#the link is there we just need to bullshit enough for it to work

[little-pondhead]

WAIT-

If Pariah Dark is kept in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, would that mean that Tucker, in some way, has power over it? Because of the whole pharaoh thing? The Sarcophagus is unknown in origin, but what if it came from the deities of Egypt? Could it have been known as something else before falling into the hands of the Observants?

[lokisgoodgirl]

Delicate [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: As Loki recovers from injury - he needs the sweetest balm to heal him: you (w/c 1.4k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Fluff. Avenger! Loki x Female Reader. Description of injury (no blood) In my feelings.

Your fingers trail down the centre of Loki’s sternum: tender, purple splotches soaked into his skin like dye. They've barely faded in the month that’s passed. His trademark ivory skin is like a storm cloud and, if you watch for long enough, you’d swear it ripples. He holds his breath, face set in stoicism, lips pressed together in a thin white line.

He forces a pained smile against his cheeks. “Good as new,” he lies.

“Bullshit,” you reply.

Loki releases the breath, head falling back against the pillows.

“I hate this,” he mutters. A month ago, almost to the day, his torso was nearly decimated when he jumped on a huge explosive meant to kill the entire team.

Not just the team, you remember. The city.

He’s lucky, they say. But it’s more than that. His magic was strong — it was strong enough — but only just. There isn’t an inch of him that hasn’t been healing these past weeks: no inch un-hurt.

Well, that’s not true…there was an inch that escaped unscathed. Nine, actually.

His powers re-generate the damage with every hour that goes by — but Loki’s never been one for patience. “I feel useless,” he snaps. “What good am I to you like this?” You stroke hair back from his face, and his blue eyes slide to meet yours. “You deserve better, darling,” he says seriously. “You have needs — I insist you take your pleasure elsewhere. Lang, Barton, Rogers, even..."

His gaze drops, and he looks up under a fringe of ebony lashes. "But someone inferior to me, that is all I ask.”

You almost shove his shoulder in reprimand before stopping yourself. He sighs again. “We can’t go on like this: you fellating me with dutiful care, and me unable to reciprocate.”

He glances at you with such weighty desolation that you almost burst out laughing as he says, “I feel like my brother — it’s terrible.”

And that does it. Your vision blurs as you pick up a pillow and bury your face in it: cackling. “What?!” he sniffs, affronted. “I have been incapacitated of my greatest boon.”

You surface from the pillow, tears of laughter smeared down your cheeks. “Greatest boon?!?” He gestures to the hard-on pitching the covers with a wilting sigh.

You trail a finger down his bicep on the side nearest you: the side that’s almost healed, but you don’t think he’s noticed. His skin is pure, pale velvet from his shoulder to his hipbone like a tan-mark.

“It doesn’t look incapacitated to me,” you say, eyeing his crotch, knowing what will happen. But you can’t resist. There’s something undeniably erotic about having him like this: needy, frustrated, a little insecure. A short puff erupts from his nostrils. “You can’t go on top: too painful. I can’t go on top: too painful. On my knees? Reverse —?” You place a gentle kiss on the side of his mouth. “I love you, Loki,” you whisper, feeling the skin shiver beneath your touch. “I don’t want anyone else- sex or no sex. I’d wait forever if it meant you healed, but…I think I know something that might work.” Loki’s face immediately tilts to you and his features flinch with the sudden movement. “But!” you say, pressing a finger to his lips. “You need to do exactly as I say, and if it hurts…we stop. Agreed?” With your finger pressed to his mouth, Loki rolls his eyes, and you smile. “Good.”

A slow, twitching, hope crawls up Loki’s expression as you move your hand and slide down the bedsheets. You lie on your back, lifting your hips and shuffling the shorts down. Loki says nothing, but his erection strains against the covers and his eyes dart from your eyes to your hips as the panties make a slow descent down your thighs. “Gods, I feel like a virgin again,” he murmurs, and his fingernails scrape against the bedsheets. He can’t quite make a fist — not yet — but if he could, he’d be doing that sexy clenching/unclenching thing where the veins in his hand stand out. Arousal slides between your legs and you make a show of drawing a finger through it. It’s a risk, you think as you raise it in front of you and rub the finger against your thumb. But you know every part of Loki, and he needs this. And now, if you’re careful, he can. Your finger, slick with your arousal, hovers close to Loki’s mouth and he opens, letting you dab it on his tongue. A dirty moan rumbles from his chest, and his eyes roll back like he’s tasted heaven. And maybe, for him, he has.

He's begged you over the past few weeks since he woke to let him touch you, to sit on his face; but he's been too delicate for that. Turning him down has been unbearable. He has a tough time controlling himself once the two of you start, and you couldn't live with yourself if you made it worse — but the lightened skin on his side is new. And it's good. “Roll on your side,” you whisper, grazing the finger down his shoulder. You press gently into the meat of his bicep. “See? It’s not bad, right?” His eyes light up. “Shhh,” you soothe, guiding the god to face you. His face contorts, a grunt slipping through his teeth. “Don’t even think about it,” he growls before the words 'maybe we should wait,' can even shape your tongue.

