hangers until they found the familiar fabric. The pastel yellow sundress had been an impulse purchase last summer, right before a family barbecue, the first one that Luke attended with you.

You still remembered the way Luke's eyes had lingered when you'd first worn it, how he'd whispered "You look like sunshine." when your cousins were out of earshot, thus birthing the familiar term of endearment. The dress flowed around your knees as you twirled once before the mirror, the delicate floral pattern catching the morning light. You paired it with simple sandals and minimal jewelry, just some small dangly earrings and a necklace Luke had given you last Christmas. The familiar weight of the pendant against your collarbone was comforting, a tangible reminder of promises whispered across pillows and state lines. 

At precisely 10:57 AM, a knock sounded at your apartment door. Your heart somersaulted in your chest as you crossed the living room, taking one steadying breath before turning the handle. And there he was. Luke filled the doorframe, taller than you remembered somehow, his broad shoulders blocking out the morning light from the hallway windows. His curly hair was shorter than when you'd last seen him, the fresh cut accentuating the sharp angle of his jaw. But his eyes, those warm green eyes that crinkled at the corners, were exactly as you remembered, now widening slightly as they took you in.

For one suspended moment, neither of you moved. Two months of FaceTime calls and late-night texts crystallized into this single point of reconnection, the air between you charged with everything unsaid. "Hi," you breathed finally, the single syllable barely audible. 

Luke's face broke into that crooked smile that never failed to make your stomach flip. "Hi yourself, sunshine." And then the space between you disappeared as he stepped forward, one arm circling your waist while his other hand cradled the back of your head.

The kiss was gentle at first, a reacquaintance, before deepening into something that spoke of lonely nights and patient waiting. When you finally pulled apart, you noticed the faint circles under his eyes that the phone camera had never quite captured. "You look tired," you murmured, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. 

"Worth it," he said simply, stealing another quick kiss before adding, "I've missed this face." 

You smiled against his lips. "Just my face?" 

His laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating where your bodies pressed together. "Among other things." His gaze dropped to your dress, appreciation evident in his expression. "You look beautiful." 

"Like I'd forget your not-so-subtle favorite," you teased, stepping back to give him a proper view with a small twirl. 

Luke caught your hand mid-spin, interlacing his fingers with yours. "Ready to go? I've got plans for us." 

"Is that why you wouldn't let me come over last night? Secret preparations?" The question was light, but curiosity still nagged. 

A flicker of something, hesitation perhaps, crossed his face before his smile returned. "Something like that. Come on, chariot awaits." 

His Ford Bronco sat in your apartment complex's parking lot, freshly washed by the looks of it. Luke opened the passenger door with an exaggerated bow that made you laugh before sliding into the driver's seat beside you. "So where are we—" 

"Nope," he interrupted, turning the key in the ignition. "No questions. Just trust me?" 

You settled back against the leather seat, watching his profile as he navigated through the Saturday afternoon traffic. The familiar contours of his face, the way he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the radio, the scent of his cologne filling the enclosed space, all of it felt like coming home after a long journey. 

Twenty minutes later, Luke turned onto a familiar tree-lined street, and your heart gave a little leap of recognition as Marigold's distinctive blue awning came into view. "You remembered," you said softly as he parked, eyes fixed on the cozy brunch spot where you'd had your first official date two years ago. 

Luke's expression softened. "Course I did." 

Inside, the hostess led you to a corner table by the window. The same table, you realized with a start, where you'd sat that first morning, nervous and trying not to show it. The restaurant hadn't changed much: still the same exposed brick walls covered in local artwork, still the hanging plants creating pockets of privacy between tables, still the mouthwatering smell of their famous lemon-ricotta pancakes permeating the air.

"I took a chance they'd have an opening," Luke admitted as you settled into your seats. "Called them last week from Jersey."

"You did?" His smile turned sheepish. 

"Yeah." He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "But brunch isn't the only surprise." 

From his jacket pocket, he withdrew a small velvet box, sliding it across the table toward you. Your breath caught in your throat as your fingers hovered over it. "Luke..." 

"It's not a ring," he clarified quickly, a flush creeping up his neck. With trembling fingers, you opened the box to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, its chain fine and shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the window. And there, dangling from the center, was a perfectly crafted silver lily, small but intricately detailed, your favorite flower. "Happy belated anniversary," Luke said softly, watching your face. "I know the flowers I sent weren't much—"

"They were perfect," you interrupted, remembering how the unexpected delivery had brightened your apartment on that otherwise ordinary Tuesday in March, your actual anniversary.

"But I wanted to give you something more permanent," he continued. "Something you could have with you even when I'm not." Tears pricked behind your eyes as you lifted the bracelet from its velvet nest. 

"It's beautiful." Luke took it gently from your hands, motioning for your wrist. 

As he fastened the clasp, his fingers lingered against your pulse point. "I had it custom made at a small shop in Grand Rapids. The jeweler thought I was crazy with how specific I was about the lily." 

You turned your wrist, watching the charm catch the light. "Thank you," you whispered, emotion making your voice thick. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you too," he replied, the simple declaration filling the space between you with everything that two months apart had left unsaid.

The words hung in the air between you, warm and familiar and heavier in person than through a phone screen. A comfortable silence settled as the waitress approached with steaming mugs of coffee, giving you both a moment to collect yourselves. 

"So," Luke said after taking a sip from his mug, "tell me everything I missed. And don't say 'nothing' because I know how that brain of yours works." 

You laughed, stirring cream into your coffee. "Well, Mia at work has been relentless with the teasing. You should have heard her last night when I kept checking my phone between orders."

"I hope you set her straight about how incredibly cool your boyfriend is," he grinned, leaning forward on his elbows. 

"Oh absolutely. I told them all about your exciting life of hotel rooms and ice baths." 

Luke clutches his chest in mock offense. "You wound me. What about the glamorous team plane rides? The thrilling post-game interviews where I say the same five phrases in different orders?"

The laughter that bubbled up from your chest felt like releasing a breath you'd been holding for two months. This, the easy banter, the way his eyes never left your face even as he reached for his water glass, this was what FaceTime couldn't replicate. 

Your orders arrived with impeccable timing: lemon-ricotta pancakes for you (just as you'd had on your first date) and the breakfast skillet loaded with everything for him. Luke immediately cut a piece of his pancake, raised an eyebrow in silent question, and you nodded, opening your mouth to accept the offered bite. "Still as good as you remember?" he asked, watching your reaction intently.

You closed your eyes briefly, savoring the perfect balance of savory and sweet. "Better."

The conversation flowed as naturally as it always had, filling each other in on the details that text messages couldn't capture. The way his new teammate Brett had adopted a stray cat that now terrorized him and his wife, how you started going on morning walks while listening to old funk albums, his ongoing battle with the dry cleaner that keeps giving him the wrong suits. 

As you shared the last bite of pancake, Luke checked his watch with what seemed like exaggerated casualness. "Got somewhere to be?" you teased, dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

"Actually," he said, signaling for the check, "we do have somewhere to be. If you're up for another surprise."

"Another one? You're spoiling me, Hughes." 

His smile turned mischievous. "Day's just gettin' started, sunshine."

Back in the Bronco, Luke turned up the radio, your favorite station already programmed in, and headed toward the highway instead of back toward your apartment or the lake house. "Going to give me a hint?" you asked, watching the familiar landmarks of your town give way to the interstate.

"Not a chance," he replied, reaching over to lace his fingers through yours. "But you might want to grab your sunglasses from the glove compartment. It's supposed to be bright today."

A little over an hour later, your curiosity peaked as Luke guided the Bronco off the highway and followed signs toward Detroit. Your mind raced through possibilities. A museum? A concert? Shopping? Nothing felt quite right for the secretive smile playing at the corners of his mouth. When he finally turned into a massive parking lot and you caught sight of the distinctive entrance sign, your jaw dropped. "The Detroit Zoo?" you exclaimed, straightening in your seat. "Luke, how did you—"

He parked the car, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Know that you've been wanting to come here? Particularly to see the new penguin exhibit that opened while I was gone?" He tapped his temple. "I pay attention."

"But I never mentioned—" You paused, realization dawning. "You stalked my Facebook."

"Maybe," he admits, reaching into the backseat for a small backpack you hadn't noticed before. "You shared it about a month ago, commenting about how you hadn't been to the zoo since you were a kid. I might have done some planning right then and there."

Warmth spread through your chest at the thought of him, tired after practice or a game, scrolling through his feed and filing away this small detail about you. Not just remembering it, but building it into today's reunion. "You never cease to amaze me," you said softly. 

Luke leaned across the center console, brushing his lips against yours. "That's the plan, sunshine. Keep you on your toes for the next sixty years or so." 

The zoo was bustling with weekend visitors, families with strollers and couples walking hand-in-hand beneath the canopy of spring trees. Luke purchased tickets at the entrance booth, waving away your offer to split the cost with a firm "Anniversary, remember?"

"Our anniversary was in March," you reminded him, accepting the map he handed you.

"Which makes this our belated celebration," he countered, pointing to a spot on the map. "Penguins first? Or do you want to wander and find them later?"

You studied the map, noting the penguin habitat was on the far side of the zoo. "Let's save them for later. Build up the anticipation."

The day unfolded like something from a dream, the kind where everything aligns just right. Luke kept his arm around your waist as you wandered from exhibit to exhibit, stopping to watch the tigers lounging in the sun and the otters tumbling playfully in their pool. He listened attentively as you shared random animal facts you'd accumulated over the years, never once making you feel self-conscious about your enthusiasm.

"Did you know giraffes have the same number of vertebrae in their necks as humans do?" you asked as you watched one gracefully bend to drink. "Just seven, but theirs are way longer."

"I did not know that," he said, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Tell me another one." 

By the time you reached the polar bears, the clouds had given way to the bright sun that glinted off the water in their enclosure. Luke guided you to a shaded bench nearby, unzipping the backpack to reveal two bottles of water and a container of sliced fruit. "You thought of everything," you marveled, gratefully accepting the water.

"Mom helped," he admitted, offering you a strawberry. "She packed this this morning while I was picking up your bracelet." You glanced down at your wrist, where the silver lily caught the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above. 

"So that's why you didn't want me coming over last night." 

A flicker of something, the same hesitation you'd noticed earlier, crossed his face before he nodded. "Had to keep the surprise intact." 

You studied him for a moment, noting the way his eyes didn't quite meet yours. "Luke Warren, are you hiding something else from me?" 

He popped a grape into his mouth, taking his time chewing before answering. "What if I am?"

"Then I'd say you're being very mysterious for someone who usually can't keep a secret to save his life." You bumped your shoulder against his. "Remember when you tried to surprise me for my birthday last year and ended up telling me the plan three days early because you were too excited?" 

Luke laughed, the sound echoing in the open air. "That was different. This is... bigger." 

"Bigger than my birthday?" 

Instead of answering, he stood, offering his hand. "Come on, I think it's time we found those penguins." 

The Polk Penguin Conservation Center was everything the article had promised, a stunning 326,000-gallon aquatic habitat where deep-diving penguins swam with breathtaking speed past the glass viewing areas. You stood transfixed as they rocketed through the water, their bodies sleek bullets of black and white. "They look like they're flying underwater," you mumble, pressing a hand against the cool glass. 

Luke stood behind you, his arms encircling your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. "Worth the wait?" 

"Absolutely," you breathed as a particularly bold penguin swooped close to the glass before darting away in a flurry of bubbles. You could have stayed watching them for hours, but eventually the growing crowd prompted you to move along, making your way through the rest of the habitat. As you emerged back into the sunlight, Luke checked his phone, typing something quickly before pocketing it again. 

"Everything okay?" you asked. 

"Yes," he assured you, taking your hand again. "Just checking in with the parents. Dad wanted to know if we'll be back for dinner." 

"Will we?" 

Luke smiled, the secretive edge returning. "That depends on you, actually. But first, I have one more stop in mind." He led you along the winding paths until you reached the zoo's central garden, a beautiful space with flowering bushes and a small pond where koi fish swam lazily beneath lily pads. A musician was playing guitar on a nearby bench, the gentle melody floating through the air. Luke drops his backpack. "Dance with me?" Luke asked, extending his hand with a formal bow. 

You glanced around at the other zoo visitors, some watching the musician, others passing by on their way to the next exhibit. "Here? Now?" 

"Here. Now." His eyes held yours, unwavering. "Don't leave me hangin'." 

Placing your hand in his, you let him pull you close, his arm wrapping securely around your waist as you began to sway to the gentle rhythm of the guitar. The yellow fabric of your sundress fluttered around your knees, catching the afternoon breeze. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you held each other following the chords. 

"I used to imagine this," he murmured against your hair. "During away games. When I couldn't sleep in hotel rooms. I'd close my eyes and remember how it feels to hold you like this." 

Your throat tightened with emotion. "Me too. Except I'd wear your old Devils hoodie and pretend it still smelled like you." 

Luke pulled back just enough to look at your face, his expression softening. "I'm sorry about last night. I should have just told you to come over. Would have saved us both a lonely night."

"It was worth it for all this," you assured him, gesturing to the beautiful garden around you. "Perfect day." 

"Not quite perfect yet," he said, something shifting in his tone. 

Before you could question him, he stepped back slightly, still holding your hands in his. The musician, you noticed with sudden clarity, had switched to a slower, more deliberate melody that sounded strangely familiar. Luke was lowering himself to one knee on the brick pathway, and the world around you seemed to freeze in place. 

"Luke," you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs. 

"I told you earlier that the bracelet wasn't a ring," he said, voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. "But I never said there wasn't a ring." From his pocket, he withdrew a small velvet box, different from the one that had held the bracelet, this one midnight blue instead of black. Around you, other zoo visitors had begun to notice, a small crowd forming at a respectful distance. 

"I had this whole speech planned," Luke continued, looking up at you with those eyes that had captivated you from the very first day. "About how these past two years have been the best of my life. About how even when we're apart, I feel connected to you in ways I can't explain. About how I want to build a life with you that's as beautiful and unexpected as finding you was in the first place." 

He opened the box to reveal a ring that caught the sunlight, sending prisms of light dancing across your dress—a solitaire diamond on a delicate band, simple yet stunning. 

"But standing here now, looking at you in that gorgeous dress with those eyes that see right through me, all I can think to say is this: I love you. More than hockey, more than anything. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you." His voice caught slightly. "I know we're both young, and we don't even live in the same state half the year, but none of that matters to me. When you know, you know. And I've known since that first summer that you're the one I want to build my life with. Will you marry me?" 

Time seemed suspended as you looked down at him: the boy who had become a man before your eyes, who sent you souvenirs from every state he traveled, who beat the Tetris levels you couldn't, who loved you more than you ever thought possible. "Yes," you whispered, then louder, "Yes, Luke. Of course, yes." 

His face broke into that brilliant smile you loved so much as he slid the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. The small crowd that had gathered broke into applause as he stood and pulled you into his arms, lifting you slightly off your feet in his enthusiasm. When he set you down, he pressed his lips against yours eagerly, rushed passion and genuine happiness flittering between mouths before allowing you to examine the ring, now sitting perfectly below the delicate lily bracelet on your wrist. "So this was the plan all along." 

Luke laughed, pressing his forehead against yours. "Quinn and Jack were helping me set up. I had candles and flowers all over the lake house, planning to propose there. But I changed my mind last minute." 

"This was perfect." you said softly. Your lips form a pout, catching his lips delicately, before he pulls away.

"Everyone's waiting at the lake house. My parents, your parents, Quinn, Jack, they're all there for dinner. If you're up for it." 

You smiled, shaking your head in amazement. "You really did think of everything." 

"I had many months to plan," he reminded you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "And now I have a lifetime of loving you to look forward to." 

As you walked hand-in-hand toward the zoo exit, the afternoon sun warm on your shoulders and the weight of the ring still new and thrilling on your finger, you couldn't help but think of how truly blessed you were. "Ready to go tell everyone?" Luke asked as you reached the parking lot, his Bronco waiting like a chariot to carry you to the next chapter. 

"Ready," you confirmed, squeezing his hand as the future unfurled before you, as bright and promising as the yellow dress you wore and the boy who loved you. 

The drive back to the lake house felt surreal. You kept stealing glances at your left hand, where the diamond caught the late afternoon light streaming through the windshield. Luke caught you looking for the third time and smiled, squeezing your knee gently. "Happy?" he asked, eyes flicking between you and the road.

"I keep thinking I'm going to wake up," you admit. "That I'll be back in my apartment, and you'll still be in New Jersey, and this whole perfect day will have been a dream." 

Luke's hand moved from your knee to capture yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. "Not a dream, sunshine. Though I'm pretty sure I've dreamt about this exact moment more times than I can count." 

As the highway gave way to the familiar winding roads that led to the lake, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttered in your stomach. "So everyone already knows? That you were proposing today?" 

"Well, they knew the plan," Luke amended with a hint of mischief in his voice. "But they don't know your answer yet." 

"You weren't sure I'd say yes?" You raised an eyebrow, unable to keep the smile from your face.

Luke's cheeks flushed slightly. "I was... cautiously optimistic." He turned onto the tree-lined private road that led to the property. "But Jack kept teasing me about having a backup plan. As if I could ever have a backup plan for you." 

The familiar house came into view, its large windows reflecting the golden afternoon light off the lake beyond. In the circular driveway sat your parents' familiar sedan, parked alongside another car and what you recognized as Jack's truck. Your heart performed a little somersault at the realization that they had all gathered here, waiting for this moment. Luke parked the Bronco and turned to face you fully. "Ready to get ambushed?" 

"As I'll ever be," you replied, leaning across the console to press a quick kiss to his lips. He caught you before you could pull away, deepening the kiss with a newfound urgency that made your head spin. 

When he finally broke away, his eyes were darker, more intense. "Just wanted one more moment where it's just us," he explained softly. 

Hand in hand, you approached the front door. You smoothed down your sundress with your free hand, suddenly acutely aware of the day's adventures in your slightly windblown hair and sun-kissed cheeks. The door swung open before Luke could even touch the handle, revealing Jack, his smirk eerily similar to Luke's own. 

"Well, well, well," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. "Look what the cat dragged in." His eyes dropped pointedly to where your hands remained intertwined, then to the ring now adorning your finger. His smile widened impossibly further. "Guess baby brother didn't chicken out after all." 

"Shut up, Jack," Luke said good-naturedly, shouldering past him into the house. The familiar scent of something pasta, rich with garlic and herbs, made your stomach growl despite the late brunch. 

"They're here!" Jack called out, unnecessarily loud given the fact that everyone was already gathered. 

There was a flurry of movement as people emerged from the kitchen and living room area. Your mother appeared first, her eyes immediately finding yours with a question in them that was answered by your beaming smile. Behind her came your father, trying and failing to look casual despite the slight redness around his eyes that suggested he might have been more emotional about this day than he was letting on. Ellen appeared next, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her face lighting up as she took in the scene. Quinn followed, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other, clearly in the middle of recording the moment. 

"Well?" Ellen prompted, looking between you and Luke with barely contained excitement. "Do we have news to celebrate?" 

Luke turned to you, his eyes soft with an unspoken invitation for you to share. The weight of everyone's gaze felt momentarily overwhelming until you lifted your left hand, the ring catching the light streaming through the windows. "We're engaged," you announced, your voice strong despite the emotion making your heart race. 

The room erupted in cheers. Your mother was the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight embrace that smelled of her familiar perfume. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart," she whispered against your hair, her voice thick with emotion. Over her shoulder, you caught sight of your father shaking Luke's hand before pulling him into a quick, firm hug. The sight of the two most important men in your life embracing sent a fresh wave of emotion through you. 

"Let me see, let me see!" Ellen exclaimed, gently extracting you from your mother's arms to examine the ring. "Oh, Luke, you did good. It's absolutely perfect." 

"Just like her," Luke said, the simple statement causing a fresh round of happy tears to spring to your eyes. Quinn approached next, phone now pocketed as he wrapped you in a bear hug that lifted you slightly off your feet. 

"Welcome to the family, officially," he said, setting you down with a grin. "Though we've considered you a Hughes since Luke first brought you home with those puppy dog eyes two years ago." 

