#say goodbye to bloating

[be-moreyou]

Say Goodbye to Bloating - #bloating #sygoodbyetobloating #howtoreduceblo...

[myperfectfatdads]

The Job

I’ve been looking for a job for over a year now. I’m desperate for one, i’m not even picky about it anymore. I just need a job someway to earn money. It was looking pretty hopeless until this company Lyon wanted me to do an advertisement for the new hotel that there opening. The pay was good so I signed up instantly with no hesitation. They’ll probably want a fit guy like me to model in the advertisement I think to myself. They make me sign a contract to make sure I follow all the rules. Damn this thing is long why is there so much stuff to read it’s like a terms and conditions I mean who reads all of it anyways. I mostly just click through it. I only pay attention towards the end of all of it. It states at the bottom that they’re really looking for a man who can represent a lion someone perfect to contribute to the new Lyon hotel. I guess I fall under that category I figured. Clicking it off I sent in my application form.

Monday, they got back to me saying that I’m the perfect candidate for this position. And they ask me again are you sure you wanna go through with this? Not thinking much of it I select yes. Perfect the advertisement will take place a week from now. Great I think to myself as I shut my computer and head to my car to go to the gym. This is gonna be great it think my first real job. On my way to the gym I get a text from my dad inviting me over for dinner. I take up his offer as he’s making his killer buttered chicken tonight. At the gym I do my normal sets but it’s feels a little bit harder tonight. Arriving at my parent’s house the smell of the food made me feel right at home. It was nice to see my parents and to tell them the good news of course. I tell them at the table while eating my food, damn this food is amazing I guess I do really miss my dad’s cooking. Now normally I only have one plate and maybe go up for seconds but tonight something was different I was already on my fifth plate and still stuffing my face. After I was done I give my slightly bloated stomach a pat and wave my parents goodbye. Arriving at home I crash right in bed and drift to sleep.

Tuesday, ah a new day only six more days tell the big, and damn i’m really hungry luckily I brought home leftovers from my dad’s dinner last night. I serve it up and get ready to dive in and dive in I do all of the leftovers are gone within minutes. I can’t hold back can I now. Going to put on my clothes I notice that my shirt feels a little bit tighter as my tummy is poking out a little. I look in the mirror damn my cheeks look chubby I say while rubbing my beard that also needs to be shaved. I gotta take batter care of myself so think as I need to look really good for the job on Sunday. This day goes by in a flash and dinner time already rolls around. This man’s gotta eat I say but nothing in the fridge looks appealing, it’s all to healthy I think. A nice juicy hamburger sounds really good and that’s exactly what I order. 20 minutes later the food arrives. I’m so hungry I can barely resist I tear open the bag and grab a mouthful of fries and shove them into my mouth. I peel open the rapper to the burger and take a nice juicy bite, while drops of ketchup drip onto my shirt. I dive into my second burger my stomach howling at how much food I just consumed, but I didn’t stop there I wanted more I grab the chocolate milkshake I ordered and slurp it down sipping every last drop. I let out a huge burp in relief of finishing that meal my head resting on my newly formed double chin and hands resting on my stomach pushing out trying to escape. I felt like I was in a food coma I couldn’t even move and I didn’t as I slowly drifted asleep right there on my sofa chair.

Wednesday, I jolted awake, shocked at the mess around me what the hell happened as if I was almost unaware of what happened last night. I picked up all of the rappers finding it harder to even more around from my increase in size. I can’t do this anymore I say as I fall into the couch, checking my watch I notice it’s already 4 in the afternoon what the hell happened there’s no way I slept in this late I jolted up as there was still stuff to do one of them being ordering me some new clothes. As my old ones were starting to become quite a tight fit, damn clothes are expensive these days especially for bigger people I think. Grabbing my gut I know that I need to go to the gym but meh i’ll just do it tomorrow as I walk to the kitchen the grab a bag of chips and order an extra large pizza on my phone with bread sticks. When the food arrives I dive in again eating everything in my sight it’s only takes a minute to eat a meal made for a family of four. I’ll just got to the gym tomorrow it’ll be fine.

Thursday, damn this commercial is coming faster then I thought and I am in no need ready for it. I look terrible, I have no more clothes that fit me. Just letting my belly hang freely I notice that it’s gotten a lot hairier; yep it’s definitely time to shave I think but not before breakfast. I whip out some donuts I bought from the store a few days ago. Still fresh I take a bite feeling the creamy feeling touch my tongue. I finish the first one within seconds but I don't mind I still have over 10 left to eat. And that’s exactly what I did shoving them down my throat I didn’t even notice my stomach start to expand even more forming love handles and my pecs starting to soften out becoming my moobs resting on my stomach. My face was getting chubbier by the second and the hair on my body just kept growing. After finishing my dozen donuts I let out a massive burp and rub my gut watching it jiggle up and down.

Friday, waking up in the morning was hard I felt sluggish and tired but I pulled through as the new clothes that I ordered arrived. There was only one problem with them, they didn’t even fit me they looked super small on my and my gut was totally peeking out, I brush it aside as I had more important stuff to do today like making a cake. That’s right i’m going to make a 3 layer cake, i’ve been craving it so much, and I already had all the ingredients to make it. I waddled to the kitchen getting all of the stuff ready as this was going to take up almost my whole day. Making the batter is the longest part, wait or is it letting it cook in the oven ah whatever it doesn’t matter I just can’t wait to dig in I think to myself. The cake takes all day but I couldn’t be happier down it, snaking off little bits of it. I plop myself in bed after a long day of work satisfied as the cake will be ready tomorrow.

Saturday, it really hit me in the morning that the big day is tomorrow. But first of all the cake is ready. Okay normally I stress eat but i’ve never stress eaten this mush I ate the whole 3 layer cake in one sitting, shoving that cake in my face like there was no tomorrow, even though tomorrow was the most important day of my life. After I was finished I waddled over to the bathroom to clean up, in there I realize now much hairier i’ve gotten my whole stomach was full of hair and my beard was super thick. My stomach and legs were huge taking up a lot of free space. Trying to find a nice outfit for the job tomorrow I couldn't seem to find anything that fit all my clothes wouldn’t fit over my gapping stomach. I sign in failure and plopped myself onto the bed getting rest for the big day tomorrow I probably a good idea I say as I drift asleep.

Sunday, today is the big day and I couldn’t be less prepared I was a mess nothing fit me and I look nothing like the guy that they hired to do the photo shoot there gonna think that i’m a catfish or something like that. I sign not being able to come up with something in time I waddle out to my car in defeat and somehow manage to squeeze myself in to the car barely being able to fit. Arriving at the hotel it get out of my car in just my underwear as it’s the only thing that still fits me. I walk in and the guy at the front say you must be Ryan here come up here i’ll show you where the magic happens. Huh he knew who I was right away even by seeing how I look now, they take me to one of the hotel rooms where the photographer is. “You must be Ryan I’m Chace what a pleasure to meet you, seems like the procedure went just great you’ll make the perfect lion, I mean just look at you main.” he says while rubbing my beard. “Now just sit down on the bed so we can start.” Procedure, I have no idea what he’s talking about, plopping my self on the bed I can finally relax knowing that my job is almost over with. The mascot of the Lyon hotel.

[beatrixstonehill2]

Stella started up a stream for her fans. An unfamiliar woman was behind Stella, looking very mischievous. "Hey everyone, Stella here! And ummm...."

"I'm Corinna! How's everyone doing?"

The chat lit up, looking very excited to see where this was headed. "Soooo, I met Corinna a couple weeks ago. We went on a date. She looked so gorgeous, when I saw her reach out on Tinder I immediately wanted to spend the night with her."

"Mmmmm, come to find out Stella here is just a poor, little fakegirl!"

Stella blushed. "The second she saw my cock she smiled and said she knew I was just a boy playing pretend....."

"That's right! I had my suspicions that he was a boy. But of course I'm right! And what a shock, he's got an OnlyFans and a bunch of adult social media profiles for him to dress up and flaunt his hormone-pumped body. Why, just look at these things!" Corinna grabbed Stella's breasts, shaking them. "So full and fat? How long have you been pretending to be a girl?"

"Seven years...."

Corinna grabbed Stella's breasts until they ached. "Poor dumb boy. I bet you begged mommy and daddy for all this estrogen so you could live out your fantasies of being a porn-addicted adult film star. Did you even consider getting a real career? Or did your teenage boy brain just equate being female to being a porn star?"

"Ummmm..... I, well.... really wanted to do porn once I turned 18. Yeah..."

"Soooo pathetic, my dumb little gooner princess..... Tell your fans what you told me. How many times do you masturbate a day? For how long?"

"I.... um, I masturbate at least eight hours a day. Pretty much all I watch is porn....."

"Such an addict. What a shame. A bright young boy so corrupted and twisted by porn you thought you'd become a big-titted bimbo and get gang-banged for a living? My, such high aspirations, Stella! Er, Steve. Sorry."

"No worries..... I'll have to get used to it....."

"You guys should see how erect he is right now! And he just jerked it to some pregnant college girls giving birth in public like an hour ago. Weird, a bunch of guys were watching and jerking off but no girls. Almost like you're just a boy with fat boobs and a pretty face.... but we'll see if testosterone changes that."

Stella blushed even redder. "I bet I'll look totally different. I'm really gonna be a guy...."

"Sweetheart, you already are. To Steve's fans, we already threw out his hormones. On Monday he starts testosterone, and I convinced his doctor to put him on steroids to help move things along nice and fast. I need his balls nice and bloated with cum if he's gonna breed me!"

Stella bit her lip, starting to jerk off under water. "I'm gonna be such a horny stud..... I'm gonna breed you and any other girls you want.... My mistress."

"That's the spirit. That cock is mine, Stud, and your purpose in life now is to fill wombs with cum until their pussies look ready to gush. No more big-titted bimbo getting fucked in the ass for hours on end. Say goodbye to your pervy little boyish fantasy. It's time you become a man and do what men do. OK, darling?"

"This is so sudden.... but, my cock gets so hard thinking about breeding so many pretty girls. Getting big and strong....."

"Losing these embarrassing fat tits?"

"That too..... I guess I'm really not a girl after all....."

"Finally coming to your senses. Now how about we switch, and you can show your fans how to treat a girl!"

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

I'm done with situps and crunches. Could you put some weight over my abs, with lots of thick black body hair on top?

You’ll never do sit ups again. In fact I don’t think you’ll be able to even if you wanted. Just like you wished your stomach begins to bloat with added weight. You didn’t say how much so I’m going for as much as possible. All impossible for you to lose of course. While you kiss your abs goodbye for good you going to also feel itchy as the thick black hair begins to push out of your skin in all directions all over your body. Your le going to have a thick dark trail of hair going right down the center of your big muscle gut to. Right where your abs line used to be. A distant reminder of what you used to have. You’re going to be carrying this keg around for a long time so get used to it. You’ll be bending. Screwed when you walk to help keep your balance. And you’ll want to find some shoes with a lot of support because those feet of yours are going to be carrying a lot of weight from here on out.

[male-body-swap-lover]

Becoming the Old Man Next Door

Carter Austin was annoyed that he had to be home for his parents 30th wedding anniversary. The model was only in town for one night, and even that was too much. He hated Fairview and missed the fast life of New York. The 28-year-old was one of the hottest models on the scene and couldn’t believe he was wasting his weekend in his childhood bedroom.

Hon, we are so excited that you are home. We’ve missed you.

You know how busy I’ve been mom. I’m one of the hottest models. I’m constantly booked.

I know. We told Mr. Jarvis that you were coming home and he was so excited to see you.

Mom, I’m 28. I don’t want to go see our old neighbor.

Oh, just do it Carter. It’ll make him happy. He’s lonely. His wife has been dead for 20 years and he has no children. Just do it.

Fine.

I went next door and rang the doorbell. Mr. Jarvis answered the door. I forgot how fat he was.

Austin my boy. So good to see you. Come in come in. Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.

As I sat in his living room, I looked around at his depressing life. The room seemed straight out of the 1970’s, and it reeked of tobacco. 15 minutes. That’s all I need.

Here’s a coke. So, tell me about New York.

It’s fun. I travel the world. I’m one of the top models out there.

I know. I’ve followed you. You are quite the good-looking young men. I bet ladies throw themselves at you.

I get my fair number of women. And men. I don’t discriminate.

I wish I had your life. My life was always boring. And it’s been worse ever since Marian died. I live a lonely life.

Well not everyone can have my life. This coke tastes weird.

That’s because it’s not coke at all. It’s a special potion. You see Carter, I’m tired of being an old man who never did anything with his life. I want a life in the fast lane. So, I am going to steal yours.

What. That’s not possible

I stand up and try to move, but I can’t. It’s like I am frozen in place.

Carter, look in the mirror. Can’t you see the changes have already begun.

As I stared into the mirror, I could see the wrinkles start appearing on my face. Suddenly I started breathing heavier as I felt myself get older. I ran my hands through my hair and it came out in chunks in my hand. I tried to run, to get out, but couldn’t move. My skin was aging. I could feel my youth leaving my body. Passing 30. All of my hair fell out. Passing 40. Stubble appeared on my face. Then it stopped. I looked in the mirror. Damn. I’m fucking old, but I’m fucking hot.

Haha old man. I’m still fucking hot. Look at me. Your plan failed.

You aren’t very smart are ya Carter. That was just step one.

Step one! I turned to him and saw that somehow his hair had grown back in and he looked middle aged. It’s like my hair and age went to him!

Yes, there are three steps. Let’s start step number two.

With that he clapped his hands and suddenly I felt bloated. My stomach was starting to rumble. I looked in the mirror and my face was bubbling. Suddenly it felt like I was blowing up like a balloon. 10, 20, 50, 100, 150, 200 pounds of fat just suddenly appeared on my body. For some reason as I grew, my clothes grew with me.

I was a whale. No one would ever recognize me. It was absolutely disgusting. I used to make fun of people who looked like this. Now I was one of them. I turned and looked at my captor. He looked good. He was so skinny. It’s like all of his weight transferred to my body! He was hot! I was so jealous. Wait he said this was step two, what was step three going to be?!

Damn, I never even looked this good when I used to be in my 40’s. This is amazing. I bet you are wondering about step three. Well, I suppose it’s time to start the final step. Get ready to say goodbye to any remaining part of your old life.

A wave suddenly washed over me. I could feel the life force draining from my body. My facial hair was turning white. My back pain was killing me. I could feel pain everywhere in my body. Arthritis. But I’m only 28. What is happening. I didn’t even think this was possible.

I’m Marvin Jarvis. Wait what! No I’m not Marvin… I’m um….i’m um. What is going on. It’s like I am losing my memories.

What are you doing to me. Why can’t I remember my name. Why do I think I’m you.

Because, Marvin, that’s part of step three. I become you and you become me. We might not look exactly the same, but the world will change to suit us. Why don’t you look at your license.

I could barely reach my wallet. I pulled out my driver’s license. It still said Carter Austin, and then it changed. Marvin Jarvis. 81 years old. 375 pounds. I looked at the photo and then at my reflection in the mirror. There was the same old man. Me!

You’ll never get away with this.

I already have. Your old memories will continue to slip away until you become Marvin Jarvis. Meanwhile, I’ll get your memories and live out my life again. A world-famous model. Carter Austin. My life is set.

Suddenly my mom entered the house.

Hello Marvin. I just came to get Carter. Dinner is ready.

I wanted to scream out. To tell my mom what happened. All that came out was “Of course Karen. It was lovely seeing Carter again. What a fine man he has become.”

Mom, I am just going to hug Mr. Jarvis goodbye and then I’ll be home.

Okay. See you soon honey. Goodbye Marvin.

The new Carter came and hugged me. Good luck Mr. Jarvis. You’ll need it. Don’t forget to take your heart pills, and back pills, and all the other pills. Don’t drive at night. Also, your social security check barely covers basic living expenses. Haha. Better get one last look at me. This is the last time you’ll see me. I’m never coming back to this hodunk town.

I started crying as the new Carter Austin left. He may not have looked exactly like me, but what does it matter. The world believes he is Carter and I am Marvin.

I sat down because my knees were giving out. I tried to remember everything about my old life, but I could feel it slipping away. I’m trapped. There is nothing I can do. You know what sounds good right now. A good pipe. I wonder if NCIS is on. 6:30pm. Almost time for bed. Well, maybe being an old man isn’t going to be so bad after all.

[abellmunsonmovie]

Eating Me Away

Word count: 1,168 words

Warning: No mention of readers race/gender, mentions of eating, reader feels guilty for eating, use of Y/N, pet names (baby, sweets)

Tonight you were going to Eddie’s for dinner and to watch a horror flick Eddie had rented from Family Video. But you're kinda anxious because Eddie is ordering pizza…pizza, with carbs, fats, grease. Recently you’ve been focusing a lot on your weight and figure, you’ve always been insecure but right now your insecurities are eating you away.

You start getting ready and you decide to wear some jeans and your favorite band tee. As you’re getting dressed you see yourself in the mirror, you squeeze your stomach, pull it back, suck it in, anything to make you look…smaller. You get almost hypnotized, trying to make yourself look smaller, you tear up from disappointment, and your heart feels like it has dropped to your stomach. You get interrupted as you hear a knock on your bedroom door, “Y/N, Eddie’s here!”, “Shit” you whisper, throwing on your shirt and hurriedly tying your shoes.

