#shitty mood across the board

[sword--heart--online]

Purging my main tumblr of cringe content gave me the runs. Is this anything

[cookiepie111]

࿐Drink from the leche of sirens࿐

Synopsis - An injury könig comes across a lake and pretty nymph. Greek au könig x black nymph reader. No minors. Smut

Part 2 here

A/N-

An alternate to the fountain girl fic I wrote.

Think this might be the longest thing I've written. There is a Pinterest mood board here. Shout out to @cinnamonbunboii cause their comment inspired this fic. Please like and reblog!

Tags: @terra-713 @cinnamonbunboii @kneelingshadowsalome @bucca2

       𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼 - - - - - - - - 𓇼

Deities are petty beings, twisting the hearts of humans when things don't go their way. König and his army may have won the battle but the casualties were high, he himself was beat and bruised. Its just a game to them and what do you do when you're losing and angry, you flip out, over turn the board and scatter the pieces. Think of a new way to win while your opponent garthers up their fallen pieces.

Scattered by the wind, what a cliche but it works, in all the commotion the soldiers were separated, placed in every which direction, on land, and both above and below the heavens. How petty all this because you lost. Somehow this wasn't the worst part of könig's day just the final cherry on top the shitty Sunday the gods gave him. His lover betrayed him, separated from his allies, battered and bruised and now there's nothing around him but trees. If not for the situation and burning rage in his heart he'd find the place quite peaceful, beautiful even, a nice place to die.

The deeper könig went into the forest the more the atmosphere changed, trees bend and shift, covering the sky above. The slow dance of leaves and bright glow of the fireflies. All of it leading up to a lake in the clearing. It all felt too to unnatural to be real, like sweet honey leading him a trap. Pressing into the wound at his side, the sharp pain brought him back to his senses, this isn't the place to lose one's mind he'd need to keep his wits about him if he wanted to live.

Even if he doesn't want to accept it there's no denying this would be a beautiful place to die. Even now he hates himself for still thinking of her, even at the moment of his death she still has place in his mind. she'd love this place, a backdrop like this would only accentuate her beauty more.

He walked close to the lake feeling the trees shift around him again. Laying back on the trees bark sword placed on the ground.

The waters surface ripples altering könig to the figure in the lake, its shape he couldn't quite make out. A head, a person maybe. This place could be cursed, it wouldn't surprise him. He stares back never removing his eyes from them watching as they stay just below the water.

If he's intruded on some beings land they'll just have to put up with him or force him out. He's got enough strength for one last fight. It is after all the way of the warrior to go out fighting he thinks, unsteady as he pushes off the tree bark.

You can't remember the last time you saw another human here, they often end up with your older sister although you doubt they've all been this large and imposing. Even injured he carries himself very well. The cut in his stomach only causing him to hunch over, you doubt the blood covering him is his own.

Once at the water's edge the thoughts of battle quickly die down. It a woman in the water, human she is not but a woman still. The skin of human women doesn't glow or shine. Their skin isn't adorned with scales of greans and blue hues around their eyes nor does their hair shift and swirl like small currents atop the waters surface like yours. No those features that were that of nymph. Women of nature blessed with great beauty. And unfortunately for könig drowners of men.

His odds are about 50/50 he wouldn't drown so easily but that wasn't a risk he wanted to take, with his body is failing him now, heavy breaths as he falls back to the ground. Eyes still on the nymph at his front, she makes no move, just watching.

It takes a few moments for her to move a few more heavy breaths and groans from könig for her to lift from the water.

When she comes out to meet him she bare. Thin pieces of fabric dropping over her waist and chest slipping under her right breast, past her womanhood, more like an accessory one would add cause they thought it looked nice than a piece of clothing. Thick curly hair swirling around her body

To think he could still get hard at a time like this.

Drowning doesn't seem so bad now if it is by her hand.Maybe a kiss from them would send him peaceful into the afterlife.

She stood over him head tilling side from side,trying to figure the man out. He hasn't said anything, he doesn't shout or draw his sword like the other men she's seen. He's also taller, bigger, more.... solid than other men, gracing a hand down his arm. Kneeling beside him, the injury is worse than she thought. did one of the gods bring him here? Or did he just wonder here himself? You held your chin swaying on your heels deep in thought

König felt delirious, he's injured, lost and now there's a pretty nymph circling round, staring, pocking and prodding at him. If this was any other situation he'd take her in the moment. Hull her over his shoulder and fuck her till scream or blesses him, gives him heavenly children. But he's tired and weak, he can do nothing but watch as she frees his egear cock from his tunic.

He's never felt like this before, grunting and wincing under her touch. He's sure she's sucking the energy out of him.  Maybe its the bloodloss maybe it the fire at the groin the licking and kissing along his shaft causing the dizziness in him, eyes shut tight and panting as he comes closer to the edge but the release never comes. feeling her tongue stroke the entire length of him as she comes up.

The next moment for könig were pure bliss, something straight out of dream. To have her now Straddling him bouncing so eagerly on his cock, was a feeling he could never forget. The sweet stretch as she sank. It was frustrating not being able to touch her, She didn't move fast enough not for könig liking. He was too weak to set the pace, his hand only able to rest on the plush of her hip. Even if she used him like a toy könig couldn't help but throw his head back in pleasure at the squeeze of her soft walls.

Her hands explored the body under her, digging into the wounds, ignoring his hisses and complaints, pushing him back down before he finds the strength to push her off. It felt hot then numb, as she dug into his wounds.

With new found strength he bucked his hips, against her. The sound of their love making filling the forest air, his hands firmly at her hips to move her at a pace he found fit, fast and messy before emptying himself inside her.

When he finally came back down from the high he finds her form shake and ripple above him. The words die on his tongue, as her form melts down, and fades away into the water

He gets up able without stumbling this time walking straight finding himself back at the army base. König's honestly not sure if that really happened or if he was just crazy. He has nothing to show for the whole ordeal to prove it was real. He knows on the brink of the death the mind can conger all sorts of things to keep one alive but nothing could explain sleeping with a water nymph. he'd like to think he wasn't deranged...To imagine sleeping with being that would normally drown you but...

The only evidence he had was his body. The open wound in his stomach gone, his whole body intact even stronger than before. He'll think about this alot after wondering if you were really real. It would be best to get you out of his mind. Yet he sees you in the lakes and bodies of water and in the faces of women passing him by

You on the other hand couldn't believe your luck! Showing off the keepsake you'd got from the soldiers.

Red bracelet shining under the sun as you turned it on your wrist to show off to your sisters. Giggling and splashing round the waters edge. You're so lucky such a strong and handsome man!

"Wow what's his name".... "You did get his name right???" ... you didn't get his name. You didn't get his name! And honestly you're not sure which army he's with you can't tell the difference between the armours

[notroosterbradshaw]

Hi can i request number 12 from the prompts list with Rooster please? Thanks

12. Mapping out your lover’s features while they sleep in your arms, smoothing your thumbs down their cheeks, throat, collarbones, chin and nose.

"You do this every time," Rooster sighed, rubbing his honey-coloured eyes. "'Bradley, baby'," he mocked in your over-exaggerated tone as you scoffed. "‘Put on a movie, I wanna snuggle’. Five minutes later, you're out across my chest," he accused as you rolled your eyes, unable to hold back laughter. He had known you long enough... was hard to deny him.

"What am I supposed to do? I cuddle in and you're so warm and smell so good and I just doze off. Sue me," you huffed, inflating his ego at the same time (usually didn’t take a lot), opening the wine and pouring you both a glass. "I don't know why you just don't take it as a compliment and move along, Bradshaw."

He laughed. "Because you put some shitty romcom on and I'm trapped under you until you wake with three minutes left of the movie and pretend you were awake the whole time."

You could only make a face. He was 100% right. No argument was going to help you now.

"I dunno why I'm even asking you this, but humour me, baby: what you wanna watch?" he asked with dread, finding the remote and flicking through movies that were on your watch list. He had picked the last movie (Reservoir Dogs, thanks for asking), so he didn't have a leg to stand on. May as well toss it out there and admit he knew a romcom was in his immediate future if the list he clicked through dismally had anything to do with it.

"It's Flashback Friday, let's watch a classic," You danced around the couch, excitedly and put the wine on the coffee table with the charcuterie board Bradley would eat 93% of himself.

"Shortlist," he insisted.

"Fair," you agreed as he plonked on the couch, and you sat beside him. "Point Break, you'll be hot for Keanu. Will put you in the mood. Point, Bradshaw," he goaded as you tried to get the remote off him. He pushed you back gently. He bopped your nose. "Absolutely not. I'm controlling the remote, thank you."

"Point Break," you contemplated thoughtfully. A twofer really... Keanu, Patrick Swayze -

"Nah, too easy. You don't get to lull me into a false sense of security like that. Keep going," Bradley rolled his eyes.

"Breakfast Club?"

"Not a dealbreaker," Rooster admitted. "Back to the Future?"

"God, you are such an 80's kid," you rolled your eyes.

"Wasn't just my decade, babe," he hissed back as you squinted at him, a man with a death wish. "But of course, you're the latter end. May as well be 90's," he rushed, as you laughed. "You're not getting older, you're just getting sexier," he overcorrected, hoping he'd bridged the gap with his loose lips, his nose from your earlobe to your jaw, leaving a wet, warm kiss against your pulse. He was the dirtiest player in the game and he laughed against your skin, as you enraged him a moment later, dragging your nails into his scalp, giving him a bit of pleasure in return. "God, you're so full of shit…” you somehow managed to get out.

He laughed and shrugged. "Yeah, you’re hating every minute,” he reckoned.

"But it's a short list," you pretended to growl as he kissed your pout. “What about Stand by Me?" you tried, his lips still mashed against yours and you fell into his soft kiss, God, his lips were magical, you loved kissing Bradley Bradshaw. His soft lips, the caress of his tongue -

"Baby, are you actually considering me and what I would like to watch?" he asked, almost touched, he pulled back, a smug look of satisfaction laced all over his face.

"Footloose?"

Apparently not. "Veto."

"Oh, Dirty Dancing!" the tone in your voice telling him that this was your decision, but he couldn't resist, because he kind of loved it when you argued and got all cross and cute... and sometimes if he riled you up just the right amount, a little frisky too.

"VE-TO."

"Bradley Bradshaw, how dare you!" you exclaimed as he broke into a grin and put his hands in the air.

"I give, baby," he admitted. "Just love you all wound up and - "

"Yeah, yeah," you said bashfully. He chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple and he raised his arm to put it across your shoulder to nuzzle in under, pressing play on the flick. The Ronettes 'Be My Baby' started in the background with a noir 1960s underground dancing dirty montage (if you will), flitting across the screen.

"Credit where it's due, this soundtrack is fuckin’ awesome. They just don't make them like they used to."

"Movie soundtracks?" you tucked yourself into his ribs as he adjusted to bend to you. He'd be kidding himself; this was the best part of watching a movie as you curled yourself around him. Maybe the movie would be forgotten and some sexy making out would take over, he wondered.

"Yep," he nodded, plopping a kiss in your hair.

"Yeah, 80's definitely had that going for them. Best 80's soundtrack?" you asked, quickfire.

He frowned while pondering. "Good question... anything John Hughes," he said obviously.

"Flashdance."

"Lost Boys."

"'Purple rain, purple rain'," you sang as Rooster chuckled. You had already missed a good chunk of the movie although you continued to lower yourself until your cheek was resting against his powerful quad and eyes trying in vain to stay open as the movie played on, both of you really not giving it too much of your attention, his large palm sliding under your tee and tracing the back of your ribs, along the bone and the seams of your bra.

Bradley was a human furnace, he was divine to creep up next to, so you did just that only encouraging him. It didn’t surprise him that you’d dozed off.

Fuck. And the remote was just out of his reach to turn off the movie. He lived for times like this. He’d be able to watch the game.  Any goddamn game would have been just perfect. He didn’t care if his teams weren’t playing. Baseball, football, basketball. Oh, were the Lakers playing tonight?

Slumbering partner, booze and the inability to reach the remote. He struggled to reach but it was just out of his grasp. “Shit,” he muttered as you wrapped your soft palm around his knee and he sighed, taking you in. A rare beauty, he knew, momentarily caught up that you were his. He must have done something right in a previous life to have you walk into this life. His fingertip tenderly traced your eyebrow and the slope of your nose as you mumbled in your sleep and he hesitated, pulling his hand back.

You adjusted your posture to rest your cheek on his thigh, your face towards his tummy and he chuckled quietly. “You’re not that asleep…”

“Little bit asleep,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his waist, cool fingers drifting against the golden soft skin of his lower back.

“Bed?” he murmured, his thumb drifting across your soft lips as you shook your head, eyes still closed. A moment later, you yawned, but clearly weren’t interested in being roused so he kept playing with your features, his hands sinking into your hair and he bit back a grin as you almost mewled like a kitten. He didn’t say anything but was surprised at how much of a sucker for his touch you were. You only encouraged him, by cuddling in further and he reached down to press a kiss into your forehead, against the scar on your eyebrow. You hated it, but he loved it. The mar of perfection against your sweet features would always be his favourite. It matched his.

He felt your breathing change against him and knew you’d fallen asleep again, deeper and he knew you were out. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, the smell of your 45-step hair care routine wafting into his nostrils and feeling a little dizzy himself, warmed. Luckiest bastard he knew as he spied the small remote you never used and his eyes widened, excitedly. Within reach, he swiped it and turned down the volume of the film.

Within a few moments and the apps changed, the Lakers were on his screen. He pushed the remote into the side of the couch so he wouldn’t lose it, took his wine in his free hand and made himself comfy. May as well make the most of his Friday night…

SEND ME A PROMPT, I’LL WRITE YOU A DRABBLE.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[agirlwithdemonblood]

The Celebrity Next Door: Chapter 2 - Tensions Rise

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Chapter Summary: Sometimes its better to avoid your neighbours, especially the grumpy ones.

Warnings: Grumpy Jensen, swearing.

Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!

"How are you liking Los Angeles so far?" Angela, my new boss, chuckled as she leaned against the doorway of my office. I shrugged, trying to summon a positive response.

"It's... different. I guess I haven't fully settled in yet," I replied warily.

Angela smiled reassuringly. "Give it time. LA has a way of growing on people. Plus, you'll probably run into more celebrities than you expect."

I laughed at the thought. Celebrities. Yeah, that would be fun to meet more celebrities.

I hesitated, debating whether to mention my encounter with Jensen Ackles, my grumpy, celebrity neighbour from yesterday. But I quickly realized she knew where I lived, and sharing his address wouldn't be wise.

"And how's your new office?" Angela asked, walking around the room.

I grinned, gesturing around the spacious room that came with my promotion. "It's perfect. Quite the upgrade from my office back in New York."

Angela nodded approvingly, her positivity contagious. One of the perks of working here was her cheerful presence.

"Well, I'll let you get back to it. We're glad to have you on board, Y/N!"

I smiled genuinely and nodded, "Thank you, Angela!"

The rest of the day dragged on as I navigated through new office protocols, met my coworkers, and sorted out administrative tasks. It wasn't much different from the routines in the New York branch, just with a touch of LA attached to it.

By 5:00 pm, I was eager to head home. Climbing into my truck, I couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness that had settled in. New York was never this quiet; there was always a sense of hustle and bustle that gave me comfort but here, it was silent and isolating.

The drive home was quick, but noiseless. Pulling into my parking spot, I spotted a figure standing at my door, his back facing where I was standing. I cautiously stepped out of my car and the figure turned around, and I froze in my step.

Jensen.

I managed a shy smile and greeted him quietly. "Uh... Hi."

He returned a dry smile, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. "Hi. We didn't properly meet yesterday. I'm Jensen."

I extended my hand hesitantly, but he didn't reciprocate. Feeling awkward, I withdrew my hand and crossed my arms. "I'm Y/N."

He nodded, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance.

"Well..." Jensen started, his gaze locking onto mine momentarily before quickly racing away. "I, uh, wanted to ask about the window. I'll cover the cost."

I shook my head, leaning against the railing. "It's already taken care of. Don't worry about it."

Confusion flickered across his face, as if my words didn't compute in his mind. "Katie broke it. I should pay."

I shook my head, standing straighter as the tension between us eased slightly. "It's fine. I work in insurance; getting it fixed was no big deal. Besides, save your money for the next window she breaks," I joked, immediately regretting my attempt at lightheartedness.

Jensen's demeanor shifted, reverting to the stern and irritated man I'd encountered the day before.

"Sorry," I apologized quickly, realizing my mistake. "That was my shitty attempt to lighten the mood."

He nodded briefly, descending the stairs past me and muttering a goodnight before disappearing into his house. If I could reach behind myself and kick my own ass for my stupid joke, I would have.

I have never been good at speaking with others, not really, especially with someone like Jensen. Unlike my professional appearance at work, I struggled with genuine interactions. Speaking to actual strangers, having a conversation and opening up-that I was terrible at.

It was something I always faked-the confidence. People wouldn't guess it by looking at me, but I was a pretty anxious person, it was a part of me that I didn't like being shown. It seemed like with Jensen, my secret was becoming unraveled.

As I headed back inside, a sense of loneliness and frustration washed over me. It was disheartening to realize I'd started off on the wrong foot with my neighbour, especially one as important as Jensen Ackles.

The next morning, I set up my computer in my home office. Working from home twice a week was a luxury that helped ease the transition to LA life.

After my second meeting of the day, I pulled off my headphones and the sound of shouting filled my ears. Curiosity got the better of me, and I stepped out onto my porch to see Jensen, phone in hand, yelling loudly enough to echo through the neighbourhood.

"You knew I had a fucking audition today! Half an hour's notice? Are you kidding me?" His words shooting out like venom causing my anxiety to rise.

I hesitated, debating whether to offer help despite our rocky start. There was an unexplainable urge to reach out, to make sure he was okay and it confused me.

Jensen hung up abruptly, slumping onto his stairs with defeat engraved across his face. My heart ached for him; beneath his gruff exterior, there was obviously something deeper going on with him.

In that moment, I made my decision. I was going to help him, or at least offer. I crossed my yard and nervously opened his gate, approaching cautiously. His head snapped up as I cleared my throat.

"Hi... I just wanted..." I started hesitantly before he rudely cut me off.

"Look, it was nice meeting you, but we're not that kind of neighbours," Jensen interjected sharply. "You don't need to keep coming over uninvited."

My smile wavered, my words caught in my throat. "What?"

"Is it because you know who I am? You want to get close to your famous neighbour? Want the scoop on my fucked up drama?" His tone was accusatory, his frustration evident.

I flinched, stung by his assumptions. "Are you kidding? Yes, I know who you are, but I couldn't care less. To me, you're just my neighbour, my grumpy ass neighbour who happens to be famous."

Jensen's expression wavered between disbelief and something unreadable.

"I came over to offer some help or somebody to talk to considering you were just screaming so loud, the entire damn block could hear you, but forget it. Screw being neighbourly."

His mouth hung open as he struggled to find words, but I didn't care what he had to say. I didn't want a response. I stormed back to my house, anger bubbling in my chest like sparkling water. My mind was clouded with anxiety and nerves, and I felt on the verge of collapsing.

As soon as I shut the door, reality hit me, flooding my head with his words and my own. I hated that I felt suffocated by a stupid argument with him, hated the tears threatening to pour, hated that he made me vulnerable and exposed a side of me I didn't know existed.

I hated living next to him. I hated that I ever knocked on his door.

I was done trying with him-done saying hello, offering a smile, or caring. I was fed up, finished.

Jensen Ackles was not a nice person, and I was done trying to be nice to him.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 3 coming soon stay tuned!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[separatist-apologist]

Something In The Orange

Summary: Someone is trying to murder Eris Vanserra's soon-to-be wife.

And no one can rule him out as a suspect

Note: Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for the mood board and the unknown anon for the song inspiration.

For @sjmromanceweek

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Arina decided it was better to do as Eris asked and meet him outside her bedroom door after she and Elain had a private lunch in Elain’s bedroom. Eris turned the corner mere seconds later, eyes sliding down her body so intimately it made her shiver. He could do something with his eyes that made her nervous, turning that look on and off like igniting a candle. This time, though, Arina knew he disapproved of the yellow dress.

“Change—”

“No.”

