#so soapy and plain bad

[scryarchives]

𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 - 𝐣𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

it's been almost a month since the whole "Victoria Kord Blue Beetle Fiasco", and Jaime has loads to sort out, especially since the new neighbour might not be what she says she is...

masterlist | next !

– pairings: jaime reyes x oc

– warning: fluff, canon divergent, blue beetle movie spoilers

– author's note: after watching the blue beetle movie, I've been so down bad for jaime reyes i had to make a one-shot series for him. disclaimer: i'm not of Hispanic descent and i have don't know casual terms spoken, so do correct me if im wrong!

The sun's heat beat down on the hot sand, heat waves radiating off the ground from the high temperature. A winding tarmac road lay between the plains, and a little vehicle sped down it, emptiness surrounding them.

“Mama, how much longer until we get to… Palmera City?” The woman drawled, picking up a pamphlet in her right hand, and pulling her wireless headphones down with the other.

“We're pretty much there, Drea,” A woman replied, hands on the steering while and eyes trained on the road. “We’re almost there.”

“Why can’t I just fly there myself? You and Amma can take the car. I’m twenty Ma, not five,” Drea huffed, neatening out her ruffled ebony waves. “You taught me how to fly when I was ten, anyways.”

“Kanna, you don’t even know where Palmera City is,” Another woman turned her head in the passenger’s seat to face her daughter in the back. “And you don’t know where the house is.”

“I do know where it is, El Paso Street, Palmera City.”

“Which house then? And you only knew Palmera City from the pamphlet,” The woman driving chuckled. “Besides, don’t you like spending time with your mamas?”

Drea said nothing in return, grumbling and pulling her headphones back over her ears, blasting her music at almost full volume.

“She grew up too fast,” The other passenger sighed, her hand on her forehead. “When did she become twenty? Remind me, please.”

“She turned twenty almost two days ago, aṉpu,” The driver grinned. “Did you forget that she almost set the house on fire when we told her about the move?”

“Please, don’t remind me, Zara,” Anika sighed at her wife’s entertainment. “I’m still drained from all of the mess I had to clean up after.”

“Nika, we’re moving, new people, new sights to see, and new opportunities for a good life for you and me. For our family,” Zara, the driver, smiled softly. One of her hands slipped off the driver’s wheel, encasing itself around Anika’s smaller hand.

“Besides, Drea needs a job, something that can keep her steady until she finds out what she wants to do,” She shrugged. “And Palmera City might have everything she needs.”

“‘Might have’ are the keywords.” Anika’s worried eyes met Zara’s calm ones. “If it doesn’t? Then what? She’ll just, what, fly alone to a new place?”

“Probably. But that’s okay, I was her age when I came here, and I needed something new. Something different. And then I met you, and I felt love for the first time,” She winked, her wife flushing.

“Oh stop it you, focus on driving!”

“Alright, alright. But you get my point, right?”

“Yeah… I do."

“Until that happens, if that ever happens, we’ll be just fine.”

“Hermano,” Milagro huffed, her hands forearm deep in water as she held a plate in her hands, holding it up to her brother, who was staring out the window in curiosity.

“Jaime,” She called out once more, her brother still unresponsive, the girl’s patience snapping. “Earth to Jaime Reyes!”

Jaime jumped slightly, taking the plate, gaze focused back on the window while muttering apologies to his younger sister.

“Sorry, sorry,” He wrapped the plate with the cloth in his hands hurriedly.

“What’s got you so distracted?” Milagro frowned, peering over his shoulder to see a moving truck parked outside their house. More accurately, in front of the empty house across the road from them.

“Oh, new neighbours,” She nodded, taking another soapy plate to rinse off from her mother. 

“I wonder what they’ll be like,” Bianca Reyes hummed, handing Milagro another plate.

“It’s about time someone moved in that house,” Milagro chirped. “That house has been empty for as long as I can remember."

"That's not true," Jaime glanced at his sister. "Mrs. Diaz lived there for a while before her son moved out."

"Oh yeah… But that was still ages ago. So my statement still counts."

Jaime playfully rolled his eyes, a smile faint on his face. Glancing over, Milagro questioned her brother teasingly.

"Why are you staring there so much, anyways? Did you see Jenny?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

"What? No, no. We're just friends," He huffed.

"Sure you are."

"No, look. Khaji-Da scanned their moving stuff—"

"Woah! Boundaries, hermano!"

"Exactly! But she did it somehow and she warned me about them."

"What? Is she saying that they're villains? Like Jenny's crazy aunt?" The girl beside Jaime placed a hand on her hip. "C'mon, they're new neighbours, how bad can they be?"

"Pretty bad," Khaji-Da chimed in Jaime's head, her host glaring.

The rest of the day proceeded to be uneventful. After dishwashing and tidying up after lunch, Jaime hadn't done much other than trying to find work or helping his mother around the house.

Occasionally, Nana would come around for a drink while taking a break from her sewing, and Milagro soon joined Jaime in his room, the two job-hunting together. Uncle Rudy was… well, somewhere working on "an upgrade for the truck Jenny had gifted", according to him.

If he could, Jaime would have described the atmosphere as "chill and somewhat productive".

His mind drifted from the list of temporary jobs he could apply for on the site he sat on to the whole "Blue Beetle Fiasco" over a month ago. To the friend he hoped would be something more, until she, in the nicest way possible, tried to turn him down.

"Jaime, you're thinking about Jennifer again."

Instantly, he shook his head, trying to refocus his attention.

"Nope, nope. I'm completely focused. See? I can qualify for a…" He narrowed his eyes, reading the word his pointer was aimed at. "Chiropractor? What, no—"

"You need to move on, Jaime. The positive is that Jennifer is still your friend. You have more responsibilities."

"Yeah, and I'm doing it with Mili," Jaime then looked around him, wondering why his sister's questioning and prying hadn't begun.

"Milagro had left to get a drink, while you were busy 'looking for jobs'," Khaji-Da chimed in, rubbing in her point before her host could ask.

"Thank you, Khaji," Jaime huffed sarcastically. "How long has she been gone for?"

"Ten minutes."

"That long?"

"You were deep in thought."

"Got it," He grumbled, pushing himself off of his bed to find his job-hunting partner. "Mili!"

He called out his sister's name, hoping to find her peering around a corner in response, but was returned with nothing, not even a single quip.

"Mili?" Jaime frowned at the lack of noise in his home.

"Nana? Uncle Rudy?"

Seeing that no one was responding, Jaime narrowed his eyes, his mind darting to the worst-case scenario.

"Khaji, can you scan or locate where my family is?"

"Your mother—"

"Jaime! There you are!" Bianca cut Jaime off, her son relieved to see that she was alright.

"—is right here."

"Thank you for the… status, Khaji," He whispered before smiling, letting out a sigh. "Mama, where's everyone?"

"They're outside, greeting the new neighbours!" She furrowed her brows, a smile still gracing her lips. "I thought Mili told you? Oh, I'll talk to her about it later, come come! Let's meet the neighbours, yes?"

She grabbed Jaime's upper arm, rushing out to meet up with the rest of the family.

"Jaime, meet Mrs Tlatilpa, and her daughter, Alejandra!" Bianca smiled.

Jaime smiled over at who he assumed was Alejandra, as she did look quite a bit younger than the woman beside her.

Taking in her appearance, he noticed that she almost looked Hispanic, like him, though her skin was slightly darker. Her hair remained wavy and was a dark shade of brown, pretty much black if he hadn't noticed it against the sunlight. If he looked close enough, he noticed that she had a few strands of braids tied together here and there.

She tilted her head as her wireless headphones covered in vibrant stickers were plastered all over, covering the brand's logo, and it seemed like stars — he noticed a few hand-sewn ones on her baggy jeans — seemed to be her favourite pattern.

Triangle earrings glinted in the light as her dark brown eyes watched him in curiosity. If he looked close enough, he could almost see sparks of red—

"You're staring, Jaime."

He flinched from Khaji-Da's comment, holding his hand out to shake hands, the woman across from him doing the same.

"Reyes, my name's Jaime Reyes," He nodded, putting on his best smile.

"Alejandra Tlatilpa. But you can call me Drea," She nodded respectfully before switching her glance to his shoes. "Cool shoes."

"Ah, uhm thanks. Not my favourite pair, but they serve their purpose," He chuckled, almost sadly as he remembered the fate of his now-incinerated favoured shoes.

"She's dangerous," Khaji-Da pointed out, Jaime's brows furrowing.

"What? No way," Jaime muttered, Drea, blinking in confusion.

"I'm sorry?" She questioned for clarification.

"No, sorry, I uhm… just a habit of mine, I talk. To myself," He quickly responded, his smile turning awkward.

"Right," She pointed a finger, nodding once more. "Got it. Don't worry about it, we all have our habits."

"Look at the two of you getting along!" Mrs Tlatilpa grinned. "Kanna, why don't you go get Mama? I'm sure she'd love to meet new people."

"Yeah, sure," Drea chirped, smiling one last time at Jaime. "See you around."

"So, your wife?" Bianca questioned, her eyes curious.

"Ah yes, it's a long story," Anika laughed nervously.

"No, no worries! In fact, would your family like to join us for tea?"

gif by @rob-pattinson

taglist: @mooncleaver < comment/dm me if you'd like to be on the taglist! >

[witchysquirrel]

Epiphany

Chapter Three

Cassian slept for four days. Madja and Ravenna worked in shifts, one of the healers at his bedside at all times. Wound care was done twice daily; they gave him fluids, kept his pain at bay. Ravenna spent a lot of time at his bedside, just watching him breathe. 

That first day when he’d finally been stable enough, she’d bathed him. It had been difficult to cut the torn leathers from his body, and she was sure she looked like an idiot trying to move his dead weight by herself. Nonetheless, Ravenna tossed the ruined leathers aside and went to work. It took her two hours and several buckets of soapy water to fully scrub away all of the blood and dirt and sludge that coated every inch of Cassian’s body, chipping away at it until she could see his skin again. And then a second scrub to actually clean. When she was done, she washed his hair, separating dried blood and mud from the dark strands until she could comb it smooth.

Ravenna put a fresh pair of sweatpants on him, deciding her work was done, as she was entirely sweating by the time she had finished this endeavor. Ravenna looked down at him, resting so peacefully beneath battered wings, the angles of his face illuminated in the lamp light. Ravenna thought Cassian was objectively beautiful, she knew everyone thought he was. He was an infamous ladies man that had had a handful of great loves, but even more sex with strangers. 

Cassian had been known to flirt with Ravenna if he got a little too drunk, only when he wasn’t taking a lover, but Ravenna knew that was just his personality. She made sure she never confused his flirting for something more, or the way she adored him for anything more than friendship. Ravenna tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, admiring his sleeping form once more, before deciding to head in for the night. Madja would be here in an hour and he would still be sleeping by then.

She covered him gently with the blanket, and took herself back to her room. As she turned the corner, ready to collapse into bed, she collided with something black and solid. 

“Oh, my bad,” Ravenna muttered, taking a step back.

“It’s okay, I was walking too fast,” Azriel replied, hardly meeting her eyes. He paused for a moment, but still didn’t look at her when he said, “Do you think he will fly again?”

Ravenna let out a small breath. “I can’t make promises,” she said, pausing. “Mostly because I don’t know.”

The silence threatened to eat her alive.  “But you’ll be here the whole time?” Azriel looked at her finally, their brown eyes meeting. She nodded. He dipped his chin, in acknowledgement and goodbye, and then he was gone. She exhaled through her nose, considering what Azriel had said - that he was glad she would be here with Cassian - and decided it was a very high compliment. 

-

Ravenna awoke early on the fifth day that Cassian had been asleep. She’d fallen asleep early the night before, still wrapped in a bath towel on top of the comforter — too tired to tuck herself into bed. She rose, putting on the plain black ankle length dress and hooded cloak that hung neatly in the wardrobe waiting for her. Although she hadn’t come here with any clothes, the wardrobe always had what she needed. Ravenna tied the tan corset from an adjacent drawer around her waist, tied her still-damp hair into a loose low ponytail, and pulled on her boots. Remnants of the blood and gore she’d trudged through last week remained, and she waved her hand, the dirt disappearing on a draft of wind. 

She stopped in the dining room for a quick breakfast, stopping for a slice of toast and a banana. It was still dark out, the sun only just considering rising from beyond the mountains. Ravenna barely heard Azriel as he entered the room, grabbing a banana of his own from the fruit bowl on the counter. 

“I spent the night watching him,” Azriel started. “He slept well.” 

She gave him a small smile. “I’m glad. I’m hoping to wake him up today, I’m sure he’ll want to see you once that happens.” Azriel nodded once, then stalked out of the room in silence. 

Ravenna made her way to the makeshift infirmary, opening the door and shutting it quietly behind her. She did her assessments, surveying the wounds, listening to the thud of Cassian’s heart in his chest and the heave of his lungs as he slept. Although he was still a huge mass of muscle lying there, he looked fragile, which was not a word she’d ever used to describe him. When she finished with her first tasks, she began removing the dressings from Cassian’s wings, revealing the wounds beneath. They had all healed considerably since Ravenna had first laid eyes on them, she noted as she cleansed the wound beds. She paused, laying a magical hand over them in the hopes of further healing, then began to redress them. 

When she was finished with Cassian’s wound care, Ravenna made for the head of his bed. He looked so peaceful, resting with his eyes shut gently. She almost didn’t want to disturb him at all, let him sleep for another day. She puttered for a few minutes, and then returned, pressing a hand to his forehead once again. The healer closed her eyes, reaching again for that tether to his consciousness in her mind. She tugged at the line when she saw it, pulling Cassian to the surface.

-

Epiphany Masterlist

[macravishedbymactavish]

Logan Walker x F!Reader

TW for swearing, everyone is traumatized after the canon Ghosts ending, angst, one borderline sexual comment toward the end -- if you're under 18 you don't belong here, kid. Shoo.

| Blog HQ | Series Masterlist | Previous | Next |

Chapter 02

2 days.

It had been 2 days since the fight with Logan. Fight. If that was even the word for it. You hadn't seen or spoken to him since the situation in his room; he had been around base. He can be found only when he wants to be - his best and worst quality.

You knew he was doing okay, through the whispers from the new recruits, the knowing glances from your team, the mugs of tea and coffee strategically placed at your work and rest areas (you knew his handiwork. He was the only one who could make you a perfect cup of tea. His dad and brother always teasing the two of you when he first started making the warm drinks for you. "Logan is literally your cup of tea" they'd laugh, as his cheeks would burn red).

Your skin healed within the day of the incident, but you couldn't quite bring yourself to trying to make the drink again just yet. So these small gestures were very appreciated.

The cups of tea were as close as he let you since that day.

The temptation to seek him out, to hold him close (or beg to be held) kept clawing at the back of your mind. You hated the way things left off, the tears and pain in his eyes as he left you alone in the room. But you learned your lesson with pushing. Push enough and he's bound to break -- he'll come around on his own terms.

"He feels bad" you jumped slightly as a voice spoke behind you. "The kid doesn't know how to talk to you after whatever was said." Whatever was said. He wasn't even opening up to Keegan now?

"So he hasn't said much to you either?" You turned, facing Keegan who was leaned against the doorframe. You scanned his face, trying to get any sort of read or emotion. Some sign of how Logan has been, some reassurance that the words you were being told held true.

"He said you two got into a disagreement, and he took things too far. Didn't seem to want to elaborate" You bit your lip, fighting the latest wave of tears that burned your eyes. The words echoing in your head.

He took things too far

Of course he was blaming himself, he was too sweet, too loyal to place blame onto you. It made his radio silence and disappearance from your life that much harder to handle.

"Give him time. Even if you want to jump in and love up on him until his head spins. He's starting to finally open up a little bit again." You hated how right he was.

"He'll find you when he's ready. I thought I'd let you know since you're starting to worry the recruits". You bit your lip, hiding the small smile at the jab Keegan just made at you.

He'll find you when he's ready.

You weren't expecting it to be during your shower the night after. You finished washing the sweat and grime from training off about 5 minutes ago. Now you've just been enjoying the warmth.

It was while letting the hot water wash away some of the tension in your neck you heard the door slowly open and close. Your mind immediately went to the knife hidden beneath your change of clothes and the best way to defend if needed. Or you could use your stark nudity as a distraction; but the intruder walked in knowing you were in the shower, so is it really a surprise that you have no clothes on?

"It's just me" your thoughts and body froze at the soft voice. Logan. You moved to peek your head out from behind the curtain, he was in a plain black hoodie and dark grey sweats. "You don't have to stop showering for me" a small smile played on his lips, but didn't reach his eyes.

You had been loving Logan for many years, and knew him for many more. You learned his mannerisms and implications enough to know his sentence really meant:

I have something I want to talk to you about, but it's easier to say it if I don't see you directly.

"You just want soapy titties" you teased, heart fluttering at the genuine, surprised laugh he let out. You would pay an unlimited amount of money to hear that every day.

Slowly closing the curtain, you returned to the hot stream of water. Hearing him shuffle from outside the curtain before speaking again.

"I'm sorry about the other day" you bit back your knee jerk reaction of telling him not to apologize, that it should be you apologizing. "I know you had the best intentions, you always do. That's why it's so hard" a pause, likely for him to try and collect his thoughts. To keep the tears of guilt and pain at bay.

"It's hard to let you see the monster they made of me. To let you see the darkest parts of my mind. You're the best thing that's happened to me. Everyone, including them can see that" he spat the word like it was venom on his tounge.

The sound of the shower running filled the silence. You knew how hard this was for him to do, to open up about. Your mind started to piece together a portion of what happened while he was captured.