You walk out saying goodbye to your parents, you see Eddie’s van parked outside and you run to the passenger side and get in.

“Hey, pretty baby” Eddie says smiling, you give him a weak smile back “Hey”. Eddie immediately notices somethings off, he rubs your back as you buckle in, “You okay?” he asks with a concerned look on his face, you look up at him and give him your best fake smile, “Yeah baby, don’t worry about, just um…i’m just kinda tired…long day”, he gives you a soft look and nods, “Okay…” he says unconvinced.

On the way to Eddie’s trailer you guys talk about how your days are going thus far, music, the movie he rented. You guys pick up the pizza, and then you finally arrive at Eddie’s trailer. You guys walk inside you get you and Eddie drinks from the fridge, and make you plates while Eddie starts the movie.

You sit down on the couch and Eddie walks over as you hand him his plate and he sits down, kissing you on your cheek “Thanks, sweets”, you smile and blush at the sweet gesture, “No problem”. The movie starts, “I really hope you like this movie, Steve said that it’s usually out of the store, so hopefully that means it’s good” he realizes you were zoned out and he rubs your shoulder, “You sure your okay, baby?” he asks with his eyebrows raised, you nod “I’m sorry, Eddie, it’s just…today was so fucking exhausting-”, Eddie shakes his head and interrupts you and kisses your head, “Hey, hey…it’s okay…as long as your actually okay, everything is good, alright? Now eat some pizza before I gain ten pounds” he laughs softly making you smile.

After you both eat your food you feel so bloated and guilty. You feel so guilty that you can feel tears on the brim of your eyes, you make sure Eddie doesn’t see your eyes so you stand up and walk to the bathroom, “I’ll be right back” you say kinda shaky, Eddie notices this but decides to give you a second, in case you really are just fine.

You walk inside the bathroom and lock the door behind you, you sit down on the edge of the tub sobbing quietly, you cover your mouth with your hand to muffle your breathing. Your heart is beating so fast, your thoughts are burning through you like a hot sharp knife, after so long your breathing regulates and you get up to look in the mirror and wipe your tears but as your getting up you hear a knock on the bathroom door, “Baby…you alright?”, your voice is still quivering “y-yeah, just a minute!”, Eddie can tell something is wrong and tries to open the door but sees its locked, “can I come in, baby…please” he says sweetly, you sigh and you work up the courage to open the door, you tilt your head down and only see half of Eddie’s torso, standing in the doorway, he grabs your face gently, “sweets, look at me” he says in a soothing voice. You look at him with eyes red and tears glazing over them, he pulls you into a warm embrace “oh baby…” he says quietly, as he pulls you in you feel your heart break even more, you sob into his shoulder, he rubs your back and shh’s you to calm you down, “Shhh…shh, it’s okay baby, I got you…I got you”. As Eddie is rubbing your back you start to calm down a little bit and he kisses your tears away, “What’s got my baby all upset?…hm?” he asks looking in your eyes. You sigh and Eddie holds your face gently in his hand while the others rubbing your back still, “c’mon baby…you can tell me anything”, he was right, you really could tell him anything, you always have been able to, “Sometimes…I feel bad…gulity…about eating” you say, voice still quivering, his facial expression saddens and he pulls you in for another hug. “Baby…you have nothing to be guilty for…especially eating, you have to eat to survive, food gives you the energy that you need, you could get seriously hurt if you don’t eat, okay baby?” you sigh and nod still crying softly, he grabs your face to face him and he looks in your eyes, “You are absolutely beautiful, pretty baby…there’s nothing that could ever make you anything less than that…promise me next time you feel like this, you’ll tell me alright, sweets?” he says seriously but still sweet, you nod and he kisses the tears on your face, “I love you so much, y’know that?”, you smile softly, “I love you too, Eddie”, Eddie smiles, “You wanna finish this movie in my room?” he asks, you nod and he picks you up bridal style making you giggle and he carries you to his bed and sets you down softly.

After Eddie starts the movie and you guys get into your pajamas, Eddie sets you on his lap holding you close, while resting his chin on your shoulder and he whispers, “Your so gorgeous baby…” you smile and blush, as you turn your head and kiss Eddie softly on the lips. As you pull away Eddie says “I love you”, making you smile you say “I love you too, baby”.

After the movie is over you and Eddie decide to go to sleep and as you’re about to fall asleep Eddie whispers, “Y/N?…”, “hm?” you hum, “You…you are the most beautiful, funniest, smartest person i’ve ever had the pleasure to meet, and I love you so much, with every fiber of my being, okay?…Please never forget that baby” you smile softly feeling tears prick the corners of your eyes, you wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle in his chest, “I love you too, Eddie…so much”, Eddie smiles pulling you closer, “Night, pretty baby” Eddie says kissing your head, “Night, Eddie”.

You fall asleep feeling loved and at peace, all because of Eddie. He really is the best person you could ask for, and he’s your person, forever.

Hey guys I decided to make a blurb where Eddie comforts Reader about feeling guilty for eating, as a person who has issues with my body and eating, I know how it feels, if you're feeling like this right now I want you to know, you are so beautiful and I love you so much. Stay safe and healthy, beautiful<3 -Bella

[reality-detective]

Feeling bloated and uncomfortable?

Say goodbye to bloating and hello to comfort!

Ingredients:

2 tsp of lemon juice

A tbsp of fresh ginger juice

A tsp of raw honey

A tsp of chia seeds (optional)

Water

*You can drink this every morning before eating.

- Alternative Medicine 🤔

[turcott3]

motive

mason mctavish x fem! reader

warnings?: cursing, allusions to smut, lowkey hate this, and fluff

positions fics masterlist

~tell me what’s your motive?~

-

“fuck.” mason yelled at the tv, losing yet another match on fortnite. you laid with your legs in his lap, his arms lightly resting on them.

“do you think maybe you should take a break?” you ask, giggling at his frustration.

“well, yeah i probably should.” he says tossing the controller on the couch next to him, running a hand lightly up your thigh.

“we have group dinner at 7. go get ready we have to leave in like 30 minutes.” you remind him and he sighs.

“do we have to go?” he asks, removing your legs from his lap and picking his legs up, laying his head on your chest.

“yes mason, we have to go. we said we’d be there.” you giggle, toying with the tight curls on his head.

“help me find an outfit.” he says standing up, lending you a hand. he sits on the bed as you dig through his closet tossing clothes to him to put on.

“okay i like this one.” he says looking in the mirror.

“yeah, looks good to me.” you say walking up next to him. he wraps a light arm around your waist and pulls you to his side.

“look at us.” he says and you giggle. you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t practically head over heels for this man. the worst part was that you couldn’t exactly tell his feelings for you. you knew he liked you but you couldn’t tell what his actual motive was, and god was it horrible for you.

“okay let’s go.” you say, removing his hand from your waist and kissing him on the cheek. you arrive at dinner perfectly on time meeting a few of his teammates in the parking lot and catching up with some girl friends. once you’ve all arrived you find your way inside, mason pulling your chair out for you.

“okay gentleman.” you say.

“gotta make a good impression.” he giggles, placing a hand on your thigh. you had full intentions in drinking tonight, sex was already on your mind. you couldn’t wait to get back to his apartment and you weren’t even drunk yet.

“so y/n, how have you been? i feel like i don’t see you much.” leo asks across the table.

“i’ve been good! busy working sadly, but good. how are you?” you reply, placing your hand on top of mason’s and squeezing it.

“i’ve been good, im glad daniella could make it to be here tonight.” he smiles, hugging onto his girlfriend who you’d grown quite fond of since you met. the service was quick, you got your food very quickly. you were grateful because that meant you didn’t have to sit at this awkward dinner for hours on end. except, it wasn’t actually awkward. you were just buzzing, bordering drunk, and feeling self conscious about it.

“mason.” you mumble.

“what?” he replies, running a light thumb over the skin of your leg.

“can you finish your food?”

“what’s the rush?” he asks with concern.

“i don’t feel good.” you half-lie.

“okay.” he says waving the server over for the bill. mason hands him his card without looking at the cost and takes his final bites. when the server returns with his card, you bid leo and daniella goodbye and quickly find your way out of the restaurant.

“i’m sorry for making you leave. i’m a little buzzed and bloated. i feel ugly i just wanted to leave.” you state apologetically.

“you’re not ugly, you look beautiful. it’s okay, we can go back to my apartment, get you into some pajamas yeah?” he says, returning his hand to his place on your thigh.

“i’d like that.” you blush, appreciating how he was caring for you.

-

you laid in bed breathlessly, your buzz still lingering even after the unbelievable hour of sex you just had. mason hated seeing you feel insecure or bad about yourself and always found a way to fight it.

“do you need anything? a shower? a drink?” he asks, stroking your hair lightly. his aftercare was always what you looked forward to most after fucking. he never disappointed.

“no i’m okay thank you though.” you sigh, just simply enjoying this moment, not knowing how long it would last.

“mason?” you ask after moments of silence.

“yeah?”

“can i ask you something?”

“sure can.”

“how do you feel about me?” you ask indirectly.

“well first of all, i love being around you. you’re smart, funny, sweet, beautiful. what else is there to say?”

“no no like, ugh. i don’t know.”

“are you trying to ask if i have feelings for you?”

“pfft what? no i wasn’t, but i mean if you wanna answer that question id appreciate it.” you giggle, relaxing into your lingering buzz.

“is it not obvious that i like you?”

“no, why do you think i wanted you to answer the question?” you reply, smacking him on the chest.

“i’m always touching you, i call you beautiful, i buy you things. what could be clearer?” he asks with a deadpan face.

“hey relax, i’m half messing with you. i like you too but i think you knew that.” you smirk and he finally cracks a smile.

“yeah i knew.” he giggles.

“why didn’t you act on it?” you scoff, sitting up abruptly and moving your straddle his hips.

“i was t sure the extent of your likeness for me.” he says before you bend over and connect your lips sweetly.

“i think that should say enough.” you say sitting back up again.

“fuck y/n.” he sighs, placing his hands lightly on the outside of your thighs.

“what mason?”

“i don’t think i like you actually,” he pauses and your heart stops. you climb off of him and sit next to him.

“did i do something wrong i-“

“no no, y/n you’re drunk stop.”

“tell me mase.”

“i don’t think i like you, i know i do. in fact i don’t just like you, i love you. i love you y/n and i wanna be with you. i wanna wake up next to you every morning, i wanna see your posts with the wags, i wanna hear about your day and your work. i want to love you all the time.” he confesses to you, joining you sitting up.

“mason i don’t even know what to say.” you reply, wrapping the brunette in your embrace.

“you don’t have to say anything. i couldn’t keep that from you anymore and im sorry if you don’t feel the same way.”

“no no mason i do. i love you too. i’ve been head over heels in love with you for a while i can’t sit here and lie to your face.” you giggle and he smiles, relief washing over his face.

“so you’d be my girlfriend?”

“absolutely i would.” you reply, jumping into his arms.

“what a fucking relief.” he says lowly.

“y/n mctavish, change my contact name babe.”

“on it.” he giggles in response, picking up his phone from the nightstand, seeing his lockscreen for the first time. i picture of you and him in your mirror the day of dux in tux.

“awe.” you say and he turns to you.

“oh, my lockscreen?”

“yes”

“i made it my lockscreen because i couldn’t stop looking at it. you look so fucking perfect.” he says directing your attention to the phone.

“i don’t even know how to accept your flattery but at least now i know all your compliments weren’t out of pity.”

“oh never baby, never.” he giggles, kissing your cheek delicately.

-

[pokemonshelterstories]

I have to say goodbye to my Stoutland soon. Is it safe to make him a entire steak as a last treat of sorts?

i'm sorry to hear about your stoutland. saying goodbye can be tough.

it's tempting to give a really big treat right before euthanasia, but keep in mind that the pokemon is still going to be alive for at least some period of time before passing, and it doesn't take long for some conditions to set in. feeding a whole steak can cause vomiting or even cause bloat, which is extremely painful.

you can definitely give him a little piece of steak. for a stoutland, i'd also recommend a nice, long grooming session for some quality time. they enjoy having their facial fur cared for, and you could even use a little detangler to get him looking and feeling extra special.

[hellowoolf]

on strawberries and masonry: chapter iii

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

OR

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), blood & gore, scars (NOT self inflicted), knives, guns, SMUT!!, unprotected p in v, fingering (if i left out any, let me know!)

word count: 9k

authors note: the fucking. at long last. thank god. (this is my first time writing smut omg goodbye)

series masterlist | masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

joel speaks to you like copper oxidizing in the sun. it’s slow at first, a shiny amber thing you covet, bestowed every once in a while on patrol or in the dining hall. but when the green catches hold, the gloss of it gone but easier, softer, it’s only a week or two from start to finish. he remains taut with you, strung into a tight wire you weary your hands trying to soften. even still, his prevailing silence makes him a vault, and at every moment you deem appropriate, you store your secrets there.

you tell him about the strawberries first. of the redness of that first one, and the way you’d wept with tommy and noah over the soil. of your hoarding of them, too. you recall to him your brisk walks in the biting air with ellie, smuggling handfuls stained red in the warmth of your coats, to deposit the bunches of them in your kitchen. 

he doesn’t ask you again, after his vulnerability on your porch that night, about ellie, but regardless you tally your moments with her to recite for him. you watch him grip to them like a wounded animal in the snow, though still he is joel, and so mostly he is quiet as you recount your greenhouse conversations. you’re certain, now, that he isn’t her father, but she mirrors him to a degree of uncanniness, what with her constant bristling. this you do not say to joel, but mostly because you suspect he already knows.

you pull from joel what he lets you. you learn he lived in austin, before. you learn he worked in a boston qz most recently, up until the trek with ellie to wyoming (the motives of this are strictly off-limits, and though you enjoy pushing him, you allow this omission to stand). you learn he loves music, and played the guitar a lifetime ago. and you gather scraps of him in the moments between the stories, too; he is performative, despite himself, and runs inhumanly hot, and reaches still for his southern manners like he’ll someday be rewarded for them. most of all, though, you learn he is not very good at covering the craters of himself. the small set of moments from his life before jackson he allows you to see are censured, punctured through by his own tongue, you deduce to muzzle the voices of the characters of his past he won’t let you meet. but his recollections remain wounded by his carving of them, and so the ghosts of his memories, unnamed as they are, are clear to you. there is one in boston, and another set along the path to jackson. most incurably, there is one in austin, but unlike the rest, joel carries this specter with him. 

the dining hall is always bloated with townspeople when you return from your rounds. the warmth of them overcomes the cold of the outside (it has persisted into late january this year) and as you find a table with joel at your side, the buzzing heat tickles at you from under your coat. you sit down at an empty table with joel on your left.

“but i do think they’re being weird. quiet, i guess, and tommy isn’t ever quiet.” you turn to joel, whose mouth is full already, and he leans back in his chair. tommy pulled away from you, and joel, too, over the last two weeks or so. maria has kept her distance—you have learned to expect this—but tommy is so insistently social, and so his waning outings in town seem odd to you.

“i dunno. tommy’s tommy, ain’t he?”

“yes, tommy’s tommy. but tommy hasn’t been tommy. you see what i’m saying?”

joel shrugs, stabbing again at his plate. “i guess,” but his thought isn’t finished, so you don’t respond quite yet. the brown of his eyes flickers when he’s let the tail of his sentence go, and you’ve learned to make space for them. “i…i don’t think maria’s too comfortable with my bein here.” he won’t look at you, but still it’s as vulnerable as joel ever is with you; he thinks tommy is distant because of him. you’re thrown to that night with maria in your kitchen, asking (demanding, really) that you patrol with joel, to the unyielding truth that your forced proximity to him begins and ends with your proclivity for violence. you aren’t quick to guilt, but it lays its clammy hand on your shoulder while you watch him eat. you’re reminded of how hot the room is, and begin to pull your arms from your jacket, turning your head slightly to lay it across your chair.

“maybe not, but she’s never been too excited about me, either. maria’s protective, very protective. but tommy’s different, too, he–” you don’t know if it’s the looking or his finger that comes first, but in any case you’re jolted somewhat ungracefully into silence. joel’s face has contorted into something unrecognizable as he looks down at your arm, bare in a tank top for the first time in months, and you watch as his pointer finger follows his eyeline down the scar on your left bicep. oh fuck. the callous of his touch just barely dances along the top of it, padding his fingertip along the skin in what feels like disbelief and disappointment and something else entirely. the mark closed up years ago, but the feeling of joel’s hand along your skin nearly burns the thing off. your sanity and your wanting of him are so flammable, and the spark of his touch sets the whole of you in smoke. after a few seconds of it, of the looking and the touching and the silence, joel remembers himself and stiffens again in his chair.

“i’m sorry, darlin, i-” he stops himself. “i'm sorry.”

and him calling you darlin is entirely unfair. you flush, across your chest and down your spine and down through your sex. there is something truly wrong with you. “no, no. it’s okay. i didn’t realize you hadn’t seen it.”

though he’s retracted his hand, joel’s stare remains clutched across your bicep. his fists curl in on themselves in his lap, and he stays there, firm and looking at you and cupping on nothing in his palms. you fill the silence.

“it was a long time ago. i don’t think about it much anymore.” this is only halfway dishonest.