Eris looked upward as if he was asking the gods to grant him patience. “Your clothes are impractical—”

“I don’t walk around prepared for battle. If you’re going to teach me to defend myself, teach me as I am, tangled skirts, long hair, and all.”

Eris paused, cocking his head to the side like a predator. “You’re taking your hair down?”

Oh, did he want her to? She was tempted to tell him no, though she’d put very few pins in her hair today to make it easy to let her hair down once they were alone so she could simulate being alone in her bedroom like she’d been when someone tried to strangle her. 

“Does that offend you?”

His cheeks darkened for just a moment as he cleared his throat. “I don’t care about your hair.”

Liar.

“This is probably pointless to say to you, but I would prefer it if you didn’t go easy on me.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Eris promised, falling into step beside her. She expected him to take her outside—somewhere public. Somewhere people could see. It hadn’t occurred to her that Eris would take her to his lavish apartments across the palace, nor that he would close the door behind him.

“Eris—”

“Oh who cares?” he said with a roll of his eyes. “There is no escape for either of us, so what does it matter if they think I’ve had you now or in two months?”

“I care.”

He shrugged. “Where would you prefer we go? To the common hall? The courtyard? Somewhere anyone with eyes can watch? The point of teaching you this is to catch your attacker off guard so you can escape, not help them hone their skills so they don’t make another mistake.”

“I care,” Arina admitted. Her reputation was all she had left—and she knew her father would be furious when the rumors reached him. Eris could still change his mind, but Arina would be unmarriageable if anyone believed Eris had her first.

Eris’s look of frustration wasn’t enough to cow her. “I told you, this marriage is happening—”

“Until it doesn’t,” she countered quietly, stepping closer to a long sofa she could imagine him lounged on, book in hand. “Are you telling me that you’d still honor this contract if your father freed you?”

Eris ground his teeth together. He couldn’t lie to her, so he wouldn’t. Instead, he said, “He’s not going to—”

“He might—”

“He won’t!” Eris snapped, some of his anger getting the better of him. “If only to piss your father off. He is taking that shitty piece of land one way or the other and you are the most convenient way to do it, and unless you think your father is willing to trade it for less than his daughter sitting on a throne, you will be my godsdamned wife.”

Arina hated him a little bit right then. His anger was palpable, a flame burning hot in his gaze. She wanted to hit him, wanted to make him feel every ounce of her own fury and fear until he stopped talking to her like she was a simple, stupid child. 

“I don’t want to be your wife,” she whispered, which was the wrong thing to say. Eris advanced on her until he was inches from her face. 

“I don’t care what you want,” he whispered, gaze not on her eyes but her mouth. 

“I’ll make you miserable,” she threatened. Eris only shrugged, the spell broken. He looked around the room as if trying to find something. It gave Arina a moment to appreciate the shelves of books, the rich rugs of red and cream, the high ceilings and open windows—all of it tastefully appointed and betraying someone with taste far more refined than her own. She couldn’t help herself, gravitating toward one of the shelves to see what he liked to read.

A lot of philosophy, she found. History, too, and more than a few books on poetry. She was particularly fascinated by a cracked blue spine that read Romantic Poetry, the silver letters peeling and worn. 

Arina reached for it just as a pair of arms wrapped around her body, holding her tight against a torso. It was Eris, she reminded herself—Eris’s forearm pressed to her throat, Eris’s torso she was pinned against. He wouldn’t kill her.

He’d promised he wouldn’t.

“Are you scared?” Eris whispered, lips brushing gently against the shell of her ear.

Arina couldn’t speak, could only nod her head.

“Relax,” he ordered, pressing his arm harder against her throat. “Go limp.”

Arina tried, but every inch of her demanded she fight him, that she twist and thrash until he let her go. Eris sighed when he felt her rigidity, holding her so tight her ribs groaned. 

“Make me work for it, Arina. Go limp.”

Something about the way he said it—with such authority—made her listen. The part of her brain that wasn’t panicking recognized help. Her whole body flopped toward the ground, causing Eris to groan beneath her weight.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise warming that same alert part of her mind. “See how I have to drag you, now? Do you feel how my hold has to shift?”

“Yes,” she rasped. He’d loosened his grip on her neck just enough for her to take a deep breath. 

“If you had a knife, this would be the time to use it. Let’s pretend you have one hidden in your skirt. Reach for it.”

Arina did as he told her to, fumbling for her pretend knife. Eris tightened his hold with a disapproving click of his teeth. “Too slow.”

And then, without warning, he drew his fingers across her neck like he was slashing her throat. Releasing her, Arina collapsed to the ground, heart racing. 

“You need to be quicker,” he said dispassionately. 

“You surprised me,” she accused, rubbing the skin of her throat. 

“Do you expect your killer to send an invitation beforehand? You need to be prepared, your instincts razor sharp.”

“My governesses must have missed the lesson on not being murdered,” she snapped, though there was no real ire to her words. 

“I’m not surprised to learn your father is inadequate,” was all Eris had to say in response. “Get up. We’ll do it again.”

Arina almost wished Eris had wanted to have sex with her. It would have been easier, would have been over faster. They spent hours going through the same scenario over and over. Sometimes he walked her through what she needed to do step by step and other times he promised her a break, let her drop her guard, and then attacked her all over again.

She left his room wrung out and exhausted. Arina didn’t dare let Eris see it—he wasn’t exactly warm—but the moment she was safe in her own bedroom she fell face first on the mattress and cried her eyes out. Nothing was going the way she’d thought it would and every time Arina tried to make the best of her circumstances, it was like fate decided to add another complication as a little test.

Oh, you thought you could connect with this man? Well, he hates you. 

At least he didn’t want her dead. She could mark Eris off her list of the people trying to kill her, which made it a list of four—maybe five if she took Eris at his word regarding his fathers priorities. 

Beron Vanserra needed her alive in order to make good on the contract. Her father needed her alive in order to secure position and wealth, as well as continue ruling as a vassal lord. Eris didn’t want to marry her, but he didn’t want her dead either. And Elain and Lucien were outsiders entirely. 

But the palace was massive and teeming with people. Was it someone angry she was the one marrying the prince? An angry courtier? A political rival? Just having a direction would have been helpful.

Arina fell asleep turning the question over in her mind, forgetting to go down for dinner or changing out of her clothes. Perhaps she ought to have known Eris wouldn’t give her peace. In retrospect, Arina figured Eris had noticed her absence at dinner and decided it wasn’t enough to torment her during her waking hours.

She felt the weight of the mattress dip moments before he swung his legs over her body and pressed his blade to her throat. Apollo didn’t intervene, raising his head only to look before laying back down in his spot at the edge of the bed. Useless animal.

“Eris,” she whispered, fingers curling around his wrist.

“What happened to your dresser by the door?” he replied, his voice low. She knew what he wanted—or, she thought she did. She didn’t have a real weapon to stab him in the thigh with so she used her pretend one, slamming her fist against his leg before shoving him off her. Eris grunted but didn’t fight her when she straddled his hips, his knife now in her possession.

“If you ever wake me up like that again,” she whispered, her hair falling between them like a curtain, “it’ll be me who kills you.”

Eris’s chest rose and fell rapidly, palms raised upward in defense as she held his knife to this throat. She could have killed him—it would have been so easy to end him right then and there. Eris held her gaze, his eyes cat-like in the dark. 

“Eris?” she whispered.

He blinked. “I…shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why did you?”

Slowly, Eris reached for a strand of her unbound hair and pressed it against his nose. “I’m a fool.”

And with that, she was on her back, knife flopping harmlessly to the bed. Eris stood, adjusting his pants before turning back to look at her sprawled over the mattress. “Keep the dagger.”

“Eris—” He left before she could finish her thought, which was just as well. Arina had no idea what she would have said if he’d stayed. It was strange, though, sitting in the dark wishing he’d come back to do the gods only knew what.

Stranger, still, to realize that the man she was about to marry wanted her.

And that she wanted him, too.

ERIS:

Eris couldn’t focus. Standing in a packed ballroom, all he could think about was Arina’s legs wrapped around his waist and how close he’d come to dragging her back to the mattress and doing every wicked thing he could imagine to her. That was made worse by the woman herself, standing beside Elain and his brother in a golden gown that tapered to a dusky rose the further down the beading went.  The neckline was low enough he could see the swell of her breasts beneath the soft slope of her collar bone and when she walked, a slit revealed a tantalizing peek of her legs. 

He sighed, half relieved when his father approached. “Have you seen your mother?”

Eris scanned the crowd again. “She’s probably fretting over wine again.”

“I’ll handle it. You handle her,” his father ordered, glancing toward Arina.

“Problems?” “With the girl? Not one. With her father? It never ends,” Beron muttered with a scowl. “All he does is complain.”

“Maybe you should kill him,” Eris suggested dispassionately.

“After the wedding,” Beron said with a roll of his eyes. “Finish things with Novak’s daughter.”

“She doesn’t want to be alone,” Eris informed his father, not betraying his own regret. Oh, how he wished Arina acted more like the ladies at court. Their propriety was just for show, their skirts easily lifted. Even now, Eris knew if he made eye contact with any number of the ladies he’d grown up with, they’d be staring right back.

Unlike his betrothed, who hadn’t spared him a glance once.

“You’re charming. I trust you can engineer some scenario that silences her obnoxious father.”

Eris resisted the urge to snap at his father. It wasn’t worth the inevitable pain that would follow. Maybe not right then, maybe not for weeks—but down the road, Beron would make Eris pay. There was only one right answer, and that was whatever his father wanted to hear.

“I’m sure I can manage it.”

His father reached for two goblets of wine off a servant's passing tray. Thrusting them into Eris’s hands, he ordered, “Now.”

Great. 

Eris knew his father was watching just as he knew Arina’s father was watching, too. How far would he go to keep Eris from defiling his daughter? Not far enough, given Eris had successfully gotten into her bed chamber unimpeded twice. All he really needed was to get her alone long enough that it suggested something happened. Though it made his stomach churn, he figured he could get her just drunk enough that she’d let him bring her to his room. After that, all Eris had to do was close the door and let her sleep off the wine on his sofa or the floor or anywhere but next to him.

“You win,” Elain said glumly to Lucien as Eris offered Arina the wine his father had given him. 

“Pay up, princess,” Lucien replied with a grin.

“Do I want to know?” Eris demanded, his temper getting the better of him. Did Elain always need to be hovering over Arina? Couldn’t he have ten minutes alone with his future wife without a million people staring him down? 

“We made a bet—”

“I don’t care,” Eris interrupted flatly, catching the way Arina smothered a smile before taking a drink. “Dance with me before I go out of my mind.”

Arina gulped down the rest of her drink, setting the empty gold cup on a nearby table. Eris followed suit, wondering if she needed alcohol to tolerate him. The thought bothered him even as she turned, flushed and beautiful, and said, “Just one dance?”

Her hand was in his before Eris knew what was happening. He abandoned his drink beside Arina’s, catching sight of a quick-fingered servant whisking them away.

“For now,” he agreed, distracted by the way the lights gilded off her golden hair and how bright her eyes seemed to be. Had her mouth always been so pink? Her skin so smooth? Eris wanted to run his hands up her arms but settled for putting one on the curve of her waist and pulling her just a little too close.

Suggestively so. Arina didn’t seem to notice, staring down at her feet before looking up to meet his gaze. “Can you dance?” he asked.

Arina’s pretty smile shifted and he swore it was disappointment that flashed over her features. “Of course I can.”

He supposed he had been a little mocking when he asked. Eris couldn’t help that. When he was nervous his words came out in a sneer. There was no apologizing, which left him only with a challenge. “Prove it.”

“I hate you. Do you know that?” she asked, stepping with him as the music began. She was fluid like water, eyes on his face, grip pleasant on his shoulder. Eris nudged her a little closer, inhaling the scent of vanilla and lime. 

“I like a passionate woman,” he heard himself saying. 

Arina narrowed her eyes. “What else do you like in a woman?”

Eris knew better than to answer that question honestly. “I like you. Isn’t that enough?”

“I would hate to see how you treat women you don’t like.”

Eris couldn’t help himself. “There’s very little difference.”

“Now that I believe,” she said, the softness returning to her expression. Arina gripped his shoulder just a little tighter as the pair lapsed into silence, focused on their combined steps through the music. They weren’t alone—couples twirled alongside them, talking just loud enough to be heard over the band. There were things Eris wanted to tell her inexplicably—things he’d never told anyone, secrets he’d been keeping his entire life.

It was nothing dark, nothing deep. There were things Eris never wanted to say out loud, circumstances he intended to keep alive only in his mind. His throat burned as he lowered his head and murmured, “My favorite color is orange.”

Arina’s brows shot skyward, eyes widening with obvious and open delight. “Really?” she asked him.

Eris felt immediately stupid. He pulled back, heart pounding. That was a stupid thing to tell her, the regret instantaneous. Arina, though, was never going to let it go. She was grinning, her fingers digging pleasantly into his shoulders.

“Mine is green,” she confided as though admitting some terrible truth. Eris exhaled the breath he’d been holding. It sounded like a laugh, maybe because it half was. 

“I’m starting to see the merits,” he murmured, taking in the mossy green of her eyes. Arina’s cheeks flushed and when she rubbed her palm over his shoulder, sliding down his back, Eris thought he was going insane. He needed to get out of the ballroom before he did something unbearably stupid.

Like kissing her in front of everyone. There was no doubt in Eris’s mind that the wine had made Arina sweeter just as he knew for certain that if he tried to touch her like she was touching him, he’d earn little more than a slap to the face. 

“Have you ever been to the garden?” Arina asked him, pulling Eris from his thoughts. It was tempting to ask why she wanted to know that. Surely she must be aware that Eris had been in that garden hundreds of times for a myriad of different reasons.

He wasn’t stupid, though. When a lady was asking a gentleman if he’d ever been to the garden, what she was really asking for was to be alone. Well. Maybe he was a little stupid, because Eris’s response was, “Not with you.”

“Would you like to see it? With me, I mean?” she asked, her voice sweet and breathless.

“Yes.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Eris remembered this was what he was supposed to be doing. Getting her alone, creating just enough doubt as to what they’d been doing when no one had eyes on them. It didn’t matter if it was true—he’d have her one way or the other—only that people believed it. Eris wished he could say everything was going according to plan but when Arina slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, once again gripping his limb just a little too tightly, all Eris could think about was being alone with her.

Stupid, given he’d been alone with her before. Not like this—not when she was touching him, smiling at him. Arina kept close, following as Eris led them from the ballroom with murmured excuses of getting some air. They certainly weren’t the only ones trying to slip away—it was practically a right of passage for couples to find some private place before their chaperones caught up with them. The only difference was Eris himself, who was a prince and therefore could do whatever he liked.

Well. Not anything. If Eris truly had that kind of power he could have simply pressed Arina against a wall and kissed her like he wanted to and no one—including Arina—would have stopped him. Still, it was a pleasant little fantasy that might have carried him outdoors had Arina not pulled him toward a hall that led the entirely opposite direction.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, yanking him close as footsteps approached. Eris was too distracted by her nearness, unable to look at anything but her palms laid flat against his chest. Obscured by shadows and half hidden behind a rather large pillar, a gaggle of older men filed past, arguing about the latest book written by a poet Eris thought was rather overrated. He might have told Arina so, too, had he not gone to look her in the eyes only to find she was staring back at him.

Oh.

He should have asked. Eris knew it and he didn’t care. If he asked her permission she might have said no and right then every inch of her seemed like an invitation. It was the sweetest she’d ever been, the most inviting and he wanted her. Deciding it was worth the risk, Eris lowered his face and kissed her amid the fading echoes of the crowd, still close enough to the party he could hear the music echoing around them. 

Bracing himself for the inevitable outrage, Eris decided to press his advantage and reach for her face. It felt good to press his mouth against hers, to feel her soft skin beneath him. Eris was so distracted that it took him a minute to realize she was kissing him back. His eyes flew open at the realization. Eris needed confirmation that what he was feeling was, in fact, his reality.

Her eyes were closed, fingers curled in the cobalt blue of his jacket to keep him close. It was right there that ruined Eris—that look on her face, the way she was holding him, kissing him, breathing him in. 

“Open,” he breathed and the hells help him, Arina did exactly as she was told. The kiss was a mess at first, betraying her inexperience though she was a quick study. Eris had her pinned against the wall, her wrists in his hands as he held them over her head and knee wedged between her legs before he could think about his next move. 

All he wanted was to take down her hair and watch it tumble over her shoulders. Well—and then to watch her dress pool at her feet while he slid to his knees and— “Eris,” she breathed, pulling him back to reality. There was something sweet about her mouth.

A familiar sweetness mingled among the wine. Eris kissed her again, taking another taste as he tried to place it. Some part of him didn’t care so long as she kept kissing him…but the other…the other reminded him that she didn’t like him. And now she was half desperate, rubbing herself against his leg as her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his jacket and—

“Fuck,” Eris snarled, turning his head in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. The syrupy sweetness betrayed itself—he should have recognized it the moment his tongue first slid into his mouth but Eris was too excited to notice. Myrrah—from the root of a regular berry plant—was a powerful aphrodisiac a lot of people took recreationally at court. Husbands sometimes slipped it in their new brides drinks after a wedding to make things easier, though Eris had never liked that practice.

For one wild minute he considered turning back to the ball and drinking some himself so he could finish what they’d started. He might have, too—the idea was powerfully tempting—had he not felt Arina’s fingers slide into his hands. Catching her wrist without thinking, Eris knew he needed to stop her before she took things too far. 

“With me,” he panted, cock twitching desperately. 

“Anywhere,” she said, opening her eyes to look at them. Eris swore softly at the sight of her blown out pupils and flushed cheeks. She tried to take a step, but Myrrah made everyone a little disoriented, made the room seemed to swirl in a way that was more pleasant than it wasn’t. Eris scooped her up before she could fall flat on her face, took a deep breath, and began walking her toward her bedroom as quickly as he could.

“I want you,” she said, the pretty little liar. 

“Tell me again in the morning,” Eris replied. “Tell me when you wake up and I’ll give you anything you like.” “Anything?”

Yes, anything. Gold, jewels, land—whatever she wanted. Maybe that was his own arousal talking, but Eris would have made her an untold number of promises if it meant she’d willingly put her hands back between his legs. 

“Where are you—Eris!” Arina shrieked, but Eris had dumped her onto the floor in her bathing chamber and slammed the door before she could stop him. “Open this door right now!” she demanded, pounding the palm of her hand against the door.

“I can’t,” he told her, sliding down the wood to keep it closed. 

“Please—”

“Don’t,” he managed, closing his eyes. “Don’t beg.”

“You don’t want me?”

“Fuck—yes, I want you,” he admitted, forcing the words from behind his teeth. “And if I take you this way, you’ll hate me in the morning.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” he replied, saying the words as a reminder to himself. She wouldn’t forgive him, would be furious he hadn’t stopped her. “You’re out of your mind right now and don’t know what you want.”

There was blessed silence for a moment. Eris knew better than to think Arina had fallen asleep—he’d been in her position before, though he’d, at least, been able to relieve himself with a partner. Eris had no intention of freeing her so she could roam the halls like a cat in heat, nor did he intend to help her. She’d simply have to handle things herself.

And like an utter degenerate, he was going to stay exactly where he was and listen.

“I like you,” Arina said softly, still too breathless for his liking.

“Liar.”

“You have nice hair,” she protested, voice rising with irritation. “And I like your eyes…your hands…”

“Stop,” he breathed, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

“Open the door, Eris. Let me show you—”

“In the morning,” he groaned, his willpower shredding with each sultry word that poured from her throat. “Ask me in the morning.”

“Do you not like me?”

Eris groaned again. “Too much,” he admitted, spreading his legs apart. It did little to alleviate his need. “But not like this.”

“Then how?”

Fuck it, he decided, reaching for his belt. If he couldn’t touch her, he could at least touch himself. He could still talk to her, could make it a little bearable at least on his end. “In your right mind, to start with.”

“Maybe it’s better this way. Get it over with—”

“Trust me,” he half panted, gripping his cock in one hand. Eris stroked himself to the sound of Arina’s little gasps behind the wood and the image of what she must be doing to elicit such noise. 

“Will it hurt?” she asked him breathlessly.