Loki positions himself on his side. His cock is straining against his stomach: flawless and pale against the backdrop of indigo abdominal muscle.

You kiss him a final time before curling against him, facing the wall. His cock slots perfectly between your ass-cheeks. Loki’s breath shakes against your neck: hot, quick. You hope he has his eyes closed; you hope he’s savouring every second of this as much as you are. As much as you relished the swell of his cum inside your gentle mouth over the past week since he’d recovered enough for you to show him how much you love him — this is different.

And fuck, you’ve missed him. You need this, both of you do. “Nothing fancy,” you whisper as you reach between your legs and cup the thick of his girth. Traces of pre-cum web against your fingers.  

“I don’t know what you mean, darling,” Loki croons. But beneath the bravado, his voice wavers.

The tip of his cock slides against your cunt. “We’ll need to be slow. I won’t be used to you after a month.” Loki’s chest shakes against your back with silent laughter. That must hurt, you think, but he presses a kiss into the curve of your neck. “Slow…I can do,” he says, before sucking a tender bite into the skin. Loki edges his hips forward, the crown of his cock nudging at the rim of your slit. You circle your hips, capturing it, pushing back just enough for your body to welcome him with a short pang of delicious pain. There’s an audible slurp as you take him deeper. You’d almost forgotten how good he feels inside you — almost.

“My love,” he croaks into your hair. You slide halfway down his length, and still. Loki pants gently, and you turn your face to his. “I fucking love you, Loki,” you breathe, “more than anything,” and his eyes grow wider. Those peaked brows sharpen as you sink to the base of his cock: ass meeting the flat of his toned stomach. He flinches. “I’m sorry.” You reach back and cup his jaw. Loki nuzzles into the touch. “Don’t be,” he says, tilting his hips back before burying inside you again with a whisper of, "I've missed you." Pleasure spreads beneath your skin like liquid silk. It’s everything: being in his arms; Loki buried in the deepest parts of you as his heart beats between your shoulder-blades. The ridges of his cock tug your neglected walls, an itch only he can scratch, and your fingers tighten against the bedsheets while his pretty gasps of praise caress your ear. The heat of his skin against your spine is electric. Loki’s hand slips over your waist, cupping your breast, brushing your nipple. “Be careful,” you whisper. But Loki’s kisses work down the curve of your shoulder, lingering on the angle of the blade.

His forehead presses against your skin: moist, warm, alive. Tears prick your eyes at the sudden, unwelcome, memory of when you thought you’d lost him forever. “I love you,” you moan again, and again, and again as he sinks in and retracts with each slow chant of the words.   Soon, you cum. And then, he follows. And Loki heals with each breath which makes your chest rise and fall while you slip beneath sleep: safe in his arms.

Tags in comments ❤️

A link to my Masterlist is here

[venus-haze]

Stakeout (Billy Butcher x Reader)

Summary: Ever since you started working with Butcher and The Boys again, life has been exciting, invigorating—and stressful. During a stakeout, Butcher mixes the personal with the professional to help you relieve some of the tension you’ve been carrying around.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Takes place vaguely in season 1. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving semi-public fingering, light degradation, and voyeurism (Butcher is insane. So is Homelander.)

You hadn’t been on a stakeout in years when Butcher asked—demanded, really—that you come along with him to keep an eye on Vought Tower overnight. Something about letting Hughie get some sleep while you two tried to keep tabs on A-Train’s comings and goings. It was easy enough to see through his bullshit, but rather than call him on it, boredom from your day job and curiosity of what he had up his sleeve made you agree.

Butcher at least had the decency to pick up some snacks from a bodega near your apartment, mostly beef jerky and bags of chips. Kept the radio low on some classic rock station, the two of you sitting in near silence across the street from the tower for the better part of an hour. His car hadn’t changed much from the last time you were in it. Except for the new pine tree air freshener—though new was a stretch. It’d long since lost its scent, but the blue wasn’t as sun-bleached as the old one. Funny, the things you remember.

“This feels like a waste of time. Even if we were here to spy on A-Train, which you and I both know we’re not, there’s no way we’d be able to actually see him leave and come back,” you finally said. “And Homelander wouldn’t leave out of Vought’s front door unless he was doing some publicity to appeal to us plebeians.”

“You got a point.”

“So what’re we doing here?” 

“Y’think the cunt can see us?” he asked.

“Who? Homelander?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t the point of a stakeout that we’re not supposed to be seen?”

“S’why I’m asking, love.”

You sighed. “Unless he’s somewhere we can’t see him, then I guess not.”

“Perfect.”

He put his hand on your knee, his fingers inching their way up your pencil skirt. You didn’t have time to change out of your office clothes when Butcher picked you up at your apartment. Even though you were back with his crew, you hadn’t quit your day job just yet, working for some stupid startup that somehow landed a contract with Vought. Gave you some insight into what they were up to, at least made your presence in the tower the least suspicious of anyone else, able to say you were there for business.