“i shouldnta touched it.” he almost sounds bashful, boyish. he finally looks away from the scar and back at his food. “shouldn’t be starin either.” the depth of his voice tears through you despite the softness of it now, a whisper nearly unintelligible under the sounds of the dining hall. it strikes you that he thinks you a victim, and the thought nearly makes you sick. by maria’s fear of him, you’re certain joel has as blood-stained a past as you do, and late at night you tell yourself he would understand. still, you haven’t had the heart to tell him. what would you even say?

joel shakes his head slightly side to side like he’s reprimanding a child, though the child is him, now, and you could laugh at how awful and sweet and misinformed it is. you’d like to forgive him again, but you think he’ll excuse himself if you say any more about it, so you let the whole thing dissolve away.

“you like strawberries, sting?”

joel groans. yes, along with the lusting and your little fruits, the nickname is a luxury you cannot deny yourself.

“‘n so i played, but never out at bars or anything. tommy sure as hell wanted me to,” he said, securing his horse back in the barn.

“so who’d you play like?” you called from your stall in the stables. 

“nobody,” he grunted back.

“you play like sting?”

noah found an old record of his on a run once, and you sat by jesse’s record player for hours at a time listening to it. in truth, it was some of the only music you really knew by heart. as you asked it, the both of you stepped out from your corners of the barn, and he stood with his hip cocked. you grinned at him, but he looked incredulously back at you.

“like sting? are you serious?”

you crossed your arms over your chest. “i’m asking a question. can’t i ask a question?”

“jesus. sting played the bass,” he said, exasperated, as he turned from you to walk out. you thought of his thorniness and guitar playing and the colors of his voice. sting. you decided you’d call him that as you followed out after him.

“i think so. i think i used to.” he seems far more relaxed in his chair now, and it makes you sink further into yours.

“i just have too many now. i’ve been thinking of giving some away,” you say, looking at him. “would you take some?” and it’s true; they’ve been overflowing into your sink and onto your windowsill. your little plant has been bountiful, and you had insisted her harvests were yours, but watching them mold on your counter has not proven as indulgent as you had thought. another, quieter and much more dangerous piece of yourself, tells you that really, you just want to give something to joel, to give anything to joel, but you cite instead the rotting by your fridge and allow yourself to ignore that little voice.

joel eyes you. “you really askin? or you bein courteous?”

“am i ever courteous?” you laugh. he smiles a little and laughs, too.

“no, no. i guess not.”

you’re giddy with the shake of his chest and his grin. he doesn’t laugh all that often, you suppose because it exhausts him so, but when joel laughs it’s an anatomical revelation. the whole of him wrestles with it. you’re wet, again, (it’s nearly constant for how often you’re together), and you eat what’s left of your lunch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

your favorite of the group before jackson was danny. you’d met eliza first, in the salt lake qz, but danny was your age, and beautiful in a delicate sort of way that struck you as unnatural. you remember the stories your father told you from the bible, of the angels with eyes and wings and bloodlust, and danny was of that sort. it surrendered you to him, you think, and so you let him fuck you when the moon wasn’t out. he never made you come, really, but it wasn’t about the coming then. you were teenagers and guilty, so heavy and ashamed and good at the killing, and so the rub of a tree at your back as you let him put his cock in you was an escape from your being and the blood on your hands. 

in his back pocket danny kept a polaroid, folded up and frayed around the edges, of him as a child, much of the same abnormality and prettiness, and ellie reminds you of that photo. for a thing you’re certain has seen death on and about her, ellie remains strange and stunning. she sits to your left with her legs out in front of her, sorting through your stock of seeds. you spin your knife along your knuckles as you sort through a pole bean plant to harvest the ripened pods, the orange light of sunset filtering through the leaves and quilting shapes along your skin. 

“okay, mainly you’re almost outta radishes. everything else you gotta pretty nice setup on,” she says, setting the box down next to her. ellie had broken her outstanding silence with you, and you determine quickly that she isn’t disillusioned with who you have been. she’d told you once that you hold your knife like you’re worried someone will take it from you. she’d laughed and laughed, conjured scenarios of your vegetables rising against you, and you laughed with her. still, she sees your practice with it, the disjoint of your grip against the unmoving of your plants, and inherits the knowing of the damage you’ve done.

“alright. i’ll see if anyone going through the set of cabins down south can find anything,” you say back, sifting still through the bean leaves. 

“and what do you say now?” ellie’s voice lilts with her smile, all childlike wickedness, and you turn to her, grinning back.

“thank you, ellie.”

with a grunt and a stumble she stands back up and gives you a half bow, echoing self contentedly, “thank you, ellie.” you snort.

as she leaves, you watch tommy approach through the greenhouse walls. you think he’s frightened of her, hides himself in his coat as though she may reach out and tear him apart, but still he tips his chin to her as he makes his way towards you and crosses her path. you can’t help but smile, tracking the peeking green of a few pole beans she’d stolen bounce from her pocket as she walks away. you walk out the doors to lean on the outside greenhouse wall.

“i see you’ve risen from your crypt,” you say as he arrives fully in front of you. 

tommy grins tight lipped, his arms cradled to his ribs as he keeps his hands in the pockets of his jeans. there’s an anxiety to him, to the way he rocks back and forth before you. “yeah, yeah. i already heard it from damn near everyone i’ve seen today.” 

“i’ve been more social than you these past two weeks. you know how fucked up that is, tommy?” you’re trying your hardest to show him you’re joking, coax him into honesty. he’s come to confess something to you, you think.

“oh give me a break,” he replies.

you raise your eyebrows slightly and holds your arms out in front of you; you have the floor. a beat.

“well i came to tell you the news.” you hum. “maria and i are, well i guess maria is, shit,” he says, but he’s smiling now, coy and wistful, scratching the back of his head as he asks, “how did people used to do this?” you say nothing, still. “maria and i are having a baby.”

and something between your lungs shifts out of place. they are going to have a child. a child. your first thought is that they will be good parents, tommy and maria; their flesh and blood is warm with sun and work and something lovely, and it will make for something worth growing, you’re certain. they will be of jackson, like your plants and the snow, and maybe the whole of humanity is forgiven for children like this, born into safety and wood cabins.

your second thought is so horrifically selfish you can hardly stomach it, let alone recite it. you swallow it back down.

“tommy, that’s amazing,” and you hug him there, a copy of your embrace standing in the reflection of the greenhouse walls. “how are you feeling about it?”

he pulls back grinning. yes, he will be a good father. “well shit, scared out of my mind, you know,” he chuckles, “but real excited. maria, too.”

you give him a smile that you mean. “well, you guys let me know if i can do anything,” you say, and gesture towards the garden, “if there are any herbs or things that could help maria with any of it you just let me know.”

tommy nods and puts his hands in his pockets, nodding. “i thank ya for it.”

for a moment, the two of you stand there in the waning sunlight, watching what you’ve become. tommy, you think, is precisely what he was meant to be. he has always been far too content with existence, molded over as it might now be, to deny fatherhood. you wonder what he sees in you. 

“well, give maria my congratulations. lord knows she’s doing the heavy lifting,” you chuckle as you move to go back into the greenhouse, “and come knocking if i can help.”

you make it to the door before tommy calls your name and you turn around.

“how’re you doin on patrol with joel?” he asks you from his spot, letting the words cross the now sizable distance between you. you’re thankful for how far he is, hoping whatever grin is laying itself across your face is too subtle for him to make out.

“we’re doing okay, i think. he’s a little tense…and can be fucking terrifying.” and now you really smile. “but i can handle him.”

tommy barks out a laugh and begins to walk backwards towards the town square, calling out with a palm cupped to the side of his mouth, “you’re good for him!”

and you let yourself be jovial, laughing as you kneel to your beets, but really you might never forgive him for saying something like that. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

joel still hasn’t come to visit your garden, though you’re grateful for this now. the warmth of the greenhouse has become your respite from the constant wanting, and you think if he materialized in the doorway you’d melt there in the soil. pacing through your kitchen, you eye the little basket of strawberries on your counter. you’ve named them joel’s already, but each time you’ve made to bring them to him your resolve disintegrates down your thighs.

but oh, they are so perfect now, reddened into a vivid blush, and if you don’t hand them off today you’ll have to throw them out. you grab the basket and slip out the door, doing your best to avoid spitting up your heartbeat on the walk to joel’s porch.

it’s nearly dusk, and when he opens the door he has a glass with about a finger of whiskey in his right hand. it sloshes as he looks you over, eyes measured a little with surprise and something else, but you stay tied to the wrap of his fingers around the glass and lock your knees to keep from dropping to them. 

“hey, sting,” you grin (or grimace, more like).

“uh,” he leans a shoulder on the doorway and the movement brings his chest closer to you outside of the threshold. you smell the whiskey and the pine of him as he continues, “hey.”

his voice is deeper, now, hoarse with the weight of the day, and you conclude that you are, in fact, doomed for madness, if he keeps looking at you like that. you bring the basket of strawberries up to your chest and gesture them to him. “i just wanted to drop these off. they’ll go bad in a few days.”

joel peers down into the basket and grins a little, turning to put the tumbler on a table behind him before stepping more fully out of the house. you think he expects you to take a step back to make room for him, but you allow his chest to crowd yours, tilting your head further back. “well shit,” he laughs, “these are real.”

“yeah, well, now they’re real and they’re yours.”

joel lets his eyes circle once more over your face before extending his hands to take the basket. the warmth of his fingers as they brush yours along the weaving makes you clench and expand in the span of a moment. “thank you, really,” he says softly, sincerely, and the basket is so much smaller, now, held to his front. 

you shove your hands into your back pockets. “eat them soon, though, please.” 

joel turns around again to put the basket inside just beside the whiskey glass, and says to you behind him, “can always make jam or somethin if i can’t go through em all.”

your stomach twists up and it pushes what can only be described as a giggle (an awful thing) from you. “jam? you know how to make jam?”

he shifts back around and cocks his hip, sticking a knee out. “the fuck you mean by that tone?”

you laugh harder, earnestly, nearly folding over with it as he grips the door, ready to close it. “jam?” 

“yes, jam. it ain’t that hard.”

you keep laughing just for the sake of it now, but as joel begins to swing the door shut with a quiet jesus you hold your hands out. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, you just don’t look the type is all.”

with a tilt of his head he asks, “oh yeah? so what type am i?”

this quiets you. please, do not give yourself away, do not bleed your hand, do not. you narrow your eyes at him, dramatizing your assessment, pleading with yourself to construct an answer suitable for near sunset, but you take too long, boots nearly reaching his. he grunts, bringing his thumb and pointer finger up to hold your chin and twist you away from him. you feel the calluses on the pads of his fingers for the moment that he grasps your head between them, and your pussy drools a little. still, you begin to make your way down his porch; this is far from the most aggressive way joel has decided the conversation has ended, and so despite his push of your chin from his palm you make it to the final step pleased, the warmth of his skin still licking where he touched you. 

“goodnight.”

you stop, take a deep breath in, the silence behind you petting down your spine. he hasn’t closed the door. he’s waiting for you to say it back. and you die a little death there, with one foot on the road. “goodnight, sting.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the air is noticeably warmer this morning as you drag it into your mouth, padding along the beginnings of spring towards the stables. joel has prepared his horse already when you walk in, giving you a mornin, and he’s leaned up statuesque on her side with an elbow. the sling of his gun’s strap hugs his chest through his flannel, and the barrel peeks up over his shoulder, but only just. you salute to him as you saddle your horse.

“morning yourself.” you feel him stretch behind you as he mounts his horse (you are always so painfully aware of his body) and smirk, “rough night? did the jam give you trouble?”

“christ, i didn’t make any, darlin i’m just tired.” 

you mount your horse. darlin. jesus.

“well you rest up, cowboy, i’ll cover you.”

joel grunts and says nothing as you trot out the gates together. he doesn’t think you capable of protecting him; in all, it is your best kept secret.

as the both of you wind through your northern route, you notice again the opening forest floor, weeds and flower beds resurfacing again beneath the trees. elderberries start to bloom out here this time of year, and in years past noah has uprooted the bushes for you to replant and harvest. the flowers are edible, too, and beautiful, and you wonder if joel will let you stop a moment to look for them. you wait until the trees grow thick and quiet around you before asking.

“joel,” he makes a noise in response, “could we stop here for a little? there are berries that grow around here and i want to see if i can find any to take back to the greenhouse.”

joel looks at you from his horse, affectless. “you serious?”

“yes.”

he lets out a sigh that morphs into a yawn midway through and shakes his head around a little, dusting something from his mind. “alright, alright. fine. but stay close, please,” and he trails off as he says it but you catch the end all the same.

you smile up at him, feet already on the ground and setting your rifle at your horses hooves to pull your knife out. as you weave through the shadows of the brush you call back to joel, “maybe you can make some marmalade out of these, too,” and you’re buzzing with the scoff that passes even through the feet between you, but he’s grinning, small and against his best efforts, and you spot that, too.

“you ever gonna let that go?”

and you don’t answer, ducking into an embankment of bush and leaves. 

it’s been years since you’ve foraged like this. you used to pick mushrooms and berries from the ground with danny at night when you ran with the raiders, eat them together and take your chances. this feels different, though, charged with a tenderness and gentle knowing that’s new to you now. the world out here looks so much like your garden, feels so much like yours, and it strikes you that the mountains answer to you in your own small way. you could find a spot, up and away from the snow, and decide what grows there, play god with the grasses and the weeds. so though you find no elderberries in this brush, you are quiet with that little victory as you pace back to where you left joel.

as you approach, joel’s voice calls through the trees. a deep and pained “fuck!” and the rustling of clothes grows louder as you pad forward. there’s a shrill grunting, too, not joel’s, not joel’s. you take stock of your heartbeat and your fingers and the blade in your coat. there is someone else here. you move silently on the dirt, hiding your body in the bark and greenery, and then you spot him, kneeling with his hands behind his head, his gun kicked a few feet away, and a scrawny figure holds a glock to the skin of his forehead. suddenly you’re 19 again, and unafraid. joel spots you from your place halfway behind a tree and his eyes widen a fraction. don’t come out, he’s pleading with you, but you will not listen. your father’s knife, tucked into your jacket, coughs to life.

you trample the ground below you as you stumble out, hands in the air. you whine, “please, please, don’t hurt him,” and the man whirls around to you. he looks gaunt, his cheeks pressed into his face, but his beard, which hangs wiry by his chin, is streaked with something bloody and dead. he bares his teeth and laughs with delirium.

“so there is another one,” he says as he approaches, gun pointed now at your nose. you let him think you a coward and flinch as he presses it to your face. “you’re prettier ‘an your partner, ain’t ya?”

you keep your eyes wide, say nothing. not yet, not yet, he isn’t close enough. joel barks from behind him, lowly and wild, “don’t you fucking dare,” but the man has already brought his other hand to drag around your face, through the hollow of your collarbone, down your sternum. you let your lip tremble and joel flinches ahead of you.

the man calls behind him to joel, saying “if i hear you move a goddamn inch i’ll shoot ‘er.” joel’s face is pulled up into fury and brutality and helplessness, nostrils flaring and chest heaving, but he stills.

“please, please, i’ll do anything, let us go,” and as you say it, already his right hand is tilting, the barrel of the gun slowly drifting from your cheek. just a little more.

his breath is soiled with rot as it fans over your face and he’s so close to you now, whispering, “anything?” 

the gun is pointed just to the right of your ear. 

now.

you twist your arm between your shoulder and his wrist to grab his hand, pointing the gun to the treeline as you duck under it to spin behind him, your free hand reaching into your coat and stabbing through the artery that runs through his neck. blood pours from around the handle as the man falls to his knees, and you grip him by the filth of his hair to pull your knife back out. you let out a breath, standing over what is now a corpse. it’s been years, but you are always yourself, aren’t you?

you falter only when you turn around and joel is there. he’s sat fully on his haunches, arms hanging loosely by his sides as he looks up at you. and the look on his face is…you don’t entirely know. his eyebrows kiss, knit together on his forehead, and his eyes look through you, like you’re an apparition before him, but still his mouth hangs open slightly. you think if you stay here, standing above him, the whole mangled history will come clawing from your mouth, so instead you move to sit beside him, the both of you now facing the body you left behind. 

the silence survives, for a few seconds. joel’s shoulders slump as he adjusts himself to sit with his legs out, and he pulls in a deep breath. 

“you done that a lot?”

you take a moment before replying, “yeah.” you think of how the truth seems to demand to be known regardless, regardless of your stifling of it and your wanting of joel and whatever innocence you’ve never had but cling to when with him. you think of this, and begin speaking.

“i was 18 when they found me in the salt lake qz. there was a group of them, 9 at the time, and this woman, eliza, she promised they’d take care of me. feed me more than the qz had. and i wasn’t starving or anything, really, or in any kind of trouble. i could take care of myself, you know. maybe i should’ve had a stronger moral compass. i was just…” you take a breath, “i was so alone, then. my father died on outbreak day, and mom was never really in the picture. some of them were my age, some were older. i don’t know. i’d learned how to use the knife like…” you look again at the corpse, “like that by then. i’d killed by then. it didn’t feel like i was losing anything, being a raider.”

joel is still beside you, looking down at his hands, but you know he is listening.