“No,” he swore, closing his eyes so he could imagine it. “Trust me.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Will you be angry if I have?”

He’d never considered that prospect before, maybe because he’d never expected his wife to be untouched. He’d assumed he’d end up with one of the ladies at court and while virginity was the official expectation, it was a rule too often skirted around in favor of hedonistic fun. 

“It seems unfair. Maybe I should be allowed—”

“No.”

“No?”

Eris stroked himself again, exhaling a soft, shuddering breath. “No,” he agreed. “It’s too late now. I want your first time.”

“You’re selfish.”

“Jealous, too,” he agreed. “I don’t want to share you anymore.”

“Maybe you won’t be such a bad husband.”

Eris’s hand stilled for a moment, cheek pressed against the wood. There were a million things he wanted to say, all of them choked by emotion. He couldn’t accept the compliment nor could he find the words to assure he would do his best. What if he failed? What if he was no better than his father? 

“Where are your hands?” he asked instead, retreating to comfortable, familiar territory.

“Under my dress,” she replied. Eris groaned loudly for her benefit, knowing damn well he shouldn’t. 

“Next time it’ll be my mouth,” he told her with more conviction than he’d ever felt. So he couldn’t tell her the truth about himself—maybe he could show her, then. His actions could be enough, he decided, and if not his actions than the way his body touched her own. 

“Your mouth?” Arina asked breathlessly. It wasn’t really a question and still Eris gripped his cock tighter, pumping faster.

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes closed as he imagined her legs spread for him. What did he want more? His cock in her throat or the taste of her cunt smeared across her lips? Both, he decided. He wanted it at the same time, wanted her thighs straddling his face as she took him, unable to move while Eris spent half an evening eating her.

And then he’d flip her over, breasts pressed to the blankets, and fuck her until she couldn’t walk the next morning. He could practically feel it, was lost to the fantasy and the sound of Arina’s own soft, desperate moans. 

“That’s it,” he rasped, unsure if he was talking to her or himself. “Come for me.”

Arina did—or, he thought she did. He was so used to loud screams that her breathless gasps of air seemed like a revelation. Was this what it was like when the woman he wanted didn’t care if he was a prince or not? Eris came, too, hips jerking off the ground as come splattered against his hand. 

The timing was terrible. Arina turned the door handle, tumbling on top of him just as a servant burst into the room, eyes wide with horror.

“I—”

“Well, fuck,” Eris snarled, trying to shove himself back into his pants without making a mess of the woman tangled up in his lap. “It’s not…”

What it looks like. He never managed to get the words out—the servant scurried away, leaving Eris alone 

“You feel better now, don’t you?” he dared to ask, buttoning his pants as Arina stood, cheeks burning red. 

“I—”

He reached for her chin, squishing her cheeks gently beneath her fingers. Eris kissed her, ignoring how wide her eyes were.

“When you wake up, don’t regret this.”

Though, if he was honest with himself, Eris regretted leaving her in a heap on the floor.

Still.

That was for the best.

[theloveinc]

bakugo x reader - i guess a lil drabble related to my succession!au here! caitie writing? it's more........ no jk im just as surprised as you...

(warning - toxic relationships, sex as business tactic, you wear a thong but gn otherwise i think, made up business lingo idfk)

-

You’re already waiting for him by the time Bakugo makes it back to his office. 

Blazer off and strewn across the arm of the leather armchair you lean against, fingernails clacking away as you type a message on your phone; you look busy, you look sexy, you look mad, though he already knows why you’re here and you waste no time either in looking up from your device to absolutely scour. 

 “Fuckin' what?” he grumbles, throwing his own jacket and stack of files next to yours, refusing to give in to the thought of looking into your eyes, something he knows will cause more of a fire to light up in his veins rather than put him into a business-like mood.

“You said no.” 

“‘Course I did," he responds before you can say anything else. "Your write-up was crap, and I don’t feel like wasting time entertaining unnecessary shit.” 

“It’s a good plan. Would make up the public outburst you had that tanked our stock fifteen percent. You and I both know that.” 

He does, but he doesn't care enough to risk another move that might cause more harm than good. It's not like his sour personality is a secret from the business world or has stopped him from getting what he wanted in the past.

“If you care so much about it just go ‘n get Deku to approve it. Fuck knows all you do when I disagree with your stupid ass ideas is cry and get him to start signing shit, anyway."

“That is not true!” you hiss, one of Bakugo’s very-clearly-plucked eyebrows immediately raising at the annoyance in your voice. “My advice is great, and yeah, I do think you should take it sometimes.”

“It’s average at best and you fucking know it"—it's actually better than average, way better, it's just hard to say now that Deku's got top spot in the running for CEO, a fact that pisses Bakugo off so badly that he can't even think about your talent lest he lose his mind even more—"You’re just one of the board's little brats. Spoiled rotten.” 

You purse your lips at that, eyes narrowing as he stands up tall. “Like you’re any better. Getting mommy to call competitors anytime one of your shitty deals doesn’t go through.”

He approaches you, hands leaving his pockets as he walks you back into his desk—your ass meeting the oak just as he begins unlocking his cuff links and pushing his sleeves up to the bend of his elbows. You stand there in silence, in faux-battle through your glares, though it’s not much longer before he puts his hands on your waist and jerks you to his chest. 

“Least I do my damn job instead of sucking dick on company time.”

(You don’t remind him that it was actually him on his knees the last time any inappropriate workplace intercourse occurred… nor that it was Kiri’s idea—not yours—to screw your way into Yo Shindo’s board of investors. He already started a fight the first time it came up, lord knows he’d have an aneurysm if used it against him in an argument, too.) 

“Fine,” you wiggle your hips in an attempt to loosen the static between your bodies, but he only seems to get closer: the newly-tenting fly of his slacks digging into the soft dip of your own pants, instead. “Next time I’ll go ask Todoroki for advice then and you can work alone.”

He nips at you where his mouth presses against your cheek, hands splayed on your back to keep you from being pressed into the hard line of wood at your hips. You inhale at the contact, turning your face away from him if only to let his mouth fall next to your ear. 

“Talk to that half and half fucker in front of me, baby,” he whispers, “and you watch what fucking happens.” 

His fingers dip themselves into the band of your panties, tugging the elastic away from your skin in such a manner that the string of your thong gets pulled taut between your ass cheeks. 

“Bakugo…” you warn, pulling back to glare at him though simultaneously giving into the fight, your hands leaving your hips to swat his away from behind you before they’re allowed to do anything more lewd.

He huffs, though his chest rumbles in the most silent of laughs as he catches your palms in his, swinging them back around til he’s holding them between you at your front. 

“You’re such a damn tease,” he leans down close enough to touch his nose with yours, your breath warm and enticing on his lips. “Gimme a kiss for wasting my time.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m reporting you to HR.” 

“Like hell you are. Kiss me.” 

 “I’m gonna kiss Deku.” 

Hands still tangled with yours, he tears away for only a moment to fake a gag over his shoulder. 

“That’s even worse!”

"You deserve it."

And he doesn't exactly disagree.

[sugurusdiscordmoderator]

barista suguru and reader has the biggest crush on him that they try to ask him out but got too nervous to do so!! however.. reader suddenly see him at a party they were invited in, and what does alcohol do to a person sometimes? confidence, and they hook up (eventually got together??) I'm not sure if this request makes sense, and English isn't my first language..

omg hi anon thank you for the ask - not sure if you're an AOT fan but @humanitys-strongest-bamf has an amazing fic similar to this w Levi and its god tier

anywaysss here we go <3

(The ages in this are all fucked up lol, Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji are 22 and Gojo, Geto, and Shoko are like 25)

content warning: Haibara and Nanami are lovers lmao, weed, alcohol, cigarettes, hookup culture

(this is my original drawing please do not repost)

-

Being well known on your college campus is a blessing and a curse. You loved being involved in a lot of clubs and participating in social events. Going to the library or trying to study was nearly impossible with how many people knew you. However being a senior, you needed to focus and get things done. You lived a little ways off campus to save money and started frequenting a little coffee shop a few blocks from your apartment.

The first time you stopped, you had been walking home from class when a storm with bad winds blew in, and you decided to just study in this cafe until the storm passes. There are little tables all throughout, you grab one near the back and pull out some of your course materials and get started writing notes and going over chapters for your quiz in a few days. That is when a yawn washes over you and the exhaustion from late nights sets in. You figure you might as well get a drink while you're at this coffee shop.

Walking up to the counter you squint up at the menu board trying to decide what you're in the mood for.

"What can I get for you?" a man's voice asks.

Lost in your indecisiveness you don't even look down to make eye contact reading between Americano, Latte, Cold Brew, etc.

"Mmmm, not sure yet, I may need a few minutes," biting your bottom lip thinking about how much caffeine you want to intake today.

"We also have a list of specials down in front of you," he says politely and you see him walk away out of your peripherals.

The thing is, you're not a huge coffee person. Half the time it's too sweet, half the time it's too bitter. The caffeine gives you jitters and makes you anxious. Also sometimes coffee just messes your stomach up so you just have given up on expensive coffee places and opt for making your own shitty coffee at home.

You glance down at the specials list, reading them to yourself,

"Almond Joy Latte

Sparkling Green Tea Refresher

Pink Velvet Cold Brew

Barista's Choice"

You finally look up at the employee, a tall man that is turned around cleaning the espresso machine. His hair is pulled back into a cute bun and his frame is just large. You look at his hands, so large and strong with some veins protruding. He has a black button up on with the sleeves rolled up, exposing tattoos on his forearms. Matching it with black pants and a black apron, he looks kind of dark and mysterious.

He turns around and catches your eye, forgetting all the words that were about to form in your head.

"Still need a minute?" He squints his eyes a little and smiles softly as your eyes rake over his whole face. He has a piece of black bangs sticking out from the bun, pierced ears, a lip ring, amber eyes, and an amazingly chiseled jaw. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out and you can feel the heat spread across your cheeks.

"Uh, I, sorry," you shake your head and try to laugh at your own stupor, "Can I do the barista's choice?"

He nods, "Any preferences?"

"Uhm, no, whatever you like," you completely lie through your teeth trying to seem chill. He taps in the order on the iPad at the register and flips it over for you to pay and sign. At least it isn't too expensive if you don't like it, but you eagerly press the "25%" tip button hoping Mr. tall, dark, and handsome appreciates it.

"I'll bring it over to you when it's ready," he smiles and nods his head towards where you were seated.

"Thanks," you smile awkwardly walking back to your course materials, although it's not like you'll be focusing on anything other than the barista soon. You not-so-casually watch him work, obsessed with a man you've hardly spoken to once.

A few minutes later he brings over a cute tea cup and saucer, and you immediately smile when he sets it down, seeing the little design on top.

"It's a dirty chai...like a chai tea latte with a shot of espresso in it and a little special touch. Let me know if you like it."

The man smirks and walks away before you can even properly thank him. You burn your tongue eagerly taking a sip too soon, trying to find another excuse to talk to him. You try to take your mind off of it by scrolling through instagram for a bit while drinking your latte but around this time of year its all couples and engagements and babies which only adds to how down bad you feel. You get a text from your friend Nobara letting you know that a friend of her friend, Megumi, is having a party Friday and the friend told Megumi who told Nobara that they could bring whoever. After deciphering the word vomit of a text she sent you you send back a "thumbs up emoji" letting her know you'll be there because nobody else has invited you anywhere yet.

You finish your drink and decide to pack up your stuff and head home, a few blocks in the rain won't hurt you. It might cool you off from thinking about the dreamy barista you just met. You set the cute mug on the counter, and he turns around when he hears the noise. He raised an eyebrow, as if asking 'how was it?'

"It was great," you smile, "uhm, have a good one," you slightly shrug and turn around to go before he can add anything, just like he did to you earlier.

-

The next few days are uneventful, you walk by the coffee shop every day on your way to campus, wondering if he is working or if you should go in, but not wanting to struggle to pick a drink or pay for coffee again.

On Friday Nobara walks back to your apartment with you, she commutes in to town so whenever there is a party or something going on she crashes on your couch. She eyes the little cafe, "Want coffee? I think tonight might be pretty fun from the sounds of it!" She practically squeals and you find it adorable how excited she is. "Sure" you grumble, holding the door open for her.

She waltzes right up to the counter, decisive as always, and knows exactly what she wants. You trail behind her, not seeing any employees at the counter, squinting up at the menu board yet again. That's when you hear giggling come from the back room and see the handsome barista come out with some supplies, followed by a cute girl with a short brown bob who seems to be helping him.

You can't help but think about his beautiful laugh, and how you can hear it again.

"See ya tonight Shoko" he says, putting his apron back on and refocusing his attention to Nobara.

"Bye Geto!" This so called Shoko calls back to him as she walks out the front door. You cant help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the way he was in the backroom with his apron off and laughing with a girl.

Like girl - quit being delusional, you just heard his name for the first time and he probably doesn't even know who you are.

"Y/n, what do you want?" Nobara interrupts your talk with yourself.

"I'll have what she's having," you say overly confident, smiling at Geto. They both side eye you and you just remain oblivious, opting to go on your phone as you let your friend pay for your coffee as payment for her 'hotel' for the night. The two of you move out of the way and stand off to the side waiting for your drinks while Nobara talks about how Megumi's other friend Yuji is going to be there tonight with his big brother Sukuna and how excited she is because they're both sooo attractive. You nod your head along with what she says while scrolling on your phone. It's not that you don't care what she's saying, it's just that she knows so much about everything. All the gossip on campus is at your fingertips because of her, good or bad. You zone out staring at whatever drinks the barista is making, watching his damn good looking hands do his job. He walks over to you with two cups and you can't help but just stare at him. His outfit today consists of jeans and a tight black tshirt with a flannel jacket over top.

"Two iced matcha lattes with coconut milk and a strawberry cold foam on top," He smiles as Nobara eagerly grabs both of the drinks and hands one to you.

She sips it right away, "This is the best I've ever had thank youuu," she dramatically draws out while pulling you out the door heading to your apartment again. You look back to see him watching you leave and give a small wave with the hand that is holding your drink. You can't tell if you're imagining it but you think you see a faint blush over his cheeks.

-

You and Nobara enjoy your typical pregame activities, getting ready together, listening to music, and sharing a blunt.

"The guy at the coffee shop was checking you out," she half slurs, talking while applying her lip gloss.

"What makes you say that?" You think she's messing with you but you also hadn't told her about your little crush.

"When I was ordering he was staring at you the WHOLE time. Like he didn't even make eye contact with me I don't think!" She wines, "God it's not fair he's so gorgeous."

"To be fair Nobara, you think most guys are gorgeous" You giggle and walk towards the freezer to grab some liquor. "Speaking of gorgeous men, who's party are we even going to tonight?"

"I think it's at some guy named Satoru Gojo's house? I guess he's good childhood friends with Megumi from when he didn't really have a dad." There goes your friend, sharing other people's business when she didn't really need to.

"Mmm," you nod and throw back a shot of liquor, "I think I had a class with him when I was like a freshman and he was a senior. A real interesting character."

"Maybe you can introduce me and I'll get lucky," Nobara raises her eyebrows at you.

"You will not be having sex on my couch." You say sternly before you both erupt in a fit of giggles. Gathering a few last minute things before heading out, you also grab a reusable shopping tote and fill it with a little bit of your own alcohol, you never know what they may or may not have at these kinds of parties.

-

Walking there was a little chilly but overall a nice night for the time of year. This guy must've gone to your school and hadn't left yet given the proximity of his house to your apartment and to campus.

You walk in and see Yuji Itadori right away with his friendly smile and big personality. He gives you both hugs and you know at least if Nobara doesn't get lucky with anyone else she can rely on Yuji.

Your energetic friend holds your hand as she searches the rest of the party to find her friend Megumi. He stands in the kitchen with a white haired man that you faintly think is this Gojo guy, both getting ready to shotgun a beer together. You and Nobara wait to see who wins before interrupting, grabbing drinks out of the cooler and setting down your bag with liquor and hard seltzers in it. It appears that Gojo finishes just a second before Megumi and you hear Nobara interrupting, "Gumi what was that?! You lost like a little bitch?"

He groans in response but ultimately smiles, "Why am I friends with you again?"

"Because you've been stuck with me since high school."

Watching the altercation, Gojo comes up to you and asks, "You're with them?" Nodding his head at the two immaturely arguing.

"Sadly." you respond taking a swig of your drink.

"I'm Satoru Gojo, this is my place, thanks for coming." He eyes you over top of his black round sunglasses, making you feel like you may be wearing too revealing of clothes.

"I'm y/n, thanks for the invite by proxy," You giggle as Megumi makes his way over to you.

"Y/n, good to see you," the spikey haired boy gives you an awkward side hug, and a little kiss on the top of your head. Satoru raises his eyebrows at the two of you and you roll your eyes. When Megumi and Nobara get distracted and head into another room you fill him in. "Megumi and I may have hooked up once or twice when we were drunk," You blush, revealing your secret that hardly anyone knew to this stranger.

"Mhmm, seems like more than once or twice," Gojo sips his drink and sighs dramatically, leaving the kitchen to you alone.

Just then the back door of the kitchen that leads to the back yard creaks open. You turn to see who it was out of instinct, and recognize the girl with the brown bob from the cafe earlier today. She carries on past you not even really looking at you with her cigarette still lit in her mouth.

You see Nobara in the living room from your spot on the kitchen and mouth to her that you're going outside to smoke. She nods and thumbs up, but it seems that Yuji also read your lips and is interested in joining you.

You head out to the backyard, very dimly lit despite the pretty lights Gojo tried to hang up to make it look more aesthetic. You pull out a dab pen and a cigarette and hold them up for Yuji to take his pick. His eyes light up at the weed pen and he takes a huge inhale.

"God Yuji, careful," you laugh and proceed to take a smaller hit.

Your laugh seems to attract the attention of another group standing outside, and you immediately quiet yourself.

"Do you have a light?" One of them asks although you can't make out names or voices and even if you could you don't know many people here.

"Yeah," you respond, digging out a baby pink lighter that has a "Daddy's Girl" sticker on it, a joke that one of your friends gave you. Hopefully its dark enough that they can't see it.

A blonde guy approaches you to grab it, "Thanks, we have some seats over here if you guys want." Yuji happily follows but you're a little apprehensive. However they do have a firepit going so it is a little brighter over there.

"I'm Kento, this is my boyfriend Yu," the two introduce themselves, lighting their cigs at the same time with your lighter. You take another small hit of your pen as the brunette one comments, "Nice lighter." It makes you cough on your smoke a bit but eventually turns into laughter, "Thank you," You smile grabbing it back from them.

Yuji seems to be a little high from his rather large puff earlier, and you ask, "I'm going to go check on Nobara, you need anything?" He smiles and shakes his head and starts some conversation about an underground fight club with the two guys as you walk back inside. You enter back into the kitchen, grabbing another drink and heading into the living room where you last saw Nobara. She is having a heart to heart with some girl that graduated last year that you know of named Maki. They both have been drinking and just are smiling and agreeing with everything the other says.

She suddenly turns to you when she realizes you're standing there, "Your lover, he's here." She abruptly turns back around ignoring your inquiry of who she is referring to. You see Gojo and Megumi talking in the kitchen and decide to go talk to them instead of standing there looking awkward. You couldn't see from the angle you were at, but the brunette bob cigarette girl was also standing with them chatting.

Gojo waves you over to the conversation, putting a playful arm around your shoulders. "So sweetheart," Satoru starts, slurring his words a little more than he was the last time you talked to him, "Were trying to place bets on who's going to hook up with who tonight."

"Shoko has money on Suguru and Yuki, Megumi bets on Nobara and Yuji, and me, well I have money on you and Megumi." The four of you errupt in laughter and yelling over top of each other of who is correct.

"What are we arguing about?" Another voice asks that just came into the kitchen. You turn to see who it is with Gojo's arm still loosely hanging onto you.

"Suguruuuu" Satoru coos, "Finally joined the party! Shoko here thinks you're going to hook up with Yuki tonight."

"Like hell," he mutters looking to see who his best friends choice of girl is for the evening, before his eyes land on you. You can't help but drop your jaw at the beautiful barista from the cafe standing in front of you. It looks like he just showered, wet hair which is half up half down, and you can smell the fresh body wash radiating off of him.