They used you against him. They used you to break down his heart, his mind, his soul. The thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

You sat in silence, letting his words marinate inside your mind. Inside your heart. Keegan's words from the day earlier repeating in your head.

He said he took things too far

"You're not a monster, Lo" you whispered, voice drowned out by the water.

When you finished your shower, you weren't surprised to see the bathroom empty. That alone was a massive step for him.

Reaching over to grab a towel, you felt your heart swell, and tears prickle in the back of your eyes when you saw a familiar black hoodie neatly folded and placed atop your clean clothes. A small gesture to show he's trying to accompany the small explanation. A way to be protected and loved throughout the night while he sorted out the fears, stresses, and memories plaguing his thoughts. A way to remind himself he's still the boy you fell in love with.

Sliding the sweater on and curling yourself into the warmth and familiar smell of your love, you let a couple of tears fall. Selfish tears. An acknowledgement that he was trying, but fuck....it almost hurts worse to have him so close you think you can reach out and grab him, but he's just beyond your finger tips. Than to not have him at all.

Wiping your face with the sleeves, you finished your nightly routine and made your way back to your room. Curling into bed, keeping yourself wrapped in the hoodie, you closed your eyes and willed sleep you take you.

While falling into the darkness of your unconcious, you could've sworn you felt a loving kiss pressed to your hairline and a soft I love you get whispered into the dark.

He was trying -- he was trying for you.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @ai-luni

[fruit-of-infidelity]

♱ DIABOLIK LOVERS: Haunted Dark Bridal ー Sakamaki Ryuuto | Heaven 02 ♱

⌜ Scene: Balcony ⌟

Ryuuto: Strip.

Yui: Wh-What do you mean…? Out here!?

Doing that on the balcony… Ryuuto-san, I can’t!

It’s already so chilly being out here, but to get completely undressed? And not only that, but this balcony…

I’m in direct sight of that house, over there!

( Why would he want me to be in plain sight like that? )

Ryuuto: I don’t want to hear it; I only have so much patience.

ー Ryuuto tugs at her clothes, stripping her. ー

Yui: W-Wait…! At least let me cover myself!!

Ryuuto: That should be the least of your concerns right now, especially considering you reek of foul play, and of that person in particular…

Yui: ( “That person”? I wonder… Could he mean Laito-kun? )

( That doesn’t make sense, though. I haven’t evenーー )

ー There is a sploshing of water. ー

( …! Just now, a bucket appeared at Ryuuto-san’s side! )

( It’s filled with soapy water… )

( Uu, I have a feeling I know where this is going… B-But it’s so chilly out! )

Ryuuto: Leg’s apart, now.

Yui: What…!?

Ryuuto: Legs. Apart.

ー Yui has little choice but to do so. ー

Consider your bath privileges lost.

ー Ryuuto reaches for the sponge. ー

Yui: Ryuuto-san… I-I don’t even know what it is I’ve done.

Ryuuto: Is that so? Perhaps, then, it will come back to you once we’re done with your punishment this evening; Take a long, hard think.

After allーー

ー He wrings out the sponge. ー

If you are going to behave like a bad dog, you are going to be treated as such. From here on out, you will be washed outside, in plain view, by me.

Be thankful I didn't decide to hose you down.

ー As he speaks, he washes her roughly. ー

Yui: …!!

( H-He’s scrubbing so harshly!! )

Wait a m-moment, Ryuuto-san!

Ryuuto: Spit it out.

━─┉┈◈ Selection ◈┈┉─━

　　❈  I haven’t done anything wrong!

Yui: I haven’t d-done a single thing to warrant this!

Ryuuto: Arguing will get you nowhere; You have already dug yourself a hole.

You most certainly have something to warrant this.

Yui: B-But! I haven’t even been near Laito-kun, I swear!

　　❈  I’m sorry

Yui: ( Ryuuto-san seems deeply upset, so... )

I’m sorry… for whatever it was I’ve done.

Ryuuto: …Fufu, what a meaningless apology.

How on earth are you expecting to be forgiven if you have little clue what you’ve done wrong in the very first place?

Yui: ( Uu… He has a point. But, if I had to pin-point it… )

It’s because of Laito-kun, isn’t it?

━━─┉┈┈◈◉◈┈┈┉─━━

Ryuuto: Laito? It seems you’re incredibly mistaken.

This has nothing to do with that sort of person, so I wonder why would your conscious dwell on that? Instead, this is about that other person.

Richter.

Yui: Richter…!?

Ryuuto: His scent, it’s lingering, clinging to your skin and taunting me with its presence… I’m to clean you of that.

Regardless of whether it takes all night, or whether it includes taking the top layer of your skin with it, I won’t go easy on you.

Yui: O-Ow…!!

You’re scrubbing too roughly!

Ryuuto: You accompanied him to run some staffroom errands after class, didn’t you? Spending time in such close quarters with someone like that…

Yui: ( M-My skin… it feels so raw, it’s turning red…! )

( If I knew it would t-turn out this way, I wouldn’t have helped Richter… )

R-Ryuuto-san… I c-can’t!

Ryuuto: Although Richter was to keep a close eye on you whilst we attended the Academy, what possessed you to think that would be acceptable?

Yui: Uu… O-Ouch…!

S-Slow down!

( Ryuuto-san just isn’t stopping! )

Ryuuto: When we’re done here, you are going to stand here until you air dry thoroughly.

Is that clear?

Yui: “Air dry!?”

Ryuuto: Then you’ll spend the night by my side, impregnating your skin with my scent, dousing yourself in your Master’s fragrance.

Yui: D-Don’t… say it like that!

( That twinkle in Ryuuto-san’s eye… Like he’s enjoying my pain… )

( Deep down, was he always truly this possessive!? )

✥ TO BE CONTINUED ✥

─────── ≪ °♛° ≫ ───────

←  [ ✥ Heaven 01 ✥ ] ⎥ [ ✥ Heaven 03 ✥ ]  →

[nyotasaimiri]

Arc Two (redux) 48

Snowflakes dusted his hair. Tarvei was glad for them. He had been near roasting all day, running errands as his boss negotiated a trade deal with a sect of the Avian Stargazers. They never do mention that part when you sign on as a merchant’s assistant, do they? he thought, baring his fangs in a wry smile. But then again the Miniknog rarely told anyone anything. At least he made it home before curfew. There were only a few guards openly patrolling now. They’d be everywhere by dark, of course. They were always everywhere, whether or not he saw them.

Tarvei sighed and shut the door. “Mom, Dad, I’m home.” The hallway smelled like oranges. Tarvei patted the potted tree by the stairs and hoped that maybe this year the blossoms would ripen into fruit.

“Dmin is still at work, dear,” his mother’s voice called from deeper in the house. “I’m in the kitchen. How did your day go?”

Vei took off his overshirt and hung it up on the coatrack beside the door, then tucked his boots underneath it. His toes stretched and curled against the thick rug. It was so nice to get them out of the restrictive shoes. “Not bad. I think we’re making good progress on that Avian trade deal,” he told her, heading down the hallway.

Any other Apex household might have had to watch their words a good deal more than that when talking about jobs. But most other households did not have Taisa Saimiri. Vei’s mother was washing the dishes when he came in, soap suds hiding the thick muscle of her arms. Her jacket was neatly folded over the back of a chair. It usually came off the moment she got home from her own job, just like Tarvei’s coat and shoes. Vei’s father often joked that he lived in a family of nudists. He didn’t have to joke about the rest. There were still pride and power in Taisa’s green eyes as she looked up to smile at her son.

“For the featherseed, right? Good.” She pulled her arms out of the soapy water and shook a little water out of her greying fur. “The damned rebellion has been causing so many problems with our food supply lately. This will be a weight off our backs.”

“And our bellies, right?” Vei joked, ducking a little so she could kiss the top of his head. “Aw, Mom, my hair isn’t a towel!”

Taisa chuckled. Vei had heard it a thousand times, but today her laughter sent a curious little shiver through his stomach. “Perhaps if you wouldn’t wear it so long,” she teased, “or if you brushed it once in a while so I wouldn’t have to do it for you.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Tarvei grinned and ducked out of the way of an affectionate ruffling, passing her a hand-towel. “You never do that to Dad, though.”

“He’s balding, dear.” Mischief sparkled in Taisa’s teeth. He had seen that smile somewhere else now. “I do try to spare the hair he has left.”

Tarvei smiled back and started helping her dry the dishes. “True. We’ll have to save up clothes vouchers to get him a hat for winter. Can’t have him getting a snowdrift on his head.”

He knew better than to ask about her job. She would tell him if she was allowed. Taisa was well practiced in not sharing too much. It kept her family alive.

“You seem distant, Tarvei.”

Ah. “Sorry.” He grinned sheepishly. “I guess I’m a bit worn out from work after all. Listening to people argue all day does get to you.”

Taisa hummed, almost growled, deep in her throat in hearty agreement. She could certainly relate. “I am almost done here if you would rather rest.”

It was a rare offer, and Vei would have been tempted to take it if he was not so focused on her. On how familiar she was. Yes, she was his mother, he had known her for his whole twenty years. But he kept noticing that greying fur, tawny eyes, hearing that deep, soft laugh, seeing the apex woman standing on the war-torn plain, a child’s doll in her hand—

How did I not see it then?

He shook his head and offered a sheepish smile, taking refuge under his childish mask again. “No thanks. I just need a distraction, is all.”

“Chores are good for that,” Taisa said, her voice neutral as she returned her attention to the dishes.

“Yeah.” Vei started drying again slowly. It worked, for a little while. But he kept seeing the familiar-twice-over color out of the corner of his eye, hearing snatches of a lullaby as she hummed while she worked. He looked at her, looked at the mug in his hands, and said, “Mom, can you tell me a story about Nyota again?”

[bytedentistry1]

How to Care for Your Invisalign Aligners: Dos and Don'ts

Invisalign has revolutionized the world of orthodontics, offering an almost invisible and comfortable solution to straighten teeth. This innovative clear aligner therapy, also known as invisible teeth correction, has quickly gained popularity, and it's no wonder why. At Byte Dentistry, we're committed to helping you achieve the perfect smile with Invisalign. In this article, we'll share essential tips on how to care for your Invisalign aligners, so you can make the most of your dental aligner treatment.

Dos:

1. Wear Your Aligners as Prescribed: The success of Invisalign depends on your commitment. It's vital to wear your aligners for the recommended 20-22 hours a day. The only time they should be removed is when you eat, brush, or floss.

2. Maintain Proper Oral Hygiene: Before reinserting your aligners, ensure your teeth are clean. Brush and floss after each meal to prevent food particles from getting trapped between your teeth and aligners. This practice is crucial to avoid plaque buildup and tooth decay during your transparent braces treatment.

3. Clean Your Aligners Daily: Just as you maintain oral hygiene, it's equally important to clean your aligners daily. Use a soft toothbrush and a mild, clear antibacterial soap to gently scrub them. Rinse thoroughly to prevent any soapy residue.

4. Soak in Denture Cleaner: Occasionally, soak your Invisalign aligners in a denture cleaner. This helps to eliminate stains and bacteria, keeping your removable teeth straighteners fresh and clear.

5. Use Aligner Chewies: Byte Dentistry recommends using aligner chewies to ensure your aligners fit snugly against your teeth. These small, soft cylinders help with aligner seating and enhance their effectiveness.

6. Carry a Travel Toothbrush: When you're out and about, carry a travel toothbrush and toothpaste. It's crucial to maintain your oral hygiene even when you can't access your full dental care routine.

Don'ts:

1. Don't Eat or Drink with Aligners In: Food and colored beverages can stain your aligners. Additionally, eating with aligners in can damage them. Always remove your aligners before eating or drinking anything other than plain water.

2. Avoid Hot Liquids: Hot liquids can warp the plastic of your aligners. Therefore, don't drink hot beverages while wearing them.

3. Don't Use Toothpaste on Aligners: Toothpaste can be abrasive and scratch the surface of your aligners. Stick to a mild soap or a specialized cleaning solution.

4. Stay Away from Colored or Sugary Drinks: Colored drinks like soda and fruit juices can lead to staining. Sugary drinks can also promote the growth of harmful bacteria. Limit your consumption of these beverages during your Invisalign treatment.

5. Don't Skip Aligner Trays: It's crucial to follow the prescribed sequence of aligner trays. Skipping trays or changing them out too quickly can hinder your progress.

6. Avoid Smoking: Smoking can not only stain your aligners but also lead to bad breath. It's a good time to consider quitting as you work on improving your smile.

In conclusion, caring for your Invisalign aligners is pivotal to achieving the desired results. Byte Dentistry is dedicated to helping you make the most of your dental aligner treatment. Follow these dos and don'ts diligently, and you'll be well on your way to a healthier, straighter smile. Remember, your aligners are an investment in your oral health and confidence, so treat them with care. If you have any questions or need further guidance, don't hesitate to reach out to us. We're here to support you on your journey to a more beautiful smile.

As a final piece of advice, we want to stress that while Invisalign aligners provide convenience and comfort, they are not a one-size-fits-all solution. Each treatment plan is tailored to the individual, and progress may vary. It's essential to maintain open communication with your orthodontist at Byte Dentistry to ensure your treatment stays on track. Our team is dedicated to your success, and with your commitment and our expertise, your dream smile is within reach.

[moon-yean]

could u elaborate what was so bad about the barbarians? i saw the show and thought it was ok but i don't have enough knowledge to know what are the ideological implications of it? sorry, just really curious and wanna learn more

*takes a deep breath* oh boy, where to even begin? Thanks for your question as I might finally get this off my chest! Okay, fair’s fair, anyone who likes the show should look away now because I’m not going to mince words. And I want to reiterate that there were things about the show that I liked, mostly on a superficial aesthetical level. Generally you could tell from the get-go though that the writers are hacks who know nothing about history or good storytelling for that matter. I could’ve dealt with a show that was historically inaccurate if only the character drama had been written well. I might also have enjoyed the show more if the character drama had been mediocre but if there had been a sense of historical authenticity (not accuracy, mind; but still something tangibly more substantial than the patina they tried to throw onto their frankly embarrassingly lowbrow attempt by having parts of the dialogue translated into Latin by an expert and by hiring a good crew for the costume and props design - of the Romans at least... putting lipstick on a pig and all that, although pigs are great and the writing here is not).

Since you asked about the ideological implications specifically, I’ll start with that and work my way towards other criticisms (this is going to be LONG):

19th century nationalism: The story of Arminius and his merry band of brothers who defy the big bad Roman empire is a narrative that became especially popular in Germany in the 18th and 19th century, both with liberal patriotic movements that were advocating for the unification of the “German cultural nation” in a modern nation state (spurred by the Wars of Liberation against Napoléon Bonaparte and French occupation) and later with the völkisch movements where that nationalism segued into the pseudo-scientific racial ‘theories’ of a ‘superior German race’ which in turn was part of the ideological foundation of the genocides and atrocities committed by Germany in the 20th century (not only in WWII, see also the colonial genocide of the Herero in 1904). We cannot disentangle this predominantly racist reception history that re-invented Arminius (”Hermann der Cherusker” - “Hermann the Cheruscan” - or, indeed “Hermann the German” ha!) as the founding myth of a German people from the way this story has been depicted in media, entertainment and culture and, as evidenced by Barbarians, continues to be to this day.

Barbarians pays lip service to the fact that actually there was no German people at the time by having the tribes meet at the Ting in the first episode and have someone outright state it. These kinds of tidbits literally voiced by characters give off a strong whiff of the authors googling something, reading something on Wikipedia, and then putting it in there. I’m sorry (actually not sorry) to come down harsh on this but given what we’re talking about here, that’s just not good enough. It’s an embarrassing level of “writing”. The authors clearly have NO idea what they’re talking about or what they’re dealing with because despite their lip services, they actively reproduce the harmful narratives that were spun around this actual historical event and these actual historical figures in the 19th century. No effort was made to depict anything complex or realistic here. Case in point: Even though there’s a pretense that the tribes aren’t part of the same people, they don’t look much different from each other, they all speak the same kind of modern high German that sounds like they’re at a costume party in the year of our lord 2020 (and in the case of Folkwin, drugged out of their mind; he sounds like a guy who’d throw beer cans at passersby). They come across as basically just being separated by the few acres between their villages. And then when the big bad evil Roman empire wants to squash their resistance (Asterix did it better change my mind challenge), freedom fighter Arminius rallies them together with a heroic speech and they charge at the Romans RAAHWWHR! ... no, just no.

There would have been SO MANY ways to reframe and retell this story in a fresh, new, and exciting way that would have made for amazing character drama. The premise is so good. If we were to look at the basics of what is known, there are so many personal AND political complexities in there that just beg to be coloured in with a little imagination. I just... I don’t even know where to begin to fix the choices that the show did go with since most of them don’t make any sense, don’t contribute anything to the narrative and are just. there. Have y’all noticed that there is ZERO dramatic tension in any of the scenes? Like, what? How?? Culture clash, divided loyalties, identity issues, the way that a militaristic upbringing might warp the mind, feelings of home and belonging and displacement, the return of the lost son, the betrayal of a high-ranking officer, just, there are so many themes that the show could have focused on but it botches all of them, nothing of it feels real, earned, or logical. Characters behave in idiotic ways for the sake of the plot (I wanted to like Thusnelda, I really did, I’m always here for female characters but she was so painfully obviously written by 3 dudes who thought that feminism = praying to the good sisters of the forest and slashing your face aöldksfaökdjf plus the actress could not sell any of it, she sounded ridic).