You shifted in the passenger seat a bit. “Butcher, what’re you—“

“Tryin’ to help you relax,” he said, his fingers brushing your clit through your panties. “You’ve been tense as hell lately.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. He was right. Linking up with Butcher again after so many years gave you a renewed sense of purpose, but with that came the stress, the late nights, the close calls. In the comfort of his car, just the two of you where no one else could see, maybe you could let him take control for a while.

“How tense, Butcher?” you asked, leaning back in the seat. “Tell me.”

“Workin’ yourself too hard for a bunch of sorry pricks,” he said, his voice low and husky as he tugged at your panties. You lifted your hips so he could pull them to your knees. “Can’t have that when I need you now, yeah?”

You nodded breathlessly as he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out slowly, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. His gaze, dark and intense, always had a way of making you feel acutely aware of his attention on you, even when you weren't looking at him. Sometimes unnerving, but in cases like this, utterly exposed despite being fully clothed.

“Been a long time, huh? You miss this? You miss when I'd take care of your cunt?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “God, Butcher, keep going.”

“Thought of callin’ you a few times the past few years. You were always a good fuck,” he husked, his lips, his rough beard brushing across your neck and jaw. “Look at you now, people walking by, and you don’t give a damn who can see you, long as you get off, huh?”

“Butcher—“

“Bet if I’d taken my cock out instead, you’d have sucked me off. Take it all like the cockslut I know you are. You fuck anyone else the past few years? They know how to treat you? Know how to make you feel good?”

“Yes—No—I don’t know.”

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re pretty when you’re close. How close are you, love?”

“Fuck—I’m close. I’m so fucking close. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” you babbled, choking out a moan when he slipped a third finger inside you. “Keep going, just like that.”

He was pushing you, knew your limits better than anyone, and as much as you hated to admit it, you needed it. Hadn’t realized until then how long it’d been since you’d really been fucked until he curled his fingers inside you, and your brain felt like someone poured soda over it, your skin burning for more.

You didn’t care who saw, all you cared about was getting there, and you were so fucking close it made you screw your eyes shut and cry out in frustration. Jesus, no wonder you were willing to jump back in when Butcher showed up on your doorstep. Everyday was bland, the same old bullshit. There was plenty of bullshit when it came to Butcher and whatever harebrained schemes he came up with, but it was a hell of a lot more fun than typing up reports and sitting through meetings.

“C’mon, love. Put on a show. Let me hear ya.”

You opened your eyes, only to catch Butcher staring out the windshield. Following his gaze, you let out a panicked whine upon seeing a red glow honed in on you, long enough to be sure he was watching. You came on Butcher’s fingers with a perverse moan, pleasure coursing through you as you dug your fingers into the console. You threw your head back, your hips jerking upward as you rode out your orgasm on his hand. 

Butcher was relentless when he wanted to be, and you weakly tapped out, squeezing his muscular arm, whining a bit nevertheless when he pulled his hand away. Sparing another glance at the windshield, the red glow was gone. Homelander was gone.

You told yourself it was the surge of fear-fueled adrenaline that brought you over the edge, not exhilaration at being seen, being caught in such a vulnerable state by the most powerful supe in the world. Definitely not. But you kind of hated yourself for not feeling more humiliated, instead, as you obsessively replayed the scene in your head as Butcher drove down the street, you were thrilled by it. 

Still, he should’ve fucking warned you, given you some kind of heads up. You held your tongue until you were sure the sound of traffic would hide your voice from any superpowered hearing.

“You fucking prick!” you hissed, smacking his shoulder. “You banked on Homelander being enough of a pervert to watch us?”

“Killed two birds with one stone. You feel better now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reluctantly conceded.

“Attagirl.” He grinned. “I think I know where the cunt’s going.”

You balked. “I can’t look him in the eye after this.”

“You kind of already did.”

“Fuck you, Butcher.”

He glanced at you again, squeezing your thigh. “I’ll make it up to you later, love. Don’t you worry.”

[sanctus-ingenium]

we need to talk about Inprnt.com

Following a really good post with more screenshots and evidence by @dynasoar5 i'm going to talk about my own experiences with @inprnt and why I am about to put my shop on indefinite hiatus from Monday the 14th of August.

First of all I'll say that since starting my print shop last year it has been a significant help to me financially - I was able to not worry about affording car insurance or motor tax (together commonly over a thousand euro) when I bought my first car, for example. I am immeasurably grateful to anyone who chose to buy one and I treasure all the pictures I've been sent of my prints hanging up on people's walls. Right now they are displayed in a real (if small) art exhibition in my home town.

(top right print is not from inprnt though)

They're great prints. Never had any complaints about them. But here's what's going on behind the scenes.