"Who'd you bet Satoru?" Suguru questions, still having his eyes focused on you.

"I bet little miss y/n here and her boy toy Megumi." He responds and your cheeks flush at the fact this beautiful man may think you're not interested because of Gojo's fat mouth.

"Who'd you bet on?" Shoko asks directed towards Geto.

"I'll have to get back to you on that," he turns to get a drink from the cooler before taking a step outside, you assume to smoke.

You excuse yourself from under Satoru's arm, leaving him Megumi and Shoko to talk about more random gossip. Heading to the backdoor, you try to build up some courage to introduce yourself to this Geto guy. Much to your dismay, as you are walking out of the door in your own thoughts, another person was coming through the door to go inside but was a lot more solid than you. Bouncing back onto your ass you giggle, "I'm so so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," you look up to meet the amber eyes you've been thinking about for the past week. It feels like the wind has gotten knocked out of you seeing how close your faces were with him grabbing your hand to help you up.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to knock you over like that,” he slightly laughs. “I’m just grabbing a lighter,” letting go of your hand holding the door open.

“Oh I have one here!” You pull it out of your pocket kicking yourself for showing it to someone else again. Well maybe it will at least start a conversation. You hand it to him and he lights his cigarette, not making a comment and hands it back to you. You also decide to light a cigarette, trying your best to look cool doing it but because of the wind you’re having a little trouble. Suguru sticks up his hand to block the wind for you. His damn hands. It’s like as big as your face up close and you say “thanks” with the cigarette hanging out of your mouth now lit.

“Y/n? Is that your name?” He breaks the silence first.

“Yes, are you Suguru?” You ask sweetly back

“Suguru Geto, the one, the only, barista extrodinaire,” he laughs and draws a puff.

“I like your laugh.” You blurt out, now realizing your judgement is a little impaired from your weed alcohol and nicotine pairing. “Sorry that just kind of came out.”

“That’s okay,” he stares at you with kind eyes ashing his cigarette against Gojos house.

“Did you like the matcha today?” He asks after you don’t respond.

“Actually no,” you bust out laughing, “I don’t like matcha I was just distracted when she was ordering.”

“Distracted by what?” He asks.

“You,” you realize how close your faces are and how intimate the moment is with your glowing cigarettes and how intoxicating the mix of his smell is.

He nods and smirks at your response, glancing down at your lips. “I think I want to get to know you more y/n.”

You gather all the courage that you haven’t had with this man for the past few days and put it all in your lips and lean in to kiss him. He kisses back, graciously, putting his hand against the back of your head as you place your hand on his hard pec. He depends the kiss, moving his lips passionately before entering his tongue into your mouth. His free hand wraps around your waist.

Just as things are getting intense you hear Nobara squeal in the kitchen, “GOJO LOOK!” You both break the kiss laughing, but still pressed up against him.

“I think I may know who my bet is on for tonight,” he winks and gives you another kiss, making your knees weak and release a tiny whimper into his mouth. You pray he didn’t hear it, but instead he asks, “needy daddy’s girl?”

You feel your cheeks grow so warm and cover your face with your hands. “Just kidding pretty girl, your lighter was cute though.”

—

reblogs and comment for a part 2 ?? 🤭🤭

[mythosidhesdollhouse]

Rainbow High Sparkle & Shine ('Moonbows') Clementine spotted in the wild! And I gotta say I'm genuinely charmed by her. I love the muted orange color palette, the mismatched eyes, the new accessories (I'd way rather have a coffee machine and a book than another bloody set of makeup brushes), and the GLITTER LEGS. Of all the gimmicks MGA has tossed at Rainbow High since the reboot, this is the first one I've been 100% on board for. And just to get right out in front of anyone who wants to start griping about them 'ripping off Novi Stars'--

Are you seriously going to sit there and complain about a toy company "stealing" a design feature FROM ONE OF THEIR OWN BRANDS??? Especially when they've already reused this concept on Mermaze? You're making yourself look foolish. Please stop.

Glitter wand/space tube technology has been around since the 80s. Novi Stars didn't invent it. The only thing they 'innovated' was coming up with the idea to sculpt them into leg shapes. Not that original.

That's it, no more notes. I know I must come off as abject Rainbow High apologist, but honestly I'm not. Trust and believe I have a whole host of quality control issues across the entire run of the line that I could bitch about, should the mood strike. I just don't think the current round of changes are quite as catastrophic as a lot of people in the doll community seem to believe. Chalk it up to being in this hobby for multiple decades, enough to have an eye for the long arc of dolly history. And from that perspective I see the these changes as different, certainly, but not necessarily bad (if this sounds like it's becoming a recurring theme in my doll commentary BUCKLE UP kids, you are correct). FWIW I will admit to feeling like it's rather shitty that we got these instead of another wave of New Friends; why go to the trouble of sculpting three brand new body types if you're only going to use them one time???

ANYWAY-- extemporizing aside, I am actually curious to know what you all think of these! Bad as the slime dolls? Worse? Thinking of getting one? Share your thoughts.

(Clementine pix swiped from here; glitter wands from Amazon)

[anartificialsatellite]

I have some bad mood problems linked to my cycle and I'm always a little worried that the actual anomaly is not the two and a half weeks where I feel extra shitty, it's the one and a half week where I feel less that way? and if I managed to find something to smooth it all out, it would just be shitty feels across the board, because at what point do I have to stop referring to that good period as "normal" when it's literally only a fraction of how I spend my time

[writtenjewels]

Informal

Shepard was excited when he stepped on board the Normandy. Captain Anderson prepped him on what he would find: a sleek frigate with an unusual set-up for the CIC. Apparently that part of the ship was inspired by the turians. It would definitely take some getting used to, but what better way to flatter your former enemy than to model your command center after their design?

He wished he had more time to read up on the crew before launch. Some of the names looked familiar—no doubt his parents talked about them, or possibly even worked with them—but Shepard wasn't familiar with anybody. He trusted Anderson's judgment, though.

Shepard stepped onto the bridge, where he found the pilot and copilot, along with their Spectre guest. Though he hadn't gotten a chance to talk with any of them yet, Shepard already knew that the pilot preferred being called “Joker” and that the guy in the copilot seat was a biotic. Even if he hadn't read it in the lieutenant's file, everyone onboard was talking about Alenko's biotics. Just one of the many factors that made this shakedown run a little unusual.

After Nihlus left the bridge, Joker declared, “I hate that guy.”

“Nihlus gave you a compliment,” Alenko remarked, “so you hate him?”

“Spectres are bad news,” Joker insisted. “Call me paranoid.”

“You're paranoid,” Alenko obliged without missing a beat. Shepard had to fight back the laugh that wanted to burst out from that. The conversation continued, with Joker warning Anderson that Nihlus was on his way.

“He's already here, Joker,” the captain replied.

“Is it me, or is the captain always angry?” Joker observed.

“Only when he's talking to you, Joker,” Alenko responded. Again, Shepard had to bite back his laugh. He tried to catch Alenko's eye, and the lieutenant looked up to meet his gaze. Alenko's lip pulled up in the barest of smiles and there was a glint in his hazel eyes. Shepard smiled back at him, then they both broke eye contact to focus back on their tasks.

Shepard still hadn't lost the smile when he stepped into the meeting between Nihlus and Anderson. He found himself grateful for Alenko's playful banter putting him in a good mood. He needed it to balance the seriousness of what this “shakedown” run was really about.

No one was in the mood for playful banter after Eden Prime. Losing Jenkins weighed on Shepard, and every time he closed his eyes, his mind would play back the images from the beacon. They had some down-time before reaching the Citadel and Shepard was feeling restless. He left the crew quarters with no real destination in mind.

He found Alenko at a work station. The biotic wiped an arm across his brow and stepped away from the console. His expression was tight and strained, but the moment he spotted Shepard it cleared. He snapped a salute.

“At ease.” Shepard waved him off. Alenko relaxed slightly.

“How are you feeling, Commander?”

“I don't know how I can answer that, Lieutenant.”

“For me, I think 'shitty' would about sum it up,” Alenko commented. Shepard felt his lip twitch and a brief lightness filled him. “Corporal Jenkins was just a kid, eager to get his feet wet on a real mission. And Nihlus...” He let out a breath. “He was a Council Spectre. I can't imagine how his death is going to reflect on the Alliance. Then there's the beacon—a priceless Prothean artifact, and it was destroyed on our watch. So... yeah, things are shitty.”

“Hard to find a bright side,” Shepard sighed.

“We're going to the Citadel,” Alenko reminded him. “The hub of the galaxy, where all the species come together. I've only ever heard about its size and scope before. It'll be incredible to see it in person. And we'll get to see all the other aliens that make up our galaxy. There will be asari, salarians, elcor, and volus. It's an opportunity to learn more about them.”

“Wow.” Shepard let out a soft laugh. “I like your optimism, Lieutenant.” It was more than that. Alenko had clearly been thinking a lot about their situation, both the good and bad. The fact that he could be optimistic made Shepard more hopeful, too.

“I'm just hoping some good comes out of all this, that's all,” Alenko said. “Sorry if I'm being too informal,” he quickly added. “Something about this reminds me of Brain Camp, and we were never big on protocol there.”

“Brain Camp?” Shepard echoed.

“That's what we called it. Officially, it was known as Biotic Acclimation and Temperance Training. I'll tell you about it later.”

“I look forward to it. And don't worry too much about informality. From what I saw on the bridge, it's a strength of yours.”

“Oh.” Alenko looked surprised. His expression softened and he chuckled. “You'd be the first of my commanding officers to even notice, let alone consider it a strength.”

“I'm honored.” Shepard smiled at him. “I hope I can see more of it in the future.” That got Alenko to smile back at him.

Their situation was still shitty, but Shepard was feeling better about it after talking to the lieutenant.

[romanarose]

Leather and Lace: Chapter 5

Santiago "Pope" Garcia X Fem!OC

Pervious chapter here : Next chapter

Fic master list

A/N: I'm so sorry this is just long as hell. I couldn't find a natural end and there was so much I wanted to include. Sorry it took so long. Hopefully a new chatper of Sunshine Starlight Sweetheart Brightside will be out this week.

The hat scene is based on a post by @copingchaos and @welcometostayingawake which I will link in at the scene, be sure to give the post a like and reblog!

Final A/N: I want to make a masterlist for this fic but I wanna have some nice art or something for it sooooo if anyone wanna draw something or make a mood board or something for this, I’ll include it in the masterlist and tag/link ur account and any pages you use for your art! Anything sent will be included, even little doodles so don’t be embarrassed!

Chapter Summary: We see Santi and Will's side of the argument when they went inside. Santi and Laci find a special time just for them and have a moment. Laci babysits Rosie will the guys have drinks.

******************

“Do you have ANY IDEA how close you came to dying, Pope? It’s a goddamn miracle you didn’t get your head blasted open! You and Ben could’ve died! Then what? Do we spit up the money again and give it to your non-existent family and pretend it’s okay? If Ben died, would you just give me a pat on the back and say ‘Oh, sorry!’ and move on?”

Pope couldn’t sleep. The day had riled him up too much. Him and Will, after Frankie chewed them out, had gone to the kitchen. Santi hated leaving her out on the porch. Hated more how jealous he felt of Benny. But he didn’t want to test Frankie’s patience.

“Is that what this is all about, Will?” Santi crossed him arms at his friend. “Jesus, go to therapy.”

“I don’t need therapy, I need to stop watching my friends get shot!”

“Will you shut up? Frankie is going to fucking kill us as it is.” There was a long, pregnant silence. “Listen, I’m sorry Ben got shot. You know I’m sorry. But Ben agreed with me, he said I should’ve stayed with her… Maybe you should-”

“Don’t tell me to take time out of the field, Pope.”

Santi raised his hands in defense. “Okay, okay. But I think we’re all going to maybe take some time off, Frakie wants to spend time with Rosie, Ben’s got physical therapy-”

“You’ve got the girl. Who you want to spend time with” He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

Pope rolled his eyes. “Can you stop being shitty about Laci? I’m trying to help her”

“Oh please” He countered. “You have way past doing your job. You got a thing for her, even if you won’t admit it.”

“She needs help, Will”

“You saved her life, you were supposed to bring her back to the embassy, and be done. Have you ever stopped to consider you are overstepping? Have you ever considered that maybe there's a reason soldiers aren’t supposed to take back trafficking victims to play house?”

Santi shook his head. He had considered that, of course. “That’s not what's happening here.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t fuck her if you had the chance?” Will challenged.

Santi pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re getting off topic here.” He diverted. “We’re here because you’re being a dick to her”

There was a pause and Santi watched a boatload of emotions dance across Will’s face as he searched for a smart ass answer. When nothing came, he simply agreed. “I know.”

“Then why are you being like this? I know you know damn well this isn’t her fault, and knowing you, you are going to start feeling really shitty about how you treated her.”

Will groaned dramatically. “I don’t know man! I know I can’t blame her for what happened but my subconscious does anyway.”

Santiago’s lips smirked up a bit at that. “Subconscious, huh? You sure you haven't been the therapy?”

Will flicked Santi’s head. “No, I took psych in high school.”

“Nerd.”

The men stood in silence, feeling better but also not feeling like everything had been spoken. 

Will broke the silence again. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been. I just… I can’t help it sometimes.”

Santi knew he was sincere, but he also knew he had a duty to her. “Well you’re going to have to help it, man.” Santi crossed his arms. “Because for the time being, she’s going to be here, and if you want to be around me, you’ll have to be around her. And if you’re going to be around us, you’re going to have to be nice, because I’m not putting up with it anymore.”

Will closed his eyes “I know.”

“That girl has been kidnapped, raped, beaten, and god knows what else this last year, I’m not letting her put up with you bullshit too.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Will opened his eyes to look at Santi. He knew the protectiveness his friend felt over the girl was partially due to the loss of his sister, but he couldn’t help but feel there was another attachment here.

“Don’t say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” He nodded out the door.

Will gave a short laugh. “You gonna leave me alone with her long enough to apologize?”

“If you promise to behave.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah” Will headed for the door. 

Laci said things were good, that they’d made it. She didn’t go into details and he didn’t ask. That was their business. But right now, he couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t abnormal, he didn’t sleep a lot. Right now, all he could think of was Tom’s head with blood oozing out. Santi shook his head like an etch-a-scetch, and stood up to get some food. Unsurprisingly, Laci was up watching Friends. 

 He popped back into his room to pull shorts over his boxers and a white tee shirt, mumbling. “Even’n Lace.” As he rubbed his eyes, walking behind the couch in the living room. Lace turned around, hopping up on her legs, looking over the couch. He sees the movement, and looks over to find her eyes following him. He could swear she was looking at his butt. He smirked at her “Need something?” 

Her eyes flicked up to his, embarrassed at having been caught, she turned back to the tv and sat down.

“Ah, c’mon Munacita, I’m only teasing.” He waited until she glanced back at him. “You hungry”

She shrugged and smiled. ‘I could eat’

Santi heated up some pizza rolls, and brought a plate over to her. “Bon appetit, mademuasel.”

She grinned at him as she accepted the plate.

“G’night” Santiago began walking back to his room with his plate.

“Santiago?” She called after him, causing him to turn around.

“Yes?”

She nodded over to the seat next to her on the couch, and raised her eyebrows. ‘Join me?’

Santi knew damn well this was a slippery slope. He knew, really, that he shouldn't be indulging her in her little flirts. But she looked at him with her big hopefully eyes, how could he deny her like that? “Yeah, sure Lace” He sat down at the other end of the couch. “But we aren’t watching Friends.”

Laci grinned at him, bouncing over to sit next to him and handing him the remote. “Well you can’t sleep…” She spoke softly. “What do you watch?”

Santi was thankful for the dim lights, he was sure his embarrassment would show. “I um… it’s kinda silly”

She nudged him, urging him on. 

“I like to watch old sitcoms”

Laci laughed at this. She smiled, shaking her head ‘That’s not silly’ She pointed at Friends still on the TV.

“Friends isn’t old!” Santiago insisted, suddenly very aware of their age gap, making him feel even more ashamed of the thoughts that had been creeping into his head.

She gave him a pointed look. “It’s older than me.”

Fuck, that made him feel old. “I meant, really old sitcoms. Dick Van Dyke, I love Lucy.”

She nodded to the TV while nuzzling up next to him. “Relax.” She told him, and he tried.

A few hours later, he wondered how he got there. How had Santi ended up laying down, stretched out on the couch, with Laci asleep in his arms?

That’s how they found themselves more nights than not. Santiago would join Laci on the couch, and slowly their bodies would come together, and she’d fall asleep in his arms in various entanglements. There was something natural in it. There was a bit of desire on Santi’s part, how could he not, with a party blonde girl in his arms?

When she woke up the first morning, Laci smiled at him. She looked at Santi like they were lovers waking up on a lazy Sunday morning. Laci climbed off of him as he stood up. Santi’s thoughts were racing. Why did he do that? Why did he let her lay on him? Why did he wrap his arms around her? Why didn't he get up? But when he looked at her all sleepy and smiling at him, he couldn’t find it to feel as guilty as he should’ve.

She looked at him, touching her back.

“Does your back hurt?” He asked

She shook her head and pointed at him. ‘No, does yours?’

Oh. She had been asking about him. “No, actually I feel great. I haven't slept that well in…” years. He thought. Santi didn’t finish the sentence. He changed the subject as he stood up. “Well, the whole day is free. No doctors, no therapy, nothing. What do you wanna do?”

Laci thought for a moment and shrugged.

“C’mon, we can do anything you want. Whole day, up to you, what grand plans do you have?”

Laci considered his words. After a moment, she made scissors with her fingers and went to her hand.

“A hair cut?!” Santi chuckled. “We can do anything, and you want a hair cut?”

She blushed, but shrugged.

“Okay, Munecita. A haircut it is.”

Santi had her pick wherever she wanted for breakfast. Starbucks, IHOP, some fancy brunch place, it was up to her. He tried to express that money was no issue, but wasn’t sure how to go about that without sounding like he was bragging. The moment he got the money, he was set for life. He could have lived in luxery without working a day in his life. But he did work. He needed something to do. They all did, needed something to take their minds off the horrors. Benny still fought. Fought in matches and in bars. Frankie had his beautiful daughter, Santi’s god daughter. Frankie also had coke, something that no one dared bring up. Will always seemed like he had it together, focusing on field work and making sure Benny didn’t get himself killed. Seemed like he had it together, until he didn’t. Incidents like this last week were reminders that Will had a lot of guilt over Tom’s death that no one addressed. And Santi? Santi had work. Constant work. He always had something going on, something to distract him from everything he had seen and done… and hadn’t done.

He knew that the guys thought, or at least wondered if that's what Laci was. A project. But Santi didn’t think so. There was so much more he wanted to know about her, wanted to do with her, time he wanted to spend…

Santiago went to a barber for his hair, but Benny had a recommendation for a hair stylist. He promised that she wouldn’t make a big deal about Laci not talking.

“You must be Benjamin’s friends! I’m Brit. You can take a seat at the first chair, I’ll be with you in a sec, hon” The stylist called over to Laci, then looked at Santi. “You getting a hair cut too? You look like you could use it.” She teased while washing items in the sink. “Nay has some free time, could squeeze you in?”

“No thanks, I’m-” Santo started, but felt a nudge. Laci was looking up at him, grinning and nodding. She looked so excited, how could he deny her. He sighed with a smile. “Okay, yeah I suppose I could use a trim.”

“Excellant!”

Santi walked over to where Brit was cleaning. “Hey uh, did Ben talk to you about her at all?”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, he told me how y’all found her. Horrible. Don’t worry, her cut is on the house.”

Santiago shook his head. “No, no I’m paying for hers, don’t worry ‘bout that. Thing is, she doesn’t talk much. Sometimes at all, she has pictures for what she wants, but she can’t really reply unless it’s yes or no…”

“Don’t worry hon, I understand, I’ll keep it simple.”

He smiled. “Thank you.” Santi began walking away, but turned around. “Is there any like… hair treatments or something… nice? I asked her what she wanted to do today, all she asked for was a hair cut… Is there anything I can add to make it nicer for her?”

Brit gave him a knowing look. “Yeah, I’ll check out her hair, see what she needs.”