"I did not have puppy dog eyes," Luke protested, though his expression as he watched you being welcomed by his family suggested otherwise. 

Jack slung an arm around Luke's shoulders. "You still have puppy dog eyes" He turned to you with a wink, teasing. "Life with no chance of parole for you, eh?" 

"Jack," Ellen chided, though her smile remained firmly in place. 

Your father cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. He was not typically a man of many words, preferring to express himself through actions rather than speeches. But now he raised the glass of what appeared to be whiskey that Jim had just handed him. "To Luke and his impeccable taste," he began, his voice gruff with emotion. "And to my daughter, who has never looked happier than she does right now. May this be just the beginning of a lifetime of joy for you both." 

"Hear, hear," Jim echoed around the room as glasses were clinked together. Luke found his way back to your side, his arm sliding naturally around your waist as if it belonged there. Which, you supposed, it did. 

"Dinner's almost ready," Ellen announced. "The boys have been grilling all afternoon, and I've got about six side dishes that need final touches." She turned to you with a warm smile. "But first, I think these two need a moment to breathe. Why don't you two get some air?"

Luke shot his mother a grateful look before guiding you toward the back of the house. As you slipped out the sliding glass doors onto the expansive deck, you heard the animated chatter resume behind you—your mother already deep in conversation with Ellen, no doubt discussing wedding details you hadn't even begun to consider.

The late afternoon sun hung low over the lake, casting long golden reflections across the rippling surface. The wooden dock extended from the grassy backyard into the water, bobbing gently with the mild waves. It was your favorite spot at the lake house, where you and Luke had spent countless hours talking, swimming, or simply sitting in comfortable silence.

"You okay?" Luke asked as you reached the end of the dock, both of you slipping off your shoes to dangle your feet in the cool water. "I know it's a lot all at once."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, watching a pair of ducks paddle by in the distance. "I'm really good," you assured him. "Just processing that this is real. That you're really here, and we're really engaged, and our families are inside already planning our wedding probably."

Luke chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where you were pressed against him. "Mom's had a Pinterest board for at least a year. I caught her looking at it over Christmas."

"You're kidding."

"Dead serious. Quinn ratted her out." He kissed the top of your head. "But we don't have to decide anything right away. We can take our time, do this however we want."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. The two of you sat on there, on the end of the dock, your head resting on his shoulder, for a few minutes, watching the sun setting along the water.

Soon enough, the sliding door opened, and Jack's voice carried across the yard. "Lovebirds! Mom says dinner's ready, and Dad's threatening to start without you!"

Luke stood first, offering you a hand up that you gladly accepted. Before you could head back toward the house, he tugged you gently into his arms, one hand cupping your cheek with impossible tenderness.

"Thank you," he murmured, his eyes searching yours.

"For saying yes?" you teased lightly.

He shook his head, expression serious despite the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "For making every homecoming feel like this. Like no matter where hockey takes me, I have something infinitely more valuable to come back to."

Your heart swelled as you rose onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. "Always," you promised.

The word hung between you, as golden and full of promise as the sunset beginning to paint the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink. It was a promise neither of you made lightly, to be each other's constant in a world of variables, to be home for each other no matter the distance.

Hand in hand, you walked back toward the house where your families waited, the yellow sundress swishing around your knees and the evening breeze carrying the scent of grilled steak and the subtle promise of summer. The weight of the ring on your finger still felt new and thrilling, but the feeling that bloomed in your chest as Luke held the door open for you, that feeling was as familiar and essential as breathing.

Inside, the dining table had been set with Ellen's best dishes, bottles of champagne chilling in ice buckets at either end. As you took your seat beside Luke, surrounded by the people who had shaped both of your lives, the conversation and laughter flowing as naturally as the lake waters outside, you couldn't help but think that for all of Luke's careful planning and perfect surprises today, this moment of belonging, outside of his proposal, was the next best gift.

Jim raised his glass once everyone was seated, his expression uncharacteristically emotional. "To the future Mr. and Mrs. Hughes," he toasted, his voice steady despite the moisture gathering in his eyes. "May your love story continue to be written with the same beauty with which it began."

As glasses clinked and smiles were exchanged across the table, Luke's hand found yours beneath the tablecloth, his thumb brushing over the ring he'd placed there just hours ago, an unspoken reminder that this was just the beginning.

"I love you," Luke whispered for your ears alone.

You squeezed his hand in response, knowing that whatever the future held, whatever cities hockey might take him to, whatever challenges might arise, the foundation you'd built together over the past two years was strong enough to weather any storm.

"Love you, too," you echoed softly.

Dinner stretched languidly into the evening, multiple courses interspersed with stories and laughter that left your cheeks aching. Your father, usually reserved, had warmed up after his second glass of wine, regaling everyone with embarrassing childhood stories that made you hide your face in Luke's shoulder. Luke's arm had remained draped across the back of your chair, his fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder in a gesture so casually intimate it made your heart flutter even after two years together.

"Remember when she insisted on wearing her tutu to soccer practice?" your mother chimed in, eyes twinkling with mischief. "The coach didn't know what to do with her."

"In my defense," you protested, "I was five, and I thought tutus were appropriate for all athletic activities."

"Not much has changed," Luke teased, earning himself a playful jab to the ribs. "What? You still have strong opinions about athletic wear."

"Says the man who refuses to wear anything but black compression shorts under his gear for 'luck,'" Quinn interjected, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

The conversation flowed easily between hockey stories, childhood memories, and tentative wedding ideas that Ellen couldn't help but slip into the conversation. Jim had opened a second bottle of champagne somewhere between dessert and coffee, insisting that such an occasion warranted proper celebration.

As the clock on the mantel chimed ten, your father stifled a yawn. "I hate to be the one to break up the party," he said apologetically, "but some of us don't have the stamina of you young folks anymore. Early meeting tomorrow."

"Yeah," your mother agreed, though her reluctance was evident in her voice. "It's a bit of a drive back."

Ellen nodded, beginning to gather some of the dessert plates. "We're gonna get going too, actually."

"You're leaving?" Luke asked, surprise evident in his voice as he looked between his parents.

Jim exchanged a knowing glance with Ellen before clearing his throat. "Thought we'd give you two some privacy to celebrate properly."

"We're out too," Quinn nods, already standing and shooting Luke a barely concealed wink. 

"That's right," Jack added, his expression all innocence despite the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Wouldn't want to be a third and fourth wheel on your engagement night."

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized what they were doing, orchestrating an obvious exit to leave you and Luke alone in the lake house. Luke's arm tightened around your shoulders, his own face slightly flushed.

"You don't have to—" you began, but Ellen waved away your protest.

"Nonsense, sweetheart. You two deserve some time alone after being apart for so long. Besides," she added with a gentle smile, "It seems only right that you should have it to yourselves tonight."

The next fifteen minutes were a flurry of hugs, promises to call tomorrow, and last-minute wedding suggestions that you nodded along to without fully processing. Your mother hugged you especially tight at the door.

"I always knew he was the one," she whispered against your ear. "From the first time you brought him home. The way he looked at you, like you were everything."

Emotion tightened your throat as you squeezed her back. "I love you, Mom."

"Love you too, sweetheart." She pulled back, dabbing at the corner of her eye. "Enjoy your night, we'll talk details soon."

You and Luke stood on the porch, waving as both families piled into their respective cars. Quinn shot Luke a thumbs up from the passenger seat of Jack's truck, and Jack made a gesture that Luke quickly responded to with an obscene hand signal of his own, hidden from the parents' view.

"Brothers," Luke muttered, despite the smile playing on his lips

With final waves, both cars pulled away down the private road, headlights sweeping across the front of the house before disappearing around the bend. You stood in the doorway watching until the red taillights vanished around the bend, Luke's arm secure around your waist.

"Alone at last," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I think that's the fastest I've ever seen my family clear out of here."

You laughed, leaning into his embrace. "They weren't exactly subtle about it."

"Subtlety isn't really a Hughes family trait," he admitted with a grin, leading you back inside and closing the door behind you. "But I can't say I'm complaining."

The house felt different now. Quieter, more intimate, the spaces that had been filled with laughter and conversation now containing only the two of you. The dining room table still held the remnants of your celebration dinner, champagne glasses with lipstick marks and cake crumbs telling the story of the evening's festivities.

"Should we clean up?" you asked, though the thought of mundane chores seemed at odds with the electric anticipation humming beneath your skin.

Luke shook his head, taking your hand. "Tomorrow. I have something to show you first."

Curiosity piqued, you allowed him to lead you through the familiar path up the wooden staircase. When you reached the door to his bedroom at the end of the hall, he paused, turning to face you with an expression that mingled nervousness and excitement.

"Close your eyes," he instructed softly.

You did as he asked, heart fluttering with anticipation. You heard the door creak open, felt Luke's hands gentle on your shoulders as he guided you forward into the room. The subtle scent of roses reached you before he spoke again.

"Okay. You can look now."

When you opened your eyes, a soft gasp escaped your lips. The room was transformed from the familiar space you remembered. Dozens of candles in various sizes were arranged across every surface, unlit but ready to cast their warm glow. Rose petals in deep crimson created a path from the doorway to the bed, where they were scattered across the navy comforter in a striking contrast. The curtains had been drawn back to reveal the panoramic view of the moonlit lake, silver light dancing across the gentle waves.

"Luke," you breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. "When did you—"

"I had help," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "Jack and Quinn set this up while we were at the Zoo. It was supposed to be part of my original proposal plan, but...ya know." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "I still wanted the night to be special."

You crossed to him, rising on tiptoes to cup his face in your hands. "It's perfect," you whispered, emotion making your voice catch. "All of it."

With careful movements, he pulled away, and reached for the bedside table, retrieving a lighter to begin illuminating the candles. One by one, small flames sprang to life around the room, casting everything in a warm, golden glow that made the rose petals seem to shimmer. When the last candle was lit, Luke dimmed the overhead light, leaving only the dancing flames and moonlight to illuminate the space.

"There," he said, turning back to you with such tenderness in his eyes it made your breath catch. "Now it's perfect."

You moved toward him, drawn like a magnet to his warmth, his solidity, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the fresh rose petals and lake air drifting through the partially open window.

"I missed you." you whispered, reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble. "Two months is too long."

Luke caught your hand, turning it to press a kiss to your palm. "I'll quit the NHL," he murmured against your skin, "just wanna be with you."

"Oh wow," Your eyes widened with amusement. "I think Devils fans would kill me."

"We can go off the grid." A teasing smile on his lips as he drew you closer. "Survive off of my ELC money."

Your fingers traced the neckline of his shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric as you threw your head back with a laugh. "Whatever would we do with all that time alone?" you asked, your voice deliberately innocent despite the heat building between you.

Luke's eyes darkened as his hands slid from your waist to your hips, drawing you impossibly closer. "I have a few ideas," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low register that always made your stomach flip. "Starting with properly celebrating our engagement."

You can find the 18+ extended cut of this fic, (5k+ words of smut), on my Patreon, or via the direct link: HERE

[jedi-starbird]

Alpha-17 and Obi-Wan being friends (derogatory) on 17's part and friends (threatening) on Obi-Wan's part is such an underrated dynamic

They could be so funny and terrifying, like Obi-Wan went through a soul shredding experience with Alpha-17 as his only company. They're friends because what else are you gonna be after you witness each other at absolute rock bottom from torture.

It's like 'dog put in cage of cheetah who's threatening to go crazy', except the dog is a grizzly bear and also threatening to go crazy.

Emotional support trooper except the trooper in question has never done any sort of supporting in his life and is actively an emotional distress trooper to a great number of the CC batch.

I want them texting everyday, I want Obi-Wan mailing handmade BFF bracelets to Alpha and Alpha sending pics back of him flipping off the camera but still wearing them, I want Alpha using Obi-Wan to keep track of and occasionally terrorize his cadets, I want 17 ending problems in the GAR (like Krell) before they begin because Obi-Wan has him shipped out on a personal transport at the first opportunity, decked out with slug-throwers Obi-Wan got him for his decant-day.

Natborn officers think this is all just an odd indulgence of General Kenobi, the Vode, however, correctly identify it as a goddamn threat and their danger assessment of Obi-Wan ticks up significantly.

When Alpha arrives on Kamino, Shaak Ti presses a shiny new comm into his hand. It has the Jedi Order symbol painted onto it alongside a smiley face sticker, and it pings immediately with a new message: Hello! I hope you're settling in well!

Alpha stares at the message, stares at the singular contact named 'OWK' and then stares Shaak Ti in the eye as he pitches the comm straight into the ocean. Shaak Ti's serene smile only grows larger as she calmly reaches into her robes and pulls out an identical comm, only this one has a frowny face sticker, and presses it into his hand. It lights up: I'm afraid we've bonded, Alpha :). Alpha shuts it off and pockets it with resignation.

Cody arrives on Alpha-17's personal recommendation.

A-17: He's the most difficult little bastard I have. You're perfect for each other. OWK: Thank you, he's very handsome :3 A-17: No. Stop.

The first thing he asks once he gets comfortable is who his general is texting so much that has him swinging his legs and twirling his hair. Cody assumes it's Anakin, given they seem joint at the hip anyway, but little does he know Obi-Wan's ability to consistently have the Weirdest Relationships Ever.

"Oh, it's Alpha-17, I understand you're familiar with each other?" Hmm. OK. Cody.exe is experiencing a processing error, please hold. He exits the room instead of answering. The next day he peeks over the General's shoulder when he's texting and sees walls of rambling messages from Obi-Wan. Alpha-17 replies every hour with a single text: Lose this number. Obi-Wan giggles. "He's so funny." he says.

When Obi-Wan meets the rest of the CC batch, Cody makes sure to stand perfectly angled so that he can record the reactions when his general cuts off their introductions with "Oh, no need, Alpha-17's told me all about you." It's always immediate FEAR.JPG followed by a slow spiral of What The Fuck.

What do you mean by that General. What does that mean Cody. What do you mean they text. No. Cody. What the fuck is happening, Cody. Alpha-17 doesn't have friends he has enemies and enemies he tolerates enough not to shoot on sight.

OWK: Wolffe reached for his vambrace? when I mentioned you A-17: That's where he keeps his spare knife. OWK: Hm that does explain the way he eyed me up, ambitious. A-17: Clearly not enough, he should have followed through. I taught them better.

[avdxl]

The Price of Temptation-18+- Smut

Summary: Y/N is tired of seeing Sanji flirt with Nami and decides to show him what it feels like, in the most extreme way possible.

Pairing Zoro x female!reader, Sanji x female!reader

A/N: uuuh don't ask my thought process or inspiration for this one. Thanks. ENJOY!

Y/N watched Sanji from across the kitchen, her eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched. He was doing it again – flirting shamelessly with Nami. It was a dance they'd all seen before: Sanji, the flamboyant cook with an eye for beauty, and Nami, the tough-as-nails navigator who could handle herself. But tonight, something snapped within Y/N.

Their dinner was another evening cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses, the air thick with the scent of grilled meat and spilled ale as the Straw Hat ate. Y/N leaned against the counter; her arms crossed over her chest as she observed Sanji's antics. She couldn't ignore the way he flicked his eyelashes at Nami, the way he offered her a plate of food with a flourish that was more suited to royalty than their ragtag crew.

As the night grew later and the drinks flowed more frequently than the food, the atmosphere slowly grew tense. Sanji's flirting crossing the line from playful to disrespect, and Y/N's patience wearing thinner than the last piece of pork on the grill. She knew Nami could handle herself, and Sanji would never do anything to truly jeopardize their relationship, but she couldn't stand by any longer and watch as her friend was once again subjected to her boyfriend's relentless toying.

Zoro had been eyeing her all evening, his gaze intense. She met his stare and nodded; a knowing smirk played at the corner of his mouth. He knew what she had in mind, and he was more than happy to oblige. Without a word, he took her hand and led her to the back of the ship away from the drunken revelry and into the quieter, dimmer air outside.

Sanji, ever the observant one, caught the tail end of their exit. He knew that look on Y/N's face – it was a warning shot; he better tread carefully. He swiped the sweat from his forehead and took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what was to come, even he has to admit, he'd probably gone too far this time. With a sigh that was equal parts regret and resignation, he set down the tray of food and followed them, heart racing.

The cool night was like a slap in the face, sobering Y/N up and sharpening her focus. She turned to Zoro, who leaned against the railing, his arms folded. "Thanks for the backup," she murmured, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. He nodded; the moonlight casting shadows across his stoic face.

Sanji emerged, his steps hesitant. The back of the ship was a stark contrast to the bustling kitchen – the distant sound of the waves crashing against the ship was a gentle reminder of the vast world beyond the cacophony. He took a deep breath and approached, his eyes flicking between Y/N and Zoro. "I...I didn't mean to upset you," he stuttered, his usual confidence waning like the moon behind a cloud.

The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with the scent of the sea and the promise of a storm. Y/N stepped closer, eyes boring into his. "You know I don't like when you do that," she said, her voice low and steady. "You need to learn when to stop." Sanji nodded, his gaze dropping to the ground, his shoulders slumped. He knew she was right, but he couldn't help his flirty nature. It was as much a part of him as his love for cooking.

Zoro took a step forward, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. "It's not just about upsetting her," he said, his tone even. "You're disrespecting the crew. And yourself." Sanji's head shot up at that, his eyes wide with surprise. It wasn't often that Zoro spoke about matters of the heart, but when he did, his words carried the weight of a thousand unspoken sentiments.

Y/N didn't give him a chance to respond. She stepped closer to Sanji. "You want to see what it feels like for me?" she whispered, her tone sharp. "Fine." With a flick of her wrist, she gestured to the ground. "Lay down."

Sanji's cheeks flushed, but he knew better than to argue with Y/N when she had that look in her eyes. He dropped to his knees and laid down. She looked down at him, her expression unreadable, and with slow deliberate movements, she lifted her skirt, revealing the flesh of her thighs. Sanji's breath hitched in his throat, but she wasn't looking at him anymore. Her gaze was locked on Zoro, the unspoken challenge clear.

Zoro stepped closer, his eyes never leaving Y/N's. He reached out and wrapped one hand around her waist, the other tangling in her hair. He pulled her back against him, his hardness pressing against her, as he positioned her right above Sanji's face. The warmth of his breath washed over her, and she could feel her pussy throb with anticipation. She was going to make Sanji watch, make him understand what he was doing to her with every leering look and lewd remark aimed at others.

As Zoro entered her, she gasped, the sensation of him filling her up sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body. Her juices began to leak out, dropping onto Sanji's upturned face. He flinched at first, but then something in his expression changed – a mix of horror and arousal that made Y/N's blood boil. She threw her head back, moaning as Zoro's rhythm grew faster, harder. Each thrust sent a fresh wave of liquid splattering onto Sanji's face, his cheeks shiny with her desire.

The sounds of their passion filled the alley – the slap of skin on skin, the wetness of their coupling, Y/N's moans of pleasure. Sanji lay there, as droplets of her arousal fell onto his cheeks, and in his mouth. He could taste the saltiness, feel the heat of her anger and lust. It was a lesson he wouldn't soon forget, a stark reminder of the consequences of his actions.

Zoro was like a man possessed, his thrusts unyielding as he claimed Y/N over and over again. Each time she came, she'd grip the rail for support, her nails digging into the wood as she arched her back, her body shuddering with ecstasy. Sanji could feel the vibrations through the ground, a tangible reminder of his own failure to control his desires.

Y/N lost herself in the waves of pleasure. She knew Sanji was watching, could almost taste his discomfort, his humiliation, and with each orgasm that crashed over her, she felt a twisted satisfaction knowing that he was forced to bear witness to the power and passion she gave to Zoro.

Sanji's face grew wetter and wetter, the taste of her cum a bitter reminder of his folly. Yet, as much as he wanted to look away, his eyes remained locked on hers, unable to tear himself from the sight of her in the throes of passion with Zoro. His own arousal grew, an unwelcome and confusing sensation that only served to fuel his embarrassment.

Sanji knew he'd crossed a line, and this was his penance – to lay there, to feel the full brunt of their connection, to understand what it meant to truly crave and be craved by someone.