“and so we used to trap people like that. men, mostly. they’d throw me out in groups of them, let them get close and then…” you wave your hand around, a stand-in for the killing. “i ran with them for a few years. they kept their promises.” your scar throbs beneath your sleeve and you take another breath. “and then another group got the jump on us. we’d been looking through a warehouse and they’d been hiding there, i guess. they killed a few, nearly killed me, i think. they sliced through the artery down my left arm,” and you trace the line of the scar as you say it, “but matteo killed the rest before they slit my throat. he tried to stitch me up a little with what was left of our twine. still, they left me there. i didn’t really blame them. still don’t.

tommy found me there. he patrolled with noah, back then, and they came passing through after everyone else had left or died. at first they said i could only stay until the wound was healed, but in the end nobody had the heart to turn me out.” finally, you look at him, and he shifts his head up to look back at you. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you.” and you are.

joel’s eyes flit over your face, scowling still but soft, too, and brings a hand up, slowly. he cups his palm around your cheek to turn your head, thumb soft along your face, and wipes the blood splatter along your neck and jaw with his other hand. when he shifts your face back to his, he lets his thumb trace the line of your nose, around the curve of your chin, once, featherlight, under your bottom lip. your mouth opens up a little, watching him watch you. he nods, then, decisive, and pulls himself off the ground, helping you up after him. 

you ride back to jackson in silence, leaving the dead man in the open. you let joel turn over what he saw, what he heard, in the quiet of your horse’s footsteps. he leaves you in the barn when you’ve dismounted, tells you to stay put, and reports the man to tommy. you stay, leaned up against the barn wall, waiting for him, something inside you scratching along the lining of your body, wondering what he’s thinking and knowing you have no right to it. when joel comes back, you notice the streak of blood on his thigh where he’d wiped his fingers after holding your face. you consider each other a moment from across the stables, and something passes between you. you saved his life today, and he’s grateful for it in a way he’s struggling with, and you can both agree you needn’t mention it again, at least until tomorrow. these thoughts he lets you read, before dropping them.

“you like whiskey?” he asks. and god what you wouldn’t do for a drink, so you nod. he jerks his head behind him and grunts, “c’mon.”

you let him lead you to his house, and for the first time you come inside.

joel has lived in jackson for years less than you, but still he’s filled it more than you have yours. there are books, on little tables and in the shelves, and half-done whittlings, and pencils. you flush with the scent of him, so strong in the curtains and the couch.

joel pours you a healthy shot into a tumbler, and then one for himself, and he lets you roam as you sip on it, following at your back without a word. you approach each of his shelfs, run your fingers along them, linger on the pieces of him he’s littered around. you finger through a pile of guitar picks and set your glass down there.

“what did you think of me when you first met me?” and you don’t entirely know why you ask it, at first. it comes, maybe, out of a selfish need to be reassured, or an even more dire want to hear his voice.

“what did i think of you?” he asks, and you can feel him approaching your back slowly. you hum, and joel reaches around you to set his glass down next to yours. he’s so close now and you squeeze your thighs together. “why d’you wanna know?”

and really you do your best at keeping yourself even. certainly, you tell yourself, he doesn’t mean to have this effect on you. certainly, he’s only trying to be kind after you sliced someone open for him. “i guess…” you think a moment, and then, “you asked me last night what kind of person you were. i want to know what you thought of me.”

he sighs a little, inches closer still. and his voice is so deep when he says at your back, “can i touch you here?” and you see in your periphery his pointer finger at your shoulder, hooking lightly over your hair. you barely muffle the shake in your chest and nod, and he pulls your hair over your other shoulder to bare your neck.

joel runs his nose along the line of your shoulder and lets out a breath there, pained and dismantled. into the seam of your neck, he whispers, “as soon as i saw you darlin i thought,” and he pauses to bring the backs of his knuckles, desperately light, down your spine, and you clench around nothing. “i thought you looked so goddamn soft. the fuckin garden and the strawberries, jesus, the strawberries.”

the paw of his hand, now at the base of your backbone, stretches itself along one of your hips. he says, now, “what about here? can i touch you here?” you nod again. joel’s fingertips press into you over your jeans there, but still he keeps his palm raised with a tremble that feels like restraint. “i thought i’d scare you.”

you let out a breath, slow, and muffled by your own attempt at control, and press your thighs together. the growing wetness at the nexus of your legs sears you, all lightning and heartbeat, and you will yourself to stay standing against the insistent pull of your arousal. joel tips his nose above the lobe of your ear to speak into it, lowly and gruffly and nearly apologetic (but not quite), “i’m too goddamn selfish.” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and breathes deeply again. “and violent.” this time, his words really do sound like repentance, and you stay silent to make space for the full of his confession. but his lips hover over the crest of your shoulder again, barely grazing, branding you all the same. “but you’re…” his jaw unhinges slightly, but he collects himself, “you’re vicious, baby.”

you whimper, then, and the sound of it makes him press his entire hand into your hip, suddenly frantic and squeezing at you.

“you hurt people, haven’t you darlin?”

you have to gasp for air, your pussy leaking into your underwear, because he’s seeing you, horrific and violent, and choosing to seek you out anyway. you nod cautiously, and his hands feel like they’re everywhere. and then gruffly, into your ear:

“you gonna hurt me?”

and you figure now, at least, you must be honest with him. “probably.” you barely recognize your own voice, the color of it darker with want than you’ve ever heard before.

joel pulls himself flush with your back, letting you feel the hardness of him, and allows himself a single push of his cock on your ass, muffling something animal in the back of this throat. he bands his free arm around your front to splay his palm on your sternum, pressing unforgivingly, and you feel the wild screaming of your heartbeat echoed back at you through his skin. he’s shaking, whispering, “don’t let me do this.”

you lay your head back into his shoulder to bring your mouth further up to him, arching yourself into his hold, making a home for yourself there. and pleading is a crime you refuse to commit in the presence of others, but you cannot help your own desperation now. “please.”

he spins you around then, and the lip of the shelf behind you presses determinedly into the skin below the hem of your shirt, but he’s kissing you (like he hates you, almost, or maybe himself) and so you take in the pain like it’s easy and you love it. his hands cup your head on either side, cradling the base where it meets your neck and threading his fingers through your hair as he nips at your bottom lip, laving over it with his tongue. he moans into your mouth as you kiss him back, lord forgive you for what that makes you feel, and you hitch a leg up to his hip to press your cunt into him. even through your jeans and his, he is an inhuman kind of large, and you wrap a handful of his shirt between your fingers to anchor you to sanity as you grind your hips at him. i need you i need you i need you, and you don’t say it, won’t say it, but you think it all the same. 

his hands move from around your head to grab at both ass cheeks, dragging your center across the front of his pants and you groan at each other from the feeling. whatever it is that sews you together is being reaped. you let yourself be dramatic; you’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you now.

“joel, please,” you whisper into his mouth, which continues to eat at you.

“please what?” he pants back through your lips. “say it. what are you askin for?” despite this torture, his hands start to grope down your sides and pull at the buttons of your jeans. you move to press yourself into his grip but he insists, pushing you back into the wall. “tell me,” he growls, and it’s shadowy and lustful and deep, but as desperate as you feel, and it emboldens you.

“fuck me now, joel, please, please,” and you continue to beg, though your words turn incoherent, as he brings you up the stairs, holding your pussy still against his cock as it hardens behind his zipper. your pleading tightens joel's fingers on your waist, your thighs, the crook of your knee.

joel splays you on his bed, the tendrils of his hair haloed out around him as you run your fingers through and hold, and joel sucks and bites down your neck as he smooths his hands under your shirt to feel your skin. you whine out as he grabs at you, tight and wanting, and he pulls away so the both of you can pull your clothes off. you’re frantic as you sweep away your shirt and then your jeans, left bare besides your underwear on his bed, and you’d be embarrassed at your frenzy if joel wasn’t equally so pulling at his pants and shirt, but as it is you let yourself marvel at him. the broadness of his shoulders and biceps as he opens himself to you, the softness of his tummy, and oh, god, his cock tents in his boxers and you feel the already overwhelming wetness in your panties spread itself further. as soon as he’s on the brink of nakedness he’s on you again, caging your head between his palms on the mattress and pressing the hard line of his cock into your aching sex. his eyes bite at you with as much physicality as his teeth and tongue. something rumbles and unlocks in joel’s chest watching the rise and fall of your breasts as you heave, still grinding on you like he has no choice.

“goddamn it darlin,” he grits out, letting his eyes close a moment to feel the drag of your pussy against him. “you think about this?” your jaw falls open as you let a sigh out, one that means yes, and he moans deeply as he wraps his palms around each breast and squeezes. “you think about it as much as i do?” you nod again; you are past embarrassment, even humiliation, you are unreachable. it is only joel and his depth and you under him. “you touch yourself thinking of me?” and now you moan with the full of your chest, letting it loose in the sliver of air between you, and he returns it. “show me,” he pleads.

you let yourself a moment to pull the air, now heated with your body and his, into your lungs before you drag your fingers down your front and into your panties. he watches the movement of it, and his mouth stays open around a silent groan watching your fingers circle and push under the fabric, hearing you. you’re fucking dripping, and the squelches of your digits as you fuck yourself on them makes him groan and thrust his hips a little into nothing. you whimper his name and he falters a little. 

as a tightness grows in your belly, approaching without mercy with the scent of him at your lips, he finally brings his own hand down into your panties. he cups his palm over your moving hand and you begin to pull it out, but he catches your wrist. 

“no. keep going,” he groans. and you realize now he’s feeling how you touch yourself, barely resting his hand over your fingers as you pet inside, and you nearly come at the sight and thought and feeling of it. 

as you near your high again, he tightens his grip on your wrist and pulls your hand from your cunt with a growl. you whine at the loss, but he pushes two fingers inside you and suddenly you’re yelping like an animal, thrashing as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. he whispers, mostly to himself, “oh jesus christ you are so fucking tight,” and you keen. joel circles the spongy spot deep inside you and you clench around his fingers, pushing your clit further into his hold, and you’re so close, so close, so close. you tell him so, and he smiles a little, lustful and wicked but nearly in disbelief, too, and he says back to you, “it feel good, honey?” and you could almost laugh at him for questioning something so glaringly obvious, but any thought is cut off by a white and swirling pleasure that coils and then unties itself, and you come with a high pitched moan while he groans above you. that’s it, baby, oh my god. he whispers this to you as you come, but it sounds underwater and you can barely process it even as you come down from your high and joel pulls his fingers away. 

when your vision clears, you look above you to joel with his fingers in his mouth, eyes closed and stroking himself over his boxers, and now you really think you’re hinging on death.

“fuck me now, joel, please, jesus,” you say, though it’s breathy and broken with the intensity of your orgasm, which throbs still through your clit and around your walls. 

joel pushes you further up his bed and lets his head dip again into your neck as he pulls his boxers and your panties off, biting with a diminishing mercy and chastising, “greedy.” you nod because you are.

when finally, finally, his bare cock is running through the wetness of your cunt, barely catching on the opening, and you’re two heaving bodies with the feeling of it, the both of you pause for the first time since joel’s entryway. you press a little foot into the back of his bare thigh, and you watch each other there, nearly in and of one another. 

you whisper, “you gonna be okay, sting?”

joel breathes out onto your face and you feel his cock jump and pulse along your dripping seam. he looks pained, but you grin because you know better, can feel better by the rawness of him on you. 

“yeah,” he replies. “are you?” and he looks down to where you nearly connect, gyrating his hips again and prolonging the feeling of his head at your entrance. you have just enough sense to notice his cock is as massive as you’d felt it to be, red and weeping along your pussy, and you’ll take him in your mouth sometime but not now, he has to fuck you now or you’ll blind yourself with your own wanting heat.

you murmur back a yes (it’s the best you can do), and he fists his hands in the sheets by your hands as he pushes himself in. 

you imagined joel would fuck you roughly, unforgivingly; in this, you were right. but he is not rushed. joel drags his cock deep through your walls, letting the head bump your cervix before pulling nearly all the way out, and then reburying himself inside, but it is meticulous, intentional. you press back up, as best you can, to rub your clit in the dark curls at his base, and in return he curves his hips deeper into you; the friction there makes your walls pulse, and you feel every ridge and vein of his cock as it pistons in and out. 

only when you’ve recovered from the initial stretch of him can you hear the noises the both of you are making. it is unholy, unceremonious, and loud. you’re moaning in his ear as he fucks you, and he groans into your mouth, the side of your head, your neck, every patch of skin on the expanse of you that he can reach. 

so fuckin wet f’me, huh?

fuck, baby, this pussy is so fucking good.

yeah, yeah—oh fuck—clench me like that, fuck.

you know you won’t last long, and from the stumble of his hips each time you whimper at him you know he won’t either. with each thrust his balls slap and stick to your skin, the bed frame bumping on the wall. 

joel sits up straighter, eyes trained on your stretch around him and the wetness that pours out there. he looks wild, awed at how you suck him in, and you’re mewling just as wildly because he’s so fucking deep and you think you can see the bump of his head below your navel when he thrusts inside. you curl your hand over his bicep and press your nails in, moaning out, “joel, joel, oh my god, you’re so deep i can see it.” 

joel follows your eyeline and moans out something broken and incoherent, pressing a palm down where he knots up from your skin to feel himself moving in your walls, and you scream. the sensation makes you clamp down harder on him and joel grips the other hand on your hip.

“stop, oh my god, stop,” he grunts, cock still hard and unyielding and beating inside you.

“i won’t last, joel, please,” you whine back, and joel lets his eyes slip closed for a moment before nodding. he mutters out a fuck and presses your knees up to your chest, slinging each calf over his shoulders as he fucks you harder, deeper, and your eyes roll back in your head.

“jesus christ, darlin, you’ll kill me.” another moan. “come on my cock, baby, c’mon, let me feel it” and it’s a demand and a prayer at once, and who are you to refuse? you feel your cunt soaking him, the squelch of your bodies together intensifying, and the filth of it unravels you a second time. you come like a punishment, hard and drawn out and expansive in your body, and joel is moaning out at the feeling, “so good, so fucking good.” 

you drag your nails down his back, hoping the marks are harsh enough to stay, and joel’s head tips back with his mouth pulled open. his cock swells and twitches inside you, and as his fingers turn white with his grip on your legs he pulls out, pushing your thighs together and fucking the skin there until the white ropes of his come paint your chest and stomach.

you both pant as joel slumps slightly over you, keeping an elbow at the side of your head to keep his weight off you but allowing your legs to fall to the bed again. despite the fucking, this is by far the most intimate; your breaths meeting between your faces, his nose pressed against yours. you look for something to say, but come up short. joel spares you by pushing himself off the bed and retreating to the bathroom.

you are both quiet as he wipes you with a cloth, though he remains gentle, diligent. when you’re clean, he throws it somewhere off the bed and sits on the edge, back to you and head in his hands. you shift to let your legs hang off his quilt, but don’t turn to him.

“joel,” you say, lowly. it’s only his name, but you know you’re asking something of him now, something you’re not sure either of you are strong enough to give. still, you wait for his response, keeping your gaze on his floorboards.

“what are we gonna do?” and it’s so soft, it reminds you of the day you met months ago. he is timid again, and it frightens you. the weight of your friendship, which you feel finally has bloomed into something worth nurturing, presses along your airways. you’ve wanted him for so long, and now you’ve had him, and you want him again. and so you’ve had your cake, and you move now to take a bite.

“we…” you let out a breath, as steady as the moment allows, “we’re friends.”

joel runs his fingers through his curls once before looking at you, and you gaze back. his eyes squint as he assesses your naked body on the edge of his mattress. “you gonna want me to fuck you again, darlin?”

you think he’s trying to panic you, euthanize whatever amalgam you’re constructing on his bedroom floor before it overcomes the both of you, but you do not shrink from him. “probably.”

he nods.

“are you?”

joel sighs. “probably.” 

and so you redress yourself and return home, legs trembling and aching unbearably between them, and wonder for how long you and joel can deny absolutes in favor of the gray area you’re carving out together. probably probably probably, the both of you are clinging to probably. but you have no qualms with using nails and teeth to find purchase, and so despite all better judgment, you mostly feel sated, at last.  what price could you possibly pay for this anyway? your heart? your soul? you forwent your ticket to absolution years ago, and you suppose the last half holy thing you can do is want, so why deny yourself this carnality? this is your last testament to living, to fuck joel and be his friend and deny the inevitable complication. you have taken and taken and taken and the blood remains on your hands, so what’s one last smeared fingerprint on the walls of your existence? when death comes for you, she’ll have such an awfully easy time, for you’ll have left a walkway in red behind you. what’s one last sign post? i am here. and it will be painted in your wanting and platonic insistence and the piece of joel you took within yourself tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @koshkaj-blog @shotgun-shelby @limerence4u (if anyone wants to be added let me know!!)

[guqin-and-flute]

Holding Me Holding You–Ch. 7 [3zun Raise Jingyi Prequel]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]

[Ao3 Link]

[Holy shit, how has it been 2 years since I last updated this fic?? ANYWAY HELLO HI I MISSED YOU. We're keeping the baby, guys. CW: Disjointed, slightly nonlinear narration; negative self talk; more talk of battle aftermath, bodies (gross but no more graphic than prev chapters), and death; focus on lots of trauma to do with death and grief; general Twin Jade parental trauma; vaguest mention of child death, in that he repeatedly tells himself there isn't one and remembers part of his nightmare about Wangji/A-Fu dying]

Who are you?

‘Wen Baiqi.’

What must be done for you to rest?

‘Say goodbye. Tell her goodbye.’