Laci and Santi spent the next few hours in the chairs, it was almost like a spa day. Much of Laci’s hair had been damaged from a year of no care and malnutrition, so she got much of it cut off, holding up a picture for reference on the phone Santi had bought her.. Brit had opted for a keratin treatment to strengthen her hair. Laci had asked (via her notes app)  about highlights, but Brit was concerned about the integrity of  her hair at the moment, and suggested they come back in a few months and recommended hair skin and nails pills.

Santi got a trim, and Laci gave him pleading eyes to get the keratin treatment. Nay suggested he get a deep conditioning for his curls, and Laci allowed it. Together, they relaxed as the soft music played. Nay and Brit were thankful for not having to make conversation, and Santi secretly enjoyed being pampered. 

“Jeez, whatever you and Benny do for work, if you wanna send more coworkers my way, feel free”

Santi had left a generous tip, and he knew Benny would’ve as well. They were very popular wherever they were regulars at. 

The next two weeks were something akin to domestic. During the day, they took turns cooking for each other. Well, “cooking” Santi could get by with a few Guatemalan recipes, but he tended to rely on burgers, microwave food, and pastas. He generally was in charge of lunch. Laci took on dinner. She was better at cooking than him. Some recipes, a white girl from St. Louis probably wouldn’t know, and Santi figured she had learned in her year of captivity. It occurred to him that they never really talked about what happened. He supposed that's what her therapists were for. Laci had given him access to all her medical and psych records, something Santi never took advantage of or even asked for. Laci had given permission for her psych to talk to Santi about what they talked about, she signed everything away to Santi. He was all she had. He could, if he wanted, find out everything they had done. But Santiago didn’t want to find out that way. If she wanted him to know, she could tell him. He didn’t want to invade her privacy. She deserved to be allowed secrets, even if she had given up her rights to any. 

More nights than not, she fell asleep in his arms. it had become routine. If they couldn’t sleep, they’d meet on the couch and watch old sitcoms. More nights than not, she laid on his chest. And tonight? Tonight he was regretting it. Not regretting it enough to stop, however. Not enough to move, to get up, to get away from her. Not when she was so close to him. Laci had sat up on his chest, her hands tracing over his face. He was tired, too tired, and the soft glow of TV bounced off her face. She was beautiful. Her haircut was chin length, a style that worked well for her straight blonde hair. Despite his best judgment, he reached up to touch her face. Laci’s fingers trailed his hairline, his cheekbones, his jaw, and softly over his bottom lip. He fought her urge to take her fingers in his mouth, but this was more innocent. Something pure, delicate and new. He didn’t want to ruin what was happening, even if he knew he should walk away. Her skin was still pale, but had gained color in its cheek’s, a bit of pink on her face that matched the shade of her lips. A shade that matched the color of pink she generally likes to wear. 

Laci leaned into his touch, and before he could stop himself, he lifted his face to hers. For a moment, their lips merely brushed together, an air of hesitancy like a teenage crush, like a first kiss stifled by nervousness and awkward touches. Finally, the hand on her face gently entwined in her thin hair, bringing her to his mouth ever-so carefully. It wasn’t a demand, it wasn’t an insistence, it was a guide. ‘Come here’ it said ‘let me love you, please’. The kiss was a plea. ‘Let me love you, let me love you, let me love you’ from who to whom, Santi didn’t know. Was Santiago asking to let him protect her and love her and help her, or was Laci asking him to open up, to know and be known by him.

There was no tongue, no fever, no wet, hot kisses and lascivious touching. Just his lips on hers, slow and kind, her gentle touch on her face begging him not to pull away. He only did so for moments long enough to check on her, only to see her smiling dreamily at him before one of them went back to the languid affection. There was a tightness in his chest, nervous to be seen so openly. It was a vulnerability he really shared. His job, the way he lived his life, had prevented him from normal relationships. This felt like a new start, a brand new thing not only with them, not only between him and the pretty girl in his arms, but within himself. There was something in him that had been laid to the ground with every military move, everyone had had to kill, everyone he watched be killed. Every kiss he planted on her lips brought new life; the hand in her head secured her to him, begged her to stay, stay, stay with me Laci, please. Something that had been burried deeper with every time he watched his friends get shot, every member of his family who died, all that was being brought to the surface with every faint, soft brush of her lips and the tender touch of her hand on his stubbled face. He didn’t want to stop. He wondered if he could stop time, what he would give to keep them like this, safe in each other’s arms for ever.

But he did stop, he had to. If he didn’t, he’d take things further. He would already regret this in the morning, he didn’t need to give into every carnel desire he had. Laci smiled, giving him one last kiss on the cheek before laying her head down on his chest. Tomorrow was for regret; tomorrow was for feeling shitty. Tonight was for nothing but thoughts of her lips, and the comforting touch of her hand.

The next day

“You two ready yet?” Will called out to Santiago and Laci in the doorway. Will was the DD for tonight. 

Ben was already half drunk. “LET’S GOOOOOO”

“Benny, shut the fuck up or I swear to god I’m leaving you here”

“Hey!” Santiago Garcia emerged from his room. “You’re not leaving a drunk Ben alone in my house.”

“He’s gonna get in a fucking fight tonight and I’m too sober to deal with this.”

Santi patted his friend on his back. This was Will’s apology for being a dick at the BBQ. 

Laci practically skipped out of her room. She wore white overalls over her pink undershirt, and was beaming. Frankie had asked her to babysit Rosie so the guys could have a few hours out. Santi had he feeling it was primarily for Laci’s benefit, but he was nervous. Him and Laci had been attached at the hip since the moment he found her, hardly being separated. She always had him in the room with her for doctors, and if she was in therapy, he stayed in the waiting room. For any meeting for social workers and things of that sort, he was always in the room, translating or relaying messages, depending on how verbal she was that day. This was the first time they would be separated by anything more than a few yards.

“Frankie is going to fucking kill you” Santi commented when he saw the hat Benny was wearing. It said ‘women want me, fish fear me’ from some tik tok audio.

Benny grinned. “I’m counting on it!”

“You change your goddamn ringtone yet?”

“Absolutely not!” Benny had set his ringtone to “Benny and the Jet’s” months ago, and it was driving the guys insane. Laci seemed to think it was funny. Every time it went off while they watched Always Sunny, Santi groaned, and Laci giggled.

Will started to drag Ben back to the Jeep. “Who still has a ringtone anymore?” He mutters as everyone loads up, heading to Frankies next.

Laci held Santi’s hand as she usually did when they left their house, but as soon as Laci spotted Rosie, his hand and him became irrelevant. She scooped the toddler off the floor, and began whispering praises to the giggling girl. She talked to Rosie more than Santi. 

“Two peas in a pod” Frankie commented and he put the food on the high chair. Then he spotted Benny’s hat. “Take that god damn shit off!” He tried to grabbed it off Ben’s head.

Ben yelped but doged Frankies grasp. He ran around the counters, tailed by Fish, mimicking the audio. “Women want me, Fish fears me”

Frankie chased the boy around the living room.“I don’t fear shit, Jackass, fuck off” Frankie grabbed the hat off Ben’s head.

“Hey!” The whole group of men turned to see Laci covering Rosie’s ears. She nodded to the baby. “Language” she scolded.

“Yeah, Fish, l a n g u a g e!” and took his hat back.

Frankie sighed, one battle at a time. He turned to Laci. “This is her dinner, she’ll fight you over it for a while but I promise she’ll eat it, just gotta keep at her. If she gets too messy you can give her a bath, but I think she’ll be okay. Bedtime is 7, but she gets really excited with new people, so if she doesn’t go to sleep, don’t sweat it. Help yourself to anything in the fridge or whatever, remote for the TV is on the coffee table. Don’t worry about dishes or anything. Any questions?”

Laci looked like she was mentally noting everything in her brain. She shook her head.

“Great. Any questions, you have my number, you can text Santi if that’s easier. I’ll set the security before I go, theres camera’s in the living room. Not that I don’t trust you, I don’t trust the outside. Years of military makes me paranoid.”

Laci nodded, smiling and still holding the little girl.

Santi spoke up. “I think I’m gonna sit tonight out guys.”

Everyone, including Laci, turned to him.

“What?” Ben asked.

“I’m kinda tired, I think I’ll just stay in with Lace and Rosie tonight”

“You stay in with Laci EVERY NIGHT, Pope.” The shots Benny had taken had loosened his mouth. “Jesus Christ she’ll be okay for a few hours.”

“No, that's not it-”

Ben scoffed loudly “Oh yes it is! Come one, give her a little freedom”

Santi glared at Ben’s comment. “Freedom? Ben, I’m not keeping her captive.”

Laci handed Rosie to Will, who took her with a smile and a kiss. Laci took Santi’s hand and dragged the irritated man to the hall. “Santi, it’s okay. I can handle a one year old”

He sighed, momentarily distracted by her pink lips, that only last night were on his. “I know you can, I just…”

“I know I havn’t…” Laci shuffled a bit. “I don’t really let you go anywhere, I don’t want to keep you back…” She looked up at him, her thoughtful blue eyes on him.

He softened for her. “Oh Lace, no, you aren’t keeping me back, not at all. I… I enjoy our time… together…” he trialed off, both of them thinking about last night, the kiss… neither had talked about it.

“Santi, I promise it’ll be okay. I’ll text you if anything goes wrong, or if I get anxious or something, okay?”

Santi considered this. It had been a long time since he had a chance to get loose with the guys, and Ben and Frankie promised to provide some entertainment… “Okay, yeah, just… keep me updated, okay?”

She lit up at that. “I promise”

They walked out of the hall, everyone turned to them, Laci smiled “Parties on.”

With a loud bunch of cheers from the guys, everyone got ready to go. Frankie gave Rosie a bunch of kisses and when everyone else had left, Santi kissed Laci on the cheek. “Have fun.” and tickled Rosie before he left. Benny absolutely saw that.

A few hours and a few shots in, Ben brought it up. “So, you two finally kissing” He said out of nowhere.

 Everyone turned to Santi, whose cheeks were flushed with a bit of pink. “What are you talking about, jackass.”

“Everyone’s calling me a jackass tonight!” He exclaimed. Benny wiggled his eyebrows. “I saw you kiss her when we left.”

“What?” Will exclaimed. Frankie was not surprised.

“Listen” Santi defended himself. “It was a kiss on the cheek”  there was a pause, as no one seemed to beleive him. “There might have been… some kissing last night.” A loud ooooooo from Ben. “No, no, not like that. And I should havn’t done that” Santi shook his head. “That’s not why I took her in.”

“Well…” Will started, but stopped, hesitating.

“Whatever it is, say it.” Santi groaned, finishing his drink and ordering another round for the guys sans Will.

“I just mean, it’s not the only reason. But I think it was somewhere in the back of your mind.”

Santi looked indignant. “I didn’t move her in to coerce her into sex, Will”

“I didn’t say that!” He raised his hands defensively. “I just mean, she’s a pretty girl, you’re a good looking guy who has been very nice to her,” he stifled a smirk “it’s natural that theres gonna be some… attraction.” Will tried to remain polite.

“Listen.” Santi scrubbed his face. “I’m well aware that she might find me…” He tried to find the right words without sounding braggadocious. “Appealing” he said he a smile, earning laughs from the guys. “But” he got more serious. “I don’t want her to feel like she is obligated to do anything.”

“Santi.” It was Fish’s turn. “I don’t think she feels like that. You treat her like a porcelain doll, she feels safe with you.”

Santi wasn’t relenting. “And I plan on keeping it that way. Lace is still in a high emotional state, I don’t know if she’s thinking clearly, and I’m not going to take advantage of that.”

Ben took another shot. “So what you’re saying is, when she gets more settled, you would go for it”

The alcohol flowed through Santi, taking back his usual inhibitions when he spoke. A smile quipped up at his lips. “All I’m saying is… I enjoy spending time with her, and I wouldn’t mind if she wanted toooooo, continue that” Oh yeah. Yeah he was drunk.

This evoked a round of cheers from the guys, and Frankie ordering more drinks.

A ding on Santi’s phone. When he looked at the screen he smiled.

Frankie looked over. “Everything alright with our girls?”

Our girls

“Yeah, they are great.” He show Frankie, then Benny and Will the picture. Rosie was fast asleep in her bed, Laci laying next to her smiling. Yeah, he was saving that picture.

Laci woke up on the couch, Will very softly whispering for her to wake up, careful not to scare her. “Hey”

Laci gave a sleepy little wave, but was concerned there was no Santi.

“Listen, I just got Frankie to bed, Santi is… drunk off his ass.” He chuckled. “Let’s get you guys home so I get throw Ben on his front porch and be done with him.”

Laci’s face falters, and Will assured her he was joking and would get Ben to bed safely. She stood up, glancing over to the room Rosie was in.

“I already checked on her, but you can say goodbye if you want.” 

Laci shook her head, she didn’t want to wake her.

When she got in the car, it was clear Santi and Ben were DRUNK drunk. Will had shoved them in the back, opening the passenger door for Laci. The whole ride home, Ben and Santi alternated music. Despite his earlier insistence that he didn’t like Luis Fonsi, he sure sang No me Doy Por Vecino loud as hell. Benny did too, even if he couldn’t pronounce the words. Laci looked over to the older Miller, who was glancing at his brother and his friend in the rearview mirror as they screeched out ‘Una senal del destino’ the top of their lungs, gripping to each other dramatically. Will was not as irritated as he pretended to be. He turned to see Laci catching him smiling. 

“They’re funny.” He defended.

Will practically had to carry Santi’s short body to the bed. Laci was grateful for him, there was no way she’d get him there. She took off his shoes as Will practically forced him to drink water.

“STOP WATER BOARDING ME!” Santi half yelled, half laughed.

“I’M NOT WATER BOARDING YOU, I’M TRYING TO HELP YOUR HANGOVER AFTER ALL THOSE SHOTS, DUMBASS”

Laci stood up, gesturing for the cup. She stood over Santiago, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. Will watched as she held the cup to his lips with one hand, and carefully coaxed his head back with the other. The way Santi looked up at her… he was done for. Laci had his wrapped around her finger, and likely had from the moment he saw her. His large brown eyes watched her face as she watched the cup, far more careful with him than Will had been. Santi drank every bit of the water, and Laci patted his head, leaning into whisper “good job, baby“ Suddenly, she looked up, turning around to see Will. She had forgotten he was there. Santi laid down on the bed, mumbling something in Spanish they couldn’t understand.

His face flushed a deep pink as her eyes widened in panic.

“Hey, hey,” Will Miller held up his hands, before pretending to zip his mouth shut. He mimiacked locking his mouth, handing over the key to her. Laci smiled and tentatively took the metaphorical key, tucking it in he roveral pocket.

“You guys gonna be okay here?”

Laci nodded.

“Okay, call me me if he asphyxiates on his vomit or something.” Pope had put all the guys numbers in her phone as soon as he bought it, incase of emergencies.

She looked panicked again. 

“Oh! Oh no, I was joking. Sorry, dry humor.”

This didn't comfort her. Now she was worried about him choking.

He sighed, but smiled. “Here” Will moved Santi to his side. “If he’s on his side, he’ll be fine” Will promised.

Feeling better, Laci nodded

“Okay, I’m gonna get going. Leaving a drunk Ben alone is a bad idea, he’s probably fighting a racoon as we speak.

Laci laughed and waved goodbye. 

When he was out the door, she locked it behind him and set up Santi’s extensive security system. She went back to check on him, sitting on the edge of the bed. When was sure he was asleep, she played with his beautiful, thick hair. “Thank you for everything. I don’t say it enough, but thank you. I owe you everything. Te amo.” A kiss on his forehead. “Te amo, Santiago” Laci climbed into the other side of the bed, not wanting to leave him alone. Will’s joke had worried her. She was going to watch out for him the way he watched out for her.

**************

I hope y'all liked the kiss bc I wanted to write it really fucking sweet. Their first kiss was impulsive, but I wanted this to be slow, deliberate.

I used a piccrew maker to make how I picture Laci when she was found, and then after she had been with Santi and got her hair cut this chapter, which you can find here for reference

Also I'm working on a spotify playlist for this fic, if you have any suggestions go ahead and comment! Its gonna have leather and lace by stevie nicks (duh) some luis fonsi (duh) Selena, etc. if you have any songs you feel fit this fic, comment them here!

Also, writing dialoge that switched between 4/5 people is hard, im sorry if it was confusing.

be sure to follow the leather and lace fic tag, and if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!!! smut is coming i swear

relbogs help a lot and comments mean the world! love y'all and thank you so much for the support y'all have given to this story!

@littlenosoul @bensolosbluesaber @milkymoon2483 @gogh-with-the-flow @itspdameronthings @trinkets01 @p0edameronswife

[thessalian]

Thess vs Cauldron KAPPA

I swear, one of these days I am going to actually get back to the main quest. Or at least the side quest I keep meaning to do. Then again, I need to have something to do in limited time periods before work in the mornings. But the last two days? Nothing but sidetracking.

YESTERDAY

Right. Metal flowers across the river from the Carja camp. I go swim now. Underwater, I think, because Widemaws and Skydrifters.

...Wait.

Wait that said "carp". I NEED THOSE; LET'S GO!

Fifteen minutes later and I probably have enough carp to suit me. Really. Metal flowers.

...Is it wrong that I prize the data point over the vendor trash, as rewards for those last two metal flowers?

Okay, I really am going to head out in the direction of Talanah's whole deal, but I should get a couple of campfires first--

Wait. Wut.

Oh. Oh, this is Fenrise. And I don't see Gattak anywhere. Buuuuuut never let it be said that I waited for backup before I started liberating the hell out of a place. I mean, as long as I'm here, right?

Well, I've killed like two-thirds of these fuckers and I still can't find a way in. Sonuvabitch.

I'm kind of amused that they think I'd give up as easily as ... well, as they give up looking for me. Sneak sneak sneak--

Aha! Climbing spot! And here we go! Poonk-time is now!

I think we're mostly clear so let's free that Tenakth dude--

...Sir? Tenakth guy? I get that you're probably in a really shitty mood given the being-taken-prisoner and everything? But you're being rude as shit.

And onward to command ... and there's three more of you, and a lot of stealth grass. Bye, guys! POONK.

Okay, so this Asera woman Erend was telling me about is ... in someplace called First Forge. I've been all over the map and I haven't a fucking clue where that might be. But I figure I'll trip over it sometime--

Or I could ask Erend. Thank you, Quest Board.

...Hang on. It says "Kill the rebels" but I killed all the rebels--

Oh. More rebels just ... materialised ... to give Gattak something to fight.

...And you won't let me shoot the rebels from a distance? What the fuck? I really dislike being forced into close quarters, and doing it with game mechanics is worse than it being forced on me!

Show of force by rebels, huh? Taking over the sacred training grounds. Assholes.

Heh; you're welcome, Gattak. I'll probably come by and visit sometime, when you're re-established. But for now ... I'm going to drop a gizmo by Stemmur.

Here you go, Stemmur. I think there's like one more left but I'm going to have to read a serious wiki or watch a lot of let's play to figure out how to get that piece of garbage.

What do I want to see Horizon-world's take on? ...Halloween, I think.

...Stemmur, you're adorable and I love you.

Unfortunately, too tired to do much. But tomorrow? TALANAH.

TODAY

Right. Collecting a couple of campfires.

...Ooh, Fireclaws.

I FORGOT HOW DANGEROUS THESE FUCKERS ARE!

...I also forgot about hitting left-shift to slow time while firing until, like, just now. Fireclaws exploding is always a win.

Okay, I have blown so much blastpaste for smoke grenades. Need to stop at a shelter for more. ...Maybe the one near the coast; see if I can get those pouch upgrades.

Moonfish skin, carp skin, crab and lobster shells, aaaaaaaaand ... a pelican feather.

No. No. No... I DON'T NEED YOUR BONES, MOONFISH; I NEED YOUR SKIN! GIVE ME YOUR SKIIIIIIIIIIN!

THANK you.

Okay. Now. Before I go any further, there's a question mark up there I keep missing. Do I have to go through the Greenhouse for it?

*fifteen minutes later* Evidently, I do not. What does Google have to say about this?

Thank you, Reddit. Swimming swimming swimming...

Aha. Here we go. Data point. I do love the datapoints.

(Is anyone else amused that DEMETER seems to have spent a lot of its time writing really emo poetry?)