Earlier this year, around March or April, Inprnt sales started increasing in regularity. I'd made as much as $600 a week during previous sales when I made proper promo posts here, but with this increase in regularity, I felt that I couldn't make promo posts every single week. And then one day, I'm not sure when tbh, the sale just never ended. It just didn't stop having that "Ending soon! 15% off your order" banner at the top of the site. Right now it says "Final Hours: $5 Worldwide shipping and save up to 35% off your order!" and not even for a second do I believe in this final hours bullshit. It's been 'final hours' for weeks now. Months, even.

Why is this a problem? Well, how tf am I meant to make a promo post for a sale that is always "ending soon!!" and then never ends. One week it'll say "this weekend only!!" and then when the weekend is over, the sale banner just changes its wording and the sale doesn't end. I can't promo this, it makes me look like a liar and a skeevy salesman by association! It makes the site look like it's 1 week from crashing and burning, and the site owners are just scrabbling to suck as much money from artists as possible before they drown.

And they are sucking money from us. To peel back the curtain, Inprnt money can only be transferred to my paypal account 30 days after the sale is made, just in case the order is cancelled and refunded. This means I used to make one withdrawal every couple of months, when there was enough build-up of money to make it worthwhile. It also forbids withdrawing any sum under $50 btw. I would make a withdrawal request and then, after a 10 business day wait, it would reach my Paypal account.

Not anymore! The past few withdrawals have taken over a month to complete. They are straight up keeping my earnings from me for longer the agreed period. This was my last fulfilled withdrawal:

Note the date.

Almost two months.

And here is the latest withdrawal request that still has not been fulfilled.

It's coming up on 1 month and if the pattern continues, it could literally be November or December by the time I fully clear all sales.

So what's going to happen to my print shop? Because my art is currently being exhibited with a QR code linking to the shop, I can't close the shop this week. Instead I will close it on Monday the 14th of August, next week. That means that on the 14th of September, I can withdraw all of the remaining money without having any left over. My account balance will go to 0 and stay there. Although I'll de-list my prints I will leave my account there, because at the end of the day I don't want to leave Inprnt. It still offers the best artist margins and as I'm now unemployed after graduating, the additional support is such a load off my mind. So this is a chance to wait and see - if they improve their services, I'll happily re-open.

It's a big deal to me because selling prints is sort of my ideal life as an artist. I never had the attention span or self-discipline for commission work and I found that it left me creatively stagnant. I always want to try new things, new concepts and ideas, and being able to think "yeah, people will like this as a print" while I experiment is honestly very reassuring. And I know that in going on hiatus, it'll break a lot of "buy a print" links in my circulating posts. Oh well lmao. If you want to buy a print right now - go ahead, it might be your last opportunity. Another way to support me would be to check out my ko-fi for once-off donations or some nice sketchbooks/comics/book samples you can buy, or subscribing to my Patreon.

As of right now, Inprnt owes me $381 (the unfulfilled request submitted above for $186.60 and my current standing balance of $194.80 which takes 30 days from each transaction to clear).

[rivkae-winters]

Edit: the app launched and Is down- I have the initial apology video in a post here and I’m working on getting a full archive of their TikTok up ASAP. I’m letting the rest of this post remain since I do still stand by most of it and also don’t like altering things already in circulation.

Warning for criticism and what I’d consider some harsh to outright mean words:

So I’ve just been made aware of the project known of as ‘lore.fm’ and I’m not a fan for multiple reasons. For one this ‘accessibility’ tool complicates the process of essentially just using a screen reader (something native to all I phones specifically because this is a proposed IOS app) in utterly needless and inaccessible ways. From what I have been seeing on Reddit they have been shielding themselves (or fans of the project have been defending them) with this claim of being an accessibility tool as well to which is infuriating for so many reasons.

I plan to make a longer post explaining why this is a terrible idea later but I’ll keep it short for tonight with my main three criticisms and a few extras:

1. Your service requires people to copy a url for a fic then open your app then paste it into your app and click a button then wait for your audio to be prepared to use. This is needlessly complicating a process that exists on IOS already and can be done IN BROWSER using an overlay that you can fully control the placement of.

2. This is potentially killing your own fandom if it catches on with the proposed target market of xreader smut enjoyers because of only needing the link as mentioned above. You don’t have to open a fic to get a link this the author may potentially not even get any hits much less any other feedback. At least when you download a pdf you leave a hit: the download button is on the page with the fic for a reason. Fandom is a self sustaining eco system and many authors get discouraged and post less/even stop writing all together if they get low interaction.

3. Maybe we shouldn’t put something marketed as turning smut fanfic into audio books on the IOS App Store right now. Maybe with KOSA that’s a bad idea? Just maybe? Sarcasm aside we could see fan fiction be under even more legal threat if minors use this to listen to the content we know they all consume via sites like ao3 (even if we ask them not to) and are caught with it. Auditory content has historically been considered much more obscene/inappropriate than written content: this is a recipe for a disaster and more internet regulations we are trying to avoid.

I also have many issues with the fact that this is obviously redistributing fanfiction (thus violating the copyright we hold over our words and our plots) and removing control the author should have over their content and digital footprint. Then there is the fact that even though the creator on TikTok SAYS you can email to have your fic ‘excluded’ based on the way the demo works (pasting a link) I’m gonna assume that’s just to cover her ass/is utter bullshit. I know that’s harsh but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck it’s probably a duck.