It’s raining in Qishan. It’s nothing like the rain in Gusu.

Who are you?

‘Hei Xuecen.’

What must be done for you to rest?

‘All my fault all my fault ALL MY FAULT--’

This rain isn’t crisp, but disconcertingly warm. It doesn't bring life. It soaks into the ground, milling the dirt back into the blood and gore bloated mud of that night, sucking at their feet. Reeking of putrefaction. It coats Xichen’s tongue and throat.

Who are you?

Each time, there is a chance he will receive a reply from the Yiling Patriarch himself. 

‘Ye Qian.’

He never does.

What must be done for you to rest?

‘Never apologized--’

What would he do if he did?

Who are you?

What would Zewu-jun do? Clan Leader Lan?

What must be done?

Would he soothe his spirit?

Who are you?

Ghostly fingers pluck at his sleeves constantly. 

Who are you?

‘Nie Zixing. Never knew him, tell them--’

When he had first arrived, the bodies of Wei Wuxian’s Wen contingent still hung from the gate to the battleground. Or what remained of them. After scavengers, time, and the elements had had their turn. Swaying in the warm, wet breeze along with carrion birds’ cries and the distant tunes of the guqin language. Grisly pendulums. Dripping.

There is no small boy among them. He had hoped against hope, but now he knew for sure. This secret is tucked deep, deep down beneath his heart.

Who are you?

The corpses on the ground are Wen. They are Lan. They are strangers. They are Da-ge, lying bloody on the floor of the Scorching Sun Palace. They are A-Zhan.

"We should burn them like they did to our people. Scatter their ashes, so they will never rest." A venomous whisper from his own disciples, a young man, face twisted in rage.

(“They’re killing everyone,” he had choked his sobs into A-Yao’s arms. “My people--my family are all dead and I did nothing.”)

A-Yuan had been so, so pale against the sheets. So tiny compared to the infirmary bed.

“These people?" Xichen’s voice is quiet. "These cultivators that studied healing? Miles and miles from Qishan?”

Silence.

“Did they destroy our home? Did we fight them in Sunshot?”

Too little, far too late.

There is no small boy among them. There isn’t.

A-Zhan, gray and slack, eyes glassy, head lolling--

He pushes the dream-memory away.

Who are you?

‘Jin Mingni. 

My father--’

"We will bury them and hold the proper rites, as we have the rest of the fallen. And I will ask you to swear yourselves to secrecy regarding their exact resting place. In case anyone later shares your thinking.”

‘Zhou Sanniang. Never wanted to come. Save me.’

“Help me bring them down.”

There may be no small boy among the Wen, but he sees corpses all day, every day. They're in his dreams. He cannot stop seeing them. And he cannot stop seeing a boy (Afuyuanzhan) among them, from the corner of his eye.

He can never quite catch the face before he realizes there is no one actually there.

A skeletal hand is unearthed when they lift a body--a remnant of the Sunshot Campaign, years before. There were plenty of partial skeletons from that time that the Yiling Patriarch had raised to fight them. It seems some didn't have the strength to fight their way out from the mud. The death here has layers. A slow growing mountain of violence and dead and blood instead of stone. The building of the Burial Mounds’ successor.

Do the Burial Mounds have as many crows? Is it a feasting ground, as this has become?

They carry the quiescent dead, cover them with cloth, lay them in rows. Those whose spirits have passed on easily. They lie with their Sect members--when they are able to discern who they are. Still, fields of undyed cloth mounds, waiting to be retrieved by their loved ones, if they still live. Somewhere out there, there must be people still alive, families whole and happy, living in the sunshine. Somewhere.

Who are you?

His fingertips bleed from days playing Linhai and Liebing.

What must be done for you to rest?

Even those here that are living shamble like the dead--the rogue cultivators, his Lan disciples, the handful cultivators from other Sects, all here for the same goal, all hollow eyed and pale. He is supposed to be here for morale. 

They work deep into the night, far from familiar, ingrained rules about schedule and tidiness, here. Adrift.

What must be done--?

The fierce corpse is not a powerful one, merely tenacious. Shuoyue snakes out. It crumples immediately with a muted splurch into the muck, halved.

‘Tell her I loved--’

The top half of the corpse writhes, still scrabbling for him. The sound it makes from its ruined face is horrid. It's a wonder it can sense his yang qi at all; no eyes, no nose. Its robes are a splotchy black and rusty brown-red, but the Lan ribbon around its forehead manages to show a ragged white through it, here and there.

The talisman sears, blinding. It is enough. The body slumps for the last time. He can settle into that mud, summon Linhai from his qiankun bag for the Songs of Rest.

Who are you?

‘Lan Ruicai.

Show them all--’

The blood of the walking dead is no longer life-hot, but the same, unnerving lukewarm as the rain. He cannot feel it. He can’t tell where it’s stained him until he reaches his tent each night. 

He is efficient. He is in control.

The rain here doesn't cleanse anything. It hasn’t stopped for days.

Everything is the same color; the sludge, the thick haze of lingering resentful energy, palms, boots, the hems and knees of robes. That old clotted wound color. Dirt repelling talismans can only do so much before they are overpowered by the sheer weight of yin energy permeating everything. Stained.

There's no use cleaning. He tries anyway.

‘I was so scared, so scared--’

Who are you?

Sometimes, the spirits do not answer. Sometimes, they speak first, before he can even start the questions, raking the strings repeatedly in their anguish. Sometimes, they try to tear the guqin from him, try to rend his clothes, squeeze his throat. Sometimes, banishment is the only way. 

The sudden shrieks and roars at night startle everyone from sleep. If Wangji was well, he would be here. He is known for going where the chaos is.

Is that what had led him to this? To Wei Wuxian? An affinity for soothing chaos? For chaos itself?

Who are you?

‘Don’t know. Want to go home--’

"I can't anymore, zongzhu, I-I--"

"It's alright. Return to the Cloud Recesses. You’ve done enough."

Sometimes, he wakes in the night to find that he is in the middle of dressing, having no memory of doing so, a clump of cleansing talismans clutched in his numb hands. He has cut down so many fierce corpses, he’s lost count.

Who are you?

Food is tasteless glue in his mouth.

Who are you?

Every night, he is sure to take the medicine that gives him no dreams.

‘Oh gods oh gods ohgodsohgods--’

Every night, he prays that he has not left Uncle overwhelmed, that his people are being cleansed and healed back home, that Wangji has stopped bleeding, that A-Yuan is healing, that A-Fu is….

Who are you?

(What right do you have?)

What must be done?

He has been here for days that run into one, long, dark, meaningless drain. 

‘Son. Baby. Where is he?'

Who are you?

‘Pan Liu.’

His raw fingers pause on Linhai’s strings, still humming. Rain patters quietly on the hat that shields his face from it.

He knows that name. How does he know that name.

There have been plenty of others he had recognized among the dead, from different Sects and his own, from childhood, from Cultivation Conferences, from class. But each time, he must pull himself back to that life to remember, away from the rain and the red and the dead.

He can’t place it.

What must be done for you to rest?

‘My baby. Safe.’

The spirit is a thin wisp of light, playing about the strings, shining on the dark wood. Focused. Waiting.  

Who is your son?

‘Lan Fu.’

His mouth is dry.

("A-niang?" A hopeful little voice. The memory of a crumpled form in the blood-churned muck, a shoe print between shoulder blades….) 

It is cruel, endlessly cruel that he is the one alive. That he is the one sitting in the mud across from this poor young mother’s spirit. That he is the one with blood enough in his hands to leave rain blotted stains on the strings as he tells A-Fu’s mother; He is safe.

(Shrieks of raw sound as they carry him away. Echoing off the trees. Reaching back for him.)

A hesitation. Then, ‘Who are you?’

Lan Xichen. Zewu-jun.

‘Zongzhu.’

He will be safe. I swear. 

‘...Safe.’

Rest, now.

‘...Rest….’ The notes are quiet, exhausted. Longing.

Then, silence. That pale light is gone. 

She is gone.

He sits, still and silent as the soft caverns in the clotted mud continue to patter around him. His face is wet--mist and rain and blood. He almost wishes it was tears. 

He aches in a new, terrible way, now.

Oh, little one. You were so loved.

He has been witness to both sides, now, of this small, destroyed family reaching for each other through the dark. And how useless he has been in the task of bringing either of them lasting peace. 

To bring anyone lasting peace. 

(Useless.)

And do you serve anything so fiercely that it would be your last thought, taken across into death? 

It is irrelevant. The soul quieting ceremony had been performed on them as children, with all the other inner disciples. He will not linger as a ghost, even if he were to be struck down by a fierce corpse this instant.

He finds himself trying to remember if his mother had ever mentioned having had such a ritual performed on her….

Selfish. You would have your own mother suffer and linger as an unquiet ghost for some sort of twisted confirmation that you were loved? 

Xichen remembers childhood before the death of his parents. The infinity of all of it. It probably never crossed A-Fu’s mind to beg her to stay with him. (“No, no go! P’ease!”) She had always returned before. 

The memory of A-Fu clinging to his hands so tightly he had drawn blood with his nails is inescapable. 

During that final farewell at the Jingshi, A-Huan too had had no idea it would be the last time he would ever see his mother’s face. He didn’t know what creeping death looked like, then. She was simply her, smiling, twinkling at them.  He had kissed her cheek and taken Wangji’s hand and waved to her through her ornately carved window screen as Uncle led them away. Wangji had always been the one to pull back, to fuss over leaving. Uncle had always made sure that Xichen set a good example for him.

The snowy day she had left this world, cold and dry, so far from the warm wet muck he was in now, something in him hadn’t believed it. Hadn’t believed that someone could just…no longer exist, just as suddenly as a storm might blow over the mountain summit with no warning. 

He saw her so sparingly, it seemed impossible that she wasn't just simply waiting in her front room for them to visit with a smile and open arms.

How? he had asked. When? Why?

Uncle had said that it was not for children to know. This pulled it even farther into the unreal, stretching his comprehension. It felt like a dream, a lie. A story. But if he could just see her…if he could just prove that this was some sort of…misunderstanding--

(Xichen had never asked again after that first refusal sat in his gut like a chilly stone. He suspected that Wangji had not either. Even now, decades later, he still did not know how his mother had actually died. 

He suspected enough, however. 

He knew it was sudden. He knew it was unexpected. He knew no one spoke of it. He knew it had broken his father beyond any hope of repair. Uncle had not volunteered the information, even now, when they were both grown. And Xichen will not allow useless rumination. Rule 60.)

 He remembered he hadn’t been able to stop crying. A-Huan had always hated crying--he always tried to hide away and not bother anyone with it, but this had been constant. 

Uncle had squeezed his shoulder and spoken softly, and reminded him after hours of stopping and starting that he must not grieve in excess, that he would make himself sick, that he was agitating Wangji, that he needed to calm himself, death was a natural passing, like the moon or a river, one must not let their emotions control them.

But still, that something in him that just knew it wasn't true waited until it was dark, until curfew set in and the snow lit the night full-moon-bright, reflecting the stars and lanterns. He had pulled on his boots and slipped from his window, cautiously darting across the paths of the Cloud Recesses in just his pajamas and his blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, shivering from more than the cold. 

This had to be a trick that he didn’t understand; a joke or a punishment for something he had done wrong. When he figured out what to apologize for, he would be able to see her again. 

The fear of being caught breaking the rules was washed away when he crossed beneath the familiar bower wound with skeletal winter vines. His mother’s house stood dark. All around it, snow was churned and broken, as if many people had been there. In all his memory, no one else had ever visited the Jingshi. The door was unlocked. 

It opened onto emptiness and moonlight. 

Everything was gone.  Her plants. The blue cushioned couch. Her desk and papers. Her dragon incense burner. Her tall candlesticks. Her big, thick, round rug they laid on and played games. The pictures he had painted for her.

He had drifted, stunned, through the shell of his mother’s home. The only proof that she had ever even been there were the scratches on the floor from where furniture had been dragged. That, and the scent of her that still lingered underneath the smell of whatever they had scrubbed the floor and walls with. They had erased her completely. Like she was never there in the first place.

Then it had settled on him like a cloak of lead, dropping him to his knees; the understanding, the true deepness of what this meant.

She was really gone. Forever. 

The ‘always’ was gone. The ‘next time’ and promises. That warm, constant presence on the rim of the Cloud Recesses, the visit that marked his days as cyclically and surely as the sun had simply...vanished. In just one moment, the world was made completely lightless. Incomprehensible. It had a hole ripped in its center, cold and inescapable.

She would never brush back his hair and kiss his forehead. She would never pout when she lost a game. She would never squinch up her nose and do an accidental snort-laugh.

If he had only known that it could happen so fast…if he had only known that people could leave so quickly and completely, he would have taken something. A set of her dark, weighty chopsticks, one of her bracelets, a letter; anything. But there was nothing.

Somehow, he had found himself in front of the Hanshi, his feet numb, his face and hands frozen. Thinking back on it, he couldn’t remember what his 6 year old self had planned. He wasn’t sure that there had been a plan. Maybe he had just wanted a parent. Maybe he had been seeking out the one adult that might have cared as much as he did that his mother was gone. Uncle didn’t understand--A-Huan and A-Zhan had always known that he didn’t like her. He was always polite, because that was important, it was in the rules--but he was always stiff and short. He frowned the whole time--every time--picking them up. He hated talking about her.

But the father he had hardly met, that distant, hidden figure--he had married her. He had loved her.

He would care.

The Hanshi, too, had been dark--and he panicked. Had his father left--or died like his mother and no one had told him? He had yanked the door handle--and to his shock, it slid open. He had been expecting a lock like the one that he saw being done up behind them when he and A-Zhan left the Jingshi. (A choice, not a prison, he had realized as he got older. Not in the same way, at least. Other things kept Qingheng-jun bound.) 

It was dark inside, curtains drawn, vague shapes of things illuminated by the light creeping in behind him. He stood in that doorway, frozen in body and mind, unable to trespass that much farther. It smelled unfamiliar and sharp. He had never been in his father’s home before. 

It was so dark.

He had called into that darkness, choked and quiet; “Fuqin?“ 

Silence. 

“...Diedie?”

(“They made choices. These are consequences,” is all Uncle had told him when, younger, he had asked why both of his parents were locked away from him and refused to say more.

Afterward, A-Huan had always been afraid that he might accidentally make those same choices, that he would be kept from his brother and his Uncle and nannies for it. Because no one would tell him what those choices were, he studied the rules obsessively so he could be sure to follow every single one. So he would never be locked up.)

There was a rustle, a clink. A shape had formed in the shadows, someone sitting up from being slumped on a table. A pale hand swayed into the pool of silver moonlight, pointing. The voice that followed had been rough, slurred like a mouthful of rocks. “You are not supposed to be here. Go.”

A-Huan had fled as fast as his numbed legs could go. Stumbling, breaking through the crust of snow, falling and rising and falling, back up through his window to collapse on the floor. His breath had burned in his lungs as he coughed and sobbed as quietly as he could, hot tears stinging his frozen cheeks.

Not quietly enough, though. A-Zhan had eventually crept into his room and curled up next to him on the floor without a word, arm wrapped around his middle.  When A-Huan had rolled over and held him more tightly than he had ever held anything before, he realized that A-Zhan was the only part of his mother he had left in the entire world.

And now, what did A-Fu have left of his parents, of a life he knew? 

A story, at the very least. A reason. A goodbye. The truth. It was all he could offer. It was all he had left for the boy. These other spirits and their wishes can only be passed along to others, if they were attainable at all. But this, this he can do; this, he can set right. To make absolutely sure that her will is found and executed, that the family who cares for her son is told the story of her last farewell, so he will know, too, in time. 

So a son will never have to wonder.

This much peace, he can provide. With those who can bear this place no more and an endless caravan of cloth draped bodies, he returns to Gusu, leaving behind Qishan’s bleeding sky.

-

The quiet of home stuns him. There are no screams, no groans echoing down the mountain. The trees don’t muffle sounds of sword or talisman sizzle, merely birdsong and wind. There is beauty here, something he hadn't known his soul craved like water in a drought until he saw it in rich blues, blooming whites, lush greens. The coolness, the clarity of the water and the touch of leaves. Nothing here is red-brown. All that bleeds is hidden away behind pale bandages and pale walls.

It's almost too much. 

(His hands feel filthy, no matter how many times he scrubs them. Discontent among such blessings is an insult to those that can no longer come home to them. He will kowtow in the shrine for this disrespect later.)

Time has meaning once more. In theory. There are places to eat, to rest. 

(It hardly makes sense to him anymore, despite the schedule being as familiar as the stone beneath his feet.)

Home, in the Hanshi, surrounded by familiarity and comfort, sitting at his desk as the incense burner next to him delicately permeates the air with sandalwood and the trees outside rustle and no one screams at all, he holds Pan Liu’s will in his hands. It is a brief, frail little thing in the face of such sorrow. It must have been hastily written after her husband’s death, as she willed A-Fu and her remaining possessions to the care of her younger sister. Who upon brief investigation of his ever growing list of the dead was found to have been killed in the battle against Wei Wuxian as well. The sister, yet unmarried, had no will of her own--probably too young to have begun to even consider death as a real possibility before life and Wen and war swept their way in. Their house had been one destroyed in the Wen’s sacking of the Cloud Recesses, their personal possessions few. No one else remained of their immediate family.