I’m exhausted just thinking about the many ways in which the writing on the show sucked. Impaired character used as a symbol~ for other characters instead of being a character on his own? Check. Weird mystical shit? Check. Earthbound tribal people who are one with nature? Check. Death on the cross to get that Christian imagery in there? Check. Lack of female characters except feisty!badass!Thusnelda, scheming!conniving!pulling-the-strings!wife, weird!mystical!seer? Check. Varus doing a Herod by demanding first-borns to up the Christian persecuted ante? Check. (All he was missing was the mustache to twirl. Was he even a character? He looked vaguely concerned and sceptical. That was his character.)

Look, the actor Arminius was great but even he couldn’t make sense of any of it. The character work was so shoddy, it was shocking. One minute he’s still all-in with the Romans, ordering lashes for “German” mercenaries without being very conflicted about it, reminiscing with fellow Roman soldiers about the good old times in some fireside bonding, asking his foster father to go home to Rome, and then when bad!dad is like “lol no” (surely they would have had that convo before??? surely Arminius would have known how far his career could go???), Arminius turns around and goes “let’s kill 3 Roman legions!! I’M MAD!!” ... lmao dude, just...

Another favourite of mine: The romance between Thusnelda and Folkwin is supposed to be illicit and against her social status. Does anyone even notice? Does anybody even care? Why did the writers come up with Folkwin in the first place? (His name Folkwin Wolfspeer is a hoot and an embarassment in itself. I wonder whether they used some kind of Germanic name generator. They certainly did use a generic speech generator for the battle speech Arminius gives in the last episode lol)

Back to the topic of a lack of tension. Of course there can’t be any tension if the characters suck. But it’s also because of the design of the scenes and plot points. The cliffhangers are so telegraphed and artificially constructed, it’s almost hilarious. My “favourite” has got to be the one of the first episode: The “hi dad” one. Not only does Arminius go to the village with other Romans in tow who then disappear because nothing in this show makes sense but this kind of revelation also goes against everything we know about good storytelling. There’s a famous quote by Hitchcock and I’ll quote it in full because I think it absolutely applies here (and it is valid for character tension as much as it is for suspense):

There is a distinct difference between "suspense" and "surprise," and yet many pictures continually confuse the two. I'll explain what I mean.

We are now having a very innocent little chat. Let's suppose that there is a bomb underneath this table between us. Nothing happens, and then all of a sudden, "Boom!" There is an explosion. The public is surprised, but prior to this surprise, it has seen an absolutely ordinary scene, of no special consequence. Now, let us take a suspense situation. The bomb is underneath the table and the public knows it, probably because they have seen the anarchist place it there. The public is aware the bomb is going to explode at one o'clock and there is a clock in the decor. The public can see that it is a quarter to one. In these conditions, the same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: "You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!"

In the first case we have given the public fifteen seconds of surprise at the moment of the explosion. In the second we have provided them with fifteen minutes of suspense. The conclusion is that whenever possible the public must be informed. Except when the surprise is a twist, that is, when the unexpected ending is, in itself, the highlight of the story.

I hope you can see what I mean here. Barbarians continuously springs surprises on its audience but it has absolutely no tension/suspense in any of its scenes. The only time where the show even comes close to having any kind of genuinely dramatic moment is the conversation between Arminius and Varus where Arminius tries to hide his hurt and disappointment, and all the emotion in that scene is completely due to the actor since the dialogue is fairly idiotic for what is supposed to be the turning moment. Let’s go back to the basics and imagine what the show could have done differently, even allowing for the way in which the writers wanted to tell it (which, as I mentioned, is not appropriately sensitized to the misappropriation of the material in the past - but even if we go with THAT kind of freedom fighter / lost child narrative, it ought to be done well). And here now follows my actual essay of grievances:

The premise of the story, in as much as we know from history, is amazing: An officer of the Roman army, delivered to the Romans by his tribe as a child, returns to the "country" of his birth as part of the invading Roman army which oppresses the natives of the lands. He switches sides, unites different tribes and leads them to a decisive victory against the Roman army in a battle in a forest that lasted for several days and was cleverly planned by the "Germans" who end up outsmarting the Romans who are victims of ambush and the terrain, being split up and stumbling through the forest exhausted and without finding a way back to the other troops (love that the show as we have it managed to squeeze in the cliché "two armies standing on opposing sides decide to just start running towards each other, epic clash, chaos" (which is militarily so fucking stupid and nobody ever did that)).

Anyway, that premise is amazing. You could do so much with it. And if you wanted to make a miniseries about it, the biggest question would surely be: Why did Arminius switch sides? That’s the key plot point. And themes of otherness, oppression, exploitation, identity, and so on, would be a good fit. The first problem with the miniseries is that it has nothing to say about any of that. Arminius doesn’t even feel like the main character (aside from his actor being a cut above the rest). We don’t get to see much of his POV. We don’t get many meaningful conversations between him and Varus (actually just one after which he has a total character transplant). Instead, we get to spend lots of time with characters that don’t add anything in particular to the central plot nor to any of the central themes. Literally, why? 6 episodes is already pretty fucking short to make Arminius’ turn believable, so you’d better spend most of them on him. This is not material for an ensemble show (nevermind that the other characters suck and are not well-acted and written to behave stupidly... that’s just ON TOP of the fundamental issue of this show lacking a POV).

Like, you can turn this into a big Hollywood action movie about the battle or you make it a character drama where the battle is also told from a character perspective (i.e. focusing on the mounting fear and desperation of the soldiers as the battle drags on for days etc but more importantly focusing on why the battle takes place and why it’s important to both the Romans and the “Germans”). As it is, in the show, we don’t get any idea why the Romans are even there in the first place and pestering the people by demanding some tributes. And we don’t get any idea why the Germanic tribes are so opposed to this or why others of them might not be. We don’t get any of the broader political implications, we just get some eagle-stealing pranks (defiance!! cool, just agitate them in a completely stupid and arbitrary way, why don’t you) and a few people executed because the “Germans” were being stupid. That’s not the scale that’s needed here. And I don’t mean that we needed to see mass executions. In fact, I would have preferred if there had been no such hackneyed and emotionally manipulative device.

Arminius is basically absent for all the early encounters of the Romans with the “Germans”. So while we suspect that the mistreatment of the “Germans” at the hands of the Romans would be a strong motivational factor for him, we don’t actually see him witness any of few hints in that direction that we get, so it doesn’t actually matter for his character arc. I have so many issues with how his arc is written. In the first episodes, we don’t get any sense that he’s not a happy Roman. When a “Barbarian” mercenary ridicules Rome, he has him whipped and we don’t get much of a sense that he’s very conflicted about it. Even just moments before he ends up destroying his effigies of Roman gods, we see him trying to get Varus to send him back to Rome. Earlier in the same episode, he prays to those Roman gods. I’m sorry but wtf? How the turntables... If you want to make it believable that he would turn on Rome, why not start with him already being frustrated with the way that things in Rome work? With the way the army is run? And why not give him a careerist streak and make him frustrated that he can’t advance much further because of his lowly birth and background? And instead of Varus being an asshole to him about it (he’s supposed to be his foster father, surely Arminius would already know how Varus thinks about his people and surely he’d already know how far he can climb up the ranks), have Varus be sympathetic but basically like “sorry, there’s nothing I can do.”

Arminius betraying Rome shouldn’t be about Varus saying something mean~, if anything a personal connection of his with Varus should just make the betrayal harder and be something that he does despite the fact that there are Romans he cares about. If you start out the show with him already having significant doubts about his place in the Roman army and identity issues, you just need to add something to it that will finally breaks the camel’s back. Have him become increasingly agitated by the way the "Germans” are treated by the Romans. Start the show with him making to leave Rome, someone asking him whether he’s excited to return to his place of birth and him joking about it but obviously being conflicted and then overwhelmed when he actually gets there because it totally destroys his sense of self which he has built for himself (and for which we would have needed to see the contrast, even if just for one scene, of how he is treated in Rome – perhaps snobbed by others, not treated equally in some sort of social setting, could be something subtle – to show us and him that as much as he wishes, he is not and will never be accepted as a Roman).

And then when he gets to the provinces, we need to see that from his perspective. What’s his reaction to arriving there? To seeing the familiar landscapes? (Or maybe he was taken as a younger child and doesn’t actually have that many memories of it but feels a sense of belonging anyway.) There are so many scenes in this show that seem to hint at these things but they are completely random and unfocused and interspersed with the stupid village people shenanigans. Varus talks about burning down villages in retribution. Well, why don’t we see any of that? (Nevermind that it’s comic book villain level of evil, but I’m working with a fix here and not a total rewrite as would be better.) Surely it can’t be too expensive to burn down a few huts in the night. And having Arminius ride along / witness it but not say anything even though we can see these things having an effect on him. As mentioned: The worst offense is the scene when he rides to the village (with other Romans in tow!) and announces “hi dad!” just to have that cliffhanger. Wtf?

Characters doling out information that the viewer doesn’t have is the absolute worst way of telling a story and maintaining tension. It should be the other way around. How about instead you have him be part of a Roman delegation that rides into the village and demands [random, whatever, the fucking eagle if you must keep that shit] and when the Reik (whom the audience already knows to be Arminius’ father) doesn’t want to give it (because he’s not actually a weak fucking clown as almost everyone in the actual show is aside from feisty Thusnelda who’s a fierce~ fucking clown rmfe), the Romans begin beating the dad or whipping him or whatever, completely humiliating him and his people, and we see Arminius on his horse watching the show with growing unrest until the realization really hits him that this is his father (cue flashback to a very young Arminius being dragged away) and the tension keeps ratcheting until he shouts in German “that’s enough” before correcting himself to give the same command in Latin (maybe he still thinks in German, would be an interesting idea) and the Romans look at him with suspicion, like wtf was that, and the "Germans” are like, why tf does this Roman officer speak German, and it’s super awkward and shit and maybe Varus is also there and he looks at Arminius like, oh shit I need to protect my boy he’s actually all up in his feels about these wildlings let’s go back to the camp and have a talk, and so the Romans end up leaving and the “Germans” are like “wait, was that... could it have been.. remember lil Ari who you gave up... but it couldn’t be...” and meanwhile the beaten dad doesn’t want to hear any of that because he actually has never dared hope he would see his son again and also he kind of doesn’t want to see him again because he would be too ashamed to meet his eyes.

And then later we see Arminius pacing up and down in his tent because this won’t let him go, even after he had a talk with Varus, and after some agonizing he steals away in the night to go confront his father (if you want to keep that German mercenary noticing shit, have him notice that). And then we see the father in his hut and everything is quiet and we are waiting for Arminius to show up because we know he’s on his way. But we don’t know whether he wants to talk to his father or just kill him in revenge for the trauma he’s caused him. You’d show the dad and if it were a good actor, you could see so much in his unrest, maybe despite not wanting to think that that guy could be his son, he kind of knows in his heart that it must be and he’s unsettled and whatnot and then we hear someone outside the door and the door opens and there stands Arminius in a cloak and there’s none of that ridiculous music that wants to scream “epic” but falls way short. Have it be quiet. Have Arminius enter and pull back the hood and they just look at each other. And the dad looks like he wants to hug him but he doesn’t move. And Arminius looks like he wants to murder him but he actually moves to sit down, all the while they keep an eye on each other because who knows, they might actually end up murdering each other. That’s the kind of confrontation you need with a reunion like this jfc. And then they talk and it’s an important scene and I’m not going to write it all out but I hope y’all know what I mean.

I feel like you’d have to rewrite this whole show to actually give the character drama the weight that it needs and deserves because what’s happening in the show is dramatic af but you wouldn’t know because it’s so unbelievably stupidly written. I CANNOT believe that when Arminius is back in the village, he’s standing around with Thusnelda and Folkwin in a field as if they’re catching up at a high school reunion. “So, how’s it been?” “My name is now Arminius lol” “You’re kidding lol” ... uhm hello ??? Is this show a meme or...???

Actually as a last thought, I would have kept Arminius’ mother alive and killed his dad. His dad is irredeemable. He gave him away. But if we assume that he never had a substitute mother, then meeting his mother again (who was against giving him away) would make for much more interesting scenes and would also have a much stronger impact on Arminius. I’ll stop now but I just wanted to note how much I hate the writing on this show and everything it chooses to be. Thanks.

[shadyufo]

hi, i’m a bit new to collecting skulls and bones, do you have any tips on how to preserve and clean them? or how to help the decaying processes on dead animals found to get the bones quicker? sorry if this is weird but idk what i’m doing

Hi Anon! Your question isn't weird at all! I'm always glad to talk bone cleaning shop with other folks interested in this hobby <3

There are a few different ways to go about processing bones. If you find some out in nature that are free of any hide or tissue and just dirty then all you'll likely have to do is give them a gentle scrub in some warm, soapy water to remove the dirt and then give them a soak in hydrogen peroxide to whiten and sanitize them. More on this process down below!

Now if you find something that still has hide/meat on it or are working with a fresh carcass then there are several other steps before getting to peroxide.

When starting with a whole carcass there are a few different cleaning methods to choose from. My own preferred methods are maceration, dermestid beetles, or one of the various forms of nature cleaning. 

Maceration is done by putting the carcass in a container of warm water and letting it rot down to bones. You’ll want to use a fish tank heater or bucket heater to keep the water around 85 degrees Fahrenheit for optimal results. Keep the container covered and don’t change the water or you’ll lose your bacteria colony which will slow the process down. Skinning and defleshing the carcass fish will definitely speed things up and save you from having to pick through fur to find tiny bones and teeth later but it’s okay to just macerate the whole carcass too if you’d rather. I’ve macerated whole carcasses plenty of times with no problems. Depending on the size of the specimen, maceration usually takes at least a couple of weeks—sometimes more, sometimes less.

Dermestid beetles are excellent little bone cleaners but they do require some upkeep so they aren’t for everyone. I haven’t had a colony in a few years now but I can’t recommend them enough especially for cleaning delicate skulls and skeletons.

There are various ways of “nature cleaning” a carcass. You can put it in a fine mesh bag and bury it in a flower pot or container of dirt. You can put the carcass in a cage and let nature do it’s thing. You can put the carcass in a plastic bag with a few holes poked in it then cover it with an overturned container to prevent scavengers from nabbing it. Lots of options with nature cleaning. And as with maceration, skinning and defleshing definitely speed to process up but you can skip that step for nature cleaning too if you’d rather.

Whichever method you choose, once all of the tissue has rotted off then you’ll be ready to degrease the bones. I use hot water and Dawn dish soap when I degrease. Put the bones in a bucket of water, keep the water heated to around 85-115 degrees Fahrenheit, and add a squirt or two of Dawn dish soap (or any other good grease-cutting soap). Change the water as it becomes cloudy or develops a film on the surface. Once the water starts staying clear let the bones dry and check for any bad odors or yellow/brown stains in the bone. Keep degreasing if necessary but if there aren’t any odors or in-the-bone stains then you are ready to whiten.

After all that you'll be ready to whiten the bones! Only use hydrogen peroxide for whitening—never use chlorine bleach. Even a brief soak in watered-down bleach will destroy bones over time. Hydrogen peroxide is the only way to go. I just use the plain old 3% solution sold in a brown bottle in grocery/drug stores. I soak bones in peroxide in an open container out in direct sunlight—the sunlight causes the peroxide to degrade faster so you may have to freshen it up as you go but I’ve always gotten much better results doing it this way. Let the bones soak until they are as white as you want and keep in mind they’ll dry whiter than they appear when wet if you are aiming for a certain shade. After all that you should be good to go!

I made a post called Bone Collecting for Beginners a while back that has some other info you might find helpful too, Anon! And lots more tips in my "bone cleaning" tag too.

Hope that helps get you started! If you have any other questions please feel free to ask and I'll do my best to help out. Good luck and happy collecting! <3

[sidespromptblog]

Orange Eyed Delight

Summary: Virgil finds out about Logan's orange eyes.

Warnings: Minor blood and injury, hurt/comfort, negative self-talk (From Logan), and anxiousness (Virgil). 

Word Count: 2,318

AO3 LINK

The first time that Virgil saw it, it was an accident. 

He’d been sitting on the counter when it had happened, with Logan in the kitchen washing the dishes from the morning after Roman and Patton had just left. The steam rising from the hot water pouring into the sink had made Logan’s glasses foggy, until the logical side had eventually just decided to set them on the counter next to all of the clean dishes he had already finished. His was flipped over his shoulder, so that it wouldn’t dip into the water. And the long sleeves of the other’s shirt had been pushed up over his elbows, the occasional splatter of water made a dark stain on his black shirt. The noises of the dishes clanking together in the soapy water, and Logan’s small soft mumbles was a comfortable background noise to Virgil where he could just be on his phone in a comfortable silence with the other side. 

Logan seemed to get it, as he didn’t bother trying to engage in conversation with Virgil. 

It was their usual routine, a comfortable routine. 

Then there was a crash, and a loud splash of water shortly followed by a surprised sound from Logan. 

In an instant Virgil’s attention snapped up from his phone, and to the other side who was cradling his hand close to his chest in a wounded fashion. 

“Logan?!” Virgil jumped from the counter, quickly rushing over to the logical side. “What happened?” 

A short growl fell from Logan’s clenched teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut, a look of pain molded on every crease of his face. “My mug..” Logan managed to get out, before gesturing with his elbow to the pile of broken ceramic in the bottom of the sink. “It broke.” 

Virgil looked down first into the sink to all the shards that remained to be a dangerous hazard to anyone that touched them, and then at Logan’s hand. The heated red skin of the other’s palm had a long thin cut across it, with blood already starting to pool out of it. Similar smaller cuts peppered all over his fingers, as if Logan had attempted to pick up the shards that laid in the hot water purely out of instinct before realizing what he was doing. 

It was a painful looking cut, Virgil could give it that. 