I am all for women in stem- I’ve BEEN a woman in Stem- but this is not a cool girl boss moment. This is someone naive enough to think this will go over well at best or many other things (security risks especially) at worst.

In conclusion for tonight: I hope this person is a troll but there is enough hype and enough paid for web domains that I don’t think that’s the case. There are a litany of reasons every fanfic reader and writer should be against something like this existing and I’ll outline them all in several other posts later.

Do not email their opt out email address there is no saying what is actually happening with that data and it is simply not worth the risks it could bring up. I hate treating seemingly well meaning people like potential cyber criminals but I’ve seen enough shit by now that it’s better to be safe than sorry. You’re much safer just locking all your fics to account only. I haven’t yet but I may in the future if that is the only option.

If anyone wants a screen reader tutorial and a walk through of my free favorites as well as the native IOS screen reader I can post that later as well. Sorry for the heavy content I know it’s not my normal fare.

[caffeineandsociety]

There's a specific genre of shitty antisemitic joke that I have seen fly under the radar (as it was designed to) a LOT more often lately - especially since Kanye started going full mask-off nazi - so I feel the need to issue a warning about it. Namely, the genre is jokes that get spread around by people who aren't willfully antisemitic because outside of conspiracy brain rot land, it appears that the point of the joke is absurdism.

As an example, let's examine the 23-and-me lizard DNA test that I've sadly seen floating around unquestioned.

Because, see, to the average person who isn't willfully antisemitic, this genre of joke comes off as nonsequiturs, or hilarious mistakes - you, as a person with some level of basic observational and critical thinking skills, living on Earth and not in whatever batshit mirror dimension conspiracy theorists think we live in, might very well end up getting a giggle out of it because, HAH, we KNEW those DNA ancestry kits were a scam! If you're not a deliberate antisemite but not really up on the dogwhistles, it doesn't scan as anything awful because you're put in mind of things like feeding a photo of something decidedly not human into that one selfie-to-anime neural net, which sometimes works and produces interesting results because the thing is looking for specific patterns and trying to make anything fit - not things like blatantly lying about doing something like that in the hopes that normies who see the absurdity and want to have a laugh at a scummy company's expense will pass it along to people who unironically believe that Jewish people are actual literal lizard aliens and the test proves it.

This is the same strategy that guy at the game awards pulled. You, a person living in reality where the main source of political corruption is just the basic consequence of an economic system that makes power pool in the hands of anyone willing to exploit enough people, a world of banal mundane evil, know damned well that QAnon-pizzagate-satanic ritual abuse cult conspiracy bullshit is, well, bullshit, if you're even familiar with the details of what they believe at all. When someone crashes the stage and thanks Rabbi Bill Clinton, you may very well laugh because to YOU it is a blatant absurd nonsequitur.

Problem is that to someone else, someone who's deep into that shit, it's either someone letting the truth slip, or someone backing the deep state into a corner - whichever is more convenient to believe.

This is one form of how the far right uses memeification (CW: the example discussed in the link is a rape "joke") - it means something totally different to the in-group than it does to the out-group. To you, it's funny because it's nonsensical; to them, it's fun because they think they're onto something huge and they're about to blow this shit wide open and it's going to be their great moment of triumph.

I cannot stress enough that no matter how absurd an antisemitic conspiracy theory sounds to you, there are people who believe it, unironically. There are people who unironically believe that Jewish people are very literally not human and no amount of evidence to the contrary will ever change their minds. There are people who believe that we're born with horns and tails and pointed ears and have them surgically altered to fit in with good Christian humans like some kind of extremely high-stakes game of Among Us. There are people who believe that we steal, ritualistically abuse, and kill Christian babies. These beliefs, while fringe enough that, yeah, most of you who this post is aimed at have never heard them in the wild before very recently, are not nearly as fringe as you probably think they are. Just look at fucking Kanye. This asshole has more fans than there are Jewish people in the world.

So I'm begging you to please, bare minimum, be careful of "absurdist" jokes about Jewish people, especially if they reference lizards, money, banking, or government power. Also, you may see Jewish people debating how religious laws may apply to fictional creatures, but outside of that context you should also be wary of any time Jewish people are mentioned in the same sentence as vampires, dragons, goblins, zombies, fantasy demons, or any number of other fantasy creatures known for greed, feeding on humans, or both.

If the reason it seems funny to you is because you'd have to be really stupid to believe it's true or makes any kind of sense - it's probably looking for you to spread it to people who are, in fact, that stupid.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Make You Wish Chapter Two -- Where Is She

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: really super mild versions of cannon violence.

Word count: 2,072

Previous Part: Make You Wish Chapter One -- Seven Years

Master list link:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Make You Wish Master List

A/N I accidentally posted this before I was ready tooo ahhhh!!! it's fine. Everything was already written I just had to format it properly and stuff.