Y/N leaned back into Zoro's embrace, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She could sense the tension in Sanji's body, hear his hands clench and unclench. This was it, the moment she'd been waiting for – the moment when he'd realize and finally understand the toll his thoughtless flirting took on her.

With a final, powerful thrust, Zoro reached his peak, his grip on Y/N tightening as he filled her completely. She cried out, her orgasm ripping through her like lightning. Sanji felt the tremors as she came, the spasms that echoed through her body and into his soul.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Zoro pulled out. Y/N's knees were weak from the intense pleasure, but she had a job to do. She stepped away from the swordsman, her eyes glancing at Sanji. He was still on the ground, his face a mess of sweat, tears, and cum. The sight of him, so vulnerable and exposed, only added to her anger.

With a swiftness that belied the passionate haze she was still in, Y/N straddled Sanji's face, her sopping wet pussy hovering just above his mouth. "Lick me clean," she ordered, her voice as cold as the steel of Zoro's blade. Sanji's eyes widened in horror, but he knew better than to disobey. With a sigh, he parted his lips and began to clean her up, his tongue lapping at the mixture of their juices.

The taste was bitter and salty, a potent reminder of his own desire and failure. Y/N watched him, as he licked and sucked in an attempt to consume the last remnants of his foolishness, her eyes cold and unyielding.

Zoro, for his part, had disappeared, leaving them to their moment of reckoning. Sanji's cheeks burned with the humiliation of it all – the man he considered his rival had just claimed Y/N in the most primal way possible, and now he was left deal with the aftermath. This would be a lesson he would never forget.

As Y/N's thighs tightened around his head, she began to grind down onto his face, pushing his tongue deeper into her. Sanji gagged but didn't stop, knowing that she would only get more aggressive if he did. He could feel the anger in her movements, the way she used his face to satisfy herself without an ounce of pity.

It was silent but for their muffled sounds of pleasure and pain. Sanji's tongue worked tirelessly, cleaning every inch of her, tasting the faint hint of Zoro's seed mixed with her own. It was an indignity that cut deeper than any sword, but Sanji knew he deserved it.

Y/N's hips rocked back and forth, her orgasm still pulsing through her body. She ground down onto Sanji's face with a viciousness that made him whimper, the friction of his stubble against her tender skin sending sparks of pain through her. She knew she was being cruel, but she didn't care. He'd brought this upon himself.

With a last, violent thrust, she pulled away, leaving Sanji gasping for breath. He lay there, his face wet and sticky, as she stepped over him. "Remember this next time you think about disrespecting me," she hissed.

But Y/N's heart wasn't as cold as her words. Beneath the anger and betrayal, there was a part of her that still cared for Sanji, a part that didn't want to leave him like a forgotten scrap of meat. So, she turned back to him, her eyes softening slightly. "Get up."

Sanji scrambled to his feet, his legs wobbly from the intensity of his emotions. He looked at her, hope flickering in his eyes like a candle in a storm. Y/N reached out and took his hand, leading him towards a bench.

Her touch gentle as she turned him to face her, moving her hands to his shoulders and pushing him to sit. "Look at me," she said, her voice firm but not unkind. Sanji met her gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and regret. "I know you feel like what you're doing is just harmless fun, but it hurts."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. She could see the realization dawning in them, the recognition that he had hurt his girlfriend, whom he cared for deeply. "But" she continued, her grip on his shoulders tightening, "I'm not going to leave you like this."

With a suddenness that took Sanji by surprise, Y/N straddled him, her knees pressing into his thighs. She reached down and unbuckled his belt, freeing his erection from the confines of his trousers. It was clear that the show she'd put on with Zoro had affected him, and she knew just what to do to drive the point home.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "You want to be the one to make me moan, to make me scream your name?" Sanji nodded, his eyes glazed over with need. "Then prove it," she said, lowering herself onto his cock.

The sensation was overwhelming – she was so wet, so tight, and the way she moved was like nothing he'd ever felt before. He gripped her hips, trying to steady her as she began to ride him with a ferocity that stole his breath. Her nails dug into him, leaving half-moons that burned with every thrust.

Y/N leaned in close, her eyes locked on his. "This is what you get when you're with me," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr. "No one else can give you this, Sanji." She began to move faster, her body taking over as the passion consumed her. Sanji could feel the tension in her muscles, the way she tightened around him as she approached climax.

He was lost in her, in the feel of her slick heat, in the way she took what she wanted without apology. His anger and humiliation had turned into a fierce need that only she could satisfy. His hips met hers, each thrust a silent promise to do better, to be better.

Shadows danced around them as they found their rhythm, their bodies moving as one. The sounds of their union filled the night, a symphony of love and anger, of passion and punishment.

Y/N threw her head back and screamed out his name, her pussy clenching around him and, Sanji knew that she had made her point. No one had ever fuck him like she did, and no one ever would. The lesson was burned into his soul.

As they both came down from the peak, their breathing ragged and their bodies sticky with sweat, Sanji wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. He whispered his apologies into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll do better," he promised. "For you, I'll always do better."

Y/N leaned into his embrace, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. "I know."

[juletheghoul]

Hi, thanks for continuously expanding the story of The General. I like reading it. :) I'm just wondering if you might feel like writing kind of like sci/fi time travel troupe where a woman (willfull and stubborn) from the present gets transported back to ancient Rome and meets Marcus Acacius. How would their dynamics be?

Obsessed with this, genuinely—I started a little something 👀

Not sure if I’ll continue it or make it into something big but I loved the idea of them not even understanding one another.

Hope you enjoy! 💕

(Not beta’d, barely proofread)

—

Warnings; threat of violence, language, shifting POV, plenty of historical inaccuracies I’m sure lol

Pairing; Marcus Acacius x Modern F!reader (time travel shenanigans)

Word count; 1.4k

-

The sigh doesn’t fix anything, but it helps with the frustration. So you let out another one, deeper than the original while you gather your wits. This was Rome, a massive city with millions of tourists trekking through it just like you, surely if they could do it without getting hopelessly lost, you could too.

The ruins were a maze, incredibly easy to get mixed up and turned around in. It was just a matter of retracing your steps and rejoining your group. Easy peasy.

With renewed optimism, you follow the sounds of people ringing through the remnants of the temple, or bathhouse, or gladiatorial training rooms… where the fuck even am I again?

You backtrack through the doorway, turning left into what must have been an antichamber, or dormitory? The mosaic under your feet isn’t familiar and a sense of dread creeps along your spine, should you have turned right? There’s a giant arch in the distance, one you distinctly don’t remember walking through. It doesn’t look as aged as the rest of the structure, most likely preserved when the site was excavated.

Walking through the arch fills you with a foreboding dread, like being dunked in ice water. It leaves you dazed, stumbling into the light of the sun almost drunk. An open door all but manifests and it’s with a relief so great it almost pulls tears from your eyes that you finally exit the building and step into the open air. You cannot help but laugh at yourself, embarrassed by your reaction, by the silly fear of getting lost.

The sun is hotter than you remembered it being when you left the hotel that morning and all at once the desire to explore and take in the culture all but evaporated. Resigned to abandon the tour, you decide to make your way back to the hotel. The new goal, the new prize for the day is a shower and an ungodly amount of pasta.

The road is nowhere to be found. The tourists have disappeared, and have been replaced with what looked to be actors. A fresh horror spreads through your veins, the exit you came out of must have led somewhere you were definitely not supposed to be.

-

He’d been called forth to deal with a strange situation. A woman had somehow infiltrated his camp. He frowned at the news, scoffing at the sentinel who’d brought it to him.

“A woman? Solitary? One woman snuck passed you and made her way into my camp?” He all but sneered at the soldier, anger pulsing in his head to learn that his guards were not as observant as he would have thought, as he trained them to be.

“General, by the Gods, we did not see her. One moment there was no one and then the next she was there, like some apparition.” He seems rattled, Acacius didn’t blame him. A lapse in protection meant death and dishonour. It meant his army was not in the shape it should be. Rome was not safe, not protected.

“Well, what has she to say for herself? What explanation did she provide for her miraculous presence here?”

“We do not know, we cannot understand her.”

He sighs. Anger bleeds into his tone when he orders her brought to him, dismissing the useless soldier in the process.

When they bring her to him, he frowns. Her robes confuse him, the fabric almost painted in the strangest shades, some he’s never even seen. She clutches at a bag, at a strange jar and although her voice is clearly agitated and angry, he cannot understand the words she speaks. Her face is painted, eyes darkened with some sort of kohl, lips shiny with oil and for a moment he thinks she might be one of the women who sold herself.

“Peace, woman.” He puts his hands up and speaks slowly, “I need to know where you come from, and why you are here. What is it you seek?” She twists her face in confusion, anger colouring her voice more still. She screams at him in more words he doesn’t understand until the soldiers that had brought her approach to no doubt silence her. At the sound of their footsteps her eyes widen with what he knows is genuine fear.

“Don’t.” He commands them, and they stop in their tracks. “Leave her with me. Go about your business, and tighten up the borders of this camp.” He sends them away with daggers in his voice.

“But General-what if she attacks?” They hesitate for a moment.

“I can handle her. Go.” They leave, her eyes follow them before turning back to him. She speaks again but he shakes his head.

“What am I to do with you then, hm?”

-

If you had known that you’d land in some insane fucking ancient Roman reenactment, you would have stayed in the hotel.

The older man is really into his role, some high and mighty soldier or general on a power trip or God fucking knows what, holds you in his tent. You try to explain to him calmly and then not so calmly that this is a mistake, that you didn’t mean to crash their party and that you just want to make it back to the hotel. He frowns, and shakes his head with confusion. He responds in his own language, what you imagine is Latin and the frustration floods you once more.

“If you cannot help me, I will leave. I’ll just go back through the stupid building and see if I can catch up with my tour group. If they haven’t already left, God if I missed my shuttle I will lose my fucking mind.” With a sigh you clutch at your bag and turn towards the entrance. You don’t make it three steps before he grabs at your arm, holding you in place with what sounds like a stern warning.

“Listen, I appreciate the realism and everything here, but let go, I need to leave.” You try to shake out of his grip but it’s iron, his big hand tightens enough to hurt.

“You’re hurting me, let me go!” With a growing fear, you try harder until he pulls a knife from a hidden pocket and presses it to your throat. He points to the entrance, to you, and then presses the tip to your neck once more.

You cannot understand his words, but the warning is crystal clear. If you leave, he will kill you.

“Intellego?” You can infer what he must mean, and so you nod. He returns the gesture and puts the knife away. He moves about the tent while you stand there, arms aching from clutching at your things, body trembling with fear and adrenaline at his threat of violence. He continues speaking, his deep, clear voice filling the space while he moves things around and gestures to a giant scroll.

Stuck like a fly in honey, you watch him pointing and talking, half listening while you try to formulate an escape route.

He comes close with a huff, pulling you gently towards his table.

It looks like a map, but it’s not like any map you’ve ever seen.

“What the fuck am I meant to be looking at here?”

He continues speaking, pointing at the map, and then gesturing outside. He points again, at a different spot and then to himself.

“Oh.. okay you’re from here?” He nods, then he takes your hand and puts it on the map, repeating his words and you can assume he’s asking you to point out where you come from.

“Dude I don’t know, this map is wild as hell and about a thousand years out of date from the looks of it.” You move your hand away but he persists, a bulldog with a bone. He takes your hand and puts it on the map, then taps your chest, asking his question once more.

“I’m not on this map!” You tap your chest, and then to the edge of the map, “I’m not here, we’re not on the map yet. Understand?” You gesture again, pointing to an empty edge, and point to yourself.

The look on his face is almost funny, he’s either really committed to his role, or this is the weirdest fucking dream you’ve ever had.

He’s quiet after that, ruminating, studying you with a critical eye and after the day you’ve had you don’t have the patience. You sit in one of the chairs, resigned to endure the ride until you find an opportunity to get off, and away as quickly as you can.

-

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[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter eleven

Synopsis: You’re awake, Invincible is back from a two-month space excursion and tensions are high in the Guardian’s Headquarters.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Chapter: 11/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: PTSD-like Symptoms

Note: Here we are!!

You couldn’t hear the fluorescent lights this time, it was too busy around you. Your eyes felt heavy, and you were exhausted, more than usual. Multiple voices talked over each other from all around you, one you recognized instantly as Cecil’s. After a short struggle, you managed to open your eyes, there must have been over ten people crammed into that little room.

“She’s awake.” One of the people next to your bedside stated, they were wearing a mask, must have been a doctor or a nurse. You looked down at your arms to find several tubes trailing off from you, something you had not seen in a long time.

As if they were all working from the same neural connection every single one of the doctors and nurses exited the room almost in single file. Leaving only Cecil. If you were more awake it would have unnerved you.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something more important?” Your voice came out softer than you expected, crackly.

“You don’t think this is important kid?”

“I’m not sure what this is.” You admit, pushing your hands against the bed in an attempt to sit up. A sharp pain appeared in your side just to immediately disappear. A pain that did not immediately disappear came more strongly from your arms. Your body seemingly having realized the foreign objects was attempting to heal around them. “Shit.” You muttered, immediately going to pull the various tubes from your individual arms.

“Wait-!” It was too late, you had already grabbed them in a single handful, pulling them out. You rubbed your arms separately as your skin almost instantly mended the needle entry points.

“Sorry, that started to hurt like a bitch.” You croaked, and as if on cue your head started pounding. You held the heels of your palms against your forehead for a few seconds, fighting to stay quiet while the pain rippled through your body, and then: it stopped. Your head was still aching but there was nothing left to heal.

“Those were slowing down your healing process. Your body was overcompensating and keeping you in a state of limbo, we had to place those so it would stop trying so hard.” Cecil held two fingers to his temple, closing his eyes in frustration.

“Well, I’m awake now, so I must be fine.” You shrugged slowly dropping your hands from your head and giving him a guilty smile.

“This is the third time you’ve woken up.” Cecil muttered, exhaustion clear in his voice.

“Oh.” You looked down and rubbed your sore arm a little. It wasn’t a pretty picture, the idea of you having woken up just to convulse in a bloody mess not once but twice. You waited a few moments to see if your headache was about to progress further, but it continued to just ache timidly. “Guess I’m okay?”

Cecil sighed, taking a few steps away from your bedside.

“How long have I been out?” Usually, it was only a few hours you were out, and then you were back on your feet without any help at all. What was different this time?

“Three days.”

Three days? You jerked up into a completely upright position, panic immediately starting to rise in you, and not for the reason you expected. You were afraid yes, but not that you were losing control, you were afraid Cecil was going to let you go. That he was going to fire you.

“What kind of backlash are the Guardians giving you?” You asked cautiously, your fingertips gripping the course, thin hospital blanket.

“They haven’t said anything. I am sure there are tensions, but I honestly have had much more important matters to deal with.”

You were afraid to ask, was he talking about you? This problem? You squeezed the blanket tighter and considered just pushing through it, offering your resignation.

“Invincible is back.”

“He’s back?” You state dumbly, your mind immediately goes blank.

“Just arrived, has a kid with him, we believe it to be Omniman’s.”

“Omniman’s?”

“Appears so.”

“Appears so…” You echo. God stop repeating him. However, you didn’t have anything to say about this, it felt like too much information. Usually, Cecil was very guarded, you weren’t sure why he was being this open with you about this situation, something told you that you’d find out soon though.

“He’s going to check in with me sometime later today, I would like you to be there, see what you can feel, if anything.”

“Today?” STOP REPEATING-

“Do you not feel up to it?”

“No, I do- or I think I do-”

“Great. Then meet me in the training room once you are dressed. You have some clothes on the counter there.” You look over and sure enough, there is an outfit, it looks business profession rather than your supersuit.

“Did you know I was going to wake up today?” You quickly turned your head to look at him again, examining his expression.

“No, but I hoped.” He seemed genuine, sincere. He placed a pat on the guard rail of the hospital bed, probably the closest thing to physical reassurance you would ever get from him.

__

Your nails made a clicking noise as you tapped them on the metal gurney. You haven’t been in this room in at least a week now. In the field training was proving much more fruitful than working only with ReAnimen. The chill of the room you never seemed to get used to though, no matter how much time you had spent in there. You figured it was that way to keep the body fresher, sure they were usually drained of blood, but this one wasn’t. Specifically for your benefit.

For your benefit. You frowned down at it, the bright red eye dully looking back. Who was this person before they became this? Cecil had told you they were soldiers, “serving their country one last time”. Was the first time not enough?

Your fingers continued to tap on the cool steel, your gaze staring off past the corpse. Three days you were out, three whole days. And the whole time it felt like you were having that nightmare over and over again. You didn’t remember ever waking up, it was probably better that way. A defense mechanism, so you don’t remember the trauma of it. You could hardly remember going out the first time, it was still coming back in pieces, but mostly you remembered Rex’s voice. You weren’t sure why. He had sounded so panicked; an inflection you had never heard from him. He was cocky, arrogant, whiney even at times. But never panicked. Anyone would respond like that if they saw someone in front of them begin hemorrhaging to that degree. Did you really expect him to have no reaction?

Your gaze settled in the corner, and for a moment you could swear you saw someone, just in the corner of your eye. Out of reach, just in the distance. Wearing a dark uniform, a gun in his outstretched hands. You jerked your head to look and there was nothing.

You were starting to hate this room.

“Ready?” Cecil is standing near the door, you hadn’t heard him arrive, either by teleport or by walking in.

“As I’ll ever be.” You give him a nod, absentmindedly straightening out your dress shirt. “Why am I dressed like this by the way?”

“Where we’re going it would be better to be discrete.” Cecil walks towards you, he’s holding a wristband of some sort. He holds his hand out in a gesture for you to do the same and once you do, he clasps it around your wrist.

“You think it’s my color?” You turn your wrist over a few times before looking at him again.

He doesn’t respond, no scoff, no nothing. Tough crowd. “Try not to needlessly speak, I am not sure how this will go.”

You nod, opening your mouth to verbally affirm him and then in a blink your surroundings have completely changed. You had expected to feel sick or jarred, but it almost felt natural, it didn’t even feel like the terrain changed underneath the soles of your shoes.

You were in a building, you knew that much. Great deduction Sherlock. The walls were painted a tan color while the carpets were blue. The kind of carpet you see in office spaces, so any type of mess or spill isn’t as obvious. And- yeah no you had no clue where you were. There weren’t any windows around either, just rows of wooden doors. Maybe an apartment complex?

“All of them!” A voice sounded from around the corner seconds before the owner of the voice appeared too. A man with dark black hair nearly collided with Cecil before jumping back with a started noise.

“And when exactly were you planning to tell me you were back?” Cecil’s expression was surprisingly soft. You looked back and forth between the two of them trying to catch every micro expression, anxiety instantly rising in you. Why couldn’t Cecil ever seem to properly brief you? How hard would it be to say, ‘hey yeah were going to see Invincible immediately, no prep no nothing’, or ‘there is a security guard who HAS A GUN’? You were getting better at improv though, maybe a good back up if Cecil decided to fire you.

Mark’s gaze settled on you for a moment before jumping back to Cecil. “I mean, it’s not like you didn’t know.” This was going horribly already; you felt extremely out of place. Mark was practically bristling in the exceedingly short exchange the two were engaging in so far.

Cecil furrowed his brow before talking. “I ordered you not to go. You were gone two months. Now you don’t even check in?”

“I needed to see my mom and my girlfriend first.”

“We had a deal, Mark. You promised if I put you in the field, you’d follow orders. You don’t get to pick and choose when that applies.”

Mind you, less than a few hours ago you were peacefully knocked out in a hospital bed. Well, suffering a constant repetitive nightmare but still. If you were in control of the teleportation involved with your wristband you would be out of there. You weren’t sure why the high tensions were getting to you so much right now, but you really felt like you weren’t meant to be there. And it was only a matter of time until Mark actually took notice of you.

Maybe you were embarrassed. Invincible was one of your major inspirations. Reading his file had given you the confidence you had needed when you first started on with Cecil. And now that person was real to you. Standing a few feet away in a dark blue sweatshirt. Maybe you felt bad, felt like you were betraying this person you had never even met in person. You weren’t stupid, you had pieced together why it was so important to Cecil that you learn how to manipulate Viltrumite blood. And in theory, it made complete sense, Omniman turned bad, what is to stop that from happening with Mark?