Right. I'll spare myself a swim and head for the nearest coastline. There's a shelter up there and--

And thaaaaaaaat's a Shellsnapper. Time to practice my left-shift time-slow manoeuvre.

................THAT. WAS. EPIC!!!

(Translation: it had, like, a sliver of health left, and it had gone underground. I was on a rock, waiting, holding a draw. It leapt right into my face and I fired, hitting it directly in its chillwater reservoir. This froze it and took its last little bit of health, all about a foot from my virtual face. That was awesome.)

...Oh. Oh, this is the entrance to that Cauldron I got told about the other day.

.........Oh, I might as well get it over with while I have the spoons.

And right away we start with Outlast-meets-Subnautica. Greeeeeeeeat.

Okay, in we go.

Fun with crates, wonderful-- AMBUSH!

Slow-time function is WIN. Die, Spikesnouts!

And UP we go.

Well, at least this isn't Outlast-meets-Subnautica. It's more a really intense physics puzzle.

I am nailing this time-slow manoeuvre.

At least this isn't as tense as some of the others on the jumping puzzle thing-- AAAAAA! AMBUSH! GET OUT OF MY FACE!

Mrr. Not as clean as I'd like, but they're gone, anyway.

You're literally setting up a Death-From-Above for me, KAPPA. Thanks. *DEATH FROM ABOVE*

...Ooooooh fuck. I'm going to have to outswim a fucking Tideripper.

............Which is easier than I thought it'd be because somehow, for some reason, smoke bombs work underwater.

Okay. Out of its reach. A little less water and a little more space for me to stand.

I HAVE NO PREP TIME FOR THIS AND ALMOST NO ROOM! FUUUUUCK!

But I do have good aim, time-slowing, and a very good weapon, so eventually, I win.

Okay, definitely need a break and-- oh hell, is that the time? I require bath and food.

Really, I will get to Talanah and Danur and everybody else who wants a piece of Aloy right now. But ... bath. Food. Work in the morning.

[yourwinchesterbros]

➰ Mood board of Tig and Beth’s first encounter with eachother ➰ @witchthewriter

A head cannon which ended up to be more of a drabble.. I let this one get away from me a little bit, oops! Got caught up in that Tiggy love!

You pull up to the animal rescue on your Harley. You chose to ride today purposely for insurance; you were not bringing a dog home today, just looking to see if some pup in there, needed a home for the future.

Upon entering the building, you’re escorted to the kennels. You’re left there to interact with those available. Luckily there weren’t many dogs here, only a few searching for a home.

It brought you comfort knowing Charming had somewhat a good reputation for animal care, as most of these pups were little guys that had escaped from their backyards. Surely their owners would find them resting here.

You hear a roar approaching, sounds like a shitty car. You peer out the window to see a charcoal van pull up.

Hmm, drop off?

To your surprise , you see a tall man possessing wild straggly hair, with dark shades on get out of the vehicle. He’s kinda cute.

You trace his figure and audibly gasp. He’s wearing a kutte, Sons of Anarchy

He slides the van door open, to which he pulls out an absolute unit of a dog. A Rottweiler.

Is this thug is leaving his dog here?

Wouldn’t be surprising as he is a criminal. You quickly look away , not wanting to draw attention to yourself. You know very well what the sons are capable of, they’re not known for being the good guys.

“ I just picked her up from the vet , she’s in good shape now..” his voice drifted through the facility as he spoke with the man up front.

“No seriously man, I need to make sure she finds a good home, you gotta call me if anyone wants her…”

You strain your ears as his words suddenly pique your interest.

You jump as the door swings open to the back, where you stand.

There he is, striding in, with her on the leash.

“Oh sorry doll, didn’t mean to scare yah, she’s really friendly”

“Oh, I wasn’t scared of her” you respond quickly, analyzing his kutte once more.

His face shifts, a smirk growing across his face.

“Hey, I don’t bite either sweetheart… well maybe sometimes I do” he chuckles.

You roll your eyes, trying your best to suppress your own grin.

“She is a beautiful girl, can I say hi?”

He takes his shades off and clasps it to his kutte. His pericing blue eyes nearly rock you.

“Absolutely, come say hi, she needs more exposure to friendly people, poor girl was almost killed”

Your jaw drops as you approach the rottie, kneeling to your knees, the dog instantly takes to you, rubbing her face in your hands.

“What do you mean!?” You think the worst, did the sons use her for protection?

You baby talk her as he explains.

“I found her in the backyard of a dog fighting ring, she was left in the dumpster” his voice is deep, gruff, clearly holding back anger.

“What the fuck? Why were you at a fight ring?” You question him, your brows furrowing.

“I mean I could tell yah… but-”

“Then you’d have to kill me, alright I get it. I was born at night, but not last night”.

He cackles at your witty remark.

“So I scooped her up, took her straight to the vet and she’s been there for the past week but this babygirl is all ready for a new home”

Before you can filter yourself, the words come out

“Why wouldn’t you just keep her? I mean you saved her”.

“Doll, trust me. If I could, I would. I already have a pittbull at the clubhouse that I saved a few months ago, my brothers would kill me if I brought another. But don’t worry, I’m making sure she goes in good hands”.

He turns to stare at the owner, brows raised. You hadn’t even realized he was standing there.

“Don’t worry Tig, I’ll make sure” he holds his hands up in surrender.

“Your damn right” he points a finger at him.

You’re in disbelief, gazing down at this beautiful dog who’s spent her young years fighting for her life over blood money.

You shake your head, trying not to let any tears slip.

“Bastards” you whisper.

“Yeah, they are but I make my annual visits there now. Population is less and less each time I go”

“Less dogs?” You look up at him.

“Oh no sweetheart, less men” he smiles down at you “I usually end up bringing a couple of them into the woods” he says ever so casually, his eyes dark.

Through your sudden shudder, you suck on your teeth.

“Alright, maybe you’re not so bad after all” you murmur. You don’t necessarily agree with murder, however you have a deep hate for animal cruelty. It’s good enough a reason in your opinion.

He gazes at you.

“Thanks doll, I don’t hear that often, it’s nice”.

You two share a moment, analyzing each other. His eyes, his dark facial hair, the many scars that have been embedded into his tough skin.

You look down at the Rottweiler, who stares up at you with big loving eyes.

“What’s her name?”

He sighs. “She doesn’t have one.”

You look over at the owner. “Well don’t just stand there, get me the paperwork. I’m taking this baby home” you say sternly.

You look back at Tig. He mouth slightly parted.

“Of course if that’s alright with you… Tig”

He looks at you with utmost appreciation.

“Hell yeah it is” he beams back at you before looking at the owner once again.

“Well get moving man! She doesn’t have all day” he demands, startling him to quickly rush to the front.

“Alright girl, you’re coming home with me” you say to the four legged baby before you.

Tig kneels down, giving her one more kiss and face squeeze before passing the leash over to you. He stands back up, staring down at her, resting his hands on his hips, his lip tight.

You chew the inside of your cheeks, wondering if you’ll regret saying this “Hey.. if you wanna visit her sometime.. I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed” you drawl out.

His gaze snaps up to you “Really? You have no idea how much I’d love that. I’d even bring Mister, my rescue over with me, to play with her”

“Alright then, it’s a date” you smile at him, feeling panic suddenly rise, you quickly rephrase yourself “uhm a puppy play date” you chuckle nervously.

Am I making a move on an outlaw right now?

“Nah, it’s a date” he winks at you.

You look down, trying to conceal the sudden flush in your cheeks.

“Oh shit” you realize that you brought your bike, not exactly a good travel method for a big dog.

“What?“ he furrows his brows “Ah shit, I’m sorry, that was totally creepy of me to say, I mean, I just met you” He presses his palm to his eyebrow.

You laugh “No no, I mean I rode here today, my car is at home”. You smile at him trying to suppress your giggles.

“Oh… OH.. okay I see.. wait hold up, that’s your bike?” He points his thumb over his shoulder, eyes wide.

“Yeah it is” you grin. You can’t deny, it is a sexy ride.

“Well shit, who’s the outlaw now” he chuckles.

In agreement, Tig followed behind you, in the van with the dog in the passenger seat, until you both reached your house.

You kill your engine and swing off the bike removing your helmet as Tig slides the van door open, letting out your newest family member.

He passes you her leash, and she sits right at your side.

“Alright doll, I guess this is it. I never got your name?”

“It’s Beth” you reach out to shake his hand. He ignores it, and pulls you in for a hug.

“Thanks for taking her, it really means a lot” he says gruffly.

“It’s truly my pleasure, now go take care of more those bad guys… Baloo and I will be here, when you’re ready for our date”

He smiles at you before looking down, trying his best to conceal his sudden flurry of butterflies.

“Baloo is it?”

You nod, gazing down at the sweet beast below you. You briefly watch her absorb the nature around. Probably her first time feeling at peace.

“Yeah she’ll take good care of you” he whispers. With a swift move of his hand running through his hair, he turns to the van before looking back at you two.

“Does tomorrow work?” He asks, sliding his shades back on.

“Yeah, it sure does” you nod, with a grin.

He stares at you a moment longer, before shaking his head, his smile still there.

“Darling, you’re different. You’re just my kind of girl”

He fires up the Chevy and pulls out of your driveway before you can say anything else.

And Just like that, your life changed.

One visit to the pound and you come back home, with a rottweiler and a outlaw.

[firesideme]

Chapter Three

During class the next day, you make no attempt to appear interested in the teacher’s lecture, instead going through your notes and highlighting your best ideas. The time passes quickly this way, and by the time you’ve come up with several concept ideas for each song, the clock tower chimes to mark the arrival of midday. Is it really okay if I sit with them? you wonder, packing your materials into your bag, but with express permission from Yeosang, you muster the courage to do so. 

But your courage only extends so far.

Since they aren't there yet when you arrive, you hide in the bathrooms until you suppose they must have had time to reach the canteen and sit down, unwilling to test whether they would be willing to gather around you at an empty table. You find them at the same table a few minutes later as you peek around the door, trading lunch items and desperately completing assignments before the break is over. 

Yunho spots you first and to your surprise, waves you over and makes a space for you. Covering his mouth, half-full with lunch, he says, “Yeosang says he took you to our place?”

“What did you think?” Wooyoung adds excitedly.

“It was so cool,” you say. “Do you guys really practice there?”

“Well, Wooyoung goes off on his own sometimes,” Seongwha says. “The dance studio he’s part of doesn’t let non-members in.”

Mingi grunts. “And once he’s off in the city, he won’t have to keep practicing in a shitty factory. Ow!”

Wooyoung quirks an eyebrow, unapologetic for the kick he just landed against Mingi’s shin. 

“You’re going to the city?” you ask. “How come?”

Some of the energy leaves Wooyoung’s eyes “I got an offer from a company to be a dancer. I haven’t said yes yet…”

Mingi scoffs again. 

The mood threatens to turn sour until you blurt out, “I’ve been working on some ideas, do you want to see them?”

“Working hard already,” Hongjoong says, taking the notebook you hand him, “I like it.”

“Oh, this is good.” San taps the page. “The colors would fit perfectly. You really thought hard about it, didn’t you?”

His expression is so sincere that you’re forced to look away, muttering thanks. “Are we still going to meet there after school today?” 

The group nods.

“Can you still make it?” Yeosang asks, and you almost laugh at the implication that you have anything better to do. 

“Of course I can. I’m one hundred percent on board.”

“Hey, I just realized,” Hongjoong says, leaning across the table with a grin, “Mono is going to be our first real audience as a group.” 

A ripple passes over them that you can’t distinguish between excitement or nerves. 

“I’ll.. look forward to it.”

Sitting through your evening classes, you wonder if you’re more excited to see the performance than they are to give it. Due to that feeling, and the boredom of ignoring lessons you couldn’t understand anyway, you start thinking about how you’re going to start turning your ideas from words on a page to reality. You don’t really have any experience in this kind of thing, but it was the best offer you could make that you might actually have a shot at doing well. You’re going to need a sewing machine for starters, fabric, fastenings, jewelry, simple pieces of clothing that you can modify to save time, and you only have one idea where to get them.

Motivated by your desire to impress, you leave your seat, heading downstairs to the art classrooms. You choose one that isn’t being used, creeping through the door despite knowing that no one would question you too much anyway. Beyond the paint-stained tables and the canvases drying from the previous lesson, are cabinets and draws each labeled with what they contain. You help yourself to one of the large portfolio files and start loading it with anything you might need to realize the designs in your head. In your school bag, you shove as many rolls of sellotape, bottles of glue, needles and thread, and colored pens as it can physically hold. Then there's the sewing machine helpfully stored already in a box with a handle, the manual inside. 

You wonder if you should feel guilty for taking these things without permission. A part of you does, but a stronger, larger part feels that this is the least you deserve for the treatment you’ve endured.

Before heading to your final destination, you stash your spoils in the art classroom for later. The custodian’s office is close to the front entrance of the school and when you knock on the door, an old man, wrinkled and browned by the town’s hot summers, looks you up and down.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any lost property, sir?”

“Who are you?”

“Mono. I’m a student.”

He blinks at you.

“Sir, please, could I see the lost property?”

He blinks again, turning inside his office to retrieve a large cardboard box. When he hands it to you, his wrinkled face is drawn into confusion. Before he can say anything, however, you take the box and thank him for his help. You go through it in the empty art classroom, disheartened by the lack of anything interesting- it’s all just gym uniforms and shirts.

Suddenly, an idea comes to you. You count ten white shirts, realizing that you could easily modify these to fit with several of your ideas, and start to get excited. 

You spend the rest of the school day bent over your notes on one of the art classroom desks, planning and replanning your designs until something concrete emerges and you have the start of a plan. When the bell rings for the end of the day, you're sitting back in your chair, pleased with yourself.

The portfolio and boxes heavy in your arms, you rush to the shade of the tree you met Yeosang under the day before. The mysteries accumulating in your life finally feel far away enough not to matter. 

“Ready to go?” Yeosang wheels his bike towards you and turns his head when he sees what you’re carrying. “What’s all this?”

“I thought I could get started on the costumes today,” you say, “although it might be a little awkward to carry everything over to the factory.”

“It’s no problem.” Yeosang takes the portfolio under one arm and balances the box of clothes on the saddle. “I’ll just walk today.”

“Sorry… I wasn’t thinking.”

He shakes his head and starts to move toward the gates. “The others will meet us there. Let’s go.”

Your pace is slow, weighed down by your bag as you walk the route to the factory. “So, ah, how was class?”

“Class? Oh, you know, fine.”

“Is third year difficult?”

A sardonic smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Studying is about the only thing I’m good at."

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“I wonder. What about you? Do you study much?”

You laugh. “Nah, not really.”

“You and Wooyoung have that in common then.” Yeosang exhales, hand tightening around his handlebars. “If only he’d commit to that offer, I wouldn’t worry about what he’ll do once he graduates.”

“Why has he not accepted?”

Yeosang shakes his head. “Not for any reason I can understand, that’s for sure.”

You drop the subject, unwilling to pry further into Wooyoung’s personal life without his knowledge. “What do you want to do after school then?”

“You’ll think it’s dumb.”

“I promise I won’t.”

You both walk a few paces before he answers. “Well, it’s always been my dream to be a performer, but these days I can’t see myself doing that without the rest of the group. I know that I’m wishing for too much, but I just want all of us to be able to perform together forever. I think that the others want that too, even if they can’t admit it.”

“Is that why the festival is so important?” you ask. 

“Exactly.” Yeosang stops suddenly, eyes shining “That’s exactly why I feel so desperate. Even though it’s just a dumb school festival, I just know that this is my only chance to do what I love with the people I want to do it with. If I miss this chance, I’ll be closing that door forever.”

You smile. “Then I’ll do my best to help you convince them.”

Without the breeze from the speed of Yeosang’s bike, you’re sweating by the time you reach the factory. Summer beats down on you relentlessly, and you gladly accept the cold drink of water San offers you once you walk through the doors. A few minutes later, Mingi and Wooyoung arrive, completing the group. 

“I’m kinda nervous,” Seongwha admits. He stands in front of the mirror, fiddling with his clothing.

“Don’t be, I’m nothing to be scared of.”

“You have to be honest though,” Jongho says, tapping his finger on the coffee table. “You have to tell us if it’s bad, or, like, tell us how to improve.”

“But I don’t know anything about dancing.”

Hongjoong waves a hand dismissively “But everyone can tell a good performance from a bad one. Just tell us which parts you liked and which parts could be better.” 

You nod, a flutter in your chest emerging as you absorb some of the group’s trepidation. 

“Okay!” Hongjoong claps his hands together and motions from the group to form in front of the mirror. “Treat this like a normal practice run. We’ve done this enough times to do it in our sleep, so don’t worry about making mistakes. Just have fun with it. 

Yunho pushes Jongho playfully. “What the captain said, but remember the formation for once, will you?” 

Jongho sneers, but when the group laughs, you get the impression that this is a running joke.

Since the couch faces away from the mirror, you sit on your knees, arms crossed over the backrest so you can watch them. Yeosang, fitting from what you know of his personality, is the most nervous of them all, hopping from one foot to the other. He claimed to only be good at studying, and you wonder if he’s nervous because that’s true, or because you're his first audience. 

“Mono, would you start the track for us?” Hongjoong asks.

Your finger hovers over the button and Hongjoong gives you a thumbs-up once they’re all in position. 

The music starts and their bodies jolt into fluid movement. It’s the energetic track first, the group executing impressive footwork to the rhythm of the song, somehow managing to appear controlled and wild at the same time. You can tell instantly how hard they’ve worked on each move, as while each member performs them with their own style, no one is off-beat, and certainly no one misses a step. 

With what now feels like a habit, you can’t help but focus more on Yeosang. You see the power in each of his movements and recall the way his body felt against you when you rode behind him on his bike. Despite having a delicate beauty, he is not without strength. 

As the song comes to a climactic end, you cheer loudly, then louder still when the several in the group avoid your eyes in embarrassment. Yunho, Wooyoung, and Hongjoong, however, thrive off your enthusiasm. Wooyoung bounds over as if the difficult routine he just completed did not affect his stamina in the least. “So? So?”

“Do you want my review now, or all at once at the end?”

“Now!” they say, but Mingi stands apart from them, arms crossed over his chest. Though you can tell he gave it his all, it felt as if he was dancing on his own. 

You give them your honest opinion, grinning with them as they absorb your praise. Then, with the ice broken, they begin to come forward with questions about their individual parts. 

“Do you think I should have done it like this, or this?” San asks, twisting his body in ways you couldn’t begin to replicate. 

“I mean, I feel like I don’t have the experience to answer that properly. But both look great-”

“What about this part,” Wooyoung demands, demonstrating. “Is it too much? Not enough?”

Seongwha sits beside you, stealing your attention. “I’ve been working on my expressions but I feel like I can’t pull it off as well as Hongjoong. What did you think?”

“Alright, alright, give her a second,” Hongjoong says, sparing you from further showing your ignorance.

Eight faces stare at you as if all their hopes rest on your next words. After a breath, you give them your honest verdict, praising what deserves to be praised, and gently mentioning the few parts you thought needed something different, despite being unsure how to express what needed to change. 

The boys listen to you seriously, nodding and humming in agreement.

“But, that’s just my opinion,” you feel the need to clarify. “I really don’t have the right to tell you what’s good or not.”

Hongjoong smirks. “Stop justifying yourself. Even just telling us what you liked is a huge help.”

“I feel so much calmer now that we’ve finally shown someone,” Jongho says. “It was killing me not knowing if we were just kidding ourselves with this.”

Hongjoong rolls up his sleeves, seemingly brimming with energy. “Ready to keep going?”

They head back to their places, but Yeosang hangs back for a moment, crouching behind the couch so that he is eye-to-eye with you. 

“Was it really okay? You can tell me the truth,” he whispers. 

You lean forward. “The truth?” He nods desperately. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you the whole time. You were incredible."

The flush that spreads over his cheeks surprises you. You had been expecting a smug grin, a chuckle at the obvious boost to his ego, but you should know that isn’t who Yeosang is by now. 

He blinks, clears his throat, and stands. His mouth opens and closes, but he is unable to form a response before Hongjoong tells him to hurry up.

When the next song begins, Yeosang misses his queue. 