“Shit L, fuck...” Virgil muttered, quickly pulling the logical side away from the sink and towards the kitchen to sit down. “Shit, I’ll be right back.” He said in a way that was clearly telling the other side not to move, or else. Just from the look on Virgil’s face, he could tell that the other side wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, Logan wasn’t stupid after all. 

Barely even glancing at Logan, Virgil was off. Rushing into the bathroom, he blindly scavenged for the first aid kit that was always in the bathroom per his own request. He had always made sure that every bathroom, even the ones in their own room had first aid kits in them. He had told the others over and over again that should something bad happen he needed to know that there was a first aid kit in there, they hadn’t had a chance yet to put one in the kitchen. The one place that statistically, most accidents happened in a home. Stupid.. Stupid. That should have been the first place that he had put one, that way he could have just grabbed it and helped Logan right then and there instead of just leaving him where.. Where…

There had been a lot of blood in Logan’s hand, and it was still bleeding. 

What if he bled out while Virgil was taking his time here?

“Come on… come on…” Virgil snarled to himself, digging through the messy underside of the sink cabinet even more frantically. “He’s not dying, he’s not. It’s just a cut, a cut that just needs to be sanitized and bandaged. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s…” Virgil seized the handle of the kit the moment he caught sight of it. “Gotcha!” 

Scrambling out of the bathroom, Virgil ran like a bat out of hell to get back to Logan.

By the time that he got to the logical side, Logan had unclenched his entire body as he stared down at his bleeding hand. His jaw was fixed firmly and his eyebrows furrowed, and from where he stood Virgil could practically feel the anger radiating from him like the heat from hot boiling water. Logan’s breathing was a practiced calmness, the way that it strategically rose and fell told Virgil that the other side was trying with everything he had to keep his temper under control. 

“I got the first aid kit Lo,” Slowly moving forward he knelt in front of the logical side, before unpacking everything inside. “Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?”  

For a moment there wasn’t an answer, and Virgil mostly figured that Logan was just keeping quiet due to the pain he must’ve been feeling. 

And then Logan sniffed, making Virgil look up from sanitizing the long cut that ran along his palm. “It was my favorite cup… and now it's broken.”  An unreadable look passed over Logan’s face, and his fingers curled just barely brushing against Virgil’s as he passed the alcohol wipe over his hand once more. “I’m sorry…”  

Virgil hastily looked up towards Logan’s eyes, alarm squeezing his chest. “Sorry? Sorry for wha-” 

Before he even realized it, the words died on his tongue and a whole new feeling flooded through him. His lungs seized in that moment not allowing him to take a single breath, and his heart thudded against his ribcage like a terrified bird trying to get out. It took conscious effort for him to let his mouth hang open, or for him to not jerk his entire body away from the logical side like he had just been struck. 

The last little remnants of orange were fading from Logan’s eyes, the hellish orange fading into the sad warm brown color that Virgil knew so well.

What was happening? Was Logan being taken over? Was he turning into a dark side? Was he… was he splitting in half like Roman and Remus? Was he okay? Was he even Logan anymore? Was he hurt even more on the inside than he was on the outside?

A million thoughts and questions ran through his head, all of them coming to a shrieking halt as soon as he managed to force himself look back at Logan. A feeling of hurt shot through him at the inner betrayal he had felt towards Logan, especially considering that Logan’s eyes looked normal now… as if nothing had even happened.

Unburdened by Virgil’s inner treacherous thoughts Logan merely shrugged, obviously not noticing Virgil's insane reaction, or perhaps just not knowing the shade of color that his eyes had just been. “Sorry for inconveniencing you, I should have been more careful so that it wouldn’t have broken in the first place.” Logan looked away, as Virgil’s body finally began to relax. “And now here I am, a new injury and I made you worry and fret over nothing...I should have been more observant of what I was doing.”

Logan… thought that his reaction was from the broken cup?

And then Logan carried on. 

“I know that I’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Logan explained, as Virgil slowly began wrapping his injured hand up in a layer of gauze. “Setting too high of expectations, and expecting any of them to go through. “I keep burdening all of you with my wants and wishes, and… getting a little upset when something else happens.” Something else flashed across Logan’s face, so quick that Virgil would have missed it had he not been looking for it. “I should know this all by now, what.. what’s going to happen when I just plan things... ” Logan waved his non-injured hand, gesturing to nothing. 

Virgil couldn’t help but to feel just a little bit sad over the resignation in Logan’s voice, surely… surely he wasn’t thinking about giving up on the whole schedule thing. Logan had worked hard on that, he’d worked countless nights to make it so that Thomas have even the slightest bit of possibility of getting it done. He had completely written out things that he would have liked Thomas to do, he had.. he had gotten rid of that astrology class that Thomas had promised him that he’d take. 

And yet… even after that he hadn’t been listened to, and…

Oh.

Oh...      

“Logan.” Virgil began cautiously, “Are you… angry with us?” 

There was a beat of silence, where Logan chewed on his bottom lip before looking away from the anxious side. His silence was the only answer that Virgil needed.

There it was, plain and bold for even him to see. 

It should have been obvious to him from the start, he was literally anxiety. He picked up on even the slightest hints if someone was angry with Thomas, he had even picked up Patton’s emotions as much as the moral side tried to hide them with his cheery happiness. And somehow he hadn’t managed to see Logan’s anger, hiding and being pushed down day by day by even the slightest things that they did. How often had they said something that made him angry at them? How often did he not know just what he was feeling towards them was anger? 

They had scorned him in such a way just for throwing a paper ball at Roman. 

This.. this kind of explained everything. 

“God I’m so stupid.” Virgil muttered, heavily sitting back with an exhausting exhale.  

Logan's head snapped back, a look of shock and mismatched emotions coloring his face. “No-”

Before he could even get another word out, Virgil shook his head, swatting the side of Logan’s leg. 

“Stooop!” Virgil groaned out, slapping his hand over his face. “I am! I am so stupid for not noticing. Of fucking course you’re angry at us Logan! You should be!” 

A pause and then: 

“What..?”

Peeking through his fingers Virgil saw Logan looking at him as if he was well and truly on his way to becoming insane, Virgil should have felt a little insulted from the look that he was receiving. But instead, he felt like he deserved it, if only for the reason that he was insane for having been so blind when it came to making sure Logan was okay. He had known that Logan needed help with his emotions, both in realizing that he was allowed to feel them, and just when they would be necessary. Of course, with all of their “help” Logan must’ve figured that any emotion that wasn’t positive should be shunned within himself and pushed down until he was convinced that it didn’t exist. 

He had been told he was allowed to be sad by Patton, but anger… 

They had never once allowed him to be angry. 

In some way, Virgil felt as if he had betrayed Logan. 

The glint of those bright orange eyes unconsciously reminded him of the other dark sides, how Janus’ one snake eye glowed a bright yellow, and how Remus’ eyes occasionally took on a toxic green color when he was up to no good. The orange couldn’t mean anything good, or even worse… if Logan thought that he no longer belonged amongst himself, Patton, and Roman. Then.. then what else was there? If Janus found out that they had basically chased Logan off, so that he was seeking solace with them… 

He’d never hear the end of it from him, a reverse Virgil he would call it. Virgil could just imagine it now…

But if that was what Logan would want… then who was Virgil to stop him? That would be hypocritical of him to even try, especially since it's common knowledge that he used to be one of them too.  He could at least try to make things better if Logan did try to leave, that way it wouldn’t just be out of the blue. This way at least he and Logan would still be alright, he could still protect Logan in this one way even if he did leave. 

Virgil knew that he’d have to force himself to not feel betrayed if Logan did leave. 

They’d done this to themselves after all. 

Nevertheless, he finally stood up and straightened his back.  After a long moment of consideration he finally looked into Logan’s eyes. “Logan.” He firmly said, “Logan, look at me.” The moment that the logical side finally did, Virgil nodded. “Anger isn’t anything bad,” He began, only shooting him a look when it seemed like Logan was going to interrupt. “It’s your brain’s way of trying to tell you that you deserve better, and that the way that someone is treating you is wrong. It's a self defense measure, and you’ve been ignoring it and letting us walk all over you. For years Logan.” 

Logan was silent, his brown eyes trained on Virgil’s face. He was finally listening, intensively. 

“Listen to it, if we don’t listen to you… listen to it.” Virgil got closer, gripping Logan’s shoulders as he did. “If we ignore and don’t listen to you when we should be… be angry. Let us know so that we will listen. Do whatever you have to, I won’t be angry. Because I’ll know that we deserved it, and we had it coming.” Virgil gave him the tiniest shake possible. “Raise hell.” 

The second time that Virgil sees the orange eyes, he supposes that it's no longer an accident. 

The uncertain look on Logan’s face slowly morphed into something else, as a burning look of determination and certainty finally sparked inside of him. 

Bright angry orange bled into the calm brown, completely overtaking it. 

“Okay.”

[moxfirefly]

112 from the 200 prompt list with Leo? Like, I know the cliche would be him worshiping her, but I can imagine it the other way around. They need the same love and affection they give, maybe more, and perhaps she just worships him so much that she considers the ground he walks on BLESSED. *maybe building up to some nsfw content where she’s coddling him and praising him and body-worshiping him at every word..?;)—or just cute, fluffy stuff where he’s churring into her breast?*

Leo + body worship seems to good to pass up. Forgive me if this isn’t perfectly done, been a rough few days but I wanted to get to one of your requests and this seems fairly simple. Sorry if it’s a little short.

Rated Mature&Fluff (cause I need some fluff lol) (18+ Years Only)

There were moments where Leonardo needed to wind down, sometimes desperately.

If you could put a name to it, you’d call it workaholic. If he wasn’t training he was patrolling, if he wasn’t on Big Brother duties he was working on his katas, and if he wasn’t kicking some major bad guy ass he was working on himself.

Leo is a workaholic plain and simple, he just doesn’t have a 9 to 5 like you do and all of the world does.

But on some ocassions, where it was written all over his body in bruises or just in the way his eyes would set fixed and thoughtful, you know he need you to intervene.

Leo actually loves being babied.

He rather bite his tongue than outwardly and vocally say it but it’s the gods honest truth. It can be something so simple as helping him take off his gear, a basin of water and a warm towel to wipe at blood and grime, a tender massage to his soar muscles. If it involves you and your hands on him, all the better.

Leo has his subtle ways of asking for this treatment. He gets more touchy, purposefully pushing himself closer to you until he feels you envelope him. It’s muscle memory at this point but you know he loves it. Especially when your eyes wander and that lustful cloud is evident in the them.

The latter is proven one late night in the showers, you run soapy hands up his broad shoulders, down his biceps and squeeze to your hearts content. “God you’re built like cement” He chuckles but there’s a shyness to his stare, you keep exploring with gentle but firm squeezes. “Can I be really superficial for five minutes and just say, Christ I’m lucky” You can’t help but laugh when Leo shakes his head. “And here I thought I landed you due to my boyish charm” He let’s you nudge him under the spray, he eats up how you watch every inch of his physique covered in water.

Even more so when you kneel and preoccupy yourself with another body part of his you love.

He’s never had this chance before, he felt he never would to be honest and he had accepted that fate. So it makes sense that when the to of you lie in bed and he wraps himself around and lays his head on your breast and that slow consistent growl like vibrations pick up. You smile, eyes on your phone but your free hand running caresses on his head. “Am I too heavy?” He asks muffled against your chest but you shake your head, even if he is you like the pressure.

“You’re a good boy” That sentence is serotonin hand wrapped to and delivered with care for him. Leo will never admit to anybody else but you, bu the praise that sentence has, the comfort it plants in his soul is so addicting.

So naturally, you want to give him more of it.

You toss your phone somewhere on the bed and wrap your arms around his head, giggling when he sighs contently. “You’re so good, Lee, you know that right?” You run the heel of your foot up and down his thigh, lips dropping kisses at the top of his head, Leo can’t help but shamelessly rub against you. You run a soothing hand to the sides of his shell, squeezing your legs around his strong one, you can feel his groin right against your thigh, yours grinds down on his muscled thigh.

“I’m really lucky I’ve got you” Leo moves slowly against you, face to the side of your breast. His churrs feel like a motor and it stirs you on. “You’re fucking hot, like god Lee sometimes I look at you and touch you and I get so hideously wet” That makes him groan and grind harder against you, the very motion of it makes you bite back a sound even as your hands find any spot to touch and grip him.

“I worship you.” You moan it right against his cheek, Leo feels his chest compress and release every doubt he’s had stored away in his mind. “Y/N,” Leo moans and the way he does so makes your toes curl and grind faster.

It’s not long before the two of you are full on panting against each other, every word from your mouth a praise that fills up his ego. Leo feels your panting ride to a crescendo when you go stiff as board and hold onto him for dear life, he feels his thigh so moist and warm with you essence. “Oh Leo, cum for me” You squeeze his thigh and find his lips in a searing kiss, that pushes him off the edge.

You plant kisses and heartfelt praises as you both start to drift off.

[strawbabysimp]

The Maid's Dress || Sub!Levi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Categories: Sub!Levi x Fem!Dom!Reader

Warning(s): Anal Fingering, Praise, Mommy Kink, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Pet Names

A/N: I'm not the best at intros so I had to cut it short but I hope you enjoy what followed💕

You sat down on the chair in Levi's room, playing with the small pens and paper that were found on his desk. Your boyfriend had just finished up training all while you had been waiting for him impatiently, foot tapping down against the cold floor as you read through one of your books. You heard the water fill the tub and a small splash as he submerged himself in the warmth. Now was your chance.

Trying your best not to alert the small captain to your plans you crept quietly to the door, opening it with caution so as to avoid the creaking. Along the way you grabbed the main item needed for your plans, folded nice and tidy. He better compliment you later for your skills.

The door opened cautiously, steam fogged the mirror and you were thankful he had pulled the thin curtain closed around his bathing area. Picking up your boyfriend's previous change of clothes -- a plain t-shirt with boxers -- you swapped it out with the much softer and much more risque option.

Now you wait.

A few minutes passed before you heard heard the tell-tale signs of Levi removing himself from the soapy water. Most likely too busy drying himself off to notice the garments just yet. When he did eventually notice his voice called out questioningly, "Y/N! Did you move my clothes?"

"Hmm... No, those are the right ones. I thought the others looked a bit uncomfortable." You would have laughed if you weren't already anticipating how the clothes would look on on his small frame. Smelling all nice and fresh. Thighs framed beautifully by the black fabric. You couldn't wait to wreck him.

The door made a light squeaking noise as it fell open disrupting your train of thought. "Y/N... what's all this?" The darkness of the bathroom didn't allowing for you to fully take in his appearance but the mere outline left you craving more.

You gestured for him to step forward, which he did hesitantly. It had quickly become clear that this wasn't simply a small prank but rather you planned to do some further activities with him all dolled-up like this. "What's this," he said in a cautious voice, no longer sounding as confident in his actions as before. His tone held a note of shyness that it only got when you two were together.

You allowed your gaze to travel down his body slowly, the newly introduced light adding to the sight tenfold. The way the white trimming spanned out, covering only the very top portion of his muscle-lined thighs, and the way his legs moved against each other had no right to be as erotic as it was. Your mouth watered shamefully, but you had to wait.

It was sleeveless and for that you were grateful. You loved seeing his arms flex and squirm freely while you fucked him. He looked adorable with his collarbones peeking out through the top, the size looking just the smallest bit off in a way that made him look gorgeously lewd before you had even acted on your full intentions.

"Do a little twirl for me Levi." He was taken aback by your words, clearly still trying to process the situation, his head titled cutely in contemplation. Your smile remained sweet and inviting, "I just want to see how pretty you look baby."