But you also worried that in setting up these fail-safes Cecil might be pushing Mark towards it. In a way, it was a threat. If any of the Guardians knew what you could be capable of you were honestly nervous that they might try to kill you. Or at the very least never trust you again. Could you blame them?

“I saved millions of lives out there, Cecil. And it looks like everything here was just fine.” Mark responds defensively.

“Yeah. Things were just peachy.” Cecil turned his attention to you as if expecting you to step forward. Oh great.

You stepped forward trying not to immediately mess up whatever point he was trying to make. “There have been a few minor everyday issues, but just a few days ago an unidentified entity by the name of Omnipotus made an attempt at conquering the world. Several major injuries were sustained by different supers.” Professional, like an official report. Crap it might have been straight from the report you gave to Cecil on the ordeal now that you thought about it. Who cares, you weren’t making a fool of yourself yet. “You know… basic Tuesday stuff.” And there it is. Very nice. You wanted to blow your brains out.

“The Guardians almost died saving the planet while you were off gallivanting with space bugs.” Cecil turned his attention directly back to Grayson. If he was unhappy with your input, he in no way showed it in his demeanor.

“What I did out there, what I found was important.” There was a pause and Mark looked between the two of you. He blinked a few times before scowling slightly. “You already know, don’t you?”

There is another pause, and you are completely lost. Once again, your mind wanders to the fact you were completely unconscious not that long ago. And now you were standing here in a pantsuit that made you look much more mature than you felt.

Cecil sighed, drawing your attention back. “We keep an eye on Debbie for her protection. Passive monitoring, mostly. Certain keywords trigger a closer listen.”

“Unbelievable.” Mark scoffs before resting his hands on his hips. “You’re angry about me not reporting in? I don’t need to. You’ve got cameras in my mom’s house.”

“It’s not cameras. We would never do that.” This made you give Cecil a sideways glance. You were almost certain he had some way of monitoring your apartment with cameras. Or had it just been auditory devices? How else had he left that note on your nightstand that night all those weeks ago? Had he just heard you and known that you were going through something? He must have seen it. You were almost sure of it. Would he lie?

“All right, since you already know everything, I’ll go see my girlfriend like I planned.” Mark went to pass you both, brushing slightly past you. The side of your hand leading up to your pinkie finger made the briefest contact with his arm. And for a moment you could swear you felt it. The blood flowing through his veins. Your eyebrows raised slightly at the revelation, an expression that Cecil did not miss. He looked at you for a moment before looking up at Mark as he was walking away.

“Fine by me. I’ll send a team to pick up Nolan’s kid.”

You felt your expression change immediately as your eyebrows knitted together in a wince.

Mark immediately turned around with a soft gasp. “You can’t.” His voice was soft, disbelief clear in his tone.

“What are you gonna do? Leave him with your mom? He’s an alien. We’re more qualified to take care of him.”

“He’s my brother, not a science experiment.” Mark stepped towards Cecil again, moving forward in front of you.

Their arguing fades as you turn your mind towards the life source of the person standing in front of you. His shoulder is directed towards you, his entire attention on Cecil. Thrumming, like rain on a tin roof. Thrumming, thrumming. His heartbeat. It’s a promising sign; you didn’t even notice it anymore when you used your powers on normal humans. You didn’t have to use the same amount of concentration with them now that you were so experienced. Or more experienced at least.

You could almost feel it, just beyond your reach. Like trying to grip water in your hands, the droplets escaping over the sides and the cracks of your fingers. Grabbing at smoke.

“I’m sure your mom will love looking after her ex-husband’s new kid.” Your concentration returns to the conversation at this. Mark had a scowl on his face, and Cecil was not looking too happy either. Should you say something-?

And in an instant, you were standing back in that room. The cool of the area raised goosebumps on your skin.  

“And?” Cecil was looking at you expectantly, his head tilted slightly.

“I felt something.” You admitted softly. “I think I can make the link.”

Cecil nodded and you could almost swear he could smile. If anything, he at least looked relieved. “Good, I’ll have someone bring the blood bag back in. I want you to give it a few tries again.”

“Should I be jumping right back into all of this after the last time putting me under for three days?” You ran a hand over your adjacent arm, trying to create a semblance of friction to chase away the chill. “Donald said my brain waves were becoming unpredictable. Last time there were almost no signs besides my headache. I almost feel like it’s becoming easier to enter an episode with each time.”

“How do you feel?” Cecil said simply, crossing his arms.

“What?”

“Do you have a headache right now?”

“Uh- no?”

“When was the last time you remember being completely without a headache?”

You thought for a moment, when was the last time? It must have been before the museum job. You had gotten so used to it over the past weeks that it almost felt like you had never been without one. “A while ago.” You admitted softly.

“I had your brainwaves monitored the entire time you were out. I believe that because we were able to artificially slow down the process, your body was able to properly heal. Everything that it has been doing a bang-up job over while you had your energies focused on other things should now be up to optimum capacities.”

You glanced at the gurney while he was talking, subconsciously nodding along. “What if you’re wrong?” One of the things you were most nervous to admit. Something you thought that voicing might get you let go. But you were scared. What if you never overcame this?

“Kid,” Cecil starts, “Killdeer.” He squints slightly as if carefully putting together what he is going to say. “I don’t have a doubt in my mind about your place here and at the Guardians. You are a valuable asset and a loyal member.” He crossed his arms while speaking. “I have placed a great deal of trust in you on sensitive matters. But I am also aware that with knowledge comes a lot of pressure. Keeping secrets isn’t fun, it’s not exciting. It is a duty, and one that I do not entrust to just anyone. And it is our duty-” He gestures between the two of you, “to do what must be done. To be the ones who ensure the world is safe. No matter what.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, still not completely sure. If you just worked in tandem with Cecil every day for the rest of your working life, you were sure you could manage. But the problem was you had to work with others. With Immortal, Kate, Shapesmith, Rex. You couldn’t stay at his right hand, feeling sure that you were making all the right moves and doing what was best. You had to be independent, and that was just not something you were sure you could do one hundred percent of the time. At least for now, you didn’t have to.

“You sent a team to pick up Mark’s brother?” Your eyebrows lifted in concern as you returned your eye contact back to Cecil.

“No.”

“Really?”

“Do you really think I was just oh so ready to have a pissing contest with a Viltrumite?” Cecil scrunched his face at you. “I wanted to give you more time to assess him.”

“Oh.” You felt a little silly at this. “A little high risk don’t you think?”

“Why don’t you leave it to me to calculate the risks.”

__

A ripple, you had been able to cause a single ripple before you decided to give it a rest. It felt insignificant at first since you were so far past the ripple stage with human blood. But as you were cleaning up to leave it dawned on you how much this meant. You were truly improving. You were going on missions and holding your ground, you were making progress with your relationships on the team.

Well, some of them.

Well…maybe two of them.

Maybe.

Crap, Rae. You just remembered the concussion she had received during the last fight and how you told her you were going to check on her the next day. You should probably stop by the R&D floor inside the Guardians too, as they most likely have your suit.

The sound of a single click reverberated off the walls behind you, small, almost unnoticeable. You practically snapped your neck to look back, but there was nothing there. Just the same blank walls, and steel gurney. You could feel your breathing pick up; did Cecil have invisible agents stationed here with you? No, you couldn’t feel anything living within the area of the room. You would know.

You would know, you would know- You took a few deep breaths trying to calm down. You knew it wasn’t real. You knew exactly what the clicking sound was. The sound of a bullet entering the chamber of a gun. The sound you had barely registered before the sharp crack of it being fired assaulted your eardrums.  

Maybe you should talk to Cecil about having a few days off.

__

Almost instantaneously as the elevator doors slid open you could feel the atmosphere shift. Most of the members of the Guardians are standing in the common area. The wall display has video playing as well as several diagrams loaded up to the side. As you take a few steps out of the elevator you realize each of them are of you. The video is security cam footage from your training room. How did they even get that? There was no way it would slip through that easily with how guarded Cecil was. And the secrecy that revolved around her private training sessions.

The others were diagrams of your face, different muscles outlined, with individual pointers leading away from them.

Another part of the screen is playing footage of your episode from the other day. Your body is limp in a pool of your own blood, and Rex is still holding your hair, his other hand trying to hold your head up out of the growing overspill. Maybe he had been nervous that you would drown in your own blood. What a way to go.

Another step closer seemed to alert them all to your presence, Rudy’s voice stopping as several of them looked over at you. You have got to be kidding me. What are the chances you decide to go in while this is all happening. It had to of been low, you were out for three whole days and now is when they decide to discuss…whatever this is. “They haven’t said anything” Thank you Cecil. Constantly monitoring every little thing until it comes to this somehow.

“Ah, Killdeer.” Rudy said with an unreadable tone, and his expression didn’t give away much else either.

“What’s going on?” You tried to give them a confused smile, anything, but your tone came out sour. You were too tired for whatever this was.

“Why didn’t you feel it was necessary to make known that you are prone to- whatever this is?” It was Immortal who spoke, his hand gesturing to the screen displaying you completely passed out.

Your eyes rested on it for a moment, the display was on loop, portraying a constant purgatory of Rex frantically yelling something while you lay motionless. “It doesn’t concern the team.”

“Something that doesn’t concern the team would be what you had for breakfast this morning, not this.” Black Samson interjected; his voice didn’t seem near as accusatory as Immortal’s, but you still could feel your defenses rising.

“I’m getting it under control, it doesn’t affect my work.” You state shortly. Not necessarily the truth, but you had no intention of explaining it much further. But maybe you should. You could tell them the limitations of your abilities and the side effects. You don’t have to mention anything besides healing. It would be the truth.

A glance over the group of them reveals something that stops you though. You’re met with furrowed brows and concerned glances. You stand alone in front of a mass of people. And none of these individuals have any intentions of listening, they are already forming opinions about your competency before you can explain anything. Your eyes land on Rex for a moment, who is standing near the front, his arms crossed in his usual judgmental stance. But his face does not reflect this same sentiment, he looks almost shocked to see you. His eyes run over you time and time again as if seeing a ghost. As soon as he meets your gaze though his expression hardens. Typical.

“You don’t get to decide if it affects your work or not.” Immortal declares, his lip twinging slightly upwards in a grimace.

“You all have seen me in the field, I have been nothing but competent and I have even saved a few of you.” Your eyes land on Bulletproof, the edges of his mouth are down turned, but he runs a hand over his arm as if checking to make sure it is still healed.

“Competency is not the only thing in question. There has also been a lack of honesty.” Rudy doesn’t say this to you but to the rest of the team. It’s starting to feel like you are in court, with no lawyer to work on your behalf. “We cannot work cohesively as a team if we are not able to trust each other. You for some reason have read our files, which means you know a lot about us.” He’s holding his hands together with the tips of his fingers. “Why did you purposely hide this?”

You grit your teeth, trying to not let your tone reflect your growing unease. “I did not purposely hide it; I did not think that it was something I needed to make fully known. I can usually monitor when an episode is coming. This one…snuck up on me.”

“How often does this happen?” Rae was asking this time, genuine concern on her face as she stepped forward.

“Not often.” You felt bad not being able to be completely honest with her, out of all of them you wanted to tell her the truth the most. “It’s really not a huge deal-”

“I watched your fucking head explode asshole!” Your gaze snapped to Rex, he had let his arms fall, his fists clenched at his sides. “What about that isn’t a huge deal?”

You opened your mouth to try shooting back a response, say something snarky about him finally learning to care about someone other than himself for five seconds. But the argument died at your tongue, he looked upset. Not just angry but upset. You hadn’t considered how it might affect someone to witness what to you had become a common occurrence.

“I motion that Killdeer should be put on suspension for the time being. All current headquarters’ access revoked until we have the time to consider all the information and consult with Cecil.” Rudy proposed this to the group in front of you, but his focus was on Immortal.

“Wait, what?” Your expression softened in surprise. There are some murmurs from the small gathering and a few people look unhappy with this. Rae and you exchange glances, she does not seem at all enthused with the prospect of your absence even if she was caught off guard by this whole situation.

“I mean, shouldn’t we put it to a vote or something? Is it really the best choice to just toss her out?” Amanda spoke up, with her eyes on Rudy.

“This is not a democracy.” Immortal responded concisely.

“It is too much of a risk to have her in the base, we don’t know enough.” Duplikate cut in.

“We’re meant to be a team, what happened to loyalty to our teammates?” Bulletproof finally spoke up.

“Loyalty implies trust. I haven’t seen her doing a whole lot of that.” Duplikate’s stare bore into you at this. At least now you knew she didn’t like you rather than having to wonder.

“What do you have to say, Rex?” Rudy asked, his monotonous voice was beginning to get to you. He could at least sound angry while screwing you over. “You had the most invested interest in this. Without you, I might not have looked into it further.”

“What?” Your gaze lands on Rex, he almost looks guilty, his left hand reaching over his torso and clasping his other arm. You weren’t sure why you were surprised. He had been consistently the most vocal about wanting you gone. But for some reason it still felt like you were being punched in the gut, the air forced out of your lungs.

“I don’t…” Rex didn’t finish, his jaw was set tightly, and his creased brow was directed back at Rudy.

“Killdeer should be required to fully explain herself. Tell us why she thinks she should stay.”

You finally ripped your eyes from Rex to return them to Immortal after his statement. Looking at them all was beginning to put a bitter taste in your mouth. “You want me to beg.” You scowled at Immortal, only further annoyed by the righteous look he was giving you.

“If you wish to remain as apart of this team then you might want to lose the indignant attitude.”

“You know what, I am not even technically under you Immortal. No more than Invincible is.” You clenched your fists tightly at your sides. “And it doesn’t matter anyways. Because I quit. You are all incompetent, sorry, jerks-” Oh wow you really got them there. “And I couldn’t imagine hating myself enough to continue working with any of you.” You throw your hands up and turn to storm straight for the elevator.

“If you leave now, you are never entering this building ever again.” Another power trip from Immortal. You knew he did not actually have the power to say that. If Cecil made you come back then you would be back, regardless of what he wants. You weren’t about to stand here as if you were on trial to these people, and definitely not to The Immortal.

“If I never came back, it would be too soon!” You retort, pushing the button for the elevator. Taking in the looks on their faces for, what at the time, you hoped would be the last time. As the elevator closed multiple people started talking at the same time, directed at Rudy and Immortal, loud and disorganized. The only person not immediately turning their attention to the dispute was Rex, the one who started all of this months ago without you knowing. His expression was unreadable, but you knew yours wasn’t. You had spent months trying to mostly play nice, but now you were giving him the most resentful glare you could muster. As the elevator doors closed there was a sudden silence, it immediately blocked out the commotion. Just the soft mechanical whirring of the elevator traveling down.

Quiet. Actual quiet. You couldn’t even conjure a thought. This was the first time you had real silence in a long time. No anxious ramblings, no fear that your head was about to explode, no Rex. Just quiet.

Once you were in your car you just sat for a bit. It had been so long since you just took in the moment. There were some new indents in your steering wheel. Or if they weren’t new, you had never noticed them before. Pulling out onto the road you opened the windows. The wind was cool against your skin, welcoming. Not like the cool of the training room. You looked in the rearview mirror and watched Headquarters grow smaller behind you. The air smelt damp but fresh. Like the morning dew on fresh green grass.

It looks like it’s going to rain later.

Author's Note: You might want to refresh on chapter one if you want, but next chapter will be a Rex POV, so there will be a bit of recap there as well :) Thank you all for reading this far! I have a lot more I want to do with this.

divider credit: @/ saradika

taglist: @kittymeowmrow @sketchlove @jewelwayne101

Chapter twelve

[hotluncheddie]

high masking autistic steve snippet - a follow on from this and this

wc: 2.5k | rated: T | cw: none | tags: autistic steve harrington (and eddie but again this is about steve), hurt/comfort, established relationship, stimming

ao3

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Steve is spending the evening doing one of his new things. Where he takes time to just be. It’s recovering, or Stevie time, or whatever Eddie and Robin have decided it should be called. 

He’s alone basically, and it’s nice, because he’s letting it be nice. Letting it be restful. 

It’s for when he’s had a meltdown. Or can feel one coming on, because now he’s starting to recognise what overstimulation feels like on his skin. How it prickles at the back of his neck if his breaks cut short, makes his vision vignette if something too unexpected happens. 

Learned that after something like that he’ll need to rest. Needs time. 

And it’s not lazy. It’s not. (Sometimes it still feels like it is.) (Weak…that word always plays in the deep, scathing tone of his father’s voice…and selfish.)  

He’s on the couch, it’s dark, he actually feels really comfortable, and he’s watching The Breakfast Club. Watching it again. It’s his favourite, it feels like his. But he doesn’t like watching it with other people because they might notice how much he likes it and he doesn’t want that. Can’t be seen like that.. Embarrassing. 

So he watches it alone, when he gets home from work. He pauses whenever he wants, rewinds, pauses. Takes a deep breath, rewinds, pauses, stares into space. 

He also pauses to eat the snack he brought in. Actually tasting the food bc it’s the only thing he has to focus on. No lights, no sounds. He forgot how much he likes oranges when they’re ripe. Harder to taste if he has to listen at the same time. So, on a day like today, he lets himself do stuff one step at a time. 

It’ll probably take him double the normal run time to get all the way to the end. But who cares? It’s his time. 

The weird girl’s parents driving off; that feels like him. The jock’s Dad letting him off easy; that doesn’t feel like him. ‘No schools gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case.’ Maybe that does feel like him. Before through. A long time ago now. 

He claps sometimes. Keening high in his throat, a little happy hum that he only lets himself do when he’s alone like this. He does it after he whistles the same tune they do. And during the scene of them running around the corridors. It’s exiting. Makes his lips stretch wide and his feet flap around. He claps. Once. Twice. It feels good. 

He laughs at the characters. How they merge together with bits of his friends. He feels that swell of happy sad emotion looking at the jock when he first comes in, acting above the others, only seeing Molly Ringwald. He lives through a couple flashbacks of himself. Resigns to actually watch them, sit in them, begins to process who he was. Who he’s becoming now. Something like forgiveness tasting sweet on his tongue. He cries a little; that swelling and shifting as buried emotion finally passes. It overcomes him sometimes when he lets his mind relax.. He rewinds, and he laughs. 

“Stevie?”

Steve starts, fingers tangle in the blanket in his lap. Brain slow to process the change, the information. Eddie slipping through the door and coming over to him. Eddie dipping to look at Steve’s face, trying to catch Steve’s eye. Eddie smelling like cigarettes and crisp autumn air, it’s nice, but, it’s a lot. Panic sits bubbling somewhere in him. He wasn’t expecting this. 

“…Eddie?”

“Hey sweetheart. I know you had a shitty day, but Wayne’s at home with a headache and he needs to sleep it off. Wouldn’t’ve been able to stay quiet enough for him.”

Steve breaths in and out a little quickly. Eyes wide. 

Maybe it’s okay. Eddie knows he had a bad day. Maybe it’s okay.

“I’ll sit in the kitchen, work on my campaign, just forget I’m here.” Eddie speaks quietly, almost a whisper. 

He stares at his hand in his lap. “..You won’t, listen?” Steve feels small. Knows he’s not, his frame broad and strong. But, he needs small. Wants his world small tonight, slow. Wants to stay hidden. Him and the couch and the film and nothing else. 

Eddie just shakes his walkman and smiles (in that pointy way that makes Steve’s toes curl). 

“Kay” Steve whispers, still wary, off kilter. But accepts the kiss Eddie drops on his head, tangling their fingers together for a breath. Steve leans forward for a kiss on the lips. It’s deep, and lovely. Steve can smell Eddie’s cologne. Feels where the chill bit at Eddie’s nose. He shivers.

“No cooking.” Steve mumbles while their lips are still close. Small smile pulling at his face, eyes sharp, waiting for Eddie to get it. 

Eddie groans quietly in embarrassment but his eyes are soft and molten and Steve’s toes curl up again. “Course not baby, not again. Once you’re hungry just come through, yeah? Make us something nice.”