The boys tease him goodnaturedly as you rewind the cassette, feeling sorry if it was your comment that threw him off. 

On the second attempt, the opening goes perfectly, but you feel shy watching the boys move so sensually. You hadn’t thought bodies could look like that, create those kinds of lines, but it’s mesmerizing to watch even if you have the urge to cover your eyes. Wooyoung in particular suits this kind of dance, if only because he comes across as the most comfortable expressing himself this way. Of course, they all show their own styles and quirks with each move, but it’s Yeosang again you can’t stop watching, though you resolve not to reveal this to him a second time having embarrassed yourself enough. You admire how his style of dance subtly changes with the theme, how he adapts his movements, even his stance, to the song. 

The song ends and the same series of events unfolds: Wooyoung bounds over, and the members crowd around you, asking questions about their individual performances until Hongjoong tells them to let you think. Again, you give them your honest opinions, grateful that they are able to take the feedback without becoming defensive or egotistical. 

You begin to worry about their stamina as they take their places for the last track. The heat has seeped into the factory all day, and though the sun is no longer at its strongest, it lingers in the metal and concrete around you. You’re sweating just sitting down, and it's pouring off the boys. 

“Are you guys okay? Do you want to rest for a bit longer?”

They stare at you like you’re insane. Their smiles tell you that nothing matters to them at that moment: not the heat, not the sweat, not the need for a long, cool drink. All that matters is the performance. 

You start the track. 

It’s another explosive start, with the choreography never giving them a moment to rest. Different from the playful energy of the first track, and the sensual atmosphere of the second, this one feels like a congratulations to themselves due to the unapologetic lyrics, and the striking, difficult moves that compliment them. You admire their athletic ability to be able to complete such a physical routine after having already done two more.

In your mind, you try to place your ideas around their formation, your motivation to get started increasing as you allow yourself to believe you may really be able to help their performance after all, if you can pull it off, that is. 

Sweating, panting, smiling, the boys break their ending pose, collapsing to the ground and leaning on their knees. 

“Argh!” Wooyoung jumps to his feet to stand back in front of the mirror. You recognize a slower version of a move from the third track you remember thinking looked difficult. “It’s always this part. Why can’t I do it?”

Yunho comes to stand beside him. “You’re doing it perfectly, what are you talking about?”

“It’s not perfect,” Wooyoung says through gritted teeth, dripping sweat onto the concrete as he tries again. 

“Wooyoung.” Hongjoong’s voice snaps him out of it. “Come on, we need to hear Mono’s thoughts.”

Your back straightens at the sound of your name. After collecting a towel and a bottle of water, the boys settle into the chairs around you, Yunho, eager and smiling on your left, Hongjoong, calm but expectant on your right. You wonder if Yeosang chose the farthest seat from you on purpose. He still won’t meet your eyes. 

Once you’ve given your opinion of the final track, you feel it’s only right to compliment each of them individually, starting with the leader.  

“Hongjoong, you’re facial expressions are great.”

“Really? It’s not too much?”

“Not at all- and you have a really expressive style of dance that fits you perfectly.” He wrestles with his features, but his proud grin wins out. “Seonghwa too, your expressions kept grabbing my attention, but more than that you looked really graceful, especially during the second song.” Seongwha has an easier time accepting the compliment than their leader, nodding his head with similar pride. You continue to deliver your compliments: San for his impressive strength, flexibility, and enthusiasm, Yunho and Jongho for their precise execution of the choreography, and Wooyoung for his passion and unique style. Mingi grunts at your kind words for his sense of rhythm and strong movements, and Wooyoung’s smile doesn’t meet his eyes.

Finally, you reach Yeosang, who is tapping his foot against the floor. Your mouth opens and closes. You had been about to say how captivating he is again, but you’re suddenly overtaken by shyness. Somehow, it feels too honest to say in front of everyone else. “You were great,” you say to buy time as you think of something else. “You hit every beat perfectly as far as I could tell, and I thought it was impressive how you changed your style with each song. I thought I was watching a different dancer each time.”

San laughs. “I think Mono has a favorite.”

“Thanks…” Yeosang mumbles. “I’ll work hard to do even better next time.”

“So, you still want to be in the group?” Hongjoong asks, smiling as if he already knows the answer.

You push him gently. “Of course I do. I can’t wait to get started on all my ideas.”

“I saw all that art stuff you brought. I love the enthusiasm.”

“Can I work on it in here?” you ask Yeosang.

“Here? I guess so.” 

You hear the question he didn’t ask in his tone. Why don't you want to work on it at home? “Your dad won’t mind?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Wooyoung says. He stands, throwing his towel over the back of his chair. “I’m gonna keep practicing.”

You hope you haven’t said something to upset him.

Yunho jumps up to join Wooyoung and the other members groan. “Do you guys ever stop?” Seongwha moans. Yunho shoots him a mischievous expression, but Wooyoung is focused on his reflection. 

“Well, I think they have the right idea,” Hongjoong says. “We should start thinking about how to improve from Mono’s feedback.”

Unable to argue with their leader, the rest of the boys drag themselves to their feet, spilling half-hearted words of complaint.

“Is it okay-” you flinch when they all turn to look at you. “Is it okay if I start making the costumes?”

“Feeling inspired?” San asks. 

“Very.”

While retrieving the cassette player he forgot on the coffee table, Hongjoong ruffles your hair. “Knock yourself out.”

As the sun sinks lower in the sky, the heat lessens to a pleasant warmth that saps your ability to stay awake. You fight the heaviness of your eyes as you puzzle over turning your ambitious ideas into reality.

Behind you, the boys seem to be led more by Yunho than Hongjoong with regard to the choreography, and you realize that it must have been him that came up with most of it. Between breaks in the music, they come together to talk, demonstrate and teach, and you come to anticipate the soft sounds of their voices each time the cassette clicks off. It’s much more soothing than the music to you as you start to recognize the differences in the way they speak to one another, with more respect being given to Hongjoong and Seongwha as the oldest, and their unique laughs as they joke amongst themselves. Of course, you can barely consider yourself to be ‘one of them’, sitting hunched over the table by yourself, but you enjoy pretending, and hoping that one day soon you’ll be able to talk amongst them as if you’ve always been one of their number. This thought makes you recall what Yeosang said about needing to belong, how he had felt the same way, and your heart softens as you realize how perceptive he was to recognize this within you, and how truly kind for trying to do something about it. 

“Mono.” You jump, the sewing machine choking on fabric. Yeosang leans over the back of the couch, face close to yours. “We’re all done for the day, did you want me to walk you home again?”

You cast your eyes to the others who are all in the middle of wiping their sweat and gathering their things. “Wow, how long has it been? And yes, if it’s no trouble.” Is it okay for you to be selfish like this? Is it wrong to want to spend as much time with him as you can? 

“Okay, let me grab my bike.” He pauses, noticing the delicate silky fabric you’ve been working on as a test. “That’s looking good. I can’t wait to try them on.” 

“Oh, well, you know, it’s not nearly finished, and I’m thinking I need to change how I’m doing the-” You cut yourself off, seeing Yeosang’s amused expression. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m taking Mono home,” Yeosang tells the others. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“We’re coming again tomorrow?” you ask. “Isn’t it the weekend?”

“Oh, do you have something else you need to do?” Yeosang asks, frowning. “Sorry, we shouldn’t have assumed-”

“No! No, I don’t have anything. I’m just impressed you work so hard on the weekends too.”

“There’s nowhere else to hang out in this piece of shit town,” Mingi says. “Here is as good as it gets.”

Wooyoung jumps to hook the taller boy around the neck with one arm, forcing his head to lower. “Thanks for that, Mingi, you’re always a ray of sunshine.”

“You’re one to talk-”

“Come on, you’re walking me home too. I’m feeling romantic.”

Mingi complains the whole way down the overgrown path and through the gate. The rest of you follow until you reach the road, Yeosang steadying the bike so you can stand on the spurs. 

“See you tomorrow, guys,” you say, memorizing each of their faces as they smile at you, and tell you goodbye, such a simple response promising you that this day wasn’t a dream and that you can be this happy again. 

Yeosang pushes off and a laugh bubbles from your throat as you almost lose your balance. He takes the extra strain of you pulling back on him with ease, once again reaching back instinctively to grab you. 

“Sit down!” he says, laughing with you.

You regain your balance, hands on his shoulders, turning your face up to the sky as the wind blows against your hair. “I don’t want to!”

Yeosang lets go of your hip to put both hands on the bars before standing up on the pedals. “Yeosang!” You hold him around the middle, too flooded with adrenaline and happiness to fear falling. 

He peddles faster and faster, both of you adapting your balance as the bike shifts left and right. You feel his chest rise and fall with the effort of carrying you both, using the excuse of maintaining your balance to hold him to you tighter. The wind whips past you both now, the draping branches of trees and bushes dragging against your clothes, gravel and dust kicking up behind the wheels. 

“Where are we going?” you shout, not recognizing your usual route.

“Wait and see!” You reach a short hill and realize his plan. 

Before he starts to attempt the climb, you jump off the back of the bike. “Let’s walk this bit, aren’t you tired?”

He flashes you a grin before taking off running, holding his bike to his side.

A laugh bursts out of you. “Yeosang, wait!”

With the handicap of his bike, you catch up quickly and overtake him, reaching the top of the hill first. You leap about in victory while Yeosang gives up, panting hard and walking the rest of the way.

“Yeah, yeah, you win.”

“You let me win,” you say, half-skidding back down the dirt path to help him with the bike.

Finally both at the top, you take in the view of the town. Everything is bathed golden in the sunset, turning even the dreaded school into a picturesque viewpoint. Flocks of birds fly about the treetops of the woods to the east, and sheep graze on the green grass of the tallest hill in the middle of town, bordered by unused pastures. In front of you, the hill drops in a steep decline and you trace the road until you find the brown tile roof of your house. 

You turn to Yeosang, about to ask if you can linger here for a while, but he’s already climbing back on his bike. 

“Shall we?”

You glance at the decline again and bite your lip; you can’t deny him. “We shall.”

This time, you don’t stand, but you do hold as tightly to Yeosang as you can. “You scared?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

With that, he takes his feet off the ground, gravity giving the bike speed without the need to peddle. You feel the wind whipping at your face as you rest your chin on Yeosang’s shoulder and you almost bite your tongue as he begins to laugh.

“Faster!” 

“Faster? If you say so!”

Yeosang leans low over the handlebars and begins to pump his legs. You both scream from the rush, Yeosang’s deep voice cracking and making you laugh all over again. Pieces of gravel ping against your body and your eyes are watering from the wind, but you can’t even think of asking Yeosang to stop. 

The bottom of the hill approaches, and with it, a sharp bend around. “Lean to the right!” Yeosang tells you, “or we’ll crash into the hedge!”

Using his body as a counterbalance, you do as he asks, dipping your body to the right while he does the same in the other direction. It’s merely a single moment of effort, your fingers white-knuckled within the fabric of his shirt, teeth gritted, arm muscles working harder than they ever have, but your heart is pounding by the time Yeosang tells you to sit back up properly. 

“You did it!” he shouts, touching your clasped hands around his middle. “We-”

“Yeosang!” You point over his shoulder. 

His head snaps around, finally noticing the vehicle heading your way. It isn’t a car, but a tractor, each one of its rear wheels twice the size of Yeosang’s bike. The driver blares his horn at you, but even if they both break, you’re going too fast to stop in time. 

“Hold on!” Yeosang steers the bike to the very edge of the narrow country lane, the wheels jumping over the rocks and uneven ground of the verge. The tractor does the same, its left wheels ripping leaves off the hedges on the opposite side. Even with this, there is barely enough space for you to pass through.

With the tractor almost upon you, you close your eyes and press your forehead against Yeosang’s back, feeling him tense just as hard as you. A moment passes before the roar of the tractor’s engines fills your ears and the smell of diesel fills your nose. Something hard and unyielding rips passed your arm.

Then, all of a sudden, it’s over, the roar of the engine at your back. 

“Oh my God,” Yeosang sucks in a breath, “I-”

The bike jolts hard and you realize that your cheek is no longer touching the soft material of Yeosang’s shirt, but the gravel of the path. Pain flares through the right side of your body as you finally process the force of falling off the bike and lift yourself off the ground. You search for Yeosang, finding him next to the spinning rear wheel of the bike. He’s sitting with his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his arms with a dazed look on his face. “What just happened?”

You crouch beside him, wincing at the pain in your side, but the blood seeping into the dirt under Yeosang’s right palm has you more concerned. “You tell me! Show me your hand.”

He lifts it but you can’t see the extent of the damage with all the blood and dirt in the way. Reaching into your bag, you retrieve a half-empty water bottle apologizing before pouring it over the wound. Yeosang barely flinches, but you can feel him watching you.

“It doesn’t look too bad. Does it hurt?” you say, examining his palm. When he doesn’t answer, you look up, finding that he still has his gaze on you, his mouth pulling up at the corners.

“Yeosang?”

He throws his head back as he starts to laugh in earnest. The sound is catching and you can’t help but be smiling when call his name again.

“I’m sorry.” With his uninjured hand, he removes yours, but continues to hold it. “It’s just, I was so scared. I thought we were going to die.”

“And that’s funny?” you say, but you’re laughing too now that the danger is gone and the adrenaline in your systems is making you feel giddy. 

“It’s not, it’s not.” He sighs and examines his hand, shakes it slightly. “And yeah, it does hurt a little.”

“Is it broken?”

“Nah, just a graze. What about you?” He touches the shoulder you landed on gently. 

Not thinking, you pull down the side of your shirt to inspect the skin. Yeosang looks away quickly.

“Sorry,” you squeak, pulling the sleeve back up. “I didn’t- yes, I’m fine. I’ll probably bruise, but no broken skin.

“Man,” he says, allowing himself to look at you again, “that was so stupid.”

“It was. But it was fun too, right?”

Yeosang helps you to your feet with his good hand. “Fun enough to make almost dying worth it?”

“Probably not.”

You offer to wheel his bike the rest of the way, insisting until he accepts. You both walk slowly, the aches in your bodies becoming more pronounced with each step until you can’t wait to lie down to take the strain away.

“You don’t need to walk me home the whole way. You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

"What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?”

“A smart one?”

You exchange a look and laugh. 

“Seriously though, you don’t-”

Yeosang takes his bike from you, increasing his pace until you have to hurry to catch up. “No arguing, okay? Let’s just get you home.”

While you chat, the day grows dark, until, when you reach your house, the only thing lighting your way is the moon, its great silver face bearing down on you both. You want to ask Yeosang to come inside so you can properly clean his hand, but you have neither the medical supplies, nor the courage to let him see how you live. Don’t be a coward, you tell yourself while he says his goodbyes outside your gate. He won’t reject you.

But you just can’t bear it. If he sees that empty hallway, shoe rack with only one other pair of shoes, the master bedroom with its bare mattress and moth-eaten curtains, your bedroom, hardly slept in, void of personality and life, the kitchen you’ve never used and its barren pantry and humming fridge freezer that contains nothing more than milk and microwaves meals from the corner shop, it would be too much for you to bear. You can’t let Yeosang see that kind of sadness. You can’t let him know what an empty person he’s let into his life. 

“Mono?”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay getting home?”

“Don’t worry about me, I feel fine.” Your face crumples with worry. “How about this? Give me your landline and I’ll call you once I’m home.”

You rack your brain. Yes, I do have a phone. “One second, I don’t know the number off by heart.”

You dash inside, finding it hanging on the wall of the hallway. A layer of dust coats the keypad, but you can’t find any hint as to what the phone number would be. You aren’t even sure how you would go about finding it. You put the receiver to your ear, hearing the dial tone, confirming that you at least have a service provider and therefore a phone number. 

You search the small hallway table, but the drawers are empty. You check your room, the master bedroom, even flip through your notebook. Nothing. 

You kick the hallway table in frustration. It jumps back revealing a small yellow square of paper hiding underneath the table leg. You pick it up and yelp in relief as you read the words Our number: XXXX XXX XXX. You tear a page from your notebook and copy the number before hurrying back out to Yeosang.

“Here,” you say, out of breath as you hand it to him.

“Thanks.” He rubs the back of his neck, then winces when he uses his injured palm by mistake. “So, I should probably go. I’ll call you.”

“Yeosang.”

“Hm?”

You pull him towards you gently, wary of any injuries he may have hidden from you. “Thank you for today.”

Movements stilted and awkward, he pats your back. “I didn’t do anything, really…”

“You did. So, just let me thank you, okay?”

He settles into the embrace. “Okay. Then, you’re welcome.”

At home, you feel restless. The stillness of the night, rather than calming you, makes your skin crawl. 

You hold the note with the phone number under lamp light, reading and rereading the words. 

Our number. 

Just to be sure, you hold your notebook with your own writing next to it. No, it’s definitely not yours, but it’s similar. So, who does it belong to? Your mom or dad? Why had you never used the phone before today?

Curious, you take the receiver off the hook and hold it to your ear. You want to try calling someone before Yeosang gets home, to make sure that it works, and you’re wondering who you could possibly call when a voice comes through the speaker. 

“Mono!”

The receiver smacks against the wall as you scream, leaping back until you thump against the wall opposite. The voice was male, but the distorted connection made it impossible to distinguish anything else about him. 

But, no, there was one thing you noticed: he sounded desperate, or maybe relieved, surprised? Again, it was hard to tell, but he definitely said your name, and he was definitely not in a state of calm. 

Breathing hard, you pick up the receiver again and hold it to your ear. 

Nothing but the dial tone.

You replace it on the hook, only for it to ring, painfully loud in the silence of the house. You’re almost too scared to answer, but since it’s probably Yeosang, you force yourself.

“Yeosang?”

“Mono?” You recognize his voice instantly and slide down the wall to sit on the floor. 

“Yeosang.”

“Are you okay? You sound freaked out.”

“I just heard a fox scream and it scared me.”

Yeosang hums down the line. “I guess even things like that are scary when you live alone. Are you alright?”

“What about you? Your hand?”

“I treated it before I called you, don’t worry.” He coughs. “And I'm sorry for causing that whole thing. I was being reckless.”

“I was being reckless with you, don’t take all the credit.”

A pleasant silence extends between you, and somehow, you can feel that he’s smiling. 

“Alright. Then, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

“Have you eaten?” you blurt out. You don’t want him to go and leave you here on your own.

He chuckles. “I forgot, but I will after this.”

“That’s good…”

“What about you?”

“No, not yet, but I will.” You force down the selfish desire to keep him with you forever, gripping your shirt as you say, “Then, I’ll let you eat. Thank you again for today and… And sleep well.”

“Good night, Mono.”

“Night.”

The call disconnects. You linger with the receiver pressed to your ear for several minutes, listening for that mysterious voice, but all you hear is the dial tone. 

[youcantkillamutant]

Deeper Into The Drink: Chapter I

Author: youcantkillamutant

Fandom: ACOTAR (SJM)

Pairing: Tarquin x Black Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve always known that Cresseida would do whatever it takes to protect the Summer Court. You just didn’t realize that you were a part of that equation. So you vow to do all you can to help Cresseida and protect your court, which is proving to be difficult, what with the scheming lords of Summer, human refugees from the war, sly overtures of kindness from the Night Court and the growing desolation of the neighboring Spring Court. And yet, you think you might have been able to handle all of that, if the High Lord Tarquin wasn’t so…himself. It would have been easier still if your heart didn’t take notice of that fact.

Warnings: Depictions of violence, angst, mentions of death, slow burn (as is my custom), no smut (probably), lots of IC slander

Rating: 18+

Words: 2K+

A/N: Um… Yeah idk how to explain this one honestly? I’m in my “let’s get some critical thinking going about the IC and their shitty actions” era and just can’t deal with how dirty they did Tarquin. So…yeah. I just want Tarquin to have more people on his side honestly. This story is set post-ACOSF in terms of timeline. This is my first time writing in this fandom, so be nice. Don’t like it don’t read it and all that jazz. Not Beta’d we die like men. I own nothing, all characters belong to SJM.  

Prologue |  Read on Ao3  |  Mood Board  |

To survive in court, craft a mask of adamant and pull on the skin of a wolf.