Pan Liu clearly had not expected to die before she could update it.

In his heart, somewhere, he had known that something like this was the case; that A-Fu was truly alone. Xichen had carried him for days and no one had come looking? No one had wondered where he was, wanted him home safe, with them? 

He had not wanted to look directly at this, at the time, knowing he would have to give A-Fu back to that loneliness, that uncertainty. Even though A-Fu is not the only child in the Cultivation World or even the Cloud Recesses with the same fate, it had been…different. He couldn’t have said why--still can’t--but it had felt like a betrayal to the boy. A loss, savage and personal. Even when he knew any other choice came nowhere close to making sense.

Still. Even he and Wangji had had their uncle and the small, rotating cadre of minders that were familiar to them. He saw his mother once a month and knew his father was there, somewhere, out of sight. There had been a thread connecting them to their parents and the life they could have had with them. 

A-Fu has none of this. 

And yet he still cries, still calls out, because he trusts that someone he knows will come. Of everything in these last few days, this is what is almost too much to bear, a knife stuck in his ribs that gouges with every breath. He does not feel sadness or regret; only pain. Everything else has been out of reach for a while now.

The rattle of his door opening onto seeping sunshine and fresh, bloodless air has him looking up. His Uncle steps over the threshold. “You’re back,” he says warmly by way of greeting as Xichen rises.

“Shufu.” He bows, then offers him his customary seat, more out of habit than necessity; this teatime visit was a familiar ritual in a life not too long ago.

 They take their places at opposite ends of the low, square table at the center of his sitting room as Xichen opens his tea cupboard. “It’s been a while since we have been able to simply sit and have tea together,” Uncle observes, easily.

Yes; nothing has been right or normal for a long time. “Mn.”

When he continues to set out the cool porcelain cups and the dark pot with no further elaboration, Uncle watches him work, expression a thoughtful blur in his periphery.  “...The library is not where I expected your first stop to be.” 

He sounds only mildly curious, but Xichen knows that it is unspoken approval that he had not gone straight to Wangji.

He hesitates, then continues his methodical ritual of movement. “There was a time-sensitive matter that I wanted to attend to.”

In truth, after the bath he had taken upon his return--where he had had to call for 3 rounds of water (Do not be wasteful, Rule 23; broken) before it was no longer clouded dark with dried blood and mud and rot--Xichen had stood on the Hanshi’s front porch, staring down at the blindingly white path before him, forking off through the trees. 

His heart had tugged him one way and his cowardice in the face of pain another. The thought of seeing more bodies just lying there, of seeing those dear to him--Wangji, A-Yuan, those in the infirmary--suffering while he could do nothing to prevent it was….

It was not something he was capable of, at present. Just for now. Just for these first few hours. It was selfish, but true. And so, he had gone to their records room in the library to request Pan Liu’s will. Pain had won. His heart was weak, choosing the easier duty.

Unable to stop himself, though he knows it will cloud his uncle’s relaxed and pleasant demeanor, he asks; “Is Wangji…?” He trails off. 

Awake? Improving? Well? …Alive? A sharp internal rebuke at this last. Do not exaggerate. Rule 671. Uncle would not be so calm if things were dire. He is angry, not cruel. He would have been told.

(A heavy hand on his shoulder. An empty house. Churned snow.)

He would have been told.

Uncle’s face does, indeed, darken. “Hmph.” A mirthless, scornful snort. “He wakes on occasion. He refuses to speak, refuses to acknowledge anyone. He is simply lengthening his own punishment.” Uncle eyes him, adding, “You should be able to talk some sense into him. He always has listened to you best.” 

‘And so how could you have let this happen? How could you have let him do this?’ 

(When will you stop being angry and start being afraid for him?)

Xichen lowers his gaze to the dark wood of the table and scoops the tiny, furled up leaves of the tea into the pot, the smokey green scent tickling his nose

It’s true. Of everyone--their caregivers, teachers, and relatives, Wangji has always responded to him best. He would not always necessarily disobey outright, but he might frown or hesitate before complying or pretend not to hear--especially if he were called to come away from Xichen’s side. “Your class is this way, xiao-gongzi,” the minder would call and A-Zhan would continue his resolute little stride beside him, hand squeezing tighter around Xichen’s fingers the only indication he had heard anything at all. 

It was when Xichen squeezed back and knelt down to straighten his robes, smiling up into his serious face, saying, “It’s alright, ZhanZhan; I’ll ask if I can come out early to pick you up, mn? Go on, be good,” that he would allow himself to be led away with no further fuss.

 He had been the only one who could finally convince him that kneeling in the rocky ground every month when they should have been visiting their mother would not force anyone to bring her out to them. The first time, he had asked him to come in, come home. But knew his brother. He was not surprised when he silently refused to even show he had heard him. 

And so he hadn’t asked again, never having the stomach to fully destroy the hope that he would be let back into the Jingshi if he just waited long enough. 

But Uncle had become frustrated, their teachers and nannies muttering. They were impatient with his refusal, seeing it as disobedience. They didn’t see his mourning, only his stubbornness. So A-Huan had had to protect his brother's soft heart from those that didn’t understand. “We can kneel together, back at home,” he had whispered, his fingers screwed tight around A-Zhan’s cold hand. “I’ll wait with you as long as you want. But niang would--” his throat had caught and he had wrestled his tears from his voice. “Niang would hate if you got sick, sitting out here in the cold all day.”

A-Zhan’s dark eyes had bored into him, thinking. Reason and punishment and demands from adults had not moved his stubborn frame one inch, month after month after winter-to-spring month. 

Then, finally, this second and last time, A-Zhan had listened to him. Whatever it was about him was what finally got his little brother slowly, stiffly to his feet to hobble back home with him. Xichen remembered that he hadn’t felt relieved at all. He just felt like he had taken their mother from him all over again.

“I will speak with him, shufu.”

 Uncle nods, then heaves a sigh. “What news is there from Qishan?”

Mechanically, as if operating his own mouth from across the room, Xichen relays numbers, movements, and times. He almost reflexively scolds himself for lying; the mundane description of dry duty and the lived horror so far from one another that they were entirely irreconcilable. Just words passed across a shining table over fragrant tea, cool wind brushing the sun-pale windows serenely with tree shadows

When he reaches the final fate of Wei Wuxian’s executed Wen contingent, Uncle approves. “It was wise to swear the disciples to secrecy. This has all gotten so inhumane. Denying them burial was an unnecessary cruelty,” he says heavily as he shakes his head, eyes closed in weariness. “I pray that we are done with this madness at last, with that Wei Ying finally taken care of. What a mess.”

There is silence. Xichen cannot fathom what his response to that could possibly be. Should possibly be--as Wangji’s brother, as the Lan Clan Leader, as his uncle's nephew. As Wei Wuxian’s…what. Friend? 

…As one who cannot delight in his death, in any case. 

Despite the period of kneeling before the Jingshi, Wangji had never been a troublemaker growing up. He was always the Jade who grasped the Lan way of life more easily, molded himself to the rigidity of the rules with that same stubborn tenacity. 

It was Xichen who failed in that, who smudged the black and white lines to gray, bent them so they were slightly more comfortable around him; bearable--once he discovered that they could be. 

He was the one who accidentally got drunk trying to see if he could filter out alcohol with his core, he was the one to kiss Mingjue first in the Jin Gardens during a Cultivation Conference. The one to urge his brother to befriend a talented teenager who was gleefully and repeatedly stomping all over their Clan’s ancestral rules.

He was the one who had told Wangji to step outside his rigid view of the world, to see people for their hearts. And then Wangji's own heart had been torn out. As his uncle said; Wangji had always listened to him best. This much would never have happened without Xichen's deliberate meddling. 

All those years ago, when Wei Wuxian had first cannonballed into their lives, Xichen had just wanted Wangji to be happy. To have friends. Alone didn’t always mean lonely, but he knew he saw it in his brother. Saw Wangji with peers who were merely in awe of his talent, who respected but did not like him, love him, know him, want to spend time with him. He knew the difference, no matter what Wangji showed the rest of the world. The older he got, the less he smiled--the soft, secret ones that so many others failed to see. Xichen had missed them, dearly. And so he had pushed.

Everything that has happened sense feels as if it’s unshakably all his fault.

As the tea is poured, they speak; it passes over him like clouds. Which elder is still in which stage of recovery. The smith they called to repair swords and assess the spirits of those now without a handler. 

Something touches him.

 “Xichen!” 

His hand burns. He is on his feet. Shuoyue’s naked blade buzzes, ready in his hand. He does not remember moving. Every fiber of cloth on his skin feels alive and writhing. Blood courses. Scalding tea is cooling, dripping from his knuckles.

The touch had been spiritual, not physical. From the corner of his awareness and the Cloud Recesses boundary wards at once; a warning, tasting of wild metal (close to blood, so close). 

The Western Wards, crossed.

“Do not unsheathe your blade in a residence!” Uncle’s face crinkles from shock to a wince. “And contain yourself, this is not a battlefield.”

It takes a moment. His killing intent is up, streaming from his core like a river of blades, of blood. 

Sucking in a breath, he takes the torrent in internal hand and yanks it back, firmly, like the reins of a horse, winding the silk rope of it over again and again in the palm of his concentration, until the thrum of it eases. The pressure that had filled the room with the promise of death ebbs. Shuoyue hums warm, expectant. When he does finally sheathe her, the connection between them flickers, confused. 

Above his hammering heart, he hears Uncle continue, frowning, “I felt it, too. Was it someone passing outward or inward?”

His tongue, his mind is mud-stuck slow.

Focus. There is no battle here. You are home. Get a hold of yourself.

“...Outward. Less resistance. Nothing powerful.”

Oddly, at this Uncle’s frown deepens, shadows of concern replacing mere puzzlement. “Hmm. Those were in the West…far….” After a moment of thought, he rises.

As he steps out the door and calls for a servant from the Hanshi’s porch, Xichen continues to try to pull in slow, deep breaths.

Have you regressed to being such a novice that you cannot control your own qi? Your own battle intent? Are you a child? Though his uncle's voice is low and his attention is divided, the words ‘searchers’ makes it through the pounding blood in his ears. Strange.

When Uncle slides the door back open, Xichen asks, “Searchers?”

His silhouetted form hesitates, framed by the sunlight that pours in behind him and dazzles Xichen’s eyes, leaving his expression briefly in shadow. “...Yesterday evening, a child managed to wander into the woods alone.” A spike of cold worry threatens to heighten the wild surge of energy within him once more as his uncle continues, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “We have had several teams scouring the backhill and the whole of our land since then. They are young enough that their spiritual signature isn’t strong enough to register on normal tracking talismans.”

“Why was I not told?!” 

It burst from him, harsher from shock than he had meant and Uncle blinks, pausing in settling himself back onto his seat, brow furrowed.

But he cannot bring himself to care about disrespect, just now. Any child alone and lost is terrifying, awful. There is something, though…something about his tone, his expression that has breath caught in Xichen’s throat as slow, glacial horror creeps up from the depth of his gut. He is avoiding specifics. 

Why.

 “It is being handled already; why would I distract you from your duties? You’ve only just returned and you must--”

“Who. Which child.”

He huffs in irritation, brow furrowing further. And he shuts his mouth, lips compressing.

Xichen no longer needs an answer.

Behind him, he can hear Uncle’s voice raised in startled alarm, but he is already out the door, already leaping from the porch onto Shuoyue. The wind howls in his ears as shoots upward, speeding west to where he had felt the wards ring within him. To where A-Fu has just crossed beyond their safety.

He knows. He doesn’t know how, but he knows.

Xichen can barely breathe around the air battering his face and his own terror. The shrieking sky threatens to rip him from Shuoyue’s blade. Everything at once feels heightened, his awareness expanding to notice how chilly it is despite the sun, how the damp of the wind tearing at his hair and clothes tells of rain in the past day, how dark the woods look beneath the thick canopy blurring by below his feet. He had been alone and cold and terrified, out all night. Had the boy been trying to find his mother? Xichen? The thought made his gut writhe within him.

(They peel his little fingers from Xichen’s sleeve as he clutches and screams…)

Please please please please please

How could this happen? How could he have ever allowed this to happen? There were rivers, cliffs, steep slopes of scree, ponds, caves, animals--gods, animals alone would--

He is well enough to move, to cross the wards.

If it was him. If it were not a strong enough spiritual animal to trigger the alarm. 

There is no boy hanging among them THERE IS NO--

The invisible boundary rears up in his senses, mere seconds full tilt sword ride from the Hanshi but so, so far for a tiny child, wandering in the night. Beneath the canopy, before Shuoyue even manages to drop to a reasonable height and speed, he has already leapt off, landing at a sprint. Internally, the memory of the disruption in the web of the spell warps around his spiritual awareness like a broken arch as he crosses in that exact place. The ground is not suddenly more treacherous, the trees no more menacing, but beyond the relative safety of the Cloud Recesses, his hammering heart sees the whole world is a death trap for this little child.

(He cannot bear to see a tiny body, he can’t, he can’t--)

Skidding to a stop, he wheels in place, eyes scouring everything at knee level and below. “A-Fu!” his throat is pinched, his mouth bone dry. “A-Fu?!”

The ground cover is thick with bushes, shrubs, trees both young and fallen. The sun shines spots into his eyes through the swaying leaf cover above, dappling the floor with shadow and light, dancing, blurring. Silence. Even the birdsong had stopped when this strange being had suddenly crashed into their peaceful little clearing. He sucks in a breath to call again--and then he hears it.

There is a small child crying somewhere nearby. 

Quiet and hoarse but unmistakable.

He isn't slow, gentle, or cautious or anything that a terrified child might need right now; something else has a hold of him, now. He blindly crashes through the brush towards the sound, half skidding down a slope until--until! There! 

A blur of white amongst tree roots halfway down, a curled shape and-- “A-Fu!”--a little face, smudged and red cheeked and tear stained raises and his little eyes light with recognition and he scrabbles, fumbling and crawling out as Xichen tears back up the slope--slips, rights himself--and reaches and the boy throws himself off the lip of the hollow and into his arms, colliding hard with his chest like his heart coming home. 

He staggers, momentum and sudden weakness buckling his knees. A gnarled tree catches his side and he slides them down into the huddle of its roots, curled around him. Against his chest, wrapped in his arms, A-Fu is damp and chilly. He is covered in muck and sticks and burrs but he’s alive--alive--safe and hiccuping and piteously hoarse, tangling his hands through Xichen’s hair as he clutches him back, gasping.

He can breathe. He can finally breathe again.

Some unnameable agony, like some wild beast, is thrashing, welling up, bursting from his chest. It shakes him, tearing at his throat, his heart, his lungs, burning. It’s not relief. It's not fear. It’s…

Heedless of stitches cracking and bursting, he yanks his thicker outer robes open and over the child, tucking him deep into the pocket of warmth. He can feel him shivering, his tiny heart speeding.

He had forgotten that his head is so warm, that his hands are so tiny, just how real his weight is in his arms. When he buries his nose in the baby fluff of his hair, under the dirt and musty forest chill is that wild-sweet child smell he remembers from carrying him for days beneath his chin--and long ago from when Wangji was young. 

He tries to pull back to check him for injuries, for bruising, but he latches onto his neck and sobs. Mere minutes before, Xichen had never wanted to hear another scream again--but now he wishes A-Fu’s cries were as loud as the first day he held him, deafening and demanding, sure and strong in their conviction. These sobs are private, weak, exhausted little things. Not calling for attention. No longer certain of a trusted adult’s return.

“P’ease,” he croaks and that pain, that pressure bears down on Xichen and it feels like drowning; it feels like dying.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m here,” he whispers back, thick and choked (that thing inside him that aches, that wails, that loves is strangling him), and he draws up his knees, he wraps his robes tighter and rocks and rocks them both as it breaks--all of it, calving and crashing and surging and molten and ugly and broken--and he wants to beg ‘scream, little love, scream your heart out; someone is coming, someone will always come,’ but he doesn't have enough breath as it tears from his locked throat in silent sobs, because with unworthy hands and heart, he holds this blameless little life that has wandered through the halls of his heart leaving muddy fingerprints, and does the cruelest, most selfish thing he can ever recall doing. 

He realizes that he cannot let him go again. 

[shinestarhwaa]

NEW ROMANTICS || PARK SEONGHWA (PT.1)

Pt1 | Pt2 | Pt3

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Seonghwa x Named Fem Reader

Word Count: 3.5K

Tags/warnings: Strangers to lovers AU, Readers name is Julie, Trauma concerning parents/fights/abandonment/alcohol, anxiety, starting a new life

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @wh0re4yunsangho @vesvosmozhno

ENJOY!

''Stupid piece of shit,'' you cursed, kicking your matte black bicycle. It seemed like everything about the world was against you and now you got a flat tire for crying out loud. Luckily you were close enough to home to walk home as it was only a few more minutes away. When you got home you threw your bike on the floor and walked into the hallway, kicking off your sneakers. Lola would probably complain about you not cleaning up right away but right now your world was crumbling down.

Lola already noticed the way you felt when she saw the look on your face. ''Bad day?'' she asked, opening her arms. You let yourself fall down on the couch and curl up into her arms. ''The worst. The pictures didn't come out the way I wanted them to, the model was a cruel bitch and I got a flat tire, like... What is up with the world today?''