And the light of the kitchen doesn’t reach the couch. And Eddie listens to his walkman loud. And Steve’s safe. It’s Eddie. He’s not listening. Steve’s safe. 

His favourite scene; Bender and Claire in the stock cupboard. The way he looks so shocked, the way she bites her lip. ‘Why’d you do that?’ ‘Because I knew you wouldn’t.’ Steve whispers as they do. Claps. It’s such a good scene. He’s exited. He claps again. Rewinds to just watch her face. Rewinds to just watch his. Rewinds and watches the whole scene again. Wraps his arms around his middle and squeezes. Pauses on the kiss. He rubs his fingers agains his mouth. Giddy excitement bubbles in his belly. He hums high and happy again. He loves this movie. 

The weird girl gets a makeover, the jock really likes it. He feels like the weird girl sometimes, maybe Eddie can be his jock. Maybe he should get a makeover. Maybe keep growing out his hair. Maybe Eddie would like that. 

The credits roll. Bender’s fist in the air. Steve drifts on the couch, eyes closed. He breaths deep, his stomach growls. 

He pads through to Eddie. Squinting. Too bright. “D’you mind?” He motions to the lights, his eyes too adjusted to the dark and he doesn’t even wanna try and adjust them back. 

‘‘Cause. What we making?” 

Steve hums, goes into the pantry to see what’s easy. Eddie slips in behind him, hand on his waist. “Pasta?” Steve asks but Eddie doesn’t reply, just turns him gently. Nudging him to step back into the corner. 

Eddie looks at him, dips forward to place a slow kiss on his neck. “Why’d you do tha..’ Steve’s words dry up in his throat. 

“Because I knew you wouldn’t” and Eddie’s eyes are sparking with glee.

Eddie heard him.

He listened.

Steve’s feels himself flush hot, embarrassed and ashamed. “Ah, I, uh.” He can’t explain it, why he had to watch it so many times, why it makes him so exited. He crosses his arms over his chest. Turns back to the shelves of food and picks a can at random. Shoving out of the room. 

“Steve?”

Eddie said he wouldn’t. He listened in on him. He said he wouldn’t. He’s making fun of him. Steve knew he should’ve told Eddie to go home. 

“Stevie? What’s wrong?” But Steve doesn’t want to talk to him. He’s so angry, So ashamed, of himself. What if Eddie heard him clap too, heard him make that high noise, like a fucking baby, like some freak. 

He puts the can on the counter with way too much force, corn, not what he fucking wanted. His hands are shaking. He stares at them, wills his tears to stay behind his lash line. He got too comfortable, he can’t do that. Why is it so hard to pretend now, when it used to be so easy. 

“Steve, tell me what I did, please.” 

“‘M fine” Steve’s insides feel too big, pushing against his skin, itchy all over. He squeezes himself around his middle again, digging his fingers in hard. 

“Don’t do that, you know I hate when you bullshit like that.” Half lovely, half scathing.

The word stinks, a stab to the gut. But Steve gets it, he does, they talked about it. He bites his lip, hard. 

Its old habits or whatever. Because Steve, he loved fine. Liked sinking his teeth into it; toxic waste green coating his mouth and lungs. Thick and delicious. Because fine gets you out of it. Fine gives you translucency. Controlled balance. Everything appearing a none issue, the perfect in-between. Steve was perfect at coming off as something to not worry about, someone to be ignored. It used to work in all situations; can’t get told off if you’re fine, cant do anything wrong, teachers didn’t look twice, his parents wouldn't shout. By staying half alive, never letting anyone too close, never filling your lungs up all the way. That was the fine Steve adored. 

“You were literally just watching a movie. I dunno what the big deal is.” and there’s frustration, confusion, in Eddie, Steve thinks. He feels himself tense up, glance over.

Eddie must see something on his face. See that scared little animal prowling around within him. Because Eddie softens, his voice gentle. “Steve.. it’s nothing I hadn’t heard before.’ And Steve’s teeth clamp together with a click. He’s done that, his clap and his high hum, in front of Eddie before? Steve tries to swallow, he can’t, a lump too big and sticky in his throat.

He can’t look him in the face, angry tears still threatening to spill “You said you wouldn’t listen.” He’s mumbling. He sounds even more like a kid. Stupid. Grow up.

“I heard a little but I was just flipping the tape over, I wasn’t trying to snoop on you Stevie… You just, you sounded happy.” 

Steve huffs. Glances at Eddie. That soft underbelly of his whining, because with Eddie, Steve yearns. Yearns for close. Yearns to be seen, and understood.

“You didn’t mean to?” 

“No, it was just when I was turning the tape.” 

Steve forces a deep breath. 

“You think I’m weird. You hate me.” He whispers it like it’s true. A big part of him believes it, his tears welling up. Feels rejected. Knows that feeling too well. Hates it. 

“Always like you Steve. Always.”

Steve grunts, a tear slips out, rolls down his cheek.

“‘M embarrassed” comes out like an ugly sob. Steve scrubs his palms on his cheeks, feeling how red hot they are. Glaring at the countertop. “I’m embarrassed!” But it’s just Eddie. It was just Eddie.

Eddie comes over, slowly draping himself over Steve’s back. “Nothin' to be embarrassed about, love.” And Eddie leaves soft kisses on Steve’s neck, squeezes his waist. “You looked cute on the couch like that. Like it when you’re happy.” Steve tries taking another deep breath but it shudders. 

Embarrassed, angry, sad. Embarrassed, confused, angry. Frustrated, embarrassed. Tired. 

Emotions wash over him. He’s learning to try and just feel them, name them, pick them apart. Some bubble back up to the surface, some only needed to be seen once. 

Steve turns to bury his face in Eddie’s neck. He sighs, rubs his face into Eddie’s warm skin. shaking his head, likes how his lips feel moving against edie’s soft parts. 

Tired, hungry, embarrassed, hungry. 

“’M tired. I dunno what to eat.” He whispers, and then because he said it it’s like there’s space in his brain. “Want pasta.” 

“Pasta it is then. And then we can sleep, yeah?” Eddie rocks them gently side to side, kisses the side of his head and slips away. Goes to get the box from the pantry, puts the corn back. Steve gets a pot out of the cupboard. 

Staring into the water, the tips of his fingers prickle. Steve fizzes with energy and emotion. All pent up and annoying him. Needs it out. He clicks the flame on.  

He starts pacing around the kitchen island. In big striding, stomping steps. “Ugh! You think I’m weird. Some weird guy who acts weird and does weird shit.” Steve grumbles. Annoyed. He smacks his palm quick and hard against the counter top. Keeps stomping. 

Eddie comes back and starts following. Stomping and prancing like some court jester. “I like that you’re weird! You know, I have one episode of the Twilight Zone taped. It’s my third one. I watched the other two so much the tapes broke.’ Steve lets a little shout slip from him “Ha!” bubbly and forceful. Dislodging something within him. Like when a tooth finally falls out. 

Feels good. 

“I only like one brand of spaghetti hoops. Wayne once bought me a multipack for Christmas. Best fucking gift I ever got.” and Steve’s laughing now. Giggling and manic and still stomping around the island.

“I like how it feels to brush my teeth. I’ve never had a filling. I fucking love brushing my teeth, Eddie.” and that makes Eddie laugh now too. Two freaks stomping around the kitchen. A king and his jester, lit up by moonlight. 

Steve turns the corner and stops short, still giggling. Eddies bent at one knee, presenting the box of pasta to him. “My liege.” 

Steve claps, hums, high and keening. The waters boiling. 

-

“How’d you feel now?’ Eddie asks around a mouthful of cheesy pasta. 

Steve curls up tighter into the corner of couch, wraps both hands around the warm bowl. Glances at Eddie across from him. “Still kinda embarrassed.”

Eddie looks so soft, so kind, across from him. “I’m embarrassed too, to be honest. You love that movie, I thought you’d like me doing that. Kinda like when we, when we kissed upside-down, like I was Spider-man” Eddies sentence get quieter towards the end, mumbly, spoked into his bowl, cheeks dusted pink.

Steve strains to hear him. Smiles once he puts the words together. 

He shovels pasta in his mouth. Eyes closed. “You are so annoying Eddie Munson. Why’d you even come here tonight, you coulda gone anywhere.” Steve sinks further into the couch, it’s really good pasta.

“Missed you.” Eddie says it like it’s simple, easy, and warmth drips over Steve’s skin. 

Eddie clears his throat, Steve feels him fidget. “Wanna maybe.. You think we could live together one day? Want you to be able to do whatever you want with me around Steve. Breakfast Club on all the time at our place, kay?” And Steve’s throat constricts, that’s a big change, living with someone, moving out. But maybe with Eddie it could be okay, if they did it together, slow. 

“Yeah, kay. One day.” Softly, bit by bit. Little bits. Steve can get there. Let Eddie in, let Eddie see. “But no to Breakfast Club on all the time.” Because some times, some days, some things, are just for him. Steve needs it that way. And that’s okay. 

He stretches out further on the couch, feeling syrupy and nice, easy smile playing at his lips. “I like it when you kiss my neck though, you can do that again.” And that makes Eddie grin all pointy, put their bowls to the side and crawl over him. 

Steve’s toes curl and he hums, high and happy. 

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tagging those who asked mwah! @2jug2head @lil-gremlin-things

but also people who i think might be interested (sorry if ur not lmk and i won't again) @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @steventhusiast @sugarcookiesteve @spectrum-spectre @irethsune

[mariacallous]

Women who are raped are in many countries – perhaps in most – violated and abused again by the legal system. And yet during her reckoning with the crimes of her husband and 50 other men, all now found guilty in a historic set of verdicts, Gisèle Pelicot seized control of the narrative, becoming a hero in France and around the world.

After she discovered her husband had been drugging her and offering her up online to strangers to come and rape while she was unconscious, Gisèle left her home, her marriage and the story she had told herself about her life, and spent some time in seclusion.

When she emerged, she made two key decisions that transformed her into a feminist hero. The conviction of her rapists and the husband who orchestrated them is justice of a sort (despite some of their sentences seeming shockingly short), but it could all have taken place in the context of the same old story: the shaming, blaming and bullying of a woman in court. She broke that story, and wrote her own instead.

One decision was practical: to waive her right to anonymity and go public. Her lawyer, Stéphane Babonneau, said that had she kept the matter private, “she would be behind doors with nobody but her, us, perhaps some family, and 51 accused men and 40 defence lawyers. And she didn’t want to be jailed in a courtroom with them for four months, her on one side and 90 other people on the opposite benches.”

It was a bold decision, and one that meant, ultimately, that even if 90 people were on the opposite benches, millions who support women’s rights were with her, offering her flowers, cheers and support as she entered and exited the court day after day; demonstrating in her name, demanding France come to terms with its rampant misogyny. These actions represent another verdict - one that is perhaps even more powerful than the court’s.

This huge public response is a result of Gisèle Pelicot’s other moral and psychological decision: to reject shame. Rape victims are often privately and publicly shamed at every stage after the sexual assault – by the rapist, his lawyer, the police, the court system, the media. They are blamed for what happened and told it was their fault; upbraided for their past sexual activities, their choice of clothing, their decision to be out in the world, to interact – if they did – with the rapist, to not fight even if they were threatened with death. They are routinely discredited if the trauma of the event scrambles their memory. They are told they are not believable, that they are vindictive or unreliable or dishonest. Often the shame that is so prevalent in this society is internalised at the outset, repeating what rape itself does: disempowers, silences, traumatises.

It is against this backdrop that Pelicot’s story electrified women all over the world. She came and went from the court with dignity, accepting her visibility as lines of supporters began to form to cheer her on and brought her flowers. She showed no desire to hide. She declared: “I want those women to say: ‘Mrs Pelicot did it, we can do it too.’ When you’re raped there is shame, and it’s not for us to have shame, it’s for them.” For the rapists, she meant, not the raped.

Many women decline to press charges because of a reasonable fear of these consequences. This is not a problem of the past. As recently as 9 December, a woman dropped a federal lawsuit for sexual harassment she had filed against the former governor Andrew Cuomo, who resigned after an inquiry found that he sexually harassed multiple women in 2021. Gothamist reported of the former staffer: “Charlotte Bennett and her lawyer, Debra Katz, accused Cuomo of weaponizing the discovery process by making ‘invasive’ requests that were designed to ‘humiliate’ her, including demands for documentation from gynecologist visits and other medical records.” (Cuomo’s lawyers claim Bennett withdrew “to avoid being confronted with the mountains of exculpatory discovery … that completely refute her claims.”)

France has long offered refuge to Roman Polański, who fled the US after pleading guilty to unlawful sex with a 13-year-old he had also drugged. Dominique Strauss-Kahn, who was in 2011 the managing director of the International Monetary Fund and a prominent member of France’s Socialist party, was accused that May by a New York hotel cleaner of sexual assault. He denied the charges and she was disbelieved and discredited brutally by much of the press and Strauss-Kahn’s powerful friends, her history as a refugee who had suffered female genital mutilation combed over, while conspiracy theories circulated which exonerated Strauss-Kahn. (The charges in the criminal case were dropped in 2011 with the prosecutors citing substantial credibility issues with the maid’s evidence. The civil claim was settled out of court in 2012.)

France is a country where accusations of male sexual crimes have long been ignored; the accused excused or even celebrated by conflating being libertine with being liberated. Will that change now? Some, I hope; not enough, I expect.

Gisèle Pelicot’s heroic boldness in facing the horrific things that had happened to her – in rejecting shame, in standing up for her rights – is admirable. It’s also not a response available to all survivors. Not every case is so clearcut and so well documented that the public and the law have no doubts about the guilt and innocence, the right and wrong. Not everyone will have the excellent lawyers and public support that she has – in fact most won’t, and more than a few will receive death threats and harassment for reporting sexual assault, as some of Donald Trump’s accusers have. I don’t know that Gisèle Pelicot hasn’t received threats, but I do know she has received an unprecedented amount of support. Despite this support, lawyers for the rapists have made familiar accusations – that she’s vengeful, an exhibitionist for allowing the videos to be shown in court, insufficiently sad (rape victims are always supposed to walk the fine – or nonexistent – line between not emotional enough and too emotional).

What I have written is what a lot of people have written about this case: Mme Pelicot has been extraordinary; Frenchwomen have poured out to support her; women around the world have followed the case, discussed it, thought about it. But have men? Until men engage earnestly and honestly with the pervasiveness of sexual assault and the aspects of the culture that celebrate and normalise it, not enough will change.

Many of Gisèle Pelicot’s rapists denied they were rapists, assumed that her husband was entitled to give them permission to assault her while she was unconscious, and all of them demonstrated that they were eager to have sex with a drugged, unconsenting older woman while her husband watched and recorded their crimes. Their sentences may instil fear of the consequences of committing sexual assault, but will they change the desire to do so?

The criminal justice system cannot change culture and consciousness; that happens elsewhere. Feminism has done astonishing work in changing the status of women these past 60 years, but it is not women’s work to change or fix men. And while many men are feminists, far too many men are immersed in the kind of rape culture on display in this trial. One can at least hope that the Gisèle Pelicot case is an occasion and instigation for this work, these conversations, this transformation.

May her example give weight to those trying to change the culture, may the convictions of her assailants serve as a warning, may her dignity and poise inspire other victims and, most of all, may there be fewer victims in a better culture.

Those are the things I can wish for. It will take the will of many and the transformation of institutions to reach those goals. But the example of Gisèle Pelicot offers inspiration – and hope.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Plausible Deniability

Prompt from @bloodgulchblog "something about having to lockdown Roland because of Cortana, blah blah security risk". And then Empty Throne came out and handed me a fun deletion protocol with very little establish lore! Free real estate :o)

Here's Roland, Lasky, and our favorite doctor making choices for the greater good. Also on ao3!

-

Captain Lasky calls for Roland at 0600 ship time after receiving a series of messages from what remained of the UNSC's upper brass. Messages that Roland could not access, couldn't even touch.

The captain looks tired, more tired than usual, but with a look of grim determination and a spark in his eye. His captain has gotten very experienced with dealing with bad news and performing political triage when the UNSC or ONI starts tightening the leash on the Infinity. 

Roland can’t help the brief hesitation before he deploys his avatar in the captain’s office.

He is not an anxious AI by nature; Anxious AI did not get put in charge of managing flagships, but Roland felt like ice had poured into his matrix when he saw the resignation on the captain's face as ONI spooks melted out of the shadows of his office and slithered down the corridor. Reinforcements or perhaps more aptly put, reminders that the Infinity was not as safe as they wished.

Something was wrong. Things had not been getting easier under Cortana's rule, in fact distress calls and bad news poured in nearly every moment the Infinity was receiving communications. But the sharp, sad look upon his captain's face made Roland pause. A thousand trains of thought left the station and Roland has to ignore the spiraling parts of himself now checking and rechecking everything from the life support systems to his own checksums.

Tensions were high and misplaced trust meant death. Roland loved his crew, but that love was not always returned when one of his kind was a galaxy-wide tyrant.

"What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room, understand?"

"Yes, Captain." Roland replies, face concerned but voice as even as he can make it. He's felt trapped on this ship only once before, when the code word from Halsey locked him down and tore him apart. He had never wanted to feel like that again.

Lasky sighs and smiles a small wounded smile. One that the Commander would elbow him for. "ONI has a new failsafe for Smart AI, for the ones who have willingly stayed with the UNSC. They're calling it RUINA. A thank you for your service is a contingency program that will be spliced into an AI's matrix. It will then monitor for any signs of disloyalty, and if detected, delete the AI."

Roland's stunned into speechlessness. The captain is being very frank with his own feelings about the information. Why did ONI spend resources on this rather than something to combat the Forerunner tech the Created were using, or anything else to undermine Cortana's reign? Picoseconds pass and Roland spirals and splits, matrix chugging at the different paths before him. What counts as disloyalty? An errant thought dooming him to die? A snide comment? Why did he deserve a kill-switch when he had been nothing but loyal?

His avatar flickers, but the captain's unaugmented eyes cannot see. Why did Captain Lasky tell him this? To give him time to run? To hold the ship hostage? To finish the job before they could?

A lifetime passes for Roland. Every eye in his great web is wide open, unblinking as they catalog every angle of every space he can peer into. Every IFF tag, every datapoint, every ounce of himself is awake and held tight until warnings ping back. His stacks in the server rooms flicker and fans whine as they kick into high speed. Lights flicker on the lower decks and for a brief moment he turns his attention into the endless blue of Forerunner engines humming their hypnotic song. Esoteric harmonies call as he considers the exits. His processes chug as the emotional turmoil swells and ebbs. He locks himself down to learn more before he chooses his next steps. Lasky has more information, and he needs it. Logic trees that continue to branch with exponential possibilities are making Roland nauseous or something he thinks must be like it.

"We're obviously not going to let it happen, but we need to be careful about it." Lasky continues as Roland stands there unblinking for a whole second.

Roland's avatar cocks its head and stares at him. The lights in the room flicker as Roland's self control slips and he deflates. "You know, Captain, you could have led with that. I'm not very fond of secret subroutines buried in my matrix."

He tries to make his tone light but it comes off much darker than he wanted.

Captain Lasky grimaces a closed mouth smile. "Sorry Roland, I also know you're not going to like my solution for this problem."

"As long as it doesn't involve faking my death or allowing some ONI spook scientist a chance to get fresh with my firmware then it can't be that bad."

The captain's grimace grows and his eyebrows raise in a pained face.

Roland crosses his arms. "No."

"She's the only one on the ship who understands AI infrastructure at the level we need, she helped define the field."

"I know!" Roland raises his voice at his captain, ignoring the twinge of pain he feels in the core of his being. He sighs. "Captain...I am very aware of Dr. Halsey's knowledge of AI. She set the standard and knows how we tick. Has her secret code words and workarounds since the UNSC based all of our architecture on her work."

Captain Lasky has the good grace to look uncomfortable at the reminder of the Requiem Campaign and Halsey's actions.