He spun around for you as, the hem of the dress spinning softly in the air and his face growing noticeably redder by the time he was done. "You're such a good boy for me Levi," you praised lovingly, "I think you deserve a treat." He stepped closer to you before you raised your hand to stop him, pointing to the table on the other side of the room. "I didn't say I was going to be the one giving it to you, did I?" He shook his head. "Now go bend over."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

He turned around to look you in the eyes, hoping that the sincerity in his would grant him some sympathy, as he spoke up again. His next words made it clear that he was beginning to fall into that pleasurable headspace of his. "Yes Mommy."

~~~

"Y/N p-please," he begged as his finger continued its slow pace, dragging along his walls, just barely grazing the sweet, sensitive ball of nerves inside himself. "It's not enough!" Despite his cries he never stopped working himself open for you, trying so hard to be a good boy all while moaning shamefully a few feets away from his lover. His other hand struggled to keep the fabric up so you could watch his little display but whenever it fell slightly he made sure to hastily drag it back up over his waist. You could practically feel the burn in your own hand as you stared down at his little fingers trying their hardest to bring the boy to his climax.

"Slower," you instructed. You couldn't let him come so soon, it would ruin all the fun. His gaze met yours over his shoulder as he whined, pushing back on the two fingers slower and more precise. It was obvious how hard he was trying not to slam himself back on the digits and the knowledge of his struggles only brought you more pleasure. His soft whines growing louder and more drawn out the longer he had to maintain the teasing pace combined with the lewd sounds of his ass taking in the digits had you uncrossing and re-crossing your legs to stem off your own arousal. The sight was simply too good to just watch at this point.

You got up from your place on the chair, walking over to stand behind his vulnerable form. He still hadn't realized you were approaching, far too caught up in his own pleasure to hear your footsteps. "Would you like some help with that," you smirked at your boyfriend. He startled slightly, looking up to meet your gaze with his fingers still buried knuckles deep in his hole.

"Y-yes."

"Yes? How impolite Levi." Your voice took on a mock ridiculing tone as you watched his fingers continue to swirl around in search of some much needed release. His voice was small as he whined out, "Y-yes, p-please." You nodded along to his words as you slowly glided your hand up the plump thighs in front of you, his legs perfectly on display as he remained leaning over the table.

"Well I suppose you deserve a nice treat after all I've put you through." Those were the final words you uttered before you shoved two of your fingers in alongside his own, curling over his hand as yours were able to reach deeper into him than he was capable of on his own. He arched into your touch, shoving himself back on them thoughtlessly. Feeling so full with all four of the fingers inside of him, the slight burn only served to add to his arousal.

Levi began to pant feverishly, trying to meet your eyes from the uncomfortable angle as his walls began to tighten, threatening to hold the digits in place and you knew what was about to happen. Without further prodding you quickly pulled the two of yours intertwined fingers out, the lube dripping out obscenely as his body racked in deprived sobs.

You shushed him quietly as you peppered kisses on his lower back, "You can come soon, just turn around for Mommy okay?" His shakey nods paired with the tears running down his cheeks would have made you feel guilty if you didn't already know you both were enjoying the scene. As he shifted around you pat the table lightly signaling for him to sit on it, caging his body in in a confident display of dominance. "Up you go."

Your hands made their way to his hips, knees surrounding the sides of your head as you bent down to mouth at the ridges of muscle found there. Lightly biting and licking the purple bruises you created as your lips travelled further and further up his legs more sweet noises fell from his mouth. In spite of the pleasure he managed to hold himself up with shaky arms, head thrown to the side out of reflex.

You stared down at his arousal, leaking down onto his stomach from how painfully it ached. "Do you want me to touch you, baby?" Your voice was kind and caring, it was so easy to forget all of the cruel denial you had put him through. "Yes. Yes please. It hurts Mommy," Levi begged, lips trembling from trying to keep in his overwhelmed cries. He always fell apart so prettily.

Without further restraint you gave in and began to kiss a line straight to the tip of his cock, letting your breath fan over the collected precum and sensitive nerves found there. Fuck. He was stunning. Fighting with himself to keep his body upright all while staring down at you with such soft and begging eyes, leaving his pleasure graciously in your hands. It was truly a sight to behold.

As your mouth took in his cock head he found his strength momentarily weakening, arms that has once held him up giving out from the sensations that engulfed his tip once you began to swirl your tongue around the sensitive area.

All of this was marvelous, don't get him wrong, but he was still craving something more. The display from earlier had left a feeling of emptiness inside him and he wanted so bad to be stuffed again, his hips shifting on the table, hoping that somehow the dull friction would fire up that part of him once more. You caught on to his gestures with ease, glad that the lube still dripped out of him in a small, barely noticeable dribble. His rim puckered up slightly from all the welcomed abuse.

As you trailed your finger light along the muscle he pushed back against the tip, begging you wordlessly to grant him more of your touch. He breathed out, tension leaving his body as you slowly slid two fingers into him, curving them slightly to hear more of his delectable sounds.

"Oh shit, Y/N, that feels so good." His tears could no longer be held back as his begging began, "Mommy can I come. I've been such a good boy. Please let me come, Mommy."

You detached yourself from his member, still holding the taste of him on your lips as you made your way back up to his mouth. You gave him a quick kiss before agreeing, making sure to leave a travel of his own flavor on his lips. "You can come now baby." He whined out at your words, head falling back as you sped up up your hand movements. Adding another finger to the mess of his insides left him twitching against his own abs and you waited a mere few seconds before his nose scrunched up cutely and be spilled hands-free from your ministrations.

"Oh Levi, now you're all dirty again." Your voice was teasing as you swiped your fingers across his stomach. "Clean yourself up," there was little room for disagreement as you brought the cum-civered digits up to his mouth. Levi only nodded, still trying to recover from his long withheld release you had been kind enough to grant him. He lapped languidly at your palm and outstretched fingers, his tongue dragging it's away across your skin as his breathing began to slow.

"Good boy."

[jonkentt]

Sambucky + poems ༺

“Sam?”

“Morning sunshine!”

Bucky’s mouth quirks up at his partner’s sing-song voice.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, ‘s not locked.”

Bucky pushes the door open. His eyes catch the movement of Sam’s swaying shoulders through the fogged up glass and instantly the pain in his chest eases. Sam’s turned away, humming cheerfully and he lathers up with soap. Bucky feels pulled toward Sam as if by a string joining their hearts.

“Couldn’t wait to see me this morning, huh?” Sam chides when his partner steps in the shower. Bucky wraps his arms around Sam, pressing his face against those broad shoulders. He rubs his cheek on Sam’s warm, damp skin and inhales deeply. The mingling sweetness of Sam and their citrus soap floods his senses.

“B?”

Sam turns in Bucky’s arms and Bucky presses closer, hiding his face in Sam’s neck. A soapy hand comes up to massage the back of Bucky’s neck. He wrestles the turmoil of emotions to come up with words that make any sense.

“I need you,” he tells Sam quietly, feeling like his heart is on the outside plain to see.

“You have me,” Sam’s reply is immediate and filled with warmth. Bucky presses a kiss to his neck before finally looking into familiar brown eyes. Sam looks like he’s trying not to tease Bucky for the exaggerated frown on his face.

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Mm, nope.”

Bucky sighs. “That’s what I thought.” He chews his lip for a moment then shakes his head. “I had a dream you were and… ate something… It was bad.”

Sam hums thoughtfully. “Sarah convinced me once I was allergic to ice cream. Worst months of my life. Thought I’d go crazy with the hot summers down here and finally caved for a strawberry milkshake thinkin’ if I die, I die. Couldn’t pass up that shake! Then of course I was fine— realized my sister had got me real good.” Sam chuckles. “Never again.”

Sam’s laughter is enough to ease the hard set of Bucky’s shoulders. The heat from the shower has turned his cheeks pink and the look of fondness he gives Sam is sweet as peaches. “How does that even happen?”

Sam’s shakes his head, water dripping from his lashes. “I was a dumb kid.”

Worry disappears from his partner’s brow and pretty soon Bucky’s making big I’m-so-gone-for-you heart eyes. Sam grins and bops his nose, leaving behind a dab of soap bubbles.

“What?”

“Just wondering when you were gonna realize you stepped in here with all your clothes on.”

Bucky looks down at his soaked shirt and sweatpants.

“Oh.”

༻❁༺

Dreamt last night I fed you, unknowingly,

something you were allergic to.

And you were gone, like that.

You don’t have even a single allergy,

but still. The dream cracked. Cars nose-dived

off snow banks into side streets. Sometimes

dreams slip poison, make the living

dead then alive again, twirling

in an unfamiliar room.

It’s hard to say I need you enough.

Today I did. Walked into your morning

shower fully clothed. All the moments

we stop ourselves just because we might

feel embarrassed or impractical, or get wet.

“Morning Love Poem” by Tara Skurtu

[cowboy-anon]

It’s a long one, lads, but here’s the ✨ super special whump ✨ I promised! The reason? It’s the amazing @unicornscotty‘s birthday!! (Make sure to wish them a happy birthday! :D ) Happy birthday to one of the first friends I made here on Tumblr. <3 What am I doing to celebrate? Posting a Pirate Whump fanfic (OG story by @unicornscotty, hence it being the present)!!!

!!! Note: You don’t need to read the story to understand this fic, but once you’re finished with this, you ought to if you like pirate whump!

Super amazing story idea courtesy of @milk-carton-whump. Then I made it an AU because rivalry, am I right? Canonically, these two get along pretty well, but a prince and a pirate on the same ship? There’s bound to be some bad blood. Then, of course, a sprinkling of enemies to lovers because why the heck not! :) 

Truth be told, I don’t know if it’s whumpy enough. That being said, I’ve been especially bloodthirsty lately, so there probably is enough whump XD. Hope you guys like it!

CW: Accidental self-harm (biting tongue), alcohol mention, bodily fluids (drool and blood), cuts, death mention (in passing), derogatory language towards the classes (monarchs and pirates), hitting, implied murder (but what do you expect with pirates, y’know?), lots of salt and sarcasm, pirate whump, stitches mention, spartan kick, swearing, swords against throats, sword fighting (!!!)

Now, without further ado:

ENEMIES TO LOVERS SLOWBURN AU - ONLY YOU NEVER GET TO SEE THE END >:)))) 

Alternatively:

Prince v. Pirate

Augustus calls them “scum” one too many times today. Luckily, Alex knows just how to push his buttons back. 

They stare into the murky bucket of mop water by the mast, full and swirling with the grayish tendrils of dirty soap and muck from the ship’s wooden floorboards. Alex can feel Augustus’ presence by the bow of the ship. He takes up far more space than Alex realized when the two of them first boarded this boat. 

But that’s... perfect, they think slyly. Someone who casts such a long shadow surely has that much more to lose. 

“When we first met,” Alex calls suddenly, fighting the amusement in their voice, “you didn’t kill me. I doubt your father will be very pleased to hear that.” They laugh and give the mop another soapy swipe across the deck. Alex looks over their shoulder with a devilish grin. “A prince saving a pirate. A prince too weak to finish them off. I may be scum, but at least I’m not a coward.”

Alex’s grin only grows when they hear the stomp of Augustus’ approaching boots coming down the stairs behind them. “Careful, Gus,” they jive. “That day was a fluke. Mind you, if we do this again, your inexperience will be your downfall.” Alex spins on their heel and laughs at what they see: The prince wielding his sword, carrying himself in a learned but clearly off-centered defensive position. “Very well. I could give you some pointers if you’d like.”

“Pointers?” Augustus scoffs and moves in closer to Alex, sword low to the ground and too tight in his grip. He crosses his feet when he moves, too, Alex notes. All classic mistakes. 

“The kingdom’s best sword fighters have been training me since I could walk,” Augustus continues lowly. “ I spar as one of the best in the kingdom. Don’t overestimate your prowess, pirate.”

Alex laughs. “You think sparring is anything like combat?”

“Sparring is combat,” Augustus spits back. “And as far as I can tell, your sword isn’t even drawn. Does that not invalidate all of the claims you’ve made so far as to your knowledge on the matter?” He gestures at Alex with his sword. “One of the first rules, be prepared.”

“Oh, not at all, Gus.” Without warning, Alex takes the mop in hand and swings it at Augustus’ exposed shoulder with a wet crack. 

Augustus’ hold on his sword falters when his right hand instantly moves for his injured shoulder. 

“First rule, gain the power in the situation.” Alex unsheathes the sword at their hip and holds it out, at the ready, gripped comfortably between their hands. The correct way, they mentally boast.

 “You know,” Alex says, motioning with their sword, “if you’d held your blade a little higher and led with your chest, you would’ve been able to block that blow with ease. But what would I know?” Alex runs their thumb over the engraved hilt of their sword, etched with tallies. Ten to be exact. Ten men. Ten dead men. “I’m certainly not a seasoned fighter, not like the beloved prince.”

Alex’s eyes fall back on the prince, still nursing his shoulder with gritted teeth—at least, that’s what he wants them to believe. Alex catches the way his fingers curl around the handle of his sword with newfound determination, the flicker of mischief that crosses his downturned face. 

If only he knew who he was dealing with.

Augustus lunges, sharp and quick, favoring his right shoulder but still far faster than Alex expects. But they are expecting it. 

Alex drives their sword forward at an angle, and Augustus misses his mark by a good three inches. It was such a simple maneuver, such a simple counter. 

“Now you’ve done it,” Augustus growls. 

Alex rolls their eyes. “Hasn’t anyone told you good sword fighting comes with a clear mind?” 

Augustus doesn’t hesitate with the overhead arc. Alex brings their sword up in a quick parry and forces Augustus’ sword to the left. “Don’t lock your elbows,” Alex quips, coming in with a left cut that Augustus barely avoids. “And never use that move unless your opponent is incredibly vulnerable.”

“Shut up!” Augustus swings his sword hard at Alex’s right side. “I don’t need advice from a pirate!” 

Alex notes his breathlessness as they match his swing from the left. The swords collide, loud and dangerous. But Augustus breaks it up before it becomes a battle of strength. 

Augustus goes for the arc again. Alex slips to the right and his sword hits the wood with a hollow thunk. 

In the time it takes Augustus to get back in position, Alex has their sword at his throat, not quite touching but threatening nonetheless. “What did I say?” Alex purrs, moving in closer. “If your opponent isn’t vulnerable, you are, plain and simple.”

Augustus’s sword crashes into Alex’s, swiping it away from his neck. The motion shocks Alex and stopping the momentum pulls at their back uncomfortably. They barely manage to get their feet underneath them in time to block yet another attack from above with their sword. 

Augustus wipes the sweat from his brow when the two part, watching Alex scramble towards the bow of the ship to compose themself. The smirk on his face is undeniable. “Vulnerable enough for you?”  

“You’re vulnerable,” Alex snaps back, chest heaving, “and predictable.”  

Augustus snarls, taking it upon himself to make the first move once again. Alex sighs but takes their sword to the ready position. 

“I’m surprised you’re fighting so fairly,” Augustus muses, advancing on the pirate. 

Alex takes a step back and startles when their boot connects with one of the stairs at the end of the deck. They need to move, that much they know, but for now they focus on the princely pain in the ass in front of them. 

“Is that so?” Alex steps back onto the staircase, one step, then another, sword extended in front of them.  “What does fair mean to you monarchs?”

Augustus’ expression sours as he begins ascending the stairs after them. “All sword, all skill. True combat. Noble combat.” 

“‘Noble combat,’ hmm?” Alex reaches the top of the stairs and stops. “You mean as noble as oppression can be, don’t you?”

Augustus smiles, taking another step. “I mean as noble as a piliger who follows it can be.”

Alex nods, feigning understanding. “If I could make one note,” they start. 

Augustus glares at them. 

“Fighting fair gets you killed.” Alex pulls their sword to the right, and with Augustus’ sword so low, Alex has a clear view of his abdomen. “And playing dirty? Well…” Alex sets their feet. “Pretty par for the course.”

The kick Alex delivers to his stomach is solid. Augustus manages to keep a hold of his sword on the way down,  but he hits the ground hard, and the moan that leaves his lips is wretched. Well-deserved but still wretched.

Alex clambers down the stairs and back onto the deck, equally impressed, amused, and horrified to see Augustus getting up so quickly. Augustus keeps one hand on his sword and the other on his stomach, and for a brief moment Alex considers kicking him until he stays down. 

By the time Alex decides that’s exactly what they’re going to do, Augustus is on his feet with more fire in his gorgeous blue eyes than Alex’s seen since they started fighting. 

This isn’t going to end well. 

Augustus straightens and rolls his shoulder with a grimace. “I did say I spar as one of the best, pirate. Part of that is being able to get back up.”

Augustus comes in strong with a ruthless swing to Alex’s right side. Alex brings their sword up and out for a block, and although they don’t end up cut in half, their shoulders ache, then burn with a deep familiar pain. Still predictable, they note, wincing. Thank goodness for that. 

Alex isn’t so lucky the next time. Another swipe, fast and aggressive, flies towards their face. Alex sidesteps but trips over their own feet. They’re quick but not quick enough. 

They feel it, the sharp sting of sweat mingling with an open wound. Alex brings their fingers to their face and prods gently at where they think the cut is. When they bring them back to look at them, they’re covered in blood, superficial but maddening all the same. 

Alex grins, glaring through rich brown curls as they click their tongue. “You’re persistent. I like that. But it does seem like someone needs to work on their timing.”

Alex lunges forward, faking with no spared conviction that they’re going in for a jab and instead plant their foot on the toe of Augustus’ boot. With a spin that’s just as practical as it is for show, they slam their elbow into his jaw. “Like so!”

On their way back to the mast, arm alight with near-paralyzing pins and needles, they catch a glimpse of the trail of blood oozing from Augustus’s lip. He bit his own tongue it seems. Poetic almost. 

“Fighting dirty, are we?” Augustus brings his hand under his chin and catches the blood and drool in his palm. “You know, any other time, your kind would be hung for this. But I must admit I’m enjoying this.”

Augustus tosses his handful of fluids across the freshly-mopped deck, more blood than anything else, and wipes his hand on his pants before returning his bloody grip to the sword’s hilt. “Now then. Let’s continue, shall we, pirate?”

Alex bristles at the way Augustus spits it this time, pirate, like it’s poison. At this point, Alex thinks skewering him might not be a bad idea. 

But no, that won’t be satisfying, not for the likes of him. Alex wants to humiliate him. They want to win. And all winning requires is submission. That and a little salt in the wound. 

“You might want to reconsider, Gus,” Alex says. Their stance is defensive but comfortable, balancing on the balls of their feet just in case Augustus tries to make a move. “It is quite cowardly to submit to a pirate, but if the king knew what I planned on doing to you, I think he’d understand.”

Augustus scoffs. “Meaning?” 

“Meaning I sincerely hope you don’t. I’m sure a missing arm would be quite the message to bring back to your fair kingdom.”

Augustus lunges in for a jab, all rage and false-assured thoughtfulness just like Alex expects him to. All it takes is a slip to the side and an outstretched leg to send them stumbling past them, fighting to regain his balance. 