Alastor had been at the Hazbin Hotel for only a few days and was already enjoying his time there greatly. It was an entertaining place, to say the least, and now that he had his feet under him, he was intent on making it even more so.

Charlie was pacing around the sitting room, stressed beyond belief. She had gone to speak to Adam the previous day to try and get his support for her plan, only to wind up with the news that the next extermination was coming in six moths, rather than the usual twelve. Alastor watched her duress in amusement as he sauntered into the hotel lobby, side stepping Angel, Charlie, and Vaggie to take a seat at the bar.

"It's nothing we can't handle," Charlie was explaining, trying to convince herself as much as anyone else in the room, "just angels cutting our timetable in half. But who needs a whole year to save souls? Am I right? And next time, when they cut the time in half again and again, we'll just handle it, right?!"

Vaggie got to her feet, grabbing her girlfriend by the shoulders and stopping her from her relentless pacing.

"Yes, we will." she confirmed.

"Oh please," Angel cut in from the couch, his eyes fixed on his phone, "ya had less than half a chance when you started all this salvation bullshit. And now...? Ain' no silver lining this time, toots."

"Sure there is." Charlie turned to him, "We just have to look a little harder for it."

"Well, while you're lookin', the rest of Hell is going nuts."

Angel turned his phone to Charlie, showing all the news headlines of terror he'd pulled up.

"People are already freaking out about the news. Look at what's happening in the Doomsday District."

He scrolled down to a video of a burning town just as a text notification popped up.

"Uh, what is a 'donkey show'?" Charlie asked in confusion, having read the text.

"Ah, heh, nothing." Angel pulled the phone from her line of sigh, trying to come up with a quick lie, "My boss, Val, is just freaked out about the news too. Like I said, everyone's losing their shit."

"Yeah, that is true." Vaggie hummed thoughtfully, a hand to her chin, "Sinners are desperate. Maybe desperate enough to try anything to escape extermination?"

"Speaking of sinners," Alastor said, drawing the attention in the room to him as he turned towards Husk who was busying cleaning glasses, "I think it's time I look up my old partner in crime."

"And what do I have to do with that?" the cat demon gruffly replied, not sparing Alastor a glance.

"Your partner in crime?" Charlie asked, taking a step towards the bar, "I always thought you... you know, worked alone?"

Alastor's grin widened.

"Oh never you mind, dear." he replied, throwing her a glance over his shoulder, "Just a lost soul I'm acquainted with is all."

"Yeah. You've been trying to get her to sell you that soul for what, the past seventy years is it now?" Husk scoffed.

Alastor's eye twitched slightly at the implication of his failure.

"If I wanted it, I would have it." he hummed threateningly, and Husk backed down.

"That's great!" Charlie exclaimed, "So she's a friend of yours? Do you think she'd help with the hotel? Oh! Or maybe that she'd want to be a guest?!"

"Charlie-" Vaggie began but Alastor quickly cut her off.

"I don't see a harm in asking." he cheerily replied.

"And you know her, Husk?" Charlie asked.

He looked up as he placed a clean glass on the shelf, shooting Alastor a glance before nodding.

"Do you think she'd be a good fit?"

He sighed, crossing his arms as Husk turned to face Charlie fully.

"She's a sweetheart, I think you'd get along well." he admitted, "But she's trouble, just like him."

Husk gestured towards Alastor and Charlie's smile widened.

"Well, with all Alastor has done for us so far, I think we could probably use more trouble like him."

"Oh you flatter me." Alastor waved her off, looking away in a false show of humility.

"No really." Charlie insisted, "You-"

"Show yourself, Alastor!" a dramatic call cut Charlie off mid thought.

----

"Um. Alastor?" Charlie hesitantly began, peeking out from behind his shoulder as she watched the havoc he was wreaking on the snake shaped sinner, "I think he's had enough."

Alastor cackled joyfully, not even watching as his shadows destroyed the air ship.

"Nah, he's got a few more hits in 'im." Angle disagreed, enjoying the show immensly.

The shadows tilted the ship forward, dropping Sir Pentious out through the broken windshield. He hit the ground with a thud, right before Alastor's feet. Stopping in his fit of laughter, he looked down at the man, spinning his microphone like a baton.

"Thanks for another forgettable experience." he teased as one of the egg creatures fell from the ship, splattering on the ground beside Charlie who took a step away.

"Thank... you..." Sir Pentious began, his voice pained as he raised his head slowly, "for letting your guard down!"

Almost before Alastor could register what was happening, the snake had grabbed onto his coat with his tail and torn a piece from its hem. Alastor took a menacing step forward, his eyes narrowed.

"Oh shit." Pentious' triumphant laughter died out.

Slowly, Alastor sprouted a pair of shadowy horns. With a snap of his finger, the ground under the snake detonated, throwing him up into the air and far away from the hotel with a scream. He watched as Pentious flew away, retracting his horns and standing with a hand behind his back. Once the snake was out of sight, he at last turned to Charlie and Angel, as well as Husk and Vaggie who had come out to join them.