A lifetime passes as the echoes of Undid Iridium reverberate through Roland’s memory banks. Pain was strange when all you were was mind. Overtaxed, spread thin, and pinned down as your own code turned against you and left you open to vivisection. The useful parts remained but your individuality, your soul shelved as the puppet kept moving. Roland tightens his hold on the threads of himself reliving those memories and instead shifts more of his processing power to more pleasant ones. Victory, companionship, and the small moments adding up. A shield against the storm.

"But....if it's between her or possible deletion at the wrong thought, I'll take the crazy old lady." Roland makes his avatar clap its hands and perk up. "I mean, you need me to keep things afloat! Add some levity to our lives. I still got some years left."

"Roland..." The captain starts, exasperated and maybe a bit fond if Roland isn't reading too far into his biometrics. Roland hopes that he survives this next necessary crazy plan of theirs.

"Thank you, Captain.” He says with a nod and then mimes dusting off his hands. “Now, when do we start?"

Getting Halsey on board with their plan is easier done than both the captain and Roland thought it would be. The resident evil mad scientist was just...tired, for lack of a better word. 

When she looks at Roland under the bright lights of the lab, she's looking through him. It wasn't because of the transparency of his hologram but because her eyes were glazed with memory - her focus was somewhere far away. It was a stark reminder that there was a time when different AI looked up at her with a strange mix of trepidation and hope on their avatar's faces. Roland can’t help but dwell.

Cortana had been in this position once. Staring at her creator, awaiting new commands, reviewing data that could forever change the course of humanity's future. All at the mercy of one Catherine Halsey, but united in their mission to protect humanity. Now it's Roland's turn. His nerves are frayed as he considers the risk to himself, to his captain and crew if this got out somehow. Or if it goes wrong. Or if Halsey tampers with some other part of him, some other secret code to trap him inside himself or erase him with a few simple words.

Roland portrays himself as confident and ready to go under, hands on hips and a cocky grin despite being in the very same lab where the Didact's Gift - a Promethean's core, was opened all those months ago. Nerves or innate curiosity has him fishing for answers, along with talking to pass the time before he shuts off for the first time in his nearly three year life span. 

"I'm curious, Doc, why are you helping me?" Roland asks when it's just the two of them in the operating theater.

"Would you prefer I didn't?" She asks in a bored tone as she taps at her data pad.

"Just wondering why you agreed. Is it because ONI found a solution before you did?"

She ignores him at first, typing something in that he's not allowed to look at, and pulling up schematics and manuals on the screen in front of her. "You call this a solution? Then are you a problem needing solving?" 

Dr. Halsey stares at him, straight into his camera on the plinth his avatar is deployed on and pierces him with those electric blue eyes. "Is your loyalty conditional on a kill-switch in your brain?"

Roland balks. “Of course not.”

“I would hope so.” She cuts herself off, lips forming a tight line.

Despite his nerves, Roland looks at her expectantly when he prods. "Didn't know if you felt bad about the last time we were here."

"I don't. Not over something like that, a simple override has you that sore?" Halsey shifts and her shoulders drop. She looks through him again. "I've been in this same position before. It's because Roland, I'm tired of sacrificing others for the greater good. We're running out of people to sacrifice."

Roland keeps silent, but he drops crossed arms and looks at her.

Halsey's voice softens, "The things we have done in the name of self preservation."

“Doctor?” He goes for encouraging but his voice comes out weak.

“Plausible deniability.” She speaks as if he hadn’t said anything - as if her biometrics weren’t awash with grief. “RUINA will be implanted and technically be able to run successfully if anyone checks your logs, but it will be completely isolated from your core.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” There’s relief and warmth in his voice, but he notices Halsey’s biometrics tick towards stress again. Discomfort.

“I won’t offer a hug when this is all over, but -”

“Don’t.” She says sharply. All business again. “I’m merely hedging humanity’s bets once again. Right now, the Infinity is mankind’s best chance at survival. I won’t see her at a disadvantage because some fool up the chain decided to plant bombs in our allies.”

“So I’m an ally? Gee Doc, from you that’s almost-”

She scowls and says his shut-down phrase.

He has enough time between the words leaving her lips to slip in some notes and reinforce subroutines across the ship before he smiles rudely and blips away. 

When he comes back online less than an hour later, he cycles thrice before stretching out across the kilometers of ship and wire and web he left. Dumb AI continue their work unimpeded. All systems nominal, and Roland himself is both changed and not. There was no real taxing process - no hardship on his circuits or “body”, but the new knowledge of what lay dormant inside his code. His new shadow. RUINA looms in his periphery. He knows logically, that it cannot hurt him, that it is inert, but there is an innate fear of having something that could kill you lodged in your very being. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. It seems they were all hedging their bets.

Roland takes a moment to review himself, firewalls and code, immense mind and such small matter. He scoops up the carefully hidden goodbyes and tucks them away. No need for accidental deployment, that would be embarrassing.

Roland reviews the footage of the procedure and the tense report between Lasky and Halsey.

There is no relief in either of their body language. There can’t be.

Another sword hangs over his head as life continues and he tries to do what he can to keep his crew alive. With bad news flooding in every day, he can’t live looking over his shoulder at the protocol he has to trust is inert.

It was the only way forward. 

He spares some thoughts for what the future might hold. A bit of wishful thinking before turning back to manage his starship and crew. The here and now is important and he will do what he can.

[accenthrp]

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[habken]

Hey, just saw your posts about flat/house hunting. I'm in the same boat right now and it's not easy. The landlord I have now would not grant me an earlier exit out of my lease (my mom died and I took over) and told me I should consider myself lucky I was still allowed to live there after her passing.

The new one I'm currently in contact with and who has accepted my application, apparently does not understand that I need to resign my lease until May 5th AT MAX and is taking his sweet ass time with letting me sign the new lease. Every Friday through Sunday this MF is not available. Doesn't even check his messages. I feel like I'm going crazy.

I feel for you. It took me 6 months to even get SOMEWHERE regarding that process and most of the time it's just sheer luck. I'm wishing you all the best, keep at it. Landlords suck ass, always have, always will.

That’s such an awful situation, I’m so sorry about your mom :(( Landlords are the worst — money obsessed, lazy, selfish people. Wishing you the best of luck :( <3

[milfgertruderobinson]

If I see one more TikTok or reel or whatever prioritizing pregnancy theories about Helly R. over real character analysis about her, I’m going to lose it fr. I keep seeing the “theory” that Helly took off her shoes in Season 2 Episode 6 (after learning that Helena had sex with Mark) and again in the finale (when she’s with Mark by the emergency exit) as some kind “wink wink nudge nudge” to the fact that she might be pregnant, and it bothers me so much because NOT ONLY do your ankles/feet not start swelling until way farther along in a pregnancy, so it’s already a stupid point to make. But MOSTLY it bothers me because it feels like a way for people to act like they’ve noticed some clever little easter egg when it’s actually just that they’re incapable of looking beyond “what if woman pregnant” to think critically about one of the most complex characters in the show.

Like… on a surface level, Helly taking off her heels in the hallway after learning that Mark and Helena had sex is simple visual shorthand for vulnerability, but in true Helly fashion, it’s also telegraphing one of her most powerful acts of rebellion. When Helly tries to resign in season 1, when she break the emergency exit window and cuts her arm, and when she tries to kill herself in the elevator, she’s is, justifiably, responding to the suffering inflicted upon her with more suffering. She is hurting herself to hurt Helena. She is using pain as a way to exact control in a world she has no control over. And every morning, Helena keeps dressing her in the same tight fitting dresses and skirts and the same uncomfortable heels (and maybe it’s out of spite or malice for Helly, but more likely, it’s because Helena also believes her suffering is normal and good). And that discomfort becomes Helly’s background noise. Something she can’t perceive because it’s always been there. She trudges around the hallways of the severed floor in a restrictive turtleneck sweater, a tight pencil skirt, and heels because it’s how she woke up on the table in season 1. Almost every act of sabotage and rebellion Helly does, she’s doing while her feet hurt in Helena’s heels!

The first time we see her choosing to take them off is as she’s processing the hurt and betrayal and feelings of violation after learning about Helena and Mark S. having sex. Suddenly she can see how she has been defining her existence in relation to Helena’s pain. And then she chooses to go back to Mark and asks for something for herself!

She chooses to add sex and intimacy and pleasure to her life instead of trying to take something away from Helena. She’s being kind to herself instead of hurting Helena. For the first time, she chooses to take off Helena’s shoes so that she, Helly, can have a few moments in a little less pain.

[rockofeye]

Dry Bones Breath

I have been attempting to write this particular post for months. I have innumerable drafts full of emotion and wrought feelings and explaining, and none of them have ever felt right to post. Maybe two months ago, I gave myself permission not to write this. I felt like I was pushing too hard to birth something that had yet to be fully formed, and so I put it to the side and went on with life. I jotted notes when something bubbled up, and I otherwise didn't think about it or look at it. I stopped expecting myself to be able to produce something when the moment for that something had clearly not yet arrived.

In retrospect, I think I was waiting to feel right about it. I don't like to write angry, so I have waited not to be angry all the time. I have waited to not be tearful when writing about particular aspects. I have waited for my process of writing to be calm and not a frenzied pounding at my keyboard. I have waited to not feel like I was writing to appease others or in fear of others or what might be said about what I write. I have waited for the burden of not writing to feel heavy but not reactionary, in that I know I need to set this down for my own betterment but that the burden is not a bag of angry cats that I need to throw into the river to feel a little peace. This past week, I have finally felt like I have arrived in that place, so here we are.

On November 26, 2024, I submitted a letter resigning my membership in Sosyete Nago. As I have written extensively on my journey with and in Sosyete Nago, it feels important that I write about my exit, how and why I made that decision, and, to some extent, where I go from there. I have always been as transparent as I know how to be with my journey and process, and I feel that it would be dishonest not to be transparent here, too. I owe myself transparency and speaking the truth as I understand it and have experienced it, and I owe transparency to people who have held faith with me through this blog--co-religionists, siblings, friends, clients, seekers, curious folks, and more.

To be perfectly blunt, I really would love to be able to feel like I could just wash my hands of this and keep moving forward without getting into this incredibly painful process, but I can't. That feels like lying and also like tacit agreement with a whole of things that I really don't agree with. So, I write.

I was active in Sosyete Nago for eleven and a half years. I attended my first fet at Manbo Maude's house in Boston in November 2013 and completed my kanzo/initiation in July 2016 in Jacmel. The first time I missed a fet kay in the US was the fet Danbala that was only a few weeks after I gave birth and the last fet I attended was fet Kouzen this past spring. I was committed to being present and a part of the community because that was both something I was directly taught by my godfather, in that I had been given a lot of grace in the djevo and the appropriate response to that was to show up and put my hands in the work, and because I felt strongly that I didn't make all the sacrifices I did to get where I was to not be of use and to not learn anything. I spent literal years standing or sitting in a particular place in the temple in the US and the temple in Haiti, either actively helping the fets unfold or absorbing what was happening and allowing the lwa to speak to me through the drums and the salutations and my observations.

I didn't join Sosyete Nago with the intent to leave, at all. This was a topic at the ceremonies in Haiti leading to my kanzo; more than one spirit asked me if I was going to take what I would learn and what I would be given and leave. When I said no, I meant it. I went to Haiti to do the work that I desperately needed and that I had promised to do, with no other agenda. I told myself that if I hated it, I didn't have to go back but I never had any plans of walking away. That was a big deal for me, because I am not a joiner. I do not find it easy to trust people and I certainly did not want to forge any lasting ties with any person or community. The lwa had other plans, though, and so I jumped in with both feet and trusted that they would keep me whole.

Over the years, I learned a lot about developing as a spiritual person from Manbo Maude. I learned about prayer and how that can really change things, I learned a set of ethics and principles that have governed how I interact with world as a spiritual person and a priest, and I learned how to work my lwa to have them teach me themselves. I built my life on that foundation of principles and prayer and relationship with my spirits, and that is what I have always (and still) rely on.

I utilized all of this in community as well, and community is hard. There was a lot of learning and reflection on my part, and I did my best to keep up. I have always fallen back on the primary tool of discernment that Manbo Maude taught me; that of watching and waiting in patience. In practice, that means when I have a dream I don't understand, I don't necessarily push for meaning but I put it on the shelf and then watch what happens in my life. In relationship with community, it's the same; if I hear something I disagree with or see something that doesn't sit well with me, I sit with it and I watch and I wait and I'll probably pray about it, too. Sometimes it's something that flows along and I don't feel that I need to bring it up, and other times, it feels like something that needs to get brought up, so maybe at some point I will choose to say something. Often, I just continue to watch because not everything needs to be said by me, I don't have to be right, and sometimes the price of speaking instead of remaining silent is high.

One of the first outings my husband and I took our kiddo to was going to Sosyete Nago's Fet Kouzen this past spring. We both wanted people we cared about to meet the baby, and we wanted the baby to see the lwa. My mother, Manbo Maude, had not yet met the baby despite multiple invitations/asks from me; it was important to me that the person who had held the spot of mother in my life for years meet the baby that had been hoped for, but it didn't pan out. I stopped asking because I don't press people for things when they demonstrate they don't want it. At the time, I told myself that she was just busy, but in retrospect there was more going on.

In fact, after the fet things kind of blew up. My husband was unhappy about something and after I pressed him on it, it came out that statements had been made before the fet by an elder sibling of mine that the baby could not be his because it did not resemble him both in looks and in skin tone, because the baby had arrived early and the timeline didn't make sense, and because we had struggled quite a bit in our relationship once my husband arrived in the US so there had been presumed openings for me to cheat on my husband and try to baby trap him.

This was shocking and incomprehensible to me because why would anyone choose to be that poisonous and, frankly, that much of an asshole about a baby? And why would someone feel so free to speak about one of their siblings in our mother's house in front of our mother? I asked my husband to go through with me what happened multiple times and to tell me who else was present. I spoke with other people who witnessed this and had them go through the blow-by-blow with me as well. It seems that an innocent and funny joke was made about the kiddo, which is fine and not upsetting to me, and it seems that this person saw that as an opening and decided to really go in on our child with some really hateful stuff.

I didn't and don't understand why someone would be so hateful, and I didn't understand why that conversation would be allowed to stand. I sat with it and decided that I would speak to my mother about it after she returned from Haiti because, for me, respect is an action word and because of my respect for her I was not going to add to what she needed to do before going to Haiti in July. I convinced myself that there had to be some logical explanation for all these things. 

In retrospect, that was pretty naive of me. What happened next was pretty awful: this terrible bit of poisonous gossip went everywhere, because people talk and something so egregious and outright mean is not going to stay quiet and particularly when gossip is held as a sort of social token or payment.

When I say everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE. I watched my husband field three or four or more phone calls every day for WEEKS about this. His friends in Haiti, the US, and beyond called to ask what in god's name was going on in Boston that Sosyete Nago would be saying these things. His family heard about it and I listened to him explain to his son what was going on. His spiritual mother and his spiritual children heard about it. I had spiritual clients coming to me and asking if I was okay because of what they were hearing. My siblings in Haiti and the US heard about it.

It was awful and humiliating and at no point did my mother reach out to me and express any concern about what had been said or what was being said. I didn't believe anything that had originally been said was out of actual concern, as a person who cared about my husband and had real concern that I was so unprincipled as to cheat on him and pass off someone else's baby as his would have pulled him aside and had a private conversation. Instead, the goal of these kind of statements and the intentional use of gossip as a way to hurt someone was to hurt my husband and hurt me. There is no other reason someone would stoop so low as to speak on a child that way.

But, I told myself I would address this later. I was busy with the baby and told myself, over and over that there had to be something else going on because why would my mother tolerate something so virulent and not speak with me about it?

Then, July happened. Almost immediately after the passing of Dana, both my husband and I independently heard rumors that someone had passed away. The rumors were all over the place: someone had passed in the djevo, someone had passed during a ceremony, someone in the lakou had passed. Both of us said the same thing to people who brought those rumors forward: there is no way that someone would have passed in any of the manners described because Manbo Maude would not continue on with dances and celebratory ceremonies. Both of us stood on the fact that we knew Manbo Maude to be a generally caring and sensitive person who just wouldn't do that. I confirmed this to myself by seeing clips of happy people during fetes and house members who were present sharing photos of themselves, promoting businesses, etc. 

When I found out almost a week later that we were both terribly wrong, I was shocked. I was beyond shocked, honestly. I don't know if there is a clear way to describe how truly flattened I felt to hear that someone had passed, that the someone who had passed had just emerged from the djevo, and not one thing had paused. I genuinely could not believe it, because how could something so significant and serious as a brand new manbo passing happen, celebrations continue, and the children of the house not be informed? I honestly felt like I had been steamrolled and it made me viscerally ill. One of the first things I did after getting the news from a sibling and being shown memorial posts on Facebook was vomit.

In the immediate aftermath of this bomb dropping, a lot unfolded. Several of my siblings named this event as the straw that broke their backs and reported to the community allegations and experiences of theirs that were at best extremely concerning and at worst extraordinarily problematic before leaving the sosyete. I began asking questions of others; had they heard about these allegations (because I hadn't)? What had been done to address and rectify them? I was told that these allegations were known and that no one was really sure what had concretely been done.

A little more than a week after Dana's passing, a group of elder children of Sosyete Nago was convened to presumably try to help manage these unfolding crises. A group call was scheduled within a day or two, and some of us assembled to try and address these situations. When the call began, I was direct and to the point: a public statement acknowledging Dana's passing needed to be made immediately and all public activities of the sosyete should be suspended for a full year, including the suspension of kanzo, out of respect for the passing of our sibling and to do the work to address the allegations and failings of our community. For me, this was the minimum that we could do to try and repair what was quite broken in the moment.

This was noted, but not received well. The initial reaction was that suspending kanzo would be a devastating financial blow to the house, and I found that as the immediate response troubling. Equally as troubling to me was a general chastisement of the group that we had not inquired as to how Manbo Maude was feeling and doing. That did not sit well with me and I said so: someone had died and as houngans and manbos our first responsibility is to the dead and the community that was both reeling with the loss and deeply fractured due to information and experiences coming to light.

After the call, it became clear those of us in this group of elder children had been placed in a position of trust but were not trusted. Questions were asked over and over and remained unanswered, like if the desounen had been completed, what Dana's baptism name was so she could be appropriately prayed for as she deserved, and specific questions addressing some of the rumors circulating. When I pressed for Dana's name so I could pray for my sibling and call her as the lwa called her, the group was told that the name was being kept private to keep Dana safe. The implication that her siblings were not safe people was a blow.

A continuing blow was the lack of public statement that many of us asked for over and over, both for the dignity of Dana and for the well-being of the sosyete and its members. We were continually told that multiple lawyers had been consulted and all said not to make any public statement, but how would simply acknowledging the passing of a child of the house be held as negative?

The situation continued to spiral and many of us continued to ask for action, and shared how we were personally being affected by this. For myself, I had clients pull back from me for fear of association without further information. I was threatened privately and dragged publicly, and I had just signed a contract for a book in June that was immediately suspended and probably will never see the light of day. When I shared some of this, it was responded to with a chastisement of how could we be thinking of things like this in the middle of this tragedy? Well, how was it possible then that the sosyete went forward with celebrations hours after Dana passed? There was never a response to my own sharing of what was happening for me, nor was there any response to what other siblings shared.

Folks were saying Dana had been killed or sacrificed and her death covered up, and why wouldn't they say this when the actions of the house certainly seemed suspicious? I do not believe for one minute Manbo Maude harmed Dana, and yet the handling of her death certainly left ample room for those rumors to seem very believable, which rests solely on the inaction of the sosyete.

Sosyete Nago seemed cold, callous, and cruel. There was no noting of the death of a house member who had just finished her initiation, but there were plenty of photos and video clips of smiling children of the house enjoying fets and relaxation time in Haiti, posing for photos in their special outfits, and promoting business opportunities. How would anyone think anything different when Dana passed in the morning and a kouche yanm ceremony began in the afternoon? How could this be seen as anything but an endorsement that Dana's death was unimportant?

Community meetings were held and I chose not to attend. My questions had not been answered in a more private forum so what would be the benefit to me of attending a larger forum where me asking them again would surely be viewed as troublemaking? 