“What did I say?” Alex goads at Augustus’ back. “Vulnerable and so, so predictable. Switch up your moves and it won’t be so embarrassingly easy to send you reeling.”

Alex doesn’t even see the side swipe coming, but they most certainly feel the slice across their abdomen. “Fuck!” It’s heat, raw and burning, but it’s not pain, not yet, not with the blood roaring in their ears. They swallow their blooming panic in time to meet Augustus’ next blow, weaker than the rest have been, with equal ferocity. 

There’s the shriek of metal against metal, invigorating at any other time, and the swords catch on each other at the hilt—the battle of strength and dexterity Alex was waiting for. Will Augustus break it off again?

Alex meets his eyes through their interlocked swords, brown on blue. No, he won’t break it off, not this time. The wolfish grin hiding the twisted agony behind his eyes says it all. That, and the trembling grip Alex has on their own sword. 

“You look unwell, Alex.” Augustus pushes harder against Alex’s block and laughs windedly. “You may want to consider submission.”  

Alex pants and grits their teeth. “And let you miss out on a… a valuable lesson? That’d be awfully rude of me.” They push back.  “Besides, I could ask you the same thing. How’s that shoulder of yours?”

Alex breaks away and feels the first stab of agony rip through their middle, hard enough that when they swing in retort, their sword almost flies from their unfeeling hands. 

“Keep it together,” they whisper, reclaiming their hold on the sword. Then, to Augustus, “If you’d broken the hold purposely, you could’ve reestablished your power in the situation, you know.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Augustus says lowly. Alex notes the cryptic tone in his voice but not fast enough. Without another word, he charges Alex, sword held higher, chest out strong, back straight because of it. 

Alex anticipates the collision and holds their sword at the ready, stepping back towards the mast in preparation for the inevitable block. What they don’t expect is the way Augustus’ foot hooks around their own. 

Alex’s feet fly out from under them, and this time they’re the one who’s stumbling. In their search for ground, they go blind to everything around them until their back collides with the mast of the ship. 

When the space around them registers again, Augustus is right in front of them and his blade puts a threatening pressure against their neck. His breath is hot and wet against their face. Under their chin, they feel the faintest trickle of sweat or, more likely, blood running down their Adam’s apple. 

Checkmate. 

Augustus stares into Alex’s eyes, still out of breath but gradually recovering. “How about that?” he breathes.

Alex stares back and chuckles softly, then groans at another stab of pain in their stomach as the adrenaline starts to wear off. “Not bad, Prince. Legs further apart though. You’re screwing your balance.” Alex dips their hands between themself and Augustus, careful not to nick themself with the sword at their throat, and touches at the tear in their shirt, feeling around for damage. It’s nothing rum and a few dozen stitches won’t fix. 

Augustus follows the movement with his eyes, then raises them back to Alex’s face. “Anything else you want to teach me?”

Alex grins. In one swift movement, they drop their sword, tear the arm holding the sword to their neck away from them, and pull that same arm behind Augustus’ back, shoving him hard into the mast. “Yeah,” they say above his surprised grunt. “Never lose focus.”

Alex gives Augustus’ arm a final rough pull, their chest against his back before pulling away with a huff. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a drink.”

Alex walks across the deck to the sailor’s quarters. They hope Augustus can’t see that their body is on fire.

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 20

20/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: mid-s3 (canon-divergent) | T | 4.7k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

I now present to you a chapter that is filled with more angst than Chris Carter could ever dream of, and for that, I am truly sorry. 

Scully and Mulder's foray into domesticity with Emily is interrupted by the past catching up to them. Faced with despair, they cling even tighter to each other.

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

Scully is granted maternity leave, though it’s only for two weeks, which Missy let her know is “a piss-poor bargain.” And she knows this is true, but she also has more incentive to stay at her job than ever, so she’d like not to lose it. The fact that advocating for herself and her child would mean risking her job is a mess in itself, but one lone woman can’t be expected to take down the patriarchy, and besides, she’s already tried and failed. 

As for she and Mulder, they hide their flirtation in plain sight. Mulder’s perpetually present in body or spirit, but his behavior never reveals anything more than it did before. Every morning he swings by to say hi, brings Scully coffee and a bagel with full-fat cream cheese, and checks if Emily’s picked up any new words. Personally, he’s working on “alien” and if you ask him, she’ll get it soon. She knows that it refers to her UFO stuffie, so sounding out the letters can’t be far behind, much to her mother’s dismay.

On Wednesday of the first week, he shows up at 6pm with takeout carbonara from a local Italian joint. His presence makes every Scully girl happy, but it makes one in particular the happiest, and Melissa realizes that there are definitely things her sister has failed to mention. She doesn’t question it, but watches with glee as the situation unfolds. 

After that first night, Mulder keeps coming back with dinner and refuses to let either sister shoulder the cost. On Friday, he stays for a movie too and gets to participate in Emily’s nightly tucking-in ritual (a tickle on the left foot, a tickle on the right foot, and a big smooch on the forehead). 

Saturday afternoon, he joins them for a stroller push through the park, earning some serious side-eye from Scully when he suggests that they stop at the playground because, according to the mama bear, “Em can only take six steps at a time, Mulder.” So instead they buy hotdogs from a vendor and eat them on a bench, Emily sandwiched between her mother, her aunt, and her...Mulder. They couldn’t ask for more.

That night, Mulder hangs around after dinner because what else is he gonna do? Go home and watch old baseball games until he falls asleep? A new leaf has been offered to him, and he’s gotta turn it. 

He’s baffled when, upon announcing that it’s Emily’s bathtime, Scully goes to the kitchen and switches on the sink. 

Scully raises an eyebrow at him. “What, your mother never washed you in the sink when you were a baby?” 

“Not that I know of...I have a hard time envisioning myself ever fitting in a sink.”

Scully scoffs. “I forget. You were a Vineyard boy.” 

Before he can come up with a smart response to that (as if there actually is one), Missy pipes up. “Oh, I bet you were the kid that took baths with your mother,” she teases. “Care to confirm or deny?”

“If I did I blocked it out of memory, thank god,” he testifies. 

Having spread a towel on the counter, Scully strips Emily down and perches the girl on her hip. She sticks her hand under the faucet. 

“That’s not too hot, do you think?” she asks Missy, who tests it as well.

“That should be fine.”

Mulder joins in too, and immediately regrets it. He shrinks away from the water, shaking droplets all over the room. “Jesus, Scully! Are you trying to boil her?”

“Babies lose heat quickly because of their body surface to weight ratio,” she says matter-of-factly. “They’re more susceptible to the cold.”

“I think the cold will be the least of her worries,” Mulder quips.

“If you really think it’s too hot, I’ll turn it down…” There’s a concerned crease beneath her eyes, and it makes Mulder feel bad about his joking.

“No, no, you know what you’re doing,” he assures her. “You’re her mother.”

As she lowers Em into the sink, Scully’s heart twinges. Her. A mother. How many times will she have to hear this before it stops feeling like news to her? 

One week and bathtime has already become routine. Missy fills a plastic cup and pours it gently over her niece, the water cascading down Em like she is nature’s own. Scully soaps her palms, then glides over her daughter’s skin with such care that its memory may blight any future affection Em is graced with. And then another waterfall, and the gentle brush of a wash cloth against eyes and nose. 

Scully squeezes a penny’s worth of baby shampoo into her hand, looks to Mulder. “Come on, get in here. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, are you?” she says with a smirk.

He smirks back and shakes his head as she lifts his open palm and shrinks her accumulation to a dime. “Although, technically I am getting my hands cleaner…”

She boops him right on the nose with a shampooed finger. He laughs.

Missy smiles. Oh, to see destiny play out right in front of you. “Someone’s cracking dad jokes,” she points out, unable to resist. This observation is much too on-the-nose for the pair (quite literally for Mulder), who simultaneously blush but say nothing.

Mulder wipes the shampoo from his nose and plants it on Emily’s head, joining his partner in making soapy circles over the girl’s tuft of strawberry hair. Scully’s full attention is directed toward her daughter. As soon as the lather is sufficient, she dons the lifted lilt of motherhood. “Okay, time to rinse! Missy, will you do the honors?”

Missy turns the faucet, fills the cup, and lets it flow over Emily. Mulder and Scully wash their hands off in the stream. 

And as Scully leans for the towel, a splash of red dirties its fresh white surface. Mulder notices it first. He points at his partner’s porcelain face. “Scully, you’re bleeding.”

Her hand shoots to her nose. Sure enough, it stains her fingers. “Shit.” She turns away, goes for a tissue. “I haven’t had nosebleeds since I was fourteen,” she tells them, as if that invalidates this one. She wipes away a glob of blood, her stomach turning. “Missy--” her voice shakes involuntarily, “--will you dry Em off?”

“Uh-huh.” She nudges Mulder. “Will you grab a new towel from the linen closet?” she whispers, not wanting to further upset her sister.

Mulder goes off without a word, and Missy squeezes out Em’s hair as best she can. “What a pretty girl!” she gushes. “All clean!”

“Yee!” Emily throws her little fists in the air, injecting joy back into the room. 

“Time to put your PJs on, and get a tickle, tickle, smooch.”

Mulder scrambles back in with a new towel, skirting around Scully, who remains occupied with her own situation. He slides the soiled towel away and helps Missy swaddle Em. Mulder ruffles the little girl’s hair, and she laughs like a music box. 

“Mol-dy.” She spits it out in halves, as if she’s been rehearsing. 

Mulder’s eyes water with recognition. “Mulder? Mul-der? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Moldy,” the girl declares again, certain of herself.

Missy adjusts Em on her hip, smiles at Mulder. “Looks like you’re Moldy now.”

Mulder bites his lip to hide his overwhelming delight. “Yeah, I...I never thought I'd be so happy to be called moldy.”

Next thing he knows, Scully is at his shoulder with a tissue stuffed up her nostrils. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“Em called me Moldy,” he tells her, full of satisfaction.

“Oh.” It comes out relatively unimpressed, but really, she’s just distracted. “Missy, will you get a diaper on her before there’s an accident? I would but I’m still--” She gestures to her nose. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Missy smiles at the baby in her arms. “PJ time, Em!” They go off toward the bedroom, a happy pair.

As soon as Em is out of sight, Mulder spirals toward his partner, panic-stricken. The glee of moments ago has evaporated. 

“Are you okay?” He touches her hair, shoulders, and the familiar small of her back, unsure of where he should land. 

“I’m fine, it’s fine.” Her grip on his elbows--keeping his hands firmly placed on her waistline--suggests otherwise. 

“You’ve got to see a doctor,” he pleads. “This could be...”

“This could be what, Mulder?” The steel in her blue eyes is a death grip. She’s never liked being told the obvious. 

“Scully…” He sighs, rubs his neck, wills her to say what they both know. When she doesn’t, he takes his hands off her and wrings them together. “The Mufon women...they said it would happen to all of them eventually.” He’s careful not to lump Scully in with their group. 

“And what do they know?” she retorts. “One of them was sick. One.”

“Okay, well, don’t you think it’s better to be safe than sorry?” he reasons. “You have Emily to look out for now.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “Don’t guilt trip me. It’s a nosebleed. Those happen all the time for completely benign reasons.”

“Yeah, but they don’t happen to you. You just said--you haven’t had one since you were fourteen.”

She clenches her jaw. He’s right, and she’s playing the fool. His position is the one she would take if this were anyone other than herself. She’s gonna have to lose this fight with as much grace as possible.

“Fine. I’ll get it checked out, but they’re gonna think I’m insane for coming in because of one nosebleed.”

“That’s a nice change of pace--you being the insane one for once.”

“Well, you’re the one who wants me to go, so you’re not out of the woods.”

“Good, I’ve finally got some company!”

Scully smiles in spite of herself. “Yes, yes you do.”

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

It happens very quickly, as most calamities of life can be said to. This gives it the unreal quality of a nightmare that might soon be woken up from, if there is any justice in the world.

Scully snags a doctor’s appointment for three days after the initial nosebleed. By the time she walks into the waiting room, one nosebleed has quadrupled into four, and her minor concern has snowballed into abject terror. 

Margaret Scully drove into the city to watch Emily so Missy could join her sister. Scully insisted that she would go alone, but Missy wouldn’t accept this. She threatened to tell Mulder the details of the appointment if Dana didn’t let her go, and that was enough to earn her a spot in the passenger seat. Scully can’t take the thought of Mulder witnessing the worst--let alone her reaction to the worst. 

And so it goes something like this: they are taken to an exam room, at which point Scully explains her situation to a nurse, including that she has recently learned she is at high risk for cancer. The nurse assures her that such a diagnosis is highly unlikely, but makes a note for the doctor. The doctor comes in with knitted eyebrows and listens to Scully describe the aftermath of her abduction experience with a heavy emphasis on the convoluted but substantial claims of the Mufon women. She asks if Scully has had any other symptoms, to which Scully replies that it’s hard to tell because she has an infant in the house and thus, a marked lack of sleep. 

The doctor laughs, but it’s not a haha laugh, more of an I feel your pain. She agrees that the women’s claims are concerning, but tells her patient not to fret. They’ll take all the precautions, run any test that might assuage her worries. There’s a quip about how it’ll be on the government’s dime since it covers Scully’s insurance, and then the doctor leaves to order an MRI. 

A full body MRI, which Scully has never had, and which she hoped she would never require. There’s no deeper sickness than one that cannot be pinpointed, and no greater fear than of the unknown turning into the worst case scenario. 

The MRI is completed that same day. As she slides into the machine, Scully thinks of Betsy Hagopian and wonders how she’s doing. It has been many months since she stood outside an exam room and watched Betsy enter one of these. Has fate been kind to her?

For a few minutes, her world is limited to the mere inches between her face and this life-saving yet life-ruining contraption. It is noisy and sometimes bright and altogether disorientating. She is glad when it’s over. 

The images return almost immediately, and maybe it would all have been okay if Scully weren’t trained in radiology herself, if she wasn’t able to recognize the glaring speck of light in her nasal cavity for what it is. But that one glance is all she needs to know that waiting by the phone isn’t an option. 

“It’s a tumor, isn’t it?” she blurts as the radiologist tries to escort her and Melissa from the room. “In the nasal cavity. I have a M.D. I saw.”

“Your doctor will call with the results,” the radiologist insists, standing by the open doorway.

“No, no, you can’t do this to me,” Scully sputters. “I know what I saw, and I don’t have any time to waste.” Her eye twitches in a combination of stress and anger. “I have an infant daughter.”

The radiologist sighs, pity on top of pity. “Perhaps your doctor will talk it through with you now.”

“Yes. Please.”

And it is talked through, though there’s no need to make it complicated: nasopharyngeal carcinoma. Inoperable, and just barely in the realm of treatable. That’s the kicker, the coyote in the pasture, the cloud covering the sun. In the words of Scully’s doctor, it is auspiciously rare. And in Scully’s brain, it is the bottom she’s been expecting to drop out from under since she held her daughter in her arms.

Melissa drives home. The sisters cannot fathom how they will tell their mother. Cannot fathom ruining her blissful time with the granddaughter she’s just met. When they turn onto their street, Scully swallows hard and coughs on her own spit. “Will you do something for me?” 

Missy looks over, eager to do anything she can, yet terrified by the possibility of the request.

“Will you take me to Mulder’s?” Scully mumbles. “I would just take the car but...I can’t face mom right now. I don’t want to risk it.”

Missy bites her lip. “And what am I supposed to tell mom when she asks where you are?”

“The truth,” Scully says curtly. “She doesn’t need the backstory.”

Missy drives past their building, though she’s not completely sold on her sister’s reasoning. “Don’t you think she might wonder why you aren’t coming home to your daughter?”

“I know she’ll wonder, Melissa, I know all of this,” Scully snaps because she needs to. “I don’t care.”

“Okay.” Missy’s voice is barely perceptible. I don’t care; she knows how low her sister has to be to say those words. 

They complete the drive in silence, Scully biting her nails--a habit which she has never possessed, and perhaps just acquired. The car idles as Missy pulls up to the curb of Mulder’s building. 

“I can pick you up when you need it,” she tells her sister as she pulls herself out of the car. “I’ll bring Em.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Scully says, closing the passenger door and edging toward the building. Missy hears a thanks float toward the car, then her sister is gone like a teenage girl embarrassed by her mother.

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

They sit on Mulder’s couch, muted. Words cannot fathom the injustice of this situation, nor can they suffice as empathy. Their hands are clasped together, a throughline of strength between them. This is what they need now; the most primitive language of all.

Scully’s watery eyes brush Mulder’s face. His own eyes, more pained than usual, look into hers. Without a word, she drapes an arm around her partner’s shoulders and scoots into his lap. He is surprised but not distressed. What else is left for them, now?

She is tiny, so tiny. And she is his. 

Their eyes meet once again, speaking in tongues. Scully nods, and then Mulder does too. This is it. This is it.

Permission granted at last, Scully’s lips travel to her partner’s jawline. The first time her lips have touched his body, and this is where they go. She is a constant box of wonders, a fortune he can never predict. Her lips are much like he has fantasized they would be: wondrously soft and silky, stroking him like they have always meant to be there. Yet he couldn’t have imagined the urgency with which they burrow into his skin. As if she’s making a mental map of his bone structure. He never expected that she would want him this much. 

His hands find her hips and grip the cotton of her shirt between his fingers. It is enough to tear her away from his flesh. Mission accomplished. His breath travels past her ear, hitting her neck. It is shallow and warm as he breathes her name. Her real name, the one her family calls her. She breathes his own back to him, like a bird responding to a mating call.

She feels his lips on her neck, wet and aching. It feels like God. This is the most blasphemous thought she has ever had. She throws her head back, exposing the whole of her skin to him. What is holiness, if not this moment?

He showers her in tattoo kisses, and she lets him, she lets him, she lets him. This is not just what she wants, but what she needs. No one will save her now, she knows this. So she has decided not to be saved. 

Her shirt ripples as he clutches it. “May I?” He is breathy, awe-struck. 

“Only if I can do the same.” Always about equality, his Scully is. He lifts his arms, lets her strip him first. He is fraught with the temptation to feel insecure, inadequate, but this is not about him--this is all for her. There is no time to dwell on this anyway. Scully takes in the sight, then puts her own arms up with a hint of impatience. He pulls her shirt over her head, and goosebumps adorn her as the air hits her bare stomach. 

It is unimaginable, the significance of this moment. All Mulder can do is keep going, lest the emotion hit him and he find himself blubbering all over her. His hands travel her body...it is slender and white, but so solid, so strong. Cartilage forming ligaments forming joints connecting bones. And her skin, stretching over her hips and framing it all. The masterpiece that is Dana Katherine Scully. 