Your sister gently stroked your hair to calm you down. ''Why don't you go for a swim and we'll have pasta after?'' You nodded. A swim always worked for you and it was one of the reasons you and Lola moved to this town anyways. You quickly got into your bikini and walked out of the backdoor, entering the beach. You ran towards the sea and closed you eyes, breathing in and out deeply, taking in the salty air.

It felt like home to you. After all the shit everyone's put you through you always felt safe and at home when you got into the water of the sea. You remember the way your mom and dad used to yell and the way Lola hid herself under the dining table and you locked yourself in the bathroom, the only place in the house where the door had a lock, the only place no one would bother you.

Every summer you'd beg for your parents to let you go for a swim, or to go to the beach as a family trip. Those days were the only days that truly brought you happiness. Those days were the only days they'd shut up. It became your safe place then and it stayed that way.

To you, the beach and the sea were reliable. Your parents were the opposite. After years of fighting, screaming and punching holes into the walls your father left without saying goodbye. You heard he lived somewhere in a big city across the world and rumors went on about him having a new family. You never felt the need to find out the truth though, because he was the one cutting himself out of your lives 10 years ago.

You ran your hands through your hair and felt the cold water surround your body, easing the tension. You swam for a while, just enjoying the coolness and the way you floated in the water.

''Watch out Julie! The waves are getting bigger, you should get out of the water!'' a voice suddenly called out. It was Lola. You looked around and saw dark clouds above the water. Realizing the sea would become rougher you decided it was indeed better if you got out of there. You stepped back onto the land and took Lola's hand, who was waiting for you by the shore.

•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•

After eating the delicious pasta carbonara that Lola made you go get ready to go out. You felt a little bloated because you ate so much but how could you not? Your sister made all the effort to make you a nice meal. Lola was an amazing chef and you always told her to do something with it, but Lola's passions were elsewhere.

Lola was always caring, practically has been since birth. Even though you were the older sister she knew just how to take care of you and make you feel better. Sometimes you were sorry about not being the best sister, because you should be caring for her more often too. Because who is looking out for Lola? Therefore, you decide to go out on your own to make her happy.

It wasn't entirely voluntarily but you think Lola might kill you if you didn't go out now. You shimmied into a black dress and put on black sandals to match with it. ''Wow, aren't you a sunshine,'' your sister commented sarcastically. You rolled your eyes. ''Shut up, I need a new summer wardrobe.'' ''Still? It's June,'' she laughed, ''You look beautiful. It's good for you to go out. After what Jake and Lexie did to you... You deserve new friends, and maybe you'll even meet a guy~'' she teased. ''Lola, please,'' you grinned, ''find one for yourself.''

''Oh, I don't know, I like being free right now, I don't have plans to commit to anyone this summer. Maybe later though. We can go out together to hunt for men,'' she laughed. ''Deal.''

•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•

The way to the Seashell bar wasn't long, but it was long enough for you to get sand in all kinds of places. You sighed as you leaned against the outside wall of the bar, shaking the sand out of your shoes. You wriggled yourself back into them and made your way into the bar. The music was loud, but the bar looked welcoming. You saw many people dancing, laughing, singing, some even kissing. A small smile played on your lips as you watched a couple feed food to each other.

You got to the bar and sat down on one of the empty stools. You ordered a 'sex on the beach' cocktail and looked around a little. A guy with dark hair sat next to you. ''This seat free?'' he asked. His darkbrown eyes shone - or twinkled, in the coloured spotlights, a smile forming on his lips.

''Well, I believe you already sat down so technically it's not free. But you can sit there, yes,'' you answered. You mentally slapped yourself for such a lame response, worried he might pick it up as offensive, but instead he laughed. It was a beautiful laugh.

You coolly wanted to take a sip of your drink but you nearly spilled it all over his thigh. ''Fuck, shit, sorry,'' you cursed. You covered your mouth with your hand and sighed. ''It's okay,'' he smiled, ''you didn't spill it. What are you drinking anyways?'' ''Oh, uhm, sex on the beach.'' His eyes grew wider before breaking out in laughter again. ''You nearly spilled 'sex on the beach' all over my lap? I would've been down, I guess. I don't know about all the sand though, it causes chafing and irritation.'' You laughed and blushed a little. ''Right, I'm sorry,'' you apologized again.

''Hey, it's fine, calm down. My name's Seonghwa. I haven't seen you here before, are you new?'' You nodded. ''Yeah, I'm fairly new to town, just moved here with my sister. I'm Julie,'' you introduced yourself, shaking his hand. ''Nice to meet you Julie. Where are you from originally?'' ''Oh, I'm from the other side of the country, small village, you would not know it. I moved here like a month ago so I'm still exploring it all here.''

Seonghwa nodded and smiled. ''Well I'd love to show you around and show you all the good places to go out, or the good restaurants? I don't know what you're into. Except for sex on the beach.'' He laughed again. He seemed like a really happy, sweet and content guy. 'What must that be like?' You thought to yourself.

''I do like the cocktail yes, it's far less disappointing than the actual thing. But uhm, I am a photographer so I need to find places that are good for shooting pics... I do nature and portraits mostly but I would also like to dabble in stuff for fashion... And I love spending time at the beach and in the water,'' you told him. You took a few sips from the cocktail, the fruity sweetness feeling like a reward after a sucky day like this. ''Well, I'm your man,'' he grinned, ''I grew up here! You should come with me for a tour through this town.''

You had a weird feeling about Seonghwa. Nothing bad, but there was a tingle you couldn't recognize. You smiled and nodded, agreeing with his offer. Lola told you to get out of your comfort zone, be it with friends, lovers or even complimenting a stranger. Why not go around the city with a guy you just met. What could possibly go wrong?

•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•

The answer is: absolutely nothing. You found Seonghwa to be a delight to be around. He told you everything about the city and showed you beautiful places to take pictures and you snapped some shots with your camera so you'd remember what it looked like. It could come in handy for later.

You had spend the entire day with him and when you laid in bed at night you couldn't get it out of your head, although you weren't sure why. Suddenly your phone beeped and you checked your message.

Seonghwa: Hey, I had a great time today :) Hope to see you again soon!!

You smiled widely, feeling happy and grateful that he enjoyed it too. Tears welled up in your eyes and you held your phone close to your chest as you took a deep breath. Someone liked you and wanted to hang out with you. You made a new friend. It was hard to see the positive things sometimes but Lola taught you to look at your goals and progress. You met someone new, you made a friend, and that is a good thing.

The next morning you were back in the park that Seonghwa took you to yesterday. You put on a flowery dress to fit into the scene because you were planning to shoot a few self-portraits too, because no matter how much you hated them you really were in need of recent pictures of yourself for your website, socials and artistic portfolio.

You were busy cleaning your lens when you suddenly felt something soft hit your ankle. ''Huh?'' You looked down and saw the fluffiest dog you had seen in your life, picking up the orange ball that had rolled your way. ''Peaches, baby, come here, let's not bother strangers. Peaaaches, listen to mama!'' The dog, assumably called Peaches barked and ran back to the woman running your way.

She seemed to be around your age and her dark curls bounced up and down as she ran downhill. ''Good boy,'' she chanted as Peaches gave her the ball he carried in his mouth. ''Sorry about him, he gets a little excited sometimes,'' the lady excused herself. ''Oh that's okay! I was only cleaning my lens, I wasn't taking a picture,'' you said with a smile.

''Ooh, that's a cool camera, you're a photographer?'' ''I am, have been for two years,'' you nodded. You hesitated a little but decided to ask anyways. ''I'm Juliette Taylor but most people call me Julie, could I maybe take a few pics of you and your dog? You two look so cute together!'' The woman seemed pleasantly surprised. ''Oh my gosh, thank you! I made an effort for my outfit today,'' she grinned, ''I'm going on a coffeedate with friends later. But yeah, sure! You can take pictures of us! I'm Mona by the way.''

Mona shook your hand and discussed the type of vibe you wanted to create in your pictures. You smiled as you watched her play with Peaches. The pictures turned out really well and you promised to send them to Mona when you edited them. She was about to take off again but she suddenly stopped in her tracks.

''Julie?''

You looked up and nodded, ''Yes?'' ''Would you like to come with me? You just told me you're new and all that and maybe it would be nice to meet some people from around here... It's just gonna be me and two other friends and I'm sure they'd love to meet you. Wanna tag along?'' ''N-Now..?'' You felt anxiety rise up but you remembered Lola's words. You had to get out of your comfort zone sometimes, you had to go out to start over.

''Yeah... Yeah I'd like that,'' you said. You packed your stuff back into your bag and walked with Mona. ''What's your story, Julie?'' Mona asked. You sighed and grinned a bit. ''It's a long story and a dramatic one. So the short version is I just moved here with my younger sister to start a new life.'' Mona nodded and smiled. ''Well a new life means a lot of new opportunities, right? Sounds like fun, starting over.'' You just smiled, knowing she meant well but there was nothing fun about starting over for you. But it was necessary.

Soon enough you reached the coffeeshop where Mona's friends were seated. The blonde girl waved you over, ''Mona, we're seated over here!'' ''Hi girls, I hope you don't mind but I just met a new friend! This is Julie, she is new in town so I figured I'd bring her! Julie, this is Mimi and that is Priya!''

You greeted the two other girls and sat next to Mona, across from Priya. ''Nice to meet you,'' she said kindly. Her style was classy but cool and she seemed like a real business lady. Her big brown eyes looked kind, wise and reassuring and you immediately felt comfortable at the table. Mimi, the blonde, was excited and bubbly, almost immediately asking all about your life.

Without any problem they adopted you into their little friendgroup - of course including Peaches too. You learned that the three of them grew up in the area and they went to school together. You loved how their different cultures brought them closer, they seemed to be so involved with and curious about one another and they listened carefully to your every word.

'''So, Julie, do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend?'' Mimi asked, looking at you intently as she giggled and wiggled her eyebrows. You smiled softly and shook your head. ''I don't have a relationship but...'' ''Ooh, there's a but!'' Priya pointed out. ''Buuut... I did meet someone this week, this guy, his name is Seonghwa and we met in a bar and we hung out a whole day... We're not dating but I cannot say I... would not date him...?''

''Ooh, is he cute? Hot? Handsome? Tall?'' Mona asked. ''Oh he is all those things. But I doubt he'd like me romantically. Although...'' ''Ooh, there is an although!'' Priya pointed out yet again, making the other girls laugh. ''Althouuughhh... He did make a few sexy jokes because I was drinking a sex on the beach and I nearly dropped it all over his pants.'' ''Well, considering he is a guy and you're pretty hot, I am sure he's down for it, why not go for it?'' Mona asked. ''Nooo,'' you said, shaking your head. ''Oh come on, Julie~ You should totally try it, why not go for it?''

•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•

''Hi Julie, this is Seonghwa!'' ''Oh, hi there, how have you been?'' Wow, could you be any less enthusiastic? ''I've been good! So uhm, I was wondering if you're free tomorrow.'' ''Tomorrow? Yeah, I'm free, why?'' You could feel your heart beating loudly in your throat. ''Because I'd like to spend time with you, ofcourse. Any way, see you at three in the park?'' ''Yes, see you at thre-'' Beep. Beep. Beep.

Seonghwa must have been in a rush because he hung up the phone quickly. He also had sounded shaky and nervous, you noticed now. You wondered why, but tried to shake off the thought. You decided not to tell Lola about this one because she might get too excited over it and you didn't know if this was a romantic thing or not.

You did send a message to your new friend. They already put you in their little groupchat yesterday and they were talking all the time. You were happy to have found them because they were so great, supportive and fun to talk with. They immediately texted back about how excited they were for you.

The next day you had spent the entire day picking the perfect outfit, eventually deciding on a white summer dress and cute sneakers to go with it. When you arrived at the park you could already see him from afar sitting on a plaid, dressed in a blue button up shirt and white jeans. His smile was bright and his eyes twinkled again, this time in the sunlight. You waved and walked up to him.

''Hi, Seonghwa,'' you smiled as you sat beside him. '''Hey there, beautiful.'' He made you blush already, not even a minute in. Maybe this was a date after all? ''I don't know if you're on a diet or have allergies so I made a bunch of stuff so you'd have something to eat and drink,'' he said, showing off all the food and drinks he brought along, including vegetarian, vegan and even glutenfree snacks. You felt a stinging pain in your chest when you watched him talk about the food. You didn't know people could be so thoughtful and kind, you barely knew him and he was already going all out for you. You didn't deserve that, you thought.

The entire afternoon you ate, drank and talked, about your job, your sister and you also learned he's a primary school teacher at the school close to your house. He spoke passionately about his work and his friends. You sighed a little, feeling so small suddenly. It wasn't that he was doing or saying anything wrong. He was being amazing. But he reminded you that he's everything you're not.

He is bubbly while you get sad often. He is full of passion while you lost yours. His face contains beauty you never knew before. He was everything you wanted to be. It made you choke up a little, so you chose to only smile and nodd until you felt the heartache die down again.

''You're distracted,'' he notices. ''Right sorry,'' you nodded and apologized. ''It's okay, focus on me,'' he says, gently taking your hand. You looked him deep in his eyes and felt something spark inside your body. Seonghwa pulled you closer and pressed his lips against yours. Your body tensed up. Everything was moving so fast, so fast because you weren't sure why he was kissing you. Why was he kissing you? You met a few days ago and now he's kissing you? So many worries and thoughts flooded your brain but when Seonghwa deepened the kiss and held you close to his chest every single thought seemed to disappear.

You went blank and could only focus of the sensation of Seonghwa's lips and the tingling feeling inside your abdomen. When he ended the kiss he smiled widely and he held you as he kept talking to you for the rest of the afternoon. It was definitely a date.

•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•⑅♡⑅•

''Lola, Lola please listen to me, he kissed me. He kissed me! He barely knows me. He doesn't know I am fucked up yet! I'm a mess and I'm a sad little bitch and he doesn't know it yet. Shouldn't he deserve to know that? What the hell do I do now?''

You were panicking, yelling into the speaker of your phone while your sister tried to shush you and calm you down. ''Okay, he kissed you and it felt good, tell me again why that is a big problem?'' ''Because good things are never good Lola! Everyone hurt me, everyone left me behind. I was so, so sure I was having a good relationship last year too but then he cheated on me with my best friend so what do I fucking know? And dad left, and mom's in rehab and you are like the only person I have left to keep me sane but I am damaged, Lola, I'm a mess!''

''Jeez, Julie. Calm your tits. If only you went to get help for your mental health like I told you to you wouldn't freak out so much. Just because you were hurt earlier doesn't mean Seonghwa will hurt you. And the kiss was good, right? You felt good? You felt sparkles? Well, give it a try then!''

''But... But what if I mess it up again?'' ''Darling, you were never the one messing stuff up. Everything happened to you. But do not let it hold you back any longer. Seize this opportunity, Julie, seize it. Go for it. Go out there. Make mistakes, because that's part of life but don't let the good moments in life scare you anymore. Dare to love. Dare to fall in love. It will be good to you, I promise. Maybe he is not the one, sure, but give it a shot. Give him a chance to be your romeo. Because Juliette does not need him, but she has a hell of a lot more fun with him.''

[kerwynlar]

The Sensation of Your Hands on Me

A Belly Kink fic by Kerwynlar

When the prince consort finds out that the king, his arranged marriage husband, is suffering from indigestion, he just wants to help him feel better.

Modern royalty arranged marriage romance with belly kink/sick kink.

Tags: Original male character/Original male character, Sickfic, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Indigestion, Burping, Embarrassment About Burping and Getting Over That, Fluff, Romance

2,550 words

Read it below or on AO3.

~*~

Prince Consort Nathaniel stayed by his husband’s side as King Lawrence worked the room following the banquet. Mostly this involved a steady stream of people approaching where Nate and Lawrence were standing next to a high top table, bowing to the king, and attempting to make conversation that they imagined would curry favor with him. Lawrence was pleasant and gracious to everyone, but as the evening wore on, Nate thought his expression seemed more and more pinched, and Nate watched him press his hand to his belly a few times. Lawrence’s three-piece suit was immaculately tailored but it seemed to Nate that it was fitting a little tightly across his middle.

They had been married for four months, but had known each other for years. As the second son of the royal family of a neighboring kingdom, Nate had been dispatched by his sister on diplomatic missions to Lawrence’s court many times. The two got along well and Nate had been hesitantly considering Lawrence a friend for a while. When his sister told him that she and King Lawrence were negotiating a new treaty and part of it would entail Nate’s marriage to Lawrence, Nate had been thrilled. Because aside from Lawrence’s position, Nate had always found him very attractive, and a true pleasure to talk to. Their wedding night had been wonderful, and within a month Nate had admitted to himself that he had a massive crush on his husband. It wasn’t clear if Lawrence felt the same way, but they continued being friendly, bordering on affectionate with each other, and very happily “doing their marital duty.” 

Four months of accompanying Lawrence to this kind of formal event had given Nate a pretty good idea of what was normal for the king and what was not. Nate was certain something was wrong but there was no opportunity to ask. 

Finally, Lawrence signaled to his security chief that he was ready to go, and caught the attention of their host to say his goodbyes. The armored limousine was waiting at the front door when they walked out, and Nate kept his hand on Lawrence’s back as the king got in, then went around the other side and got in himself. 

The privacy screen that separated them from the chauffeur and bodyguard in the front seat was raised. Nate loosened his tie and looked over at Lawrence, whose head was resting back against the seat with his eyes closed. In the light coming in the car window, he looked very pale. 