"Well, it looks as thought I need a visit to the tailor." he hummed, "Husk?"

"Yeah?" Husk grunted.

"Where did you say she was again?"

"I didn't."

Husk crossed his arms defensively and Alastor took a step towards him, his smile a little smaller than normal. There was an odd air between the two of them, a tension every one present could feel biting into their skins.

"Whats that?" Alastor asked lowly, his head cocked slightly to the side.

Husk sighed.

"Last I heard she was working for some imp in Pentagram City." Husk reluctantly admitted, looking away, "As an assassin or something, I don't know the details."

"An imp, you say." Alastor thoughtfully replied, his expression unreadable.

"Look, Alastor." Husk turned back to his master, "Don't fuck this up for her. She seemed pretty happy last time I saw her. You disappearing like that wrecked the poor girl."

"Just means she'll be all the more happy to see me."

Alastor turned, beginning to walk away. At the sound of Husk speaking again, he paused, keeping his back to the quartet.

"Alastor, ju-"

Alastor turned his head, shooting Husk a critical look over his shoulder. It shut the cat demon up almost immedeatly.

"Best of luck, chums!"

"Wait, you're leaving?" Vaggie exclaimed, taking a step forward.

Irritation prickling beneath his skin, Alastor turned back to them once again. It had been seven years, he didn't know how much longer he could wait. Sure, he'd had time in Hell on his own, nearly twenty years of it. He didn't need her per-say, she just made things more interesting, more enjoyable. It just felt odd for them to be parted.

Sure, when they had first met, he had thought she was just an easy steal of a soul. Young, naive, frankly undeserving in his opinion of eternal damnation. But smart, smarter than she looked. Y/n had refused any and all deals with the man and so, he had taken it as a challenge. What had begun as a game: Alastor trying to gain ownership of Y/n's soul ended up as an after-life long friendship.

Alastor would never admit it to anyone but, in his absence, he had even missed Y/n the smallest bit. She kept things interesting, he told himself, that was all. Always causing discreet mischief, always quick with a joke. A true pleasure to have on the show, as he always used to say.

"Alastor, we need your help. We need you to do your job." Vaggie continued.

"We need a wall." Angel finished for her, gesturing to the portion of the hotel Sir Pentious had destroyed in his attack.

"Of course." Alastor replied, keeping an irritated remark at bay, "Can't let my new project fall into disrepair already. What would the papers say?"

With a snap of his fingers, minions made of shadows pulled themselves from the ground at his feet. So as not to give anyone another chance to stall him further, he quickly turned on his heel and walked off.

Alastor was a man of image, he kept his pace slow and firm. Couldn't have any of them getting any ideas in their heads about the nature of his relationship with Y/n. That had always been trouble in the old days. The minute people saw the pair together, they started assuming things. He had already decided he was going to be more careful about that this time around and this was the first step.

There was a slight bounce in his step as he headed into the city's center, an odd anticipation fluttering in his chest. Alastor pushed it to the side. It was simply the thrill of being back in his old stomping ground that was to blame. It didn't matter he'd already been back a few days and it should have worn off by now, he should just feel lucky to still be so entertained by this place he'd known longer than he'd even been alive. Right?

----

Y/n was sitting at Blitzo's desk, reading through paperwork he had neglected to fill out or file correctly. It wasn't like any one in Hell really payed their taxes, but the mess still stressed her out. She let out a sigh, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes in irritation. She had never had to do this type of work before, not since she'd been alive anyways. How the times had changed.

Noise of Blitzo and Moxxie fighting filtered in through the closed door. It wasn't anything special, anything new. The pair were always at one another's throats, she wasn't worried. What would be worrying, was if things were quiet. This was just the way life sounded now: inelegant and brazen. Nothing like it used to.

The buzzing of her phone on the desk beside her pulled Y/n from her reveries and she picked it up. The collar lay heavy around her neck as she read the message. Y/n had made some bad choices along the way, figuring out how to be on her own. She wasn't pleased with them, but it was what she had had to do. Back then, she hadn't had the need to fight for herself in over sixty years. It was the only thing she could think to do.

She double tapped the text, marking it with a thumbs up before shutting her phone off and leaning her head down on the table. There was no point in wishing for things to be different than they were but, it was just that time of year and the text had pushed her over the edge. A few stray tears trickled out of her eyes.

"Goddamnit, Al." she sighed into the empty room, "Where the hell are you."

Silence pressed its hands against her ears, blurring her perception of the world around her. Y/n had a few seconds, a few nearly peaceful moments before, again, her thoughts were interrupted. This time, not by her phone but by Blitzo calling for her from the other room.

"Y/n!" he yelled and she lifted her head off the table.

"Yeah?" she called back through the closed door.

"Get your ass out here!"

"Why? A client? Can't you handle it?"

"Y/n!" he insisted again, a sense of urgency to his voice.

If this was anything less than an absolute emergency, he was never going to hear the end of it. She was not in the mood for his games today.

"Fine." she groaned and pulled herself from the chair, "I'm coming."