He fears for the day she will cave in on herself. Already, one of his hands covers her whole rib cage. Right now he can cradle her body comfortably against his own, but the day will come when a single cautious touch will crush her, and his heart along with it. He wants her as she is now forever.

Seeing that he wants to pamper her, Scully lets herself be pampered. He showers the taut length of her collar bone in kisses. The vibration resonates throughout her bone structure, and already she can feel him in places she’s only fantasized about having him. He is going to heal me, she thinks. If anyone could heal her in any way, it would be him doing this. 

She shows her gratitude by kneading circles into his soft tissues, so tense from all their days chasing ghosts. The sinew relaxes beneath the pads of her fingers, and she feels like she has solved the most important X-File of all. 

Mulder traces his way along her spine. He has never touched her here, nor ever even fantasized about it, and there is an erotic tension--like a needle about to drop on a record--that neither one of them could have seen coming. Inevitably, his hands converge at the hooks of her bra. She arches her back in approval. He slides the hooks away from each other, and both of them feel the release. She shimmies off the garment before he can pull it out of the way. No secrets, not anymore.

Mulder didn’t expect to cry and is aware that most women wouldn’t take that as a positive sign, but seeing her, like this, knowing what they both know, tears feel like the least he could offer up. She is...beautiful is too weak a word to describe it. He needs to invent a new word to capture the essence of his emotions, the reverence with which he views her. He is not a religious man, but he will worship her until the end of time. 

He has known this, intuitively, for a while, and now he’s putting it into practice. He wants to do everything he can for her, give her everything she wants. Yet he doesn’t know how to, and this scares him. She has always slipped through his fingers, always turned on a dime just when he thought he figured her out. Tonight is no exception. How was he to know that he’d be on his couch with a half-naked Scully in his lap?

He fears the tears will offend her, so he nuzzles into her heartspace, his nose pressed against the heart that is--by the grace of that God she worships--still beating. His lips meet the plush of her left breast. 

Where does he go from here? The dusty routine he’s used with other women--the few who have given themselves to him or let him hand himself over--is not worthy enough for Scully. He could never touch Scully in the ways he’s touched the women before because she is not like the women before. There is no mere giving or taking here, no detached exchange of commodities or pleasure for the sake of pleasure. This is survival. They are symbiotically keeping each other alive.

A drop of water hits Scully’s skin, slides down the curvature of her breast. She shudders. A tear. That’s what it is, she realizes. Mulder is crying. It’s a baptism of unfortunate proportions. 

She cups her hand against his chin, tilts it up so his bleary eyes meet hers. She rests her forehead against his. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” She kisses each eye closed, his lids fluttering beneath her lips. “It’s okay.” 

His breathing steadies. He is quite certain that it is not okay, that it never will be, but he listens to her, lets himself pretend. 

Hands still on his chin, she careens their lips together. His mouth on hers; a godsend. They caress each other for a moment, then Scully opens wide, and Mulder does too. They are reflecting. 

If Scully could compress herself, pushing every particle of air out of her lungs and into his, she would. As a sort of thank you, for everything. For what he has done, what is doing, what he will do...She will never have to live without him. She knows this now, and it makes this easier. But he will have to live without her, and so she must make sure he gets the memories he needs to carry on. This is how grief works, she’s acquainted with it. These moments, these feelings, these bated breaths and tender touches, will be his survival mechanism for awhile. Until the day when he can throw them off and go on without her ghost. It will happen one day, and she will be glad that he made it. 

She feels him pressing against her stomach, which is certainly not where she wants him. “Fox…” Her hands hover above his belt. She unzips his fly first, her hand warm against him. He is dizzy with want as her fingers curl against his belt buckle, loosening it with confidence. In a sweeping gesture,  she pushes his jeans off his hips, exposing him. The thrill she feels, seeing him big and bare in front of her, is a new kind of livelihood. She’s overcome with the desire to take him in her mouth--and that has never, never been her first instinct. She ducks down, but he stops her.

“Dana, no. You.”

She doesn’t need to hear it twice. She sucks in a breath, arches her back, and slides onto him. Slowly, gasping as they go. 

“Am I hurting you?”

Scully shakes her head, lips parted. It has been nothing like this before...nothing so fulfilling. She crosses her ankles, binding them completely together at last. 

Unity triumphs against the self, their union abolishing the world’s insistence on the solitude of the individual. This is what it’s about, isn’t it? Being joined, not only in spirit, but in body? Knowing that whatever horrors are to come, he will feel them as she does. Her dwindling will be his too, her losses an equally empty space within him. 

She is teetering on the edge of something she can never come back from. She is not afraid. 

She careens her fingernails into his back as the pressure builds. If it doesn’t come to a head, she’ll die right here, she thinks. 

She barely registers the cathartic noises coming out of her, though they give Mulder great delight. He thought she would be quiet, and the fact that she’s not trying to hold anything in--after holding everything in for so goddamn long--is the most moving part of the experience. 

And they want this to go on forever, but they want the release. Mulder swivels his hips into her, bringing them both closer to climax. Scully curls against him. 

“I’m sorry,” she cries into his ear.

“What?” He nearly pulls out of her, fearing that she’s hurt. 

“No, no--” She scrambles to stay with him. “This--” she pants “--is so good.” She lowers her lips onto his as confirmation, then speaks into his open mouth. “I’m just sorry to be the one to go.”

He frames her ribcage, thumbs arching toward her belly button. “Fuck, honey...don’t say that, don’t even think that…”

They won’t linger on the choice of pet name, the tenderness with which it settles over her, nor the absolute devastation of her words. There is simply no time. 

Scully hides her face in his neck as the wave breaks over both of them. There is no world anymore, only the two of them on this couch. They have forsaken the physical realm, ascending to heaven in time with their heartbeats. 

Mulder understands then what his reciprocal means when she says she needs proof to believe. Now that he’s been there and felt it, he knows that heaven exists, and holy shit, what does that mean for the life he has lived and the time he has left? What did it mean for Samantha?...What will it mean for Scully?

They collapse into each other, a melted mass of skin and bone. Two becoming one, becoming two again. Mulder strokes the back of his partner’s head, presses his lips to her temple. Her chest rises against him in jagged breaths.

“You are the only proof I’ll ever need that this life is worth it,” he murmurs. “Just you.”

Scully looks up at him, tears running down her cheeks. He kisses them away and wraps his arms around her. “I don’t know if you got the memo, but I love you, Dana Scully.”

She rests her cheek against his. “I love you too, F--Mulder.”

Mulder chuckles, his amusement shaking both of them. Scully closes her eyes and snuggles into him. He puts his hand over her heart, feels it beating steadily into his palm, and longs for it to stay like that forever.

[m0mmat0rtle]

Star Light Chapter One

Pairing: Tech x Pantoran!OC

Words: 1498

Warnings: none (future warning: major angst & character death)

Summary: Tech seeks the medical attention of a medic in training due to regularly staffed medic’s of Kamino being over staffed. He meets the curious Pantoran, Star Light who has a secret that he feels he must find out.

Tech looked down at the small abrasion on his forearm from today’s training with his brothers. It wasn’t often that members of the Bad Batch ever got injured, they never got injured on a major scale. But Hunter had miscalculated ever so slightly with his knives and accidentally snagged Tech’s arm in the process. The cut wasn’t bad but it was enough to warrant some medical attention. And so Tech was heading to the wing of the cloning facility on Kamino. He held his forearm in his hand, glancing down at it every so often. The cut was still there with blood smeared around it. On his way to the facility he passed a group of regs who had been stationed on cleaning duty, cleaning up another mural that had mysteriously appeared on the walls of the facility. Tech and every other clone on Kamino was familiar with these murals. They would mysteriously appear over night and have to be scrubbed away the next day by order of the Kaminoans. However they were always beautiful, this particular mural showcased a sunset over green grassy plains that reflected the soft light of the setting sun. Tech seemed to get lost in the artistic nature and skill of the piece that he was a bit shaken when a reg swiped his soapy sponge right over the center of the painting, washing away the very focal point of the painting and taking out the setting sun. Just like that the light of the painting was gone. Tech felt his heart drop for a mere moment. The art that was so stunning was now permanently messed up, but a spark of hope ignited in him when he remembered each mural that was washed away would soon be replaced by another even more lovely then the last. And another thought dawned on him before he continued to walk, the sun must always set. He thought to himself as he moved on to the medical wing. Because if the sun does not set then it is impossible to see the STARLIGHT.

“We can’t help you trooper.” A busy medica said as she worked diligently to disinfect a blaster wound on the shoulder of another trooper. “We are understaffed and overworked. And the 212th just came back from a terrible battle. We don’t have the space for a clone with a small cut, I’m sorry.” She added as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve before taking out the supplies needed to stitch up the same wound that she had just disinfected. “We could send him to that medic in training.” Another medic suggested. “Would Lama Su be okay with that?” The first medic replied and the other one shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I mean she never gets to see any action and it’s not like this is a major wound, it’s just a small abrasion. Just a little disinfectant and maybe a batcha patch and he’ll be fine.” The other medic replied as they turned from one injured clone to the other, taking on two of the injured clones as to show just how short staffed they were. The first medic sighed before turning back to Tech. “Alright, go see Star Light. She’s down the hall to the right. Second door. She can help you.” Tech nodded and thanked the medic before leaving the busy medical wing.

Star flipped the page of the only book in her possession as she laid on her stomach on her bed. Her quarters on Kamino weren’t large or spacious by any means but they were enough for one person. “GONK” Her gonk droid spoke as it waddled up to her, nudging her bed as it did so. “Yes, Gink, I know I have read this book at least a dozen times this week.” She muttered to the droid. “GONK” It replied, the word being the only word in it’s vocabulary. “Well what do you wanna do? It’s not like I have anything else to do and Lama Su won’t let me leave without her permission.” “GONK” “I can’t sneak out now! It’s daytime! Someone will notice!” She replied as she looked down at her droid. “I like it in here and so do you.” “GONK” “Oh come on, Gink it’s not so bad in hear.” Before the droid could even respond the door to her quarters swooshed open and Star sat straight up in her bed, yellow eyes wide and nervous. She was expecting to see Lama Su or another Kaminoan visit her to remind her of the rules in place for her stay on Kamino but instead she was met with a clone. And not just any old run of the mill clone, this one was different. Unlike any of the others she had seen before. “Are you Star Light?” The clone asked, his accent was also different from the others which only peaked Star’s curiosity. “I am.” She replied as she stood from her bed and brushed a loose strand of violet hair away from her face. “Hi.” She added meekly with a small wave. “What are you doing here?” She asked once it clicked that there was someone who probably shouldn’t be in her quarters now standing across from her. “My name is Tech. The medical wing sent me here because they were overwhelmed.” “They sent you to me?” Star asked as she pointed a blue finger at herself and her yellow eyes widened once more in surprise. “But I’m just a medic in training- I don’t know how to-” “It’s just a small cut, miss Star Light.” Tech said as he lifted his arm, showing her the wound and Star sighed in relief. “Oh.” She said softly. “Well let me see what I can do, please sit.” She offered as she gestured to her bed where her singular book stayed open to the page she was just reading. Gink watched the clone sit down on her bed and turned in the direction Star went to get a bachta patch. “GONK” “It’s fine Gink let him sit.” Star replied as she got the supplies and walked over to him. She sat down next to him and gently took his arm in her hands. “Can you either roll up your sleeve or take off your shirt?” She asked politely and Tech nodded. He removed the shirt of his blacks leaving his upper half bare and giving her a clear space on his arm to work. She quickly used a clean cloth to wipe away the blood from the cut and clean the wound. Tech’s eyes wondered as she worked and looked over to the open book on her bed. “You were reading about Naboo?” He asked, making small conversation. And indigo flush covered her cheeks as she worked. “Oh, um, yes. It’s an Atlas it has information on all kinds of planets I’ve never seen and probably won’t ever get to see. It’s also the only book I have so I spend a lot of time reading it over and over again.” Tech’s eyes focused on the picture at the top of one of the pages in the book. A sunset. It was identical to the one he had seen painted outside on his way to the medical facility. Perhaps Starlight was the artist responsible for the murals that always seemed to spontaneously appear.

“What did you mean when you said you will probably never be able to see these planets?” Tech asked as he gestured to the book and Star put the Bacta patch on his arm. “Well, I’m not exactly supposed to leave my quarters on Kamino.” “Why not?” “Well-” “GONK” Star flinched as she heard Gink interrupt their conversation. “You need to go.” She said quickly to Tech. “What why?” He asked as she quickly pushed him up and out of her bed before tossing his shirt to him. “I’m not supposed to have visitors.” Sher replied. “And Lama Su is on her way here now.” Star added in a panic. “But why can’t you have visitors?” He asked, wanting answers. Tech was only doing what he knew best, research and investigating. There was something about this Pantoran that was being kept from him and naturally, Tech wanted to know everything that he possibly could. “There’s no time for me to explain. You need to go now!” Star ushered him one more time before finally her door swooshed open and she got the man to step outside and leave. Once the door swooshed shut she let out a sigh of relief. “GONK” Her droid barked again. Lama Su was closer and therefore, Star was in danger. She quickly moved to “act natural” and threw herself back on to her bed and continue reading her one book. And it was just in time too, the doors swooshed open and there was the Kaminoan who monitored her every move. “Good afternoon, Lama Su.” Star said quickly and politely. “Hello Star.”

Chapter Two >

[babyybitchhhwrites]

Aizawa x Reader 18+

Title: Easy Come

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4914 

Warnings: established relationship, 69 position, oral sex, cunnilingus, anal fingering, competitive sex 

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674393

♥♥♥♥

Peaceful evenings at home with Shouta were the best. It was easily the highlight of your week and had been for the last year since you’d started dating. He was such a busy man that just finding the time to be together was often difficult but, somehow or another, the both of you made it work. There wasn’t a single thing in the world you’d trade this time for and you suspected he was in full agreement with that sentiment. He hadn’t come right out and said as much but he may as well have.

The tranquility in his demeanor when it was just you two was impossible to miss and such a stark difference from how he was in public that you couldn’t help wondering how many other people knew this side of him. You had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t many. Although a good man through and through, Shouta didn’t exactly have a reputation for being easy to get on friendly terms with. A tough nut to crack would likely be a good metaphor but you cherished that part of him more than you could put into words. It just made the soft spoken endearments and late night cuddles all the more meaningful. Of all the potential partners he could have chosen, he’d picked you and that had to count for something.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” 

You thought about that for a moment. “Surprise me.”

Issuing a good natured scoff, Shouta picks up the remote from the nightstand and turns on the TV. 

You could hear him clicking through multiple screens to pull up an almost endless list of movies that were available at just the touch of a finger while you finished getting ready for bed in the attached bathroom. His apartment was starting to feel more like home than yours did and a smile touches your face when you looked down at where your toothbrushes were nestled together in the same holder. That something so small and insignificant could hold so much weight still took you by surprise even now but you were slowly getting used to it. He’d been very open about wanting you to make a space for yourself once the relationship reached the point of being serious whereas you’d had plenty of lingering reservations. Past hangups and all that.

But you were both slowly moving forward together as a couple and you felt good about the future. Everything seemed to be falling into place one piece at a time, against all odds and, perhaps, your better judgement. Only time would truly tell if what you had was meant to last though and you were determined to enjoy every possible moment with him that you could.

Finishing up at the sink, you pull a fluffy headband over your forehead to keep the hair off your face before switching off the light. Shouta glances up from the TV when you step into the bedroom. You catch the corner of his mouth hitching with what could only be amusement and it lights a mischievous spark in your chest as you cross over to climb up on the bed. 

“What’s that look for?” You tease, scooting close to give him a peck on his stubbly cheek. 

“Don’t make me say it. You know what that headband does to me.” 

“Maybe that was my intention.” 

A snort of mirth rumbles out of him as he reaches over to first tweak one of the plush cat ears sticking up off the top of your head and then further back so he can pinch at a loose strand of hair. Absently curling it around his finger, Shouta turns his attention back to the glowing screen against the wall. You sigh in contentment and lean into the firm weight of his body, listening to the click-click-click coming from the TV as he scrolls through the list. You’re positive that this has to be pretty close to what heaven feels like. 

“Are you sure you don’t have any preference?” He asks at length. “Action, horror, romcom. Anything stand out?” 

Thoughtfully humming, you regard the screen in quiet contemplation for a moment. “Maybe something light?” 

“Romcom it is then.”

Your lips curl at the put upon tone in his voice, knowing full well he enjoys those kinds of movies more than he’d ever admit. He’d taken you to the theater on one of your first dates and you’d been surprised at his choice of film, initially writing it off as one made in deference to what you liked rather than what he liked. But then it kept happening, over and over again. You’d seen every romantic comedy blockbuster in the last year and then some, his inclination for that particular genre delighting you to no end. It was such an unexpected surprise but one that made perfect sense in retrospect. Shouta was a true romantic at heart even if he didn’t outwardly look it, after all. 

“How about this one?” He says, nudging his shoulder to get your attention.

“Oooh, a classic. Good choice.” You sit up and wiggle over to your pillow as he selects the title and starts it up. 

Setting aside the remote, Shouta reaches over onto the nightstand to turn off the light. The both of you settle in and get comfortable, snuggling close to each other with his arm curled over your shoulders and your cheek resting on his chest. It’s the perfect way to spend a Friday night with the promise of the weekend looming just on the horizon and, try as you might, you can’t shake the feeling of being genuinely happy. It was hard sometimes but so, so worth it at the end of the day.