🐚 ☀️ 🐚 

When the war came, you joined the war bands. Of course you joined them alongside your father, your only family left after your mother had died during those dark, fifty years. The first time you saw Cresseida, you wondered at how much she had changed, how much she had aged. She was no longer your mirror, eyes hardened from her time beneath rock and among weary, powerless Fae. Amarantha had changed her, time had changed her and for a moment, you mourned your sister. Between one breath in the next you raged for her innocence long gone, her peace that had been buried under the rubble of massacres and pain. Then she caught your eye. Apparently, you had changed too because she had to look long and hard. When she was sure it was you, she nodded and continued on with her group of Summer Court Lords. 

Later, she called you to her tent. For a while, you both stood across from each other listening to the clinking of pans, clomping of boots, whispers of fear. 

“Cress…” You didn’t know what to say, but you had to let her know that just because you’d both changed, that didn’t mean you couldn’t be different together. Cresseida’s shoulders slumped in a sigh. She understood, she always did.

“I never thought I’d hear your voice again.” You tripped toward each other for a hug and for a moment you were back in your village, laughing in the fields and popping rich, ripe fruit into your mouth. 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily sister.” Cresseida’s laugh was a ragged breath, and you knew the sound. It matched your own. Sister, mirror. 

“You’re certain I can’t order you and your father home?” Your face must have slipped into something angry enough for Cresseida to throw her hands up in supplication. “Fine, but you better be safe.” Her hands shook as she pulled them down and behind her back. Cresseida was afraid and that was enough to set your heart racing. Still, you ignored the fear. You had been doing it for decades now, ever since Cress had gone under that mountain. 

“You haven’t been back to the village in ages.” You nudged her shoulder with your own. “We’ve got a shit ton of work to do.” Cress smiled then. 

“Be safe. Promise me sister.” This wasn’t a deal or a bargain, but a benediction, a prayer. 

“I promise.”

☀️ 

After the war, you returned to your village. Alone. On the journey there, you imagined your village as it was when you were a child and Cresseida first joined your family. You imagined the smoke coming from the blacksmith’s forge and the scent of sweet rolls from the baker. You remembered the sun warming your skin with a kiss, not a blister. You could hear the cattle and the sheep and the chickens chattering in a sweet symphony. You savored the goodness of the memory. You knew that memory would not be your village any longer.  

The village was still when you arrived. It was like walking through a painting, you thought, as you caught sight of the closed doors and clear sky. You had been one of the last to return, but now you could see that an earlier arrival wouldn’t have mattered. Most of the villagers, most of your family, were gone. Left in a muddy valley for the crows and maggots. Swept away in a feat of magic never seen in Prythian. Sent to ash and dust by Death Gods. Gone. 

You thought you could do it. You thought you could return home and get back to normal. But there was no going back. You knew that as soon as you crossed the border. You knew it, even as your father’s mating ring heated on the chain around your chest, the only thing left of the male you had loved so dearly. You were meant to throw it in the sea, and you should have done it days ago, so that your father could find your mother in the waves, but you couldn’t. Not yet. You clutched that ring tight as you stepped into your home, needing a physical reminder in the empty silence of the place. 

It’s so godsdamned quiet. You didn’t know what to do, to think, and so you sat in those memories of the people you loved and the land you loved and wept. You mourned the loss of every person your heart held tight, knowing that now, your heart would love a village of ghosts. The loss squeezed at your chest, aching like a phantom limb, and on you wept. Tears fell until your stomach groaned and you laid on your cot in that first room you shared with Cresseida, wishing she was here with you to bear the weight of the loneliness of this place. When your eyes ran dry, you closed them and slept and slept and slept. 

When you opened them, Cresseida was there, peering down at you, worry drawing her brows together. 

“I need your help sister.” 

🐚 

Adriata. The crown jewel of the Summer Court. The City of the Sea. Cresseida had asked you to come, to help her rebuild the city and house the humans and lead. You said yes. Of course you said yes. Even in your despair, you knew that you couldn’t stay in that village. That place that was so much like home but so very empty. So you left the village, and climbed on a horse next to Cress. You did not look back, and hoped that one day, you might be able to forget the quiet that had settled over the village. 

You and Cresseida didn’t speak much on the journey. When she had asked for your help as an advisor, you went silent, mulling over the thought of becoming someone, something new. Your father had been a courtesan, back when Nostrus was alive and a little before then too. He left that life when he met your mother in the same village you were born in, the same village you left behind. He’d told you that he never regretted shedding the skin of a courtesan, pulling off the mask of political competency. He’d said that doing so had allowed him to find himself, be himself. You weren’t sure exactly who you would need to be to survive the Summer Court, but honestly, you had nothing better to do. So you clutched the ring around your chest, and nodded when Cress asked again, wondering what manner of beast you might need to become on the ride to the capital. 

Though your father left the Summer Court at least a century ago, he still kept up with politics. He still remembered everything he’d learned while in the Summer Court. When you were old enough to read, he piled your arms with books about Prythian and magical theory and old gods of the ancient lands and the courts and their powerful families. You read until there were no more books to read, and then he talked you through all he knew of the courts and their intricacies. 

When you were old enough to hold a sword, your father met you on the training ring. A hard packed dirt patch a few miles from the village, where your sweat and blood and tears soaked the ground for years, until they didn’t. He trained you for defense and stealth and even managed to get a few basic dueling rules in your head. 

Your mother on the other hand…As an Autumn court transplant, your mother knew more about surviving in brutally beautiful courts than your father. She’d done it far longer than he had and as a dark skinned woman in the Court of Bloodthirsty Beron…She’d been the one to teach you the art of deception, showing you all the right ways to set a table and the customary foods for visitors of each court. She taught you everything you needed to know to have every male and female in a 20 mile radius eating out of the palm of your hand in an hour. 

She’d hated it all. Hated the necessity of your lessons, she’d left Autumn for a reason after all, but the brunt of it was done by your 16th year, and your father waved her worries off with a kiss. 

“She must learn these things love, just in case. You know that.” 

Staring up, up, up at the grand palace of Adriata, you could almost hear his voice. 

“Just in case.” 

Cresseida dismounted her horse in an elegant huff and you followed suit clutching your baldric from the war close to your chest, the last dagger the village blacksmith ever made thumping your hip in time with your steps. It occurred to you then that you had come to the palace dressed for war. You realized that in reality, you had never truly undressed from war and wondered loosely how much time you had spent in your village, grieving. 

“Are you ready?” Cress rounded to face you, and grabbed your hands in hers. She squeezed them tightly and continued. “I know you’re tired,” she did not say from the journey to the capital, because she knew it was more than that. She felt that same exhaustion herself. Mirrors, sisters. “But I want you to meet my cousins before you retire to your rooms.” 

This, you were not expecting. In all the years you’d known Cresseida, you’d never actually met her family. Hell, you’d never even been to the palace. And now Cress wanted you to meet the High Lord and the General of the Summer Court, sweaty and smelling like the grave? 

“I’ll make a terrible first impression.” Cress snorted. 

“Impossible, I’ve already told them all about you.” 

“Cress! What did you tell them?!” Cresseida’s mouth lifted mischievously as you slapped her arm. Cress had plenty of embarrassing stories she could’ve shared about you, and you were not keen on having the High Lord know about the time you’d leaned so far over the lake to look at a water lily that you fell in, headfirst. 

“Nothing bad! I promise.” At your look of disbelief she exclaimed, “I swear on the Cauldron!” Cress pulled you alongside her as you passed the arching doorway into the palace guiding you deeper into the glittering hallways. You dropped your argument in favor of gawking at every inch of the place. Your father had taught you everything he could, describing the palace and its stately rooms in what you thought was extraordinary detail, but you were wrong. Nothing compared to the real thing.

The marble floors reflected the sunlight warming them and hallways were wide enough to fit an army through. The walls were lined with aristocratic paintings of the past High Lords along with their families and favored warriors. The hallways were dotted with arched entryways leading off to other parts of the palace, in the way that the seas always led to rivers and estuaries and streams. You had slowed to inhale the scent of the sea and smoked fish from the city below, savoring the calm you found in the crisp breeze the city sounds and the sunlight streaming through the palace. 

It wasn’t home, but it felt familiar. Like you were returning to the home of a long forgotten family member. Everything was different except it wasn’t. The scent of citrus still permeated the palace, same as it did your home after cleaning. The sun still shone the same as it did in the village. This was still the Summer Court, but a little more polished, a little more refined. It made the thought of slipping into a mask easier, because this place would only be able to fit a more refined you, a sharper you. 

You’d asked your father what his court mask was like once, what he’d really changed when he shed that courtesan armor. He’d said he was sharper, barbed and made of adamant. Unbreakable. He’d showed you once, the face he held in court. It was ice blue eyes and cutting smiles. You were amazed to see it come back to him so quickly, like he’d taken off the mask but kept it close just in case. After that conversation, you practiced your own mask. Every night, before bed, you’d flatten your face and chill your eyes. Raise one brow slowly with disdain you’d never truly felt and curled your lip into a small snarl. You’d worked on it for two years until you’d gotten it right. Then one winter night, you slipped on that mask and it unsettled you. It was always easiest to draw up the sharpness within you in the winter. The fruit wasn’t quite fresh enough to be perfect and you missed the true Summer sun, not the seasonal magic with warmth that wasn’t quite right. 

Now, as the Prince of the Summer Court approached you and Cresseida, you slipped on your mask, flat faced and unremarkable. He may be Cress’s brother, but you had never met the male. Everything about Varian was broad. His shoulders, his nose, his lips. His brown eyes, nearly black sparkled with mirth when he saw his sister. Cresseida did the work of introducing you as you studied the prince. He wore the summer court blues on a tunic beneath cream fighting leathers. Clearly for aesthetics only, you knew because you’d seen him briefly during the war. He was wearing a full set of indigo armor then, dark at the depths of the sea, and it was spotted with more blood than you cared to remember. The prince stood stock straight, but his chin bowed. It was slight and he seemed to correct himself often, but you had to wonder if 50 years crouching under a mountain had created a habit of slouching to fit into spaces not meant for a fae his size. 

“Ah, so you’re the village girl my cousin is obsessed with.” Cresseida punched the general in the arm. You raised your brow and met his eyes. He only grinned wider showcasing bright white teeth. They made his brown skin look even darker and lovelier. “Wonderful to finally meet you,” Varian pulled your hand to his, and pressed a light kiss to it. “welcome to the circus.” Laughing, he sauntered towards the palace entrance. You turned to Cress then, and the look on your face had her groaning. 

“Yes that’s my brother, and yes, he’s always that annoying.” You snorted a laugh and looped your arm in hers. 

“Poor you.” Cress sniffed and placed her palm over her heart. 

“Finally, someone who understands what exactly I have to deal with when it comes to that idiot. Don’t get me started on his girlfriend.” You laughed loudly then, and it felt like you were teenagers again, swapping stories about court and strolling through the village arm in arm. Your heart squeezed at the memory while you savored the laughter.

“Cresseida, please don’t tell me you’re complaining about your brother again?” You hadn’t noticed the click of fine shoes on the marble hallway and by the time you did, your laughter had died as you stared at the newcomer. 

“It is a sibling’s right Tarquin!” The High Lord of the Summer Court rolled his eyes at your friend and you took your time studying the male. He was taller than you’d expected, and the ease in his stance spoke of the grace of a warrior and a prince. A male clearly comfortable with power. He wore a sleeveless tunic, blue as the summer sky, bordered with golden embroidery depicting cresting waves. Skin, like the richest soil wrapped around large biceps, strong forearms and nimble fingers. Fingers that looked to lean more towards writing rather than swordplay. 

The ocean breeze danced through the room, slipping through his white hair and making his nostrils flair just a bit. You shifted, head tilting to the left as you stared at the male. In all honesty, you hadn’t thought much about what the High Lord might look like. Cress had told you what he was like, his personality and attitude, but she’d never mentioned he was so…beautiful. Cresseida was speaking, but you didn’t manage to tune in to hear exactly what she’d said, only noting that she’d nodded in your direction. 

And so the High Lord turned to where Cresseida had nodded, to you. His blue eyes caught your own and for a moment you stopped breathing. Everything about his stance was causal power, but his eyes, somehow kind and calculating, pulled you in. You may have stopped breathing because you were in the presence of a High Lord for the first time, but as his gaze traveled down, down, down, it lit a fire at the very core of you. The warmth licked up to your chest like a dancing flame, and you could even feel your cheeks heating at the intensity of his…perusal. 

“It’s lovely to meet you my Lady, my cousin spoke warmly of your father, and Cresseida does the same for you. I’m looking forward to seeing more of you in my court.” You tried to piece together the mask you had so finely constructed all those years ago, but in front of this High Lord it was like trying to grasp the waves of the sea. You settled for a nod, dipping your chin and dropping your eyes. 

“Thank you my Lord.” You heard him release a breath, quick, like an aborted laugh and your eyes flicked up to him attempting to see what exactly was funny about your response. The High Lord only gave you a smile, turning to nod at his cousin before striding off. 

You watched the High Lord’s back, and wondered how the hell you were going to keep your focus.

__________________________________________________________

A/N: Um…This beyond angsty, especially for me, but yay Tarquin? I’m hoping for this to get cuter? But I honestly don’t know if it will? I already got some diatribes ready for the IC to hear and those will not be pretty lol. So, so far very melancholic over here.

This is really kind of a filler chappie for what comes next, and I’m excited to dive into that! 😘 

As always, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy! 

[beforeyoufall-bk]

The One Thing We've Got – Day 5: Fears and Frustrations

MARSHA: Hey honey, how was work?

JOHN: Pretty shitty.

MARSHA: Wanna talk about it?

JOHN: Not really.

MARSHA: You sure?

JOHN: Yeah, I come home from work so I don’t have to think about that stuff anymore…

MARSHA: Okay…

JOHN: You mind if we talk later tonight, baby? I got a Bucko’s game to catch.

MARSHA: That’s fine.

JOHN: Thanks, babe. I’m gonna go wash up for dinner.

After a dinner of salad, tacos, and an ice cream desert, they each went to their separate rooms to decompress before their nightly discussion.

MARSHA: How was the game?

JOHN: Awful. I kinda expect our talk to either be the worst ever or the best thing of my day…

MARSHA: Well, I did have a tough time thinking of what to discuss today.

JOHN: Are you sure it’s not just because I’m having a real shit day?

MARSHA: No.

JOHN: Hmm, babe?

MARSHA: yeah?

JOHN: I’ve had such awful day I’m really not in the mood to talk about anything … serious.

MARSHA: That’s fine. But what’s “not serious?” I feel if I say anything I actually wanna talk about now, it might be “too serious” for you. Like, you’re gonna turn into the Joker and say “Why so serious?” then go crazy or something.

JOHN: Hmm… I’m a man of my word. Do you know where Harvey is? I’m lookin’ for a man named Harvey.

MARSHA: Stop it!

JOHN: Have you seen ‘em? You? You? No? No….

MARSHA: Stop!

JOHN: Alright… hmm, not serious. I’m glad you asked, ’cause I’m not even sure what might be too serious for me right now. But how bout we check what the ol’ Google says?

MARSHA: What?

JOHN: “What… can… happy… couples… talk about?”

MARSHA: Oh, this is gonna be great…

JOHN: Hmm… “Top things happy and healthy couples often talk about.”

MARSHA: It added “healthy.” We’re screwed.

JOHN: Haha! Here, number one, hopes, dreams, and goals.

MARSHA: That sounds pretty serious.

JOHN: Number two, fears and frustrations.

MARSHA: Hmm…

JOHN: Well, I dunno ‘bout you, but I think fears and frustrations are perfect.

MARSHA: Like, how you’re scared of ghosts and I’m scared of snakes?

JOHN: Nah, that’s pretty stupid to talk about before bed.

MARSHA: Yeah.

JOHN: But how ‘bout we take tonight’s time together to let out some frustrations? Like, let’s temporarily shift into two professional whiny bitches, who support each other’s bitchiness!

MARSHA: The Sass Possy does that most nights…

JOHN: Yeah! And you keep going out with those bitches. So, let’s fuckin’ go!

MARSHA: I guess it does sound kinda fun for one night. But you start, I wanna see what you come up with that you think isn’t “too serious.”

JOHN: Believe it or not, I wanna talk about sports.

MARSHA: You… not serious about sports? I gotta hear this.

JOHN: Yeah, sports are important for me, but there are two things that frustrate the shit out of me: flopping and ties.

MARSHA: Go on…

JOHN: Alright, imagine you build your day around spending 2 to 4 hours watching a game; an epic competitive struggle to see who’s best on that day. But in the end, no one is a winner or loser. It just was a bunch of wasted energy and time for everyone involved.

MARSHA: Sounds like a really bad date.

JOHN: Yeah! Totally!

MARSHA: You plan all around it, and nothing goes right, and in the end you wish it never happened.

JOHN: Yeah! I just don’t get any sport that has ties in it. Ties in sports are like ties in gunfights.

MARSHA: What??

JOHN: There’s no way to break a tie in a gunfight and everyone involved loses. There are no winners, just death and regret. It’s the same across the board in all sports. Especially 0–0 soccer ties.

MARSHA: Well… At least in sports there isn’t death.

JOHN: Um… That’s another reason why I hate soccer. But I don’t wanna gonna go there… I’m already depressed enough. And actually, flopping also makes me angry and depressed, so let’s not talk about it this time. But now it’s your turn. What’s bugging you?

MARSHA: …Nothing really comes to mind.

JOHN: C’mon. There’s gotta be something.

MARSHA: Hmm…

JOHN: No worries. I’ll wait.

MARSHA: Well, why do people like vanilla more than chocolate?

JOHN: Whoa… You went hard for not something serious. But, uh… Where did that come from?

MARSHA: Every time I go out with The Poss, half of them prefer vanilla more than chocolate.

JOHN: Well, you won’t get too much push-back from me on this one… We both love chocolate. But, ya know, people have different preferences for everything.

MARSHA: Yeah, I get people who don’t like chocolate. So, of course vanilla is better for them. But when you like both chocolate and vanilla, but always choose vanilla instead, it just doesn’t make any sense for me.

JOHN: Okay… Either I go back to a conversation about why you should never hang out with those stupid bitches again, or I take devil’s advocate. You want me to play the role of a Vanilla Bitch?

MARSHA: *laughs* Sure.

JOHN: Alright… Damnit! I already am thinking about why chocolate is better: health benefits, antioxidants —

MARSHA: I know! Right?

JOHN: Okay, okay, okay. Vanilla… is more complimentary! More universal. You can put and use vanilla in a lot more things than chocolate. So vanilla is great for those who are flexible and need something sweet.

MARSHA: But that’s why we call negative things “vanilla”! It’s so plain and has a weak flavor. Chocolate has a distinct flavor and different levels of bitterness and sweetness. Vanilla has small differences in sweetness, but it’s always that type of sweet.

JOHN: Ah, but chocolate’s bitterness can be overpowering when you don’t want it to be! And because of that volatility, it is much harder to find good chocolate. Especially since some of us prefer low cocoa, while others prefer high cocoa. Chocolate takes a lot more work and has a higher risk of tasting not as good as we hoped it would.

MARSHA: That just means vanilla is for lazy people who aren’t very particular about what they eat, or don’t care about chocolate’s health benefits.

JOHN: Hey, I personally will never knock a woman who’s not that particular about what she puts in her mouth.

MARSHA: Honey…

JOHN: What?

MARSHA: Stay on topic.

JOHN: Sorry. You know my juices get flowin’ whenever I’m frustrated.

MARSHA: Oh yeah, I do.

JOHN: Anyway, I’m sick of pretending I’m a little bitch. Fuck vanilla. I’m on team chocolate!

MARSHA: Haha, me too. I know it was silly, but… it actually did feel good letting a bit of that out.

JOHN: Yeah! Maybe we can have “whiny bitch” days together, every now and then. It’s pretty nice complaining about things outside our marriage from time to time.

MARSHA: Haha, yeah… I normally would be a little pissed off at you the way you put that, but it’s so true.

JOHN: Haha! Let’s fuck babe. Race ya to bed.

MARSHA: Oh! Haha, okay. I’ll go gonna wash up to do you right, tiger. See ya soon, honey!

***

またね

I hope these thoughts are helpful. Thank you so much for reading. I Agape-Love you all.

Until next time, God bless.

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