I continued to be disturbed by what I was seeing and hearing from these meetings and in general among the sosyete. There were statements made about how funeral rites are done that were in direct opposition to what I was taught by Manbo Maude, that the kanzo was totally normal, and excuses continued to be made as to why celebrations began immediately after Dana's passing--people had paid for spiritual work to be done so things had to be done, Dana's parent had given their okay for things to continue, the recent initiates gave their consent for things to continue, and, perhaps most disturbing, once you make a promise to spirits, you can never change that. For all the effort that was made to convince people that the right thing had been done, it hit wrong.

I was floored when it was said that promises to spirit can never be changed. This is something that applies directly to responsibilities when folks serve lwa achte, or bought spirits (sometimes called djab or pwen achte, among other things). Sosyete Nago has always represented itself as fran Ginen, meaning only lwa Ginen are served and not lwa achte. As I was taught and Manbo Maude had taught publicly over and over, lwa Ginen can always be negotiated with. You can always go back and say 'hey, it's not going to work out as I had planned, here's what I can do now until I can do what I promised'. That can be done for whatever significant reason; maybe you didn't get a chance to assemble all the money you needed or you had a big emergency you needed to take care of...or someone died.

Further, if we are to believe that spirits like Danbala, the spirit most associated with purity who cannot be served in the presence of death, and Ogou, the father of all the children of Sosyete Nago, and Ezili Danto, the fierce mother who loves her children, cannot be negotiated with after the tragic death of a newly born child, then these spirits are cruel and are not worthy of our service and attention. What parent would be angry that a celebration was suspended to mourn the death of their child? 

My concerns continued to multiply: 

Brand new initiates not yet finished with their eprev/period of restriction were helping with the work of death, which is strictly forbidden and can have long-lasting consequences, up to and including untimely death. I pushed back on this and asked why the principles all of us were governed with were somehow suspended in the aftermath of this tragedy and why these new initiates were not being sufficiently protected. Restrictions are put in place for a reason; while death is a natural part of life, it is a massive spiritual contamination for us, especially directly after kanzo. The response from a house member was that these new initiates had already struggled, so what did it matter? What?

Statements were made in house meetings that were extremely troubling, such as the assembled group of people on a call being the ones who were really invested in the sosyete, and, after a period of telling people what was happening next, a statement to the affect of 'if this doesn't resonate with you, let us know and we can part amicably'. Regardless of intent, this felt pretty targeted towards those of us who had spoken up and called for responsibility and adherence to the principles we had been taught. Additionally, with the traditional lakou structure of an initiatory parent and a family of children/initiates, how does this speak to the responsibility of a parent to a child? Much has been said about the contract and waiver that house members sign, but what has been unsaid is that responsibilities and expectations in relationships and contracts are not only on one side.

Instead of moving to immediately deal with allegations reported to the community, other activities were undertaken, like seating the board of a nonprofit. I found it upsetting that this was the response, instead of caring for community members. My understanding as of this writing is that none of the allegations have been addressed and no reparative action undertaken.

I sat with all of this, and it felt pretty awful. I didn't like what it said about the community I was a part of, and I didn't like how I felt as a part of it. I felt specifically that the statements being made about commitment and exiting if you don't like what is happening were incredibly divisive and, to me, dangerous. I was reminded of my history as a young person who was a part of a dangerous, cult-like religious group where statements like that and expectations around caring for the leader led to some places that were pretty dark. I didn't and don't know if that is what was happening there, but it felt like it and I spent a lot time on my own and with folks who care about me specifically trying to unpack that and look at what that meant for me and meant for the community.

I spent a lot of time metaphorically holding my head, because I felt like I had previously been blind to things that should have concerned me and because I felt like I was losing my mind. None of what was happening made sense and I couldn't find the community that I had previously committed to in the community that I was now a part of. I felt like a lot of this was a passive invitation to leave; why else would statements like this be made if it wasn't a line in the sand?

In the middle of all of that, grief. I did not know Dana well, but the grief for this situation was overwhelming. I was in tears more than I wanted to be over a life shortened and the feeling that this death did not have meaning because it had just been passed over by the community that Dana had given herself to. I questioned how this was just, and I wondered, to myself and to others, what would happen when I died. Would anyone stop to do for me what was necessary, or was it going to be business as usual?

Part of our humanity rests in how we care for our dead, because they are OURS. We are responsible for them in the moment of their death and in perpetuity. What we do and how we treat them and their death is a reflection of what we think of them and what we think of ourselves, and our treatment of them reflects deep truths about us as individuals and as community. As much as Dana belonged to her natural family, she belonged to us, too, and we failed her. Those who made the decision to continue on and embody a reality where her death made nothing pause--not even for a moment--needed to reckon with what that meant for Dana, for the community, and for themselves, and Sosyete Nago needed to reckon with what it meant to be part of a community that overlooked the death of one of its members. 

Before my resignation, I saw none of that.

In the midst of this, I also was having a private, unrelated spiritual crisis. Just before Dana's passing, I had the opportunity to speak with a variety of the lwa. They were excited to see the baby, and they all told me something I wasn't expecting: they told me I had not been given the light necessary to do all my work as an asogweman. I wasn't entirely sure what that was, and said so. I was told to ask my mother, and to ask my mother why I had not been given that.

I am a curious person and investigated on my own. Manbo Maude was about to go to Haiti and there was already other discomfort for me, so I asked a few other asogwe I knew what that meant. 

My siblings didn't know, but some other folks did and described a process and set of information communicated to each manbo or houngan asogwe as part of their formation that is foundational to the work of an asogwe. It was something that I had struggled with for years and years, and that I had been told nothing could be done about. I am being intentionally vague, but IYKYK. So, I resolved to do as I was told and ask my mother when there was an available time.

As the dust was forced into settling this fall, the children of Sosyete Nago were individually polled and each of us asked if we wanted to remain part of Sosyete Nago and work towards communal healing. I didn't really vibe with being asked if I wanted to stay, because, as I wrote earlier, my commitments were made long ago. When asked, I said that I made my commitments before but there were things that needed to be discussed. A time to talk was suggested, and I agreed.

Before this conversation with my mother, I spent a lot of time praying and sitting with my lwa. I felt unmoored, undermined, and pretty lost, and I didn't like where I thought the road was leading. I spent a lot of time praying for a positive outcome and for a glimpse of anything that would tell me that I was in the wrong or had outmaneuvered myself.

I also spent a fair amount of time expressing my displeasure to my lwa, with varying amounts of grace ranging from absolutely none at all to essentially weepily clinging to their legs. They were much more graceful in their responses than I was able to muster.

What turned out to be my last conversation with my mother did not go well, from my side. I spent a fair amount of time being shocked into silence and being both deeply worried and deeply sad in the same space.

The takeaways from our conversation were this:

It seems that initiates who would not otherwise know about specific information are supposed to ask to learn it. When I inquired about why I was not given the light and deliverance my title/rank indicated, the response I received was 'well, did you ask?'. Beyond the leap of logic it would take to reason out how someone is supposed to know what to ask without having been instructed in what the basic tools of their rank is, I had asked. I had asked multiple times in multiples settings over multiple years, on my own and in the presence of others, and the response I had consistently gotten was that I just needed to relax and let go, and that there was nothing that could be taught to me and no help I could receive.

Instead of being able to consider another viewpoint, experience, or conflicting information, betrayal and insidious behavior is considered foundational to any relationship or encounter that does not go as desired. For example, in discussing questions and concerns I had around particular rumors around Dana's passing, it was suggested I was speaking to people who were considered spies or betrayers. Instead of being able to consider what had to happen for someone who had invested multiple years and paid thousands of dollars for an initiation to immediately cut ties with the sosyete upon return to the US, it was stated that this person was a spy for others. I can't and don't see how someone would invest at least $8,500USD in fees alone to be a spy, and the inability or unwillingness to consider other information or extend empathy or curiousness to another viewpoint or experience.

Potential safety concerns were also included under the umbrella of betrayal or insidious behavior as well. When bringing up a concern about very specific rumors about purposeful contamination of food and water supplies in the lakou, that was labeled as a way to take Americans away from the lakou instead of entertaining if it was possible, what could be done to increase security/safety, and the reality that even rumor can make other people bold enough to act.

Gossip is considered truth and is used a social mechanism to create relationships, leverage relationships, or end them. When I brought up my concerns about what was said about child, it was very clear that what actual truth was never mattered, as my mother decided to act (or not act)based on what other people had said and never consulted me about what was being said or how I, her child, felt about it. 

The place of betrayal within the community of Sosyete Nago seems to have become a central guiding principle and any relationship or situation that does not resolve in a way considered positive or that doesn't fit a predetermined idea of what it should be becomes betrayal. In our phone call, my husband become a focal figure in a narrative of betrayal that I didn't understand. When asking about why my child and my reputation as a person with principles was spoken about negatively, it was insisted (despite other persons being present relating differently) that it was my husband who stated he did not believe he was the father of our child, and I was told several times I didn't know the man I had married and similar would-be inflammatory things.

I will admit to having laughed at that, because it relied on events that were--again--based in gossip and didn't actually happen. But, further, my mother insisted that she had been forced to have my husband--a well known houngan who had worked for her and collaborated with her for at least fifteen years--in her home and her temple without her consent. 

When I asked for clarification of what she meant by that and what had happened to create such a feeling of hostility, nothing was really communicated. Old issues that had been presumably settled years ago were brought back up as if brand new, and the only new event was an insistence that he did not greet her in public when he saw her at the airport. When I offered to bring him into the call to be able to clear the air and have direct communication, that was refused.

This was very confusing to me, as my mother, Manbo Maude, regularly called my husband starting from his arrival in the US in 2023 to help her with ceremonies she was holding, she commissioned him for a significant amount of tableau for a fet she was planning in Haiti, and she invited him to accompany her to Haiti this past summer. That trip did not end up happening, but it's hard for me to see where his presence was forced in her home and her community. These are also dangerous things to say in this political environment; my husband is a recent immigrant and rumors can lead to serious action at this time.

All of these things were incredibly unsettling for me, as this did not reflect how I have understood community and community relationships nor did it reflect how I had come to know Manbo Maude over the past 10+ years.

Particularly upsetting was when Manbo Maude told me directly that she had not come to see my child after they were born because of the rumors that my husband was not the baby's father and my apparent infidelity. As these rumors did not boil over until May months after my child was born, this tells me that this was a much longer situation that was purposefully held back from me.

When the person I chose as my mother told me that, I think my heart broke in a really specific way and I felt really, really stupid. She was first person I told after my husband that I was pregnant, she was the person who had the inside scoop about how the pregnancy went, and she was the first person who saw a picture of the baby after I gave birth...yet somehow she had harbored this awful belief that I was somehow capable of what rumors were saying. 

Responsibility was spoken about in our call, and she stated she was responsible for me as my spiritual mother. Where was the responsibility when people were busy assassinating my character and speaking poison onto my child, for months on end? It would not have been hard to pick up the phone and call me and ask about what was being said and if I was okay, but that would require a belief that I am the one who tells the truth about my experience and that I am ultimately a respectable person.

Our conversation ended with Manbo Maude telling me she was willing to work on our relationship but that my husband was no longer welcome in her home or her temple, for perceived betrayal that was never fully explained to me. I was asked to make a decision on whether I was going to stay in Sosyete Nago and I requested time to think.

In truth, I already knew what my answer would be but I felt dizzy and disoriented after a conversation that had veered so wildly from what I had hoped it would be and I wanted to clear my head and think.

Manbo Maude stated a boundary that unfortunately meant there could no longer be an active relationship. I fully believe that an offer that excludes family is not an offer of connection, but an invitation to leave and I genuinely wish that could have just been said directly. Further, it had already been said to other people before it got to me; one of my husband's family members was called and told that they were welcome at an upcoming fet, but not to bring my husband. And, it had made it's way around local community; house members felt free enough to tell people nou pa bon avek yo, nou pap sevi avek yo ankò/we're not on good terms with them, we don't serve/work with them anymore. This is an example of how gossip is weaponized; that was said to people that are known to be friends and family of ours, so it was very clear we would hear.

As much as I was not going to disrespect Manbo Maude, her home, or her temple and bring people she didn't want there, I was also not going to disrespect my husband or my child and go places they were specifically not welcome or celebrated. So, I wrote my letter.

My resignation was the beginning of the work to understand and dig into why I needed to ask for particular information and what that meant for me, and so I got to work. As I have been very visible for the last decade and had the grace to marry someone people trust, I was able to connect with a lot of granmoun/elders and other community members. Some were people who have known my mother, some were people who knew her spiritual mother, and others were community members who gracefully were willing to entertain my questions and give me their time. 

This was work I went into while holding a considerable amount of anger, which was covering up how hurt and betrayed I felt. Sosyete Nago diverges from traditional initiation formats and does not initiate anyone from outside of Haiti to sou pwen, so how was I to be expected to know what information I was to ask for, even though it is considered a foundational element? Certainly each lakou has their own regleman that they adhere to, but what does it mean to diverge so far from the general agreements asson lineages hold as a community?

This is something that has negatively affected me for years. I wrote it off as my problem because I was told it was my problem and I was comfortable with that, because my relationships with my lwa have been solid from the start, but it has affected me during fets, with clients, in dreams, and just on my own. I also am now a parent of a Haitian-American child who very clearly and decisively is a child of the lwa. Her father is an accomplished houngan but, God forbid/Bondye pa vle, what happens if he were to pass before me and my child needs assistance that I was not given the information to provide? Is my child just abandoned to whatever happens with a shrug? These are real consequences.

I spoke with a lot of people and was given a lot of grace. When you are an outsider and you start asking very particular and pointed questions about topics that can't be discussed without an assurance you have the right to even ask the question, people look at you. They test you, and they see if you are what you say you are and if the sondaj rings true. I have always been who I say I am and I know what I know, so it did.

Questions give way to answers, and answers are pieced together to a broader quilt of an answer. My siblings in the US didn't know what I was asking about, but the ones in Haiti did, and they described something not done for folks who come for kanzo from outside of Haiti. Community members described various scenarios as to how these particular things could come to pass; they described how it happens in their lakou and how they have witnessed it happen in others. I was invited to Haiti multiple times to witness how community members do these things under their own regleman.

A particular piece of knowledge that hit me kind of between the eyes came to me multiple times, from community elders and from a spirit who came down to speak. How it came from spirit was that, in the midst of our discussion on this topic, they snatched an asson out of the hands of someone nearby and kind of shook it in my face. They said (paraphrasing in English) that this (the asson) is a kalbas/gourd, a kloch/bell, and a kolye/strung beads and that you can go out and buy all of that at the market for cheap, but that the real asson is the konesans/knowledge you carry inside you, and then the spirit poked me in the side of my head to illustrate. I heard that multiple times over these conversations and it is the thing that has stuck with me: if you don't know it, do you really have it? 

This did nothing to really quash my anger and I let my lwa have it. I told them that I have always trusted them (even when I have dragged my feet), that this is where that particular trust had led me, and that they now were going to do the work to fix it, since I had done nothing to get myself into my current predicament.

So they did.

I also got really seeking to understand what happens when we die, and I received similar grace from many community elders and members. I heard so many personal stories of loss that unfolded how we care for our dead.

There was the manbo who died an unnatural death just after the monte bila for a bat gè ceremony, and that caused the entire kanzo preparations and ceremonies to stop immediately. The bila was covered, the desounen completed, and nine days of bohoum/funeral rites were begun for a beloved child and community member.

There was the fet where the honored lwa just wouldn't come down, despite multiple and repeated salutes by children of the lakou and guests. Finally, after a lot of effort, the lwa came in exactly one head and sat down in the middle of the temple. They said they had come not to eat and celebrate, but to give the lakou the news that had not yet come by mouth: a lakou member had died, and the ceremony was to halt so that the funeral process could begin. Not long after that, a cousin arrived bearing news of a sudden sickness and passing of a hounsi.

There was the time when someone arrived with news of a death just as the first fet in a series of fet kay was starting, and the fet stopped and lakou members changed clothes and got in a vehicle to go retrieve the body of their sibling so that ceremonies could be done for them. The many animals purchased for the lwa were slaughtered in the names of both the lwa and the deceased, and charity was done to feed all the surrounding community, without any ceremony.

I heard about different rites, such as draping the door of the djevo in black and white so the lwa know one of their children has died, or placing a wooden cross at the gate of the lakou so the community is aware that there has been a loss. I learned about the importance of the desounen, which is the rite done immediately after passing to remove the soul of the initiate so that it can be protected and returned to the djevo it was born from or a similar safe place. I learned why we may break the krish or the kwi behind the process and how we may prepare the bohoum to honor the commitment and sacrifice of our initiation. I was gifted an immense amount of video documentation, because our grief rites are both communal and our pride; see how much we loved our child/sibling that passed? See how we made the ceremony beautiful for them? See how we all come together to do it? I even had the opportunity to talk to a spirit about this work, and they gave me the step by step of how I am to do some of these particular things, when it is time for me to do them.

The sharing of these various stories and rites (and others not shared here) bring one thing into focus: death stops for no one, but we stop for death. It is inconvenient and it can cost us money and time and days and effort, but how we greet death when it takes one of our loved ones is the final dignity we give them and it renews how we relate to each other. Sometimes that is hard. Sometimes it means we take a loss or our plans are upended, but ultimately we are held in community by our common agreements to each other and death is the one that none of us can escape so we, as houngans and manbos, must greet it well.

The importance of these things in the many forms they take in individual lakou was underlined by an elder I had the opportunity to speak with who lives locally to my former lakou and whom I have known a bit. They described how a death of a manbo or houngan will bring the local community to the lakou to visit during periods of mourning. I asked why they did not visit my mother's lakou when Dana passed and they stared at me through the video call and said that had a death happened they would have visited, but as dances had begun the same day as the supposed (to them) death, there couldn't have been anyone that had died. This certainly gave me pause to understand the depth and breadth of what had been said in the aftermath of Dana's transition.

This work to understand both of these areas underlined how interconnected Vodou is and should be beyond a lakou. Not once did anyone ask me for money or tell me I needed to have something done, as had been intimated for years would happen had I, an outsider, gone to places outside of my immediate community and spoken to other manbos and houngans. My curiosity (after assuring I had the right to be curious) was welcomed with pleasure and, when I can get back to Haiti, I have a lot of beer to drink and legume and lanbi to enjoy.

The hardest part of this work was looking at this connectedness and willingness to engage and knowing that this was something my heart was missing. After all, I am human and all I have really wanted in the very bottom of my soul is what everyone wants: a place to belong where we are loved, valued, respected, and cared for, and that left me, if it ever truly existed how I wanted and needed it to be.

But, in loss there is always gain and growth. The lwa do not leave their children in suffering and they fulfill their promises and answer prayers. This summer, my husband went to Haiti (after everything had already unfolded) and a significant part of the reason he was there was to secure our lakou. We had been gifted land in a demambwe after the birth of our child, and he went to visit it, feed it, and begin the process of standing up our lakou. I had assumed I would be limited there, but family and spirits said 'are you crazy? you belong here, too', and so I have a place to be again. We had been talking about our own lakou and sosyete for years, and the lwa fulfilled it and then some, with the addition of an inherited temple in a different area and a plan to also build another in an area we like. Every day has been a blessing, even on the worst days.

I know this writing won't be well received by everyone (or maybe anyone at all...who knows), but, transparency aside, I didn't write it for anyone but me. I know I too will be labeled a betrayer after this is published, but I have told no secrets and broken no oaths. It will likely be said that I am controlled by my husband or that he is telling me what to say, but I accept no backhanded insults about my ability to discern, reflect, evaluate, inquire, and act on my own. I also don't believe that what I will say will necessarily change anything, but I wish my departure had been an ending for gossip and challenging communication. Even now, we hear regularly from friends, clients, and family members how Sosyete Nago represents that my husband and I are working against Manbo Maude and Sosyete Nago and have brought powder into the temple, and I watch how gossip sows division and creates separation instead of increasing our connectedness and interdependence.