You don’t make it very far into the movie before the close proximity with him overrides your wish to simply relax though. It’s near impossible to keep your mind out of the gutter when the clean, soapy smell of him is surrounding you like this, invading your nostrils and leaving a vaguely reminiscent taste of him on your tongue. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breast just under your cheek serves as a silent reminder of the densely packed muscle his lithe frame carries. With it comes the memory of how it feels to have those same muscles heaving against you, driving into your body and working you over right to the breaking point. 

The desire you harbor for Shouta had not waned at all in the last year. If anything it had only gotten stronger. Just lying next to him in bed was enough to make you want him and you squirm, squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to stave off the growing heat there. But it’s no use. Your urges are simply too strong where he’s concerned and you can feel yourself starting to get wet, particularly when the steamy sex scene with the leading actress’s soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend starts up on screen. Shouta had taken you in similar fashion down in the apartment complex's laundry room late one night when you’d first started staying over for extended periods at a time and the thought alone is enough to make you ache. 

He shifts beside you the third time you start to squirm, a wave of pleasant tingles erupting across your skin when he tightens his hold around your shoulders and pins you against his side. He’s strong enough to crush you in his arms if he felt so inclined and it makes your breath come a little faster. A little harder. The notion of letting this scratch go unitched doesn’t even cross your mind as you grasp at the plain black t-shirt he’d put on for bed, tilting your pelvis forward to discreetly grind into his thigh. You had to have him.

“Don’t tell me this is getting you riled up, kitten.” Shouta murmurs, the reverberation from his deep voice making your head feel like it’s vibrating. “If you’d wanted something a bit more explicit, all you had to do was say so.”

“No … this is fine.” You quietly assure him. The somewhat breathless quality of your words makes a shudder race up your spine and you arch, stretching your legs out to wind them around his. If you could get any closer you’d be on top of him by now and you can’t quite convince yourself that it would be such a bad thing. 

Noising a muted sound of agreement, Shouta obligingly angles his body away from the TV and towards you. The rough pads of his calloused fingers give you a brief squeeze before tracing lazy circles into the meat of your upper arm. You tilt your head back to peer into his face, a mere hair's breadth from yours, and for a small eternity it's as if you’re simply passing the same oxygen back and forth. Every exhale feeds into the next inhale, his breath mingling with yours until you can’t be sure who's is whose anymore. Then, finally, he closes the distance. 

His lips are slightly dry against yours, they always are, but it’s nothing a quick swipe of his tongue won’t fix. The second kiss is more demanding than the last and you all but melt against him, opening your mouth to grant him the access he seeks. A needy moan tries to claw its way up your throat when he slips into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth for a taste only to pull out a regretfully short moment later. You try to follow him, eager to give yourself over, but Shouta’s attention drops to the spot between you two instead.

“What’s got you so worked up tonight?” He brings the arm that’s not wrapped around you forward, giving your breast an idle squeeze through the thin cotton of your shirt, and you keen.

“You. It’s always you.”

“Is that so?” He says with a mirthful snort. Adjusting his hand, Shouta brushes his thumb over the pebbling peak of your nipple in taunting slow motion until you whine. “Am I really that good or am I just lucky? What do you think, kitten?”

“Both.” You croak, jutting your chest towards him for better access. “I love what you do to me and that makes you lucky.” 

“Can’t argue that.”

A genuine smile graces his face, highlighted by the glow from the TV. You’ve completely forgotten about the movie by now, its low chatter mere background noise as you focus in on Shouta and how he makes you feel. His hooded gaze is still locked on your chest and you watch with bated breath when he delicately takes your nipple between his fingers, rolling the bud to stiff attention. The resulting friction makes your pussy clench and tingling warmth spreads throughout your body to set every nerve ending on fire. You draw a slow breath to try and ground yourself. It doesn’t work but, to be fair, you hadn’t really expected it to. 

Shouta looks up at the sound though and you exchange a long look with one another. Keeping his eyes on your face, he pulls at your top until it's bunched under your chin and your nipples immediately start to pucker in the open air. Moaning softly, you watch as he dips his head to catch one of the meaty nubs in his mouth and suckle. He starts off slow and gentle but gradually increases the suction he’s applying until you finally gasp and writhe against him. 

He comes up off your tit with a dull pop. The quiet breath he lets out fans across spit lathered skin, making your nipple pucker all over again and even stiffer than before. You seeth and blindly reach behind him to worm your hand into his dark plaid boxers. Pausing long enough to give his ass an encouraging squeeze, digging your nails in for good measure, you work your way towards the front of his body so you can grasp the half hard length between his legs. Wiry pubic hair tickles your knuckles as you subduedly pump at him, teasing him to full arousal while he idly flicks at your nipple with his index finger. Despite the thrumming arousal pumping through your system, it seems neither of you is in a hurry to rush this and you can’t say you have any complaints about that.

“Was it the sex scene in the laundry room?” He husks after a long moment. 

“It certainly didn’t help.”

“Hmm. Maybe we should revisit that later. You might have an unrealized kink for having your pussy ate on top of a washing machine, sweetheart.” 

You outright laugh at that. “ I think I just like having you go down on me period. The setting doesn’t really matter.”

Issuing a low, rumbling growl, Shouta drops his arm to worm his fingers between your pliant thighs and possessively cup your pussy in his hand. “Is that what you want? Want me to eat you out until you’re screaming and begging me to stop?” 

Your breath hitches with a little gasp. “God, yes …”

He takes a moment to grind the heel of his palm into the apex of your slit, applying just the right amount of pressure to leave you desperate for more. Then, too quick for you to react, he rolls over onto his back and drags you on top of him so that you’re half sprawled out across his chest. Your pulse jumps at suddenly finding yourself nose to nose and you brace your palms on his firm pecs, intending to give him some breathing room. Shouta is fast though, much faster than you, and he brings his hands up to catch your cheeks before you can retreat. He pulls you into another deep kiss, the stubble on his chin abrasively scratching your skin in the process. You shudder at the dominant gesture, feeling your cunt gush more sticky slick to coat your labia as you moan wantonly into his mouth. His ability to drive you wild was as profound as it was unfair. You’d have to make sure to pay him back for this later.

“Turn around.” He grunts upon pulling back just enough to speak. “And pants off.” 

A sharp swat to your ass has you practically vibrating with eager excitement as you carefully stand up on the bed and start shimmying your sleep shorts down your hips. Shouta watches you with nothing short of barefaced interest, his hands coming up to caress the soft skin of your legs where they’re bracketing his ribs. One foot at a time, you cautiously step out of your bottoms and toss them over the edge of the bed before turning to face the TV. You glance back over your shoulder with a sly grin, giving your behind a taunting little shake. 

“Like this?”

He snorts. “Come here before I decide to punish you, kitten. You already know exactly how unpleasant I can make this for you.” 

Your pussy tightens at the playful threat which ultimately only succeeds in exciting you all the more. You’d rather not endure another one of Shouta’s infamous edging sessions though and you lower yourself down onto your knees, fighting back the anxious flutter in the pit of your gut that always accompanies this particular position. No matter how many times you do it, shoving your ass in your boyfriend's face will probably never not be an awkward experience. 

It’s clear as day that Shouta doesn’t mind it one bit though and he loops his arms under your thighs so he can take your waist in hand and guide you into place. The fact he actually pulls you closer doesn’t come as a surprise and you wait with bated breath for him to deem your positioning satisfactory. You start slightly just a moment later at the tickle of his coarse hair on your inner thigh, unable to shake the feeling that he’s nose deep in your pussy like this. It’s a bit embarrassing but somehow thrilling at the same time. A real conundrum.

“There.” He says at last, stilling behind you, and you shudder at the sensation of his breath on your skin. “Remember what you asked for, kitten. I won’t stop until you’re screaming.”

“You would’ve done that anyway, whether I’d asked for it or not …”

He chuckles faintly in response. “That’s true.” 

You start to smile, that undeniable spark of genuine happiness making itself known again. But then you feel him lean close and your mouth warbles, dropping open with a silent groan instead as you brace for the first expert stroke of Shouta’s tongue. It doesn’t come right away though and he takes his time merely nuzzling into you, placing wayward kisses along your puffy slit and taking deep breaths of your scent. A slow moving tremor works its way up your spine, causing you to shake and clench your pussy in anticipation. The suspense alone was enough to make you start begging.

But Shouta knows exactly how to tease you to vibrating fever pitch and giving him any more ammunition to work with would just be inviting one of his drawn out games so you stay silent, biting down on your lip when you can feel the word ‘please’ bubbling to life inside your throat. He’s as aware of the underlying tension as you are and he grunts against your cunt. Dragging his palms up the backs of your thighs, he reaches up to squeeze the doughy soft flesh of your ass and spread your cheeks apart, baring you fully to the room. You whimper, unable to hold back such an instinctive sound when you’re totally exposed like this, and Shouta’s lips curl against your labia. 

Apparently pleased with that, he presses his lips to the center of your slit and kisses you. The ministrations of his mouth are hungry and demanding, the friction of his facial hair against your petal soft folds leaving a burning trail in its wake while he works you open. You sway slightly on your knees, eyes slipping shut as you bask the sensation. 

His tongue emerges a brief moment later and you give your hips an encouraging wiggle when it slips and slides through your wet cunt lips in search of your entrance. He takes his time just circling the rim, lapping up the accumulated slick and swallowing the taste of you before delving in deeper. Your muscles contract at the slimy intrusion, fluttering in delight, and you teeter forward to brace your hands on his sharp hip bones so that you can better present yourself to him. A rumbling groan rises up behind you, the vibrations traveling through your pussy, and you twitch in pleasure. 

“Mmm … that feels good, Shouta. Do you like how I taste that much?” 

You receive an incoherent grumble in response and it makes you smile. 

Cracking your eyes open, you glance down at the straining tent in his boxers. Knowing you could never leave him hanging like that, you lift your hand to tug at the cotton. Inch by excruciating inch, you push it lower until his hard cock pops up into the air with an enthusiastic bounce. He tenses underneath you, just enough for you to notice, and you tuck the elastic waistband under his balls before taking him in hand. A slow pump is all you reward him with at first but then, as if sensing your intentions, he withdraws his tongue from your body in favor of licking his way down to your clit. Your grip on him eagerly tightens and you rear back, grinding your pussy on his face. 

The resulting grunt of pleasure goes straight to your head and you do it again. Dragging your cunt across his mouth and no doubt smearing your arousal on his skin, you give Shouta’s cock another tug that makes the foreskin bunch at the tip. He issues a rumbled warning and pulls back just enough to speak.

“Watch yourself, kitten. We can still do this the hard way.”

With that ominous reminder, he dives back in. Shoving his face so deep into your cunt that it's a wonder he doesn’t suffocate, Shouta works the meat of your labia open again and his tongue darts out to lash at your clit. You go ramrod stiff on top of him, twitching and shaking like a leaf at the sharp starbursts of pleasure that shoot through your nerves. It’s enough to make you freeze up, so overwhelmed by the sensation that you almost overlook the very obvious challenge he’s presented you with. 

You’ve played this particular game with him more times than you could count though and, through sheer force of will alone, you start to pump him in earnest now. It takes a staggering amount of concerted effort to do it but if it's another round of who-can-successfully-distract-who he was looking for then that’s what he’d get. 

Lowering yourself so that you can lie down on top of him, you angle Shouta’s cock towards your mouth and seal your lips around the head. Your free hand travels further south, curling around and cupping his balls so that you can massage them. He was particularly sensitive in this area and, just as expected, the muscles in his legs jump at the first gentle squeeze. You feel real proud of yourself for all of five seconds before he retaliates by closing his mouth on your clit and sucking. Hard.

You come up off his dick with a half strangled squeal, futilely trying to squeeze your thighs together and shut him out. It’s a losing battle though and Shouta merely tightens his elbows around your hips so that he can hold you in place no matter how much you squirm. A shock of static electricity zaps up your spine and you arch so hard that something in your lower back pops. The damp presence of reflexive tears wetting your lash line manages to ground you somewhat and, with a haggard gulp of air, you take his stiff cock into your mouth again. 

Swallowing him as far as you can in this position, you start bobbing your head and laving the underside of him with your tongue while your hand pumps at the base where you can’t quite reach. He lets up on your clit long enough to groan appreciatively and flex his hips off the bed to meet you halfway. Bending his knobby knees towards the ceiling to accommodate the awkward angle, Shouta begins thrusting into your mouth enthusiastically enough to make his balls bounce and a tinge of victory lights up inside your chest.  

It’s regretfully short lived though and you stiffen when his fingers abruptly find your slit. He wastes no time pushing one inside, giving the searching digit a taunting wiggle for good measure, and you moan around his cock. The sudden pressure on your upper wall has you clenching around him as the tension in your gut doubles and then triples. You know it's only a matter of moments until you reach the breaking point if he keeps that up but, much to your surprise, he pulls out after a prolonged beat. 

Confusion curls at the back of your mind but he’s still fucking your mouth and you can’t think straight. The drool spilling out around his cock and running down your chin is particularly distracting. All you can seem to do is wordlessly noise your bewilderment and dig your nails into his flexing hip, hoping he understands what you’re trying to say.

You get your answer soon enough in the form of that same finger, sticky with arousal, finding the pucker of your asshole. Squawking wetly in surprise, you jerk against him but Shouta hold’s fast. With one hand pulling your cheek to the side, the other applies just the right amount of pressure at the center of your entrance to sink inside your body. You freeze, feeling the muscles clench and flutter around the intrusion, but this is not the first time you’ve had your ass penetrated and it offers only a cursory amount of resistance. Your eyes start to water again, rolling towards the back of your head, and Shouta stills underneath you with his dick rammed as deep into your mouth as he can reach. 

A small eternity seems to pass and then you feel the ring of muscle give way. Once the first joint makes it through, the rest follow suit easily enough and Shouta wiggles his finger into you straight down to the knuckle. You groan in perverse pleasure, rocking forward on your knees, but the only place you can go is further down on his cock. You’re thoroughly trapped between two equally unrelenting forces like this and you can’t quite shake the impression of being a spit roasted pig. Damn him. What a devious bastard.

“That seems to have gotten your attention.” He groans, very softly, and the sensation of his lips brushing against your cunt makes you jolt. Allowing himself a strained chuckle at your expense, Shouta nuzzles into you again and your body responds with a warning tremor that he doesn’t miss. “Maybe I should start using your ass more often. You seem to like it.”

You gurgle noisily in response, struggling to swallow around the girth shoved in your mouth. 

He seems to take that as an agreement and tilts his head, slowly dragging the flat of his tongue across your throbbing clit. You shake so hard that your eyes rattle about inside their sockets but there’s nothing you can do to turn the tables now. He’s got you completely at his mercy and he was just as aware of that as you were. 

With his finger plugging your ass, Shouta takes a leisurely pace to eating you out and it very nearly drives you insane. It quickly becomes apparent that he intends to drag this out for as long as possible, which he was adept at even under the best of circumstances but it was particularly torturous in this case. Your clenching muscles gave you away and any time he felt you starting to tighten around him, he’d merely shift his attention to kissing the outer portion of your pussy until the tension began to fade. You were toeing the line of release for such an extended period of time that it actually started to hurt and you whine around him, trying to pull yourself up off his cock. He wouldn’t permit that either though and merely tightened his arms around you or jutted his pelvis up higher as needed. It was maddening in the best possible way. 

It seemed as if hours had gone by in this fashion before he finally spoke up again. “Are you ready to cum, kitten?” 

“Rrmmhrm.” 

“Are you going to scream for me?” 

“Rrmh!” You jerkily nod your head, fingers fisting in the sheets. 

“You’ll have to try hard if you want me to hear it while you have my cock in your mouth.” 

Groaning, you weakly jut your pelvis back against his face, urging him to finish you already. Shouta quietly chuckles, sounding more like a moan than a genuine laugh. 

He tilts his head then, slotting his mouth over your clit, and you let out a muffled wail when his tongue drags across the swollen nub with real intent this time. Every inch of your body shakes in rapidly mounting tension, the sheer force of it almost too much to bear. He holds you tight as you quake on top of him though, your chest heaving frantically against his stomach, but he won’t let up this time. Now he wants you to cum and you’re entirely helpless to stop it even if you’d wanted to. It takes everything you have to keep breathing through your nose as starbursts erupt across your vision and, before you even realize it’s happening, you tip over the edge. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you wail around his cock. A fresh wave of drool dribbles out of your mouth as you struggle to keep your jaw open while you ride out the cresting waves of ecstasy, realizing in some far off, dreamy way that the ball gag training was really paying off now. It’s a hysterical thought to have when your mind and body were being overwhelmed with a flood of dopamine but you don’t even have the wherewithal to find it funny. You were soaring on cloud nine, somewhere far above the physical constraints of your body, and you’re only vaguely aware of your asshole sporadically squeezing his finger when you start to come back some moments later. It was the sort of transcendental orgasm you’d only ever experienced with Shouta. 

You were positive that no one else could ever hope to take you to such dizzying heights as this and you go limp on top of him with a frazzled sigh.

After a long beat, when he’s sure you’ve milked your release for all its worth, he slowly eases his hips back down to the bed. You gratefully spit his cock out, watching it bob and glisten wetly in the dim light from the TV while you try to steady your breathing. He gives you another moment or two before idly tapping his fingers against the meat of your ass. 

“That didn’t exactly sound like screaming to me, kitten.” He says quietly, the sly note in his voice not escaping your notice. “I think we might have to give that another go.”