“Lawrence? Are you alright?” Nate asked gently. 

“Yes, of course,” the king replied suspiciously quickly. 

“It’s just… you’ve seemed uncomfortable since the dinner ended and you look a little bloated.” Nate nodded at the buttons of Lawrence’s waistcoat, which, now that his jacket was unbuttoned, were clearly straining against his belly. 

Lawrence opened his eyes, looking horrified. He sat up quickly and covered his belly with his hand. 

“I don’t think anyone else would have noticed!” Nate said quickly, raising his hands. “I only saw the bloating once we were in the car and I was the only one who saw you in between talking to people at the event. I’m sure nothing seemed off to anyone else.” 

Lawrence sighed and relaxed a little. “You really don’t think anyone else noticed?” 

“Yeah, you were holding it together really well. But you don’t have to do that with me. We’re married now, remember? I’m on your side no matter what and I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

Lawrence gave him a wan smile. “I appreciate that, Nathaniel.”

“So, are you feeling sick?” 

Lawrence grimaced. “It’s just indigestion. It… is not an infrequent occurrence.” 

“What do you do when it happens? I think we have about a two hour drive back to the palace. There’s not much around but I’m sure Security can figure something out if you need to stop.” 

Lawrence sighed. “I just want to get home and go to bed.” 

Nate nodded. “Anything we can do to make the drive more comfortable? I’m happy to have you put your head in my lap if you want to lay down.” 

Lawrence shook his head and opened his mouth to respond, then quickly closed it again and swallowed thickly. 

Nate reached out to touch his arm. “Nausea?” he guessed. 

Lawrence shook his head again as he breathed out slowly. “I - my stomach just… hurts. I’m not nauseated.” 

Nate grimaced sympathetically. “How about unbuttoning your waistcoat? It looks uncomfortable.” 

Lawrence looked a little scandalized. 

“You do know I see you naked?” Nate chuckled. “And maybe by the time we get home you’ll be less bloated and can do it back up before you get out of the car.” 

Lawrence looked away from him. “Nathaniel, you - you have a very positive view of me… and I am reluctant to damage that view.” 

Nate reached over and took Lawrence’s hand, then brought it to his lips to kiss. “I promise you that I don’t think less of you because you have indigestion, Lawrence.”  

Lawrence sighed and resignedly loosed the buttons of the waistcoat. The sides of the garment parted and he gave a little “mmf” that sounded relieved, before making the odd swallowing motion again. 

Lawrence ran his hand over his exposed shirt front, which was also tighter than it should have been, but not straining the way the waistcoat had been. But with the waistcoat out of the way it quickly became apparent that the trousers were the real culprit: the waistband cutting a harsh line through his bloated middle. Lawrence’s hand strayed to the button of his trousers but took no further action, though he did swallow again. 

“Go on,” Nate encouraged him. “There’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about, love. Might as well be comfortable. It’s just me.” He hadn’t really noticed the endearment until Lawrence gave him a sideways glance, but neither of them commented and Lawrence undid his trousers. His belly pushed forward, forcing the zipper down a little, and Lawrence groaned. 

Nate grimaced. “Your poor belly. You must be feeling awful.” 

“I’m… somewhat used to it,” Lawrence said quietly. “But it’s not pleasant. I’m sorry to have made such a spectacle of myself. Thank you for being so kind about it.” 

“Lawrence. I’m your husband and we’re alone. I can’t think of anything that is less accurately described as a spectacle. Now how else can we make you more comfortable? I could rub your belly for you? Might feel nice.”

Lawrence shook his head quickly. “Baring myself is one thing, but I don’t want to disgust you.”

Nate frowned. “Because you’re bloated? Nothing disgusting about that. I’d like to help you feel better if I can.”

“No, because I might…” Lawrence gestured vaguely. “Not be able to… hold it in.” 

Nate was confused for a moment before the swallowing made sense and realization dawned. “Are you keeping yourself from burping?!” 

Lawrence looked away from him. 

“Lawrence! No wonder you’re so bloated! Let that out!” 

“It’s unseemly and unpleasant,” came the muttered reply.  

Nate sighed and reached over to touch Lawrence’s cheek, then applied a gentle pressure to get him to turn to face Nate. 

“Forget ‘unseemly’, I’m begging you. Our marriage may have been arranged, but I really care about you, Lawrence. I have the utmost respect for you and that’s not going to change one iota because you get indigestion and you burp when you do! I mean, I know you’re the king, but you’ve got a human body and human bodies burp sometimes.” 

Lawrence sighed, looking down again. “You’re very kind, Nathaniel.” 

Nate moved one of his hands to Lawrence’s swollen belly. It felt firm and hot even through the shirt. “Please, let me try to help you feel better.” 

Lawrence hesitated, then nodded. 

Nate slid closer on the limousine seat and spread his palm over Lawrence’s belly, clearly feeling the unhappy grumbling within. “Let me know if anything I’m doing doesn’t feel good, okay? And no more holding back if you need to burp.” 

Lawrence nodded again and Nate moved his hand to the top of the swell, just below Lawrence’s ribs, where the gurgling was strongest. He started moving his hand in slow circles, pressing gently. After only a minute, Nate felt the gurgling intensify. Lawrence gave him a miserable glance, then turned his face away and covered his mouth, letting out a quiet burp and muttering “excuse me”. 

“That’s a good start,” Nate said, “but I know you can do better.” 

Lawrence rolled his eyes but a minute later he turned away again and gave a much deeper and louder belch. “Excuse me.” 

“There you go.” Nate smiled. “How did that feel?” 

“Embarrassing and unpleasant.” Lawrence frowned, then relented. “But necessary. I suspect it helped a bit.” 

“Good,” Nate said firmly. “Could I unbutton your shirt so I stop getting hung up on the buttons?” 

“Certainly not my favorite context for you to undress me,” Lawrence said, “but yes.” 

Nate quickly undid the buttons of Lawrence’s shirt and spread it open, revealing the soft white undershirt beneath. He began rubbing circles over Lawrence’s stomach again, this time with both hands. 

Lawrence gave a soft groan and relaxed back into his seat. “Oh, that feels very nice, Nathaniel.” 

“I’m glad.” Nate smiled. 

“Would you rub a little lower as well, please?” Lawrence asked quietly. “Maybe my sides.” 

“Of course, love.” Nate started moving his hands in sweeping arcs down the sides of Lawrence’s belly and back up the middle. 

Lawrence closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh. “Wonderful. Thank you so much.”

Nate didn’t bother to prevent his pleased grin. “You’re welcome, I’m glad it feels good.” 

Though Lawrence covered his mouth when he belched again a minute later, he barely turned his head.  

“You said this happens a lot?” Nate asked. He was certain Lawrence wasn’t asleep, but thought he might be relaxed enough to share a little. 

“I’ve always had a sensitive stomach,” came the murmured reply. “There are some things I simply can’t eat and my staff provides that list to anyone serving me food outside the palace, but frequently some ingredient is overlooked, or something that I wasn’t previously aware of as a problem will set me off.” 

Nate couldn’t help it: he leaned forward to place a kiss on Lawrence’s belly. It was still bloated but seemed a little less tight and gurgly than it had been. When he sat up, Lawrence was watching him. 

“Kiss it better?” Nate offered with a lopsided grin. 

Lawrence gave a soft chuckle. “You’re wonderful.” 

Smiling ear to ear, Nate went back to rubbing his belly. 

Nate roused Lawrence out of his doze as they neared the palace. 

“You are the king,” Nate said as he watched Lawrence re-button his shirt. “If you didn’t want to do up your trousers no one would say a word.” 

Lawrence sighed. “Just because no one can speak against me does not mean I should give them something to resist speaking about.”

Nate smiled and gave his arm a squeeze. It was a classic Lawrence thing to say. 

 “Anyway,” Lawrence said as he started pulling the sides of his trousers together, “you’ve really helped immensely.” He got them buttoned with a grunt of effort, and while they were clearly too tight, it did appear to be better than before. 

When the car stopped, Nate leapt out and hurried around so that he could offer Lawrence his hand. The king accepted the assistance with a warm smile, and threaded his arm through Nate’s as they walked into the palace. Lawrence held onto Nate firmly and leaned against him in a way that made Nate’s own stomach flutter. 

Nate cleared his throat when they turned into the corridor that led to their rooms. “Shall I - ah - come with you? Help you get settled?” 

They had adjoining bedrooms. Usually Nate slept in his own room and Lawrence slept in his, except when they had had sex late at night in Lawrence’s room and neither of them was awake enough after for Nate to leave. 

“I’d like that very much if you don’t mind,” Lawrence said. 

“Not at all,” Nate said with a smile, steering them to Lawrence’s door. 

Inside, Nate helped Lawrence out of his suit and into soft silk pajamas. The king tied the drawstring of the bottoms under his still-bloated belly, and smoothed the shirt over the curve. He looked up at Nate. “Nathaniel…” Lawrence looked away quickly. “Would you… would you consider staying with me tonight?” 

Nate’s eyebrows shot up, but Lawrence continued. 

“Just - um - just to sleep. I… I find I’m reluctant to part with the sensation of your hands on me.” 

Smiling, Nate leaned in to kiss Lawrence’s forehead. “Good, because I’m reluctant to stop touching you. Let me just change. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” 

Eight and a half minutes later, Nate re-entered Lawrence’s room just as the king was emerging from the en suite, one hand pressed to his belly. 

Nate’s happiness was immediately tinged with concern. “How are you feeling?” 

Lawrence shrugged. “Better than I was, but still a bit sore and bloated.” 

Nate nodded and pulled back the covers on the bed for Lawrence to get in. After some maneuvering, they settled on their sides, Nate’s front pressed to Lawrence’s back. Nate slipped his hand under Lawrence’s shirt to rest on his belly. He spread his fingers wide, trying to cover as much area as possible in hopes that the warmth and pressure of his hand would continue to help. 

Lawrence gave a relaxed sigh, and Nate kissed his shoulder blade. The room was perfectly quiet until Lawrence spoke again.

“The treaty is a ruse, you know,” he said. 

Nate frowned, not following at all. “What?” 

“I initiated negotiations with your sister because I wanted to marry you.” 

Nate’s frown deepened. “That’s not right,” he said. “Amelia sent you the first letter asking if you would be open to a new treaty.” 

Lawrence nodded. “Prior to that letter, two diplomats mentioned to Queen Amelia that I seemed open to discussions on tariffs. They did so at my request. I wanted to encourage her, but make it seem like it was her idea.” 

“But… you did lower tariffs. And you gave her some airplanes.” Nate tried to process his husband’s words. 

“Yes, and I got lower - urrf, excuse me - lower grain prices and a number of other benefits for my kingdom. But the outcome that I, personally, wanted, above everything else, was your hand in marriage.” 

“I… but why?” 

“You are a very smart man, Nathaniel,” Lawrence said quietly. “You don’t need me to answer that.”

Nate felt a shudder run through his body. “Why are you telling me now?” he heard himself ask. 

Lawrence rolled over, bringing their faces inches apart. “Because in all my thinking about marrying you, I never expected… this. I never expected that you would be this kind, and this caring, and this insistent on helping me.” 

Warmth had been building in Nate’s chest and now it burst forth. He closed the inches to kiss Lawrence’s lips and they melted together.  

“Well, your majesty,” Nate said, when they finally broke apart to breathe, “I can confidently promise you a lifetime more of this.” 

[starryeyedadmirer]

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Tio?” You ask him, trying not to laugh too loudly as you watch him release his bloated stomach out to its full size, on the other end of the FaceTime call. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing nothing, man.” He answers. “I’m just pregnant, you know… like, three months in now… and it’s yours.” Suppressing a grin, he lets out a big, labored breath and starts to dance — bobbing up and down on his heels to the rhythm of his music, and bouncing his hand against the bottom of his stomach… like it’s some kind of sports ball. He looks so goofy, you just can’t help but to blow your laughter out through your nostrils.

“Yeah, yeah… whatever. Why can’t you just be normal on the phone, baby? I’m with my folks right now. Don’t make my parents think we got a kid on the way again. They’ll be on my case for the whole week.” Looking around the kitchen for any prying eyes, you lower your phone underneath the dinner table. “Act like you got some sense, Tio. Please.”

“I am being normal, man. I told you I was pregnant last week, before you left Cali, remember?“ As if he needs to double down on his false claim, he bloats his stomach out even farther, and pretends as though it’s hurting him. “We was at that Jamaican place by Fuego’s house, getting food, and I told you I was feeling it kick. Your kid was going crazy that day.”

“You ain’t say nothing to me about no baby, Tio… so, no, I don’t remember. Quit playing with me.” Again, you look around the room, hoping that none of your family members can hear your conversation.

“Okay, okay... I’m being so serious now. Real talk, I just ate a bunch today… and my gut’s kicking my ass right now. Some of the guys came over this morning, so we ordered a couple pizzas and grubbed. I think I did too much, honestly. I gotta go to the bathroom real bad. I been fighting it for, like, an hour.” His stomach still grossly distended — weighing heavy on his spine — he rests his hands on either side of the round mass, and eeks out a tiny fart. “Ugh,” he grunts, “that felt good.”

“Ew, baby! Go handle that… seriously. You know how you get when you eat greasy food. Nasty ass. I’ll call you back later.”

“Wow! You just gonna hang up on me like that? You not gonna come home and rub my belly? That’s actually fucked, man. You wrong for that.”

“Shit… I don’t care.” You reply, watching in disgust as his face twists into an excruciating grimace. “I’m not flying back home ‘til this weekend, Tio… and I’m damn sure not gonna stay on the phone while you use the toilet. You go do your thing, alright… and spray in there when your done. Seriously, I’ll call you back tonight… or probably tomorrow morning. My dad’s getting out some table games, so I’m probably gonna be up late.”

“Alright, man… whatever. Tell your people I said hi… and tell your pops he raised a bitch. I’ll hit you up tomorrow.”

“Mhm… okay.”

Another raunchy fart erupting from his ass like a drumroll, he grabs his phone and puts the call on pause. “Wait. Don’t hang up yet.” He tells you. “Say goodbye to your son first. I’m boutta go give birth… and you ain’t gonna get a chance to see him.” You hear the fabric of his shirt rustling against his screen for a brief moment… and then — without warning — the sound of his gurgling gut blares out from your phone speakers.

“What the hell is all that noise?” Your dad blurts, approaching the kitchen table with a stack of games in his hands. He looks startled… just as shocked as you are. Tio’s bloated belly is so loud — with the ‘baby’ working it’s way through his colon — you wouldn’t be surprised if the entire house heard it churning… even with your volume turned down.

“Fuck! Bye, baby.” You whisper, holding your phone to your lips. “Go handle your shit.” Without saying another word, you press the ‘end call’ button on your screen — abruptly concluding the FaceTime — and slip your phone back into your pocket. “Don’t worry about it, Dad. My phone is just acting up. Mom! Sissy! What game we playing first? I’m about to kick your asses!”

[homelesstravelerssp]

fem Izuku, for the sake of maintaining muscle shape, one for all, and a heroic lifestyle in general, she eats a lot, really a lot.

And when she and Aizawa decided to have a child, and even after the positive test, she didn’t understand whether she was pregnant or bloated from eating.

Aizawa assured her that it was a child, gently kissed her belly and stroked her, and sometimes she joked when she went to the toilet to do her business saying: “say goodbye to the baby”

[eemamminy-art]

I tried out busuu today, I did the whole first chapter of polish.

I don't know if it changes depending on what you select, but it asked me the purpose of learning the language and I selected "friends & family", and the first chapter I got was on introductions using informal terms! How to say hello and goodbye the way you'd say it to your friends/family, (cześć and na razie, as opposed to the more polite terms of dzień dobry and do widzenia), and also how to introduce yourself and ask someone else's name (Mam na imię ___, a ty? / Jak masz na imię? -- again, the informal forms), and to say nice to meet you.

Which is stuff I already knew, but! It's really refreshing considering the first chapter on duolingo for polish is uh.... well you learn the words for man, woman, child, girl, and boy, and you learn how to say phrases like "he is eating bread" or "she is drinking water". Which I mean, I love that I have a huge vocabulary of food words and other random nouns from duolingo but 😂 generally the phrases are SO silly, like stuff you'd never ever use! And the translations when you click on a word are sometimes uh... not really accurate.

I did one last session on it this morning too in one of the intermediate chapters and the translations it offered were just straight up not correct. They were for words and phrases that are difficult to translate, but since there is no grammar explanation offered and duolingo will just list three possible translations of any given word, the explanations did not make ANY sense in the context of the sentences they were asking me to translate to english. If I didn't already speak the language at the level I do, there's no way I would have been able to complete the exercises with what information they provided.

So yeah! My mini review, as busuu compares to duolingo: it very much looks and feels like duolingo (the app is even just as bloated and laggy on my phone 😂 and every other ad is for their premium service which I will not buy ever) but my first impression of the lessons is that it is more accurate! I don't know if it will actually provide any grammar lessons or just continue to throw phrases at me to memorize, but they have at least been helpful phrases so I will take it as a supplementary learning tool on top of my classes.

Oh yeah, and it actually has SPEAKING lessons!!!!! I know most languages on duolingo do but polish does not, I was so excited when busuu asked me to say "miło mi" out loud!! 😭 it's the little things...