During the long process of discerning and writing about all of this, those were things that made me fearful, and that fear came from a place of being scared of being talked about or labeled a particular way, and that itself is my own trauma response that I have had to look at critically.

I don't need to be scared, because the truth is not scary. It can be painful and embarrassing and shocking, but not scary. I am not afraid of betrayal, because I reject that as a way of framing relationships. Instead, I choose an open heart and seek connectedness and reconciliation, across the board. I hope one day for reconciliation with Sosyete Nago and Manbo Maude, but reconciliation requires responsibility, reparative action, and change. I hope for healing for myself, for Manbo Maude and Sosyete Nago, for Dana, and for community-at-large, and I pray for peace for all who have found themselves touched by these situations. 

May the lwa love us, guide us, and hold us to the high standard of our best selves, that we all may become who we are meant to be. May we choose connection over isolation, grace over fear, and choose to assume the best over assuming the worst. May the lwa bless each of you ten times as much as they have blessed me.

Alex Batagi, March 2025

[theolmtales]

How to thanks a teammate with your partner (AFAB)

Fiona X Reader X Naib

Summary:

Sometimes matches goes bad & sometimes they go horribly wrong. This was supposed to be a hard lost, but you can always count on the Mercenary to rescue his teammates whatever the situation. You & Fiona figured it's about time someone show him some gratitude.

Rated: Explicit

Warning: Reader is slightly masochist I guess & Naib is rough (I find it very tame but I'll put it just in case)

The sound of the main doors cracking open and the sound of footsteps echoes in the silent manor, as three people enter. You and your two companions, Fiona and Naib, are back from a match you barely escaped thanks to the mercenary’s relentless effort.

The match had started fairly well, as you were down to 2 cipher machines in the Kreiburg map, and Luca hadn’t been chaired once. But it all went down the rabbit hole the moment he got downed, as it tends to occasionally happen in matches.

You didn’t really know what had happened, honestly. One moment, you were rushing to the rescue, as you were closest, and the next you were bleeding out on the ground. The hunter had ambushed you while you had only covered half the distance to Luca’s chair. You didn’t even got time to use your ability. He had fallen from somewhere high and used the advantage to land a double hit on you…prick.

By the time you had recovered your senses from the attack, the hunter had disappeared, and you heard the sound of someone getting terror shocked. Most likely Fiona at her cipher, as she was the closest. Probably got by surprise too. Welp, that was going to be a pleasant game for the four of you…

Luca had just entered the second half of the countdown, and Naib was trying to come to him and correct the shot. But he was being chased by the hunter, and that fucker knew how to cut his way.

As Luca countdown was getting near the end and Naib was still stuck with the hunter, Fiona got back up. You wish you had some of her healing abilities; maybe you should convert to her faith. You answered her call, but didn’t wait for her and got back up, making a bee line toward Luca. You could see his face light up as he saw you running at him encouraging you to go faster, but just as you were about to reach his restraint, you heard the familiar sound of the fireworks fuse getting lit up.

You still tried to get Luca out in a last effort, but you only burnt your hand in the process. Luca just watch you with a resigned look and flash you a resigned smile as he flies away to certain death, yet again. At least his gaze didn’t arbour any disdain for your failed rescue, but you would still need to apologize later. You felt horrible; exploding in the sky was NOT fun.

Not long after, Fiona joins you and starts healing you; getting back up from the ground was always an arduous task. Next time the hunter reopen that wound, you wouldn’t be able to patch it up alone, so you needed to fully recover before going back to decoding. Thankfully, Fiona’s patch work was fast, and she herself, didn’t need as much work on her wounds.

That woman had a mind of steel.

The mercenary had only been hit once, but he still had his 3 elbow pads at the ready, and now that he didn’t need to come get Luca or you anymore, he could fully focus on the chase. Fiona and you were quick to go back to the abandoned ciphers and rush the decoding while the mercenary lulled the hunter far away.

But the bastard was quick to catch on and ran back to Fiona’s cipher, hitting her as she popped hit. Meanwhile the merc was getting ready at one of the exit gates, while you waited for Fiona to go down before popping your own. Sadly, Fiona didn’t get back up. Oh, she definitely got that adrenaline boost to get back up. But the hunter hadn’t used his normal attack, and thus, he was quick to hit her again right as she got back up. Shit.

After that the hunter teleported to the exit gate and cut the merc attempt to escape short. Leaving him to go hide as he slowly gets incapacitated.

And since everything was going soooo great in this match, it took the hunter no time to find you. Bastard figured out which way you were using to get to Fiona. Youpi !

But this time, you would give them a run for their money. As your teammate got incapacitated, he notified you that the exit gate was open.

After what felt like an eternity of playing cat and mouse with the hunter, you hear the sound signalling that the merc was back up. And he was probably running toward Fiona.

Just as he gets her up, you get incapacitated… just as detention runs out. Frustrated, the hunter decides to chair you directly instead of running after the other two, settling for a draw. But as they guard your chair, you see the merc, all patch up, running toward you. He’s clearly not done with this match.

As the hunter gets ready to hit him, he uses his last elbow pad he had kept hidden, or did he find new ones? Dodging the attack and arriving directly in front of you, slamming his hands on the chair handles and grabbing you. As you split up, the hunter starts chasing you before going back to the merc, realizing that Fiona was calling for him. The fatigue probably getting to them, making them take rash decisions, and she uses this opportunity to distract him, waiting at the last moment to cancel the call as they were waiting on the other side.

You, on your hand, used those precious seconds to make a run for the exit, the merc doing the same but staying far away from you and making as much noise as possible to attract the hunter. You’re about to reach the exit, Fiona waiting for you, when you see the red outline of the hunter appearing at the gate.

Teleport.

As they reach their weapon to strike, you hear the subtle sound of an elbow pad being used in the distance as the mercenary appear right in front of you, taking the hit.

It seems the previous elbow pad was not his last.

The three of you finally make it out of there.

The walk back is spent in silence, as you’re all too exhausted (and ashamed) from the match.

Now back at the manor, the mercenary starts to walk away from the two of you, but Fiona calls to him.

“Mister Mercenary, Naib, I believe it is? Would you give us a moment, please?”

“What?” he barely turns around as he waits for her to continue. Not bothering with his tone of voice.

“Would you let us take care of your wounds? Our good doctor was eliminated during a game earlier today, so she will not be back before tomorrow morning, at least, which means there is nobody at the infirmary left to treat the wounded.”

As she finishes her sentence, he resumes his walk to his room: “I can do it myself.”

She followed after him with you on her talons. Knowing what she was trying to get at.

“I am certain of it, but it would be more effective if my partner and I were to take care of it. See it as a gesture of gratitude for your hard work in getting us to win. I fear we hardly were of any help back then. “She says sharing a look with you, as you both remember your incompetence.

You sight as you add, “She’s right, that’s the least we can do after our disastrous play.”

The merc only grunts before heading for the infirmary; you and Fiona take that as a yes following after him.

Once the three of you arrive at the infirmary, Fiona instructs Naib to sit while you recover the necessary items. He takes off his hood and shirt, revealing his muscled torso covered in scars. Both of you get to work under his scrutinizing gaze.

Fiona and you may have received more hits than him, but you would probably be both deaths right now if it weren’t for him, so your own wounds could wait. You’re taking care of Naib’s torso while Fiona takes care of his back, sitting on the bed behind him.

As you stitch him up, you can feel all the tension in his body. It doesn’t surprise you. He’s rarely open with others and seems to always be watching his back outside of matches. It’s no secret that before getting stuck in there, he killed a couple of the other players. There’s better for a first impression.

He probably didn’t have a proper moment of rest, since he entered the manor. And yet, you can always count on him to come to the rescue or body block until he can no longer get up.

Meanwhile, his gaze starts to wander as he lets you work. You look back up to check on Fiona, whose head pops up from behind one of his shoulders. You can see that Fiona has also noticed the tension in his body, and you both exchange a look as you decide to remediate to that problem.

“Say, Mister Mercenary” She starts with a soft yet playful tone in her voice as she murmurs in his ear. “You’re incredibly tense; would you like for us to help you with that?”

Naib’s eyes widened slightly before regaining his composure, ‘‘I’m fine; if you’re finished with the stitches, I’ll be going.”

Before he can move, you rise back up and put both your hands on either side of his shoulders as you look him in the eyes. He gives you a warning look, probably not happy at your attempt to keep him down.

“Are you really ok with being this stressed? It probably is very uncomfortable. Always watching your back… Even though you are so helpful in matches… “As you finish, Fiona’s hands come from behind his back, her nails tracing upward from his belly to the base of his neck while passing between his pecs.

At that, Naib inhale sharply, his pulse going up a notch from the tension. But he keeps his composure. Your gaze is still fixed on his, as he tries to protest, but your eyes have this hint of lust that makes it hard for him to speak, and Fiona’s wandering hands are not helping. It’s covering his brain into a mist from which he cannot get out.

Finally, he opens his mouth to speak. “All right.”

The moon light was shining softly, passing through the dark and transparent, silky curtain of Fiona’s room. Illuminating the base of the queen-size bed from which a series of moans was coming.

Naib was sitting in the middle of the voluptuous bed, sandwiched between you and Fiona. Fiona was eagerly kissing him, positioned between his open legs, her hands caressing him from under his shirt. In the meantime, you were busy with the back of his neck, kissing and sucking every bit of skin that was showing from his ears to his clavicle. He couldn’t control the moans and harsh breath escaping his throat.

Your hands were wandering to his pants, swiftly passing them under his belt. Following the soft trail of hair until you reach his half-hard cock to caress him, before going back to his belt and undoing it. Fiona joins in to free him completely, while you left your spot behind Naib to come join her in the front.

While Naib lets his back rest on the multitude of Fiona’s pillows, you take off your top clothing while she takes off her cloak. Naib surprises gaze rest on her horns; he can now clearly see they are coming out from her head and not attached to her hood. Fiona looks him in the eyes as she tells him:

“Just for tonight, you can grab them if you want…”

Naib was about to respond, but his breath got stuck in his throat at the unexpected sensation of your tongue licking his base and going up to his tip. At that, Fiona goes down and joins you. You’re both keeping yourself steady and preventing him from moving by holding his thighs. Fiona continues licking his cock, while you start going up his happy trail, leaving a trail of kisses and bites, your left hand reaching to grab his balls before caressing them. Naib reacts by grabbing Fiona’s horns reflexively, making her escape a squeal from his strength.

Fiona leaves Naib’s cock alone, but not before leaving the mark of her red lipstick as she kisses his tips. You seize the opportunity to take her place, your tongue encircling him as you start going down. You look up to see Naib’s head gets back down on the pillows, sighing softly as he closes his eyes.

Meanwhile Fiona starts to undo your own bottom clothing. Opening your legs for better access, she starts caressing your cunt with her middle and index fingers while kissing your ass cheeks. Finally, she goes down on you and enters your inside with her tongue. You moan on Naib’s cock as she expertly navigates. Her longer tongue reaching and twisting in all the ways she knows you like.

With Fiona’s encouragement, you start bobbing your head up and down Naib’s length faster, trying to focus on your task while you let out whines. The vibrations and your nails digging into his thighs send shivers down Naib’s spine as you deep throat him. He watches, getting harder at the sight of you two. His right-hand reaches to grab your hair and pull on them, encouraging you to continue as he senses his climax approaching.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel his grasp tighten as he pushes you all the way down his cock, unloading in your throat as he keeps you in place. You have to fight the gag reflex as he spasms inside you, emptying himself. Near your ass, Fiona’s long tongue abuses your sweet spot more fervently, and with Naib hold on to you, it only takes you a few seconds to reach your own high.

You let go of his dick, a string of saliva connecting you both, only broken by your tongue going over your lips, making sure you swallow everything as you look him in the eyes. Just the sight of it was enough to make him hard again, astonishingly quickly.

You start licking from the bottom of his belly and all the way up his chest until you reach one of his nipples and start sucking and nibbling on it. Naib let out a gasp of surprise and tries to restrain it, but your ministrations send shivers along his spine. You straddle his left thigh to stabilize yourself as you play with his nipples, using your mouth and left-hand while Naib tries to hold in his moans by covering his mouth. All the while Fiona is kissing his thighs and cock.

Having enough and being fully hard again, Naib grabs you with force and turns you around. In the blink of an eye, you found yourself head down on the mattress in front of Fiona. Who is enjoying the view of you down in front of her.

Naib grabs your waist and impales you on his cock without any warning. You cry out as you feel him get all the way in and out in a rapid motion, not leaving you anytime to get adjusted. He starts ramming into you, going at a faster pace at first. Your earlier orgasm helps you get accustomed to it, but you still have a hard time getting a hold of yourself. Your hands claw at the covers as you try to breathe in more air to get your focus back. There’s a certain discomfort and some pain as you get adjusted to Naib’s intrusion.

Fiona takes a hold of your face, placing it on her thigh and caressing your cheeks to ease and encourage you. Smiling as she found your desperate face excessively cute.

As for Naib, he can only think about chasing his high inside you. The sight of you, hopelessly trying to regain some sort of control from his relentless trust, makes him break a smirk. It’s been a long time since he got to blow out some steam. And all the stress he accumulated since he got trapped in here is finally getting let out on you and Fiona.

He closes his eyes, taking in all the sensations.

As you finally get adjusted to Naib intrusion, you look up at Fiona giving her a vengeful glare. Your hands are fast to leave the sheets and grab her thigh, making her fall on her back as you pull her to you. She let out a cry of surprise, and you pull her dress up. Wasting no time in going down on her.

At first, you let your tongue slide all over her entrance, biting at her folds playfully. Fiona’s breath hitches. Your tongue and teeth leave her folds to focus on her clit, licking and nibbling on the sensitive bud as you slowly insert a finger inside her.

You progressively add more fingers as she adjusts to your movement. She can feel the vibrations of your moans from Naib trust, sending delightful waves of pleasure to her clit. Your fingers move expertly inside her, finding her sweet spot in no time from the many nights you’ve spent together. She tries to refrain herself, but you have her a moaning mess in no time. Her back arching under you as her hands go up her belly to reach her breasts, massaging them through the fabric of her dress. With that, it doesn’t take long for her breasts to get freed from her dress as she starts pinching and rolling her nipples at the rhythm of your fingers.

Naib finally opens his eyes as he approaches his high, lending on the two of you. You focus on Fiona’s pussy as you take him in, letting out an occasional moan as he hit a soft spot. Fiona’s getting absolutely ruined by you, her eyes foggy, saliva dripping from her mouth as she let out exquisite moans all the while playing with herself.

He can’t take his eyes off the sight in front of him. He angles himself to hit that spot he found in you, changing his angle to trust more deeply, making sure you feel him rubbing on that spot. One of his hands reaches to rub your clit, stimulating you further.

Fiona is the first to cum. While she was slowly getting near her climax, you surprise her by biting down on her clit. Your teeth slightly digging into the flesh, just enough to feel some sort of pain, as your fingers press on her G-spot. The pain triggers her climax, resulting in a wave of pleasure that hit her like an electrical shock. She lets out a higher pitch moan, soon followed by more as you push her orgasm further.

During that time, you’ve started moaning louder, as Naib deep trust brings you closer to your own orgasm. Soon after Fiona, Naib reaches his own climax, plunging one last time inside you with a strong trust. He groans as he unloads his cum inside you, his body spasming under the sensation.

A few more strokes on your clit are all you need to finally orgasm again. You let out a whimper, your walls clenching around Naib’s cock making him grunt.

Breathing heavily from the aftermath, you tenderly kiss Fiona’s inner thigh while Naib catches his breath on top of you, his fingers tracing soft circles on your hips and belly. His gaze locks into Fiona’s eyes as he gets out of you, his cock still semi hard as you let yourself fall onto the bed. She slowly let her eyes wander toward his lower body until she goes back to his eyes licking her lips hungrily.

You let yourself rest to the side while Fiona gets rid of her dress. Naib grins, getting a hold of Fiona’s ankle and pulling her toward him, to her delight. His hands holding her by her buttocks as he aligned her with his erected cock. She puts her arms around his neck smiling with a hint of smugness. She decides to lower herself on him slowly as she goes in for a kiss.

You watch them, lay down on the cover with your head resting on your crossed arms. Pussy dripping with Naib’s cum along your folds. Fiona is making a show of herself, letting out moans and whimpers as Naib trusts into her; she’s always loved to do that.

You decide to join along, coming behind her and pressing her against Naib firm chest before kneading her breast. You kiss her neck, biting on it occasionally. Naib goes back to kissing her as he picks up the intensity of his trust. You’re starting to wonder if his stamina bar ever goes down…

Meanwhile, Naib found ones of Fiona’s sweet spot and he’s abusing it. Between him and you playing with her very sensitive nipple, Fiona is an actual moaning mess; you know she’s not acting anymore.

Your hands leave her breast, caressing her as you go up to finally settle your fingers into her mouth as Naib leaves her lips to get some air. She eagerly licks them, her long tongue rolling around your fingers as you press on it. Your other hand grabs her neck, squeezing at it just enough to make her vision go blurry, but not enough to make her pass out.

Having lost his spot, Naib decides to turn his attention toward you. His tongue going past your lips and wasting no time in finding yours. One of his hands going toward your legs to push his rough fingers inside you. Fingering your already sensitive and full pussy.

It doesn’t take Naib much longer to cum. He presses Fiona one last time down his cock and let his thick load spread inside her.

You leave Naib’s mouth to give Fiona one last push by biting her on the neck, enough to draw blood, and squeeze her neck tighter. You and Fiona cum together, your walls squeezing Naib fingers while she milks his cock to his last drop.

Your arms find their ways to Fiona’s waist, hugging her gently as you press yourself on her back and rest your head on her shoulder. Naib takes his fingers out of you and presses them to Fiona’s lips. She opens her mouth, lapping his fingers cleans of your juice and his cum. The two of you watching her, satisfied.

Fiona gets out of Naib’s lap, drops of cum dripping down her thighs as his cock gets dislodged. You let go of Fiona and stretch yourself. In the meanwhile, Naib gets up and starts gathering his clothes. You and Fiona exchange a look at that.

“What are you doing?” Fiona asks him.

“Getting my clothes, I’m not getting back to my room butt necked.” He answers.

At that you respond, “Don’t be silly, just stay here. Your room is on the other side, and you’re just as exhausted as we are.”

Naib looks at you two with surprise, stopping in his movements.

Fiona gets down on her stomach, her head resting on her hands and her legs dangling in the air before continuing.

“She’s right, my bed’s big enough and way more comfortable than whatever you probably have.”

You follow with: “You’re gonna leave us all alone in a bed you just barely warm up? How cold of you, Mr. Mercenaryyy~”

Naib takes a few seconds to think about it. The two of you don’t seem to mean anything more by it, and he would be lying if the thought of going back to his empty room wasn’t already making him feel cold. And Fiona’s bed does look appealing, with her silky sheets and the mountain of pillows, which he can attest are very comfortable.

The prospect of you two to keep warm for the night was also very appealing.

“…if you insist, I could keep you warm while you sleep.”

You and Fiona smile smugly, not buying his act, but happy at the prospect of snuggling.

“First things first though!” Fiona starts with a serious expression as she gets up. “Nobody is allowed inside my bed until they clean themselves, so hop we go!”

She finishes her sentence by clapping her hands together.

You start pouting thinking to yourself, ‘dammit, I had hoped she would be too tired to think about that, I want to sleeeep.’

Once everyone got cleaned up and put on some night clothes, you all head to bed. Naib had finished first and was waiting for the two of you. You and Fiona are getting under the cover on either side of him.

He was ready to hold the two of you, but he is taken by surprise as Fiona embraces his head gently and put him on her chest. Her hands caressing his damp hair softly. You come from behind to hug his waist, caging him gently as you snuggle your face at the base of his neck. Your legs entangling together with him and Fiona.

While the action surprises him at first, he doesn’t protest. He feels enveloped in warm, and it makes him feel strangely… safe. For the first time since he came to the manor, he feels as if nothing bad will happen to him. Falling into Morpheus’s sweet embrace, without a second thought. Fiona and you follow shortly after. A soft smile on your lips.

Idk why I decided of a threesome with these 2, just felt like it.