----

Next Part -> Chapter Three -- A Reunion

[river-taxbird]

Have YOU got an old Windows PC Microsoft has told you can't run Windows 11? It's time to give it a new life!

How to install Windows 11 on unsupported PC Hardware using Rufus. You can also disable some other Windows 11 bullshit like data harvesting and needing a Microsoft account.

It has been in the news a lot lately that Windows 11 isn't allowed to be installed on PCs without certain requirements, including the TPM 2.0, a chip that was only included in PCs made in 2018 or later. This means that once Windows 10 stops receiving security updates, those PCs will not be able to (officially) run a safe, updated version of Windows anymore. This has led to an estimated 240 million PCs bound for the landfill. Thanks Microsoft! I get you don't want to be seen as the insecure one, but creating this much waste can't be the solution.

(I know nerds, Linux is a thing. I love you but we are not having that conversation. If you want to use Linux on an old PC you are already doing it and you don't need to tell me about it. People need Windows for all sorts of reasons that Linux won't cut.)

So lately I have been helping some under privileged teens get set up with PCs. Their school was giving away their old lab computers, and these kids would usually have no chance to afford even a basic computer. They had their hard drives pulled so I have been setting them up with SSDs, but the question was, what to do about the operating system? So I looked into it and I found out there IS actually a way to bypass Microsoft's system requirement and put Windows 11 on PCs as old as 2010.

You will need: Rufus: An open source ISO burning tool.

A Windows 11 ISO: Available from Microsoft.

A USB Flash Drive, at least 16GB.

A working PC to make the ISO, and a PC from 2018 or older you want to install Windows 11 on.

Here is the guide I used, but I will put it in my own words as well.

Download your Windows 11 ISO, and plug in your USB drive. It will be erased, so don't have anything valuable on it. Run Rufus, select your USB drive in the Device window, and select your Windows 11 ISO with the Select button. (There is supposed to be a feature in Rufus to download your ISO but I couldn't get it to work.?

Choose standard windows installation, and follow the screenshot for your settings. Once you are done that, press Start, and then the magic happens. Another window pops up allowing you to remove the system requirements, the need for a microsoft account, and turn off data collecting. Just click the options you want, and press ok to write your iso to a drive.

From there you just need to use the USB drive to install windows. I won't go into details here, but here are some resources if you don't know how to do it.

Boot your PC from a USB Drive

Install Windows 11 from USB Drive

If you had a licensed copy of Windows 10, Windows 11 will already be licensed. If you don't, then perhaps you can use some kind of... Activation Scripts for Microsoft software, that will allow you to activate them. Of course I cannot link such tools here. So there you go, now you can save a PC made from before 2018 from the landfill, and maybe give it to a deserving teen in the process. The more we can extend the lives of technology and keep it out of the trash, the better.

Additional note: This removes the requirement for having 4GB Minimum of RAM, but I think that requirement should honestly be higher. Windows 11 will be unusable slow on any system with below 8GB of RAM. 8GB is the minimum I think you should have before trying this but it still really not enough for modern use outside of light web and office work. I wouldn't recommend trying this on anything with 4GB or less. I am honestly shocked they are still selling brand new Windows 11 PCs with 4GB of ram. If you're not sure how much RAM you have, you can find out in the performance tab of Task Manager in Windows, if you click the More Details icon on the bottom right. If you don't have enough, RAM for old systems is super cheap and widely available so it would definitely be worth upgrading if you have a ram starved machine you'd like to give a new life.

[97keanu]

˚₊‧꒰ა 𖤐Hellsent𖤐 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Dave Lizewski x Succubi!Reader

Premise: Dave, Todd, and Marty have been laughing about doing a demonic ritual for Halloween. They text back and forth via Skype about how silly it is that there's so many fake rituals online. Todd gets the bright idea of looking into the deep web for some really funny ones, and ends up sending Dave a link for a ritual to 'try'. Thinking it's just bullshit, Dave goes ahead and performs the ritual, but it may turn out to be more real than he thought...

Tags/CW: all characters are 18+, succubi!reader, demonic!reader, nerdy!Dave, blood, demonic rituals, smut, demonic sex, switch!reader, Dom leaning!Reader, sub!Dave, virgin!Dave, p in v, doggy, surprising dom!Dave, chubby!reader, thick!reader, slutty!reader, c*mslut!reader, oral (Dave receiving), oral (reader receiving), raw.

Be added to the Dave taglist here check out my other Dave Lizewski fics here!

Just like any Friday night, Dave was at home. He is set up at his computer, complete with snacks and the biggest bottle of Mountain Dew he could find at the convenience store. His room is dark, save for the blue light of the screen being his beacon in the dark October night. His glasses glint with the screens reflection as he watches memes on youtube because there's nothing better to do. He checks his Skype after hearing that familiar ping! and takes a big swig of his drink.

Todd and Marty are currently laughing over finding out that some parts of the internet think you can actually summon a demon. Dave watches as they type back and forth quizzically before responding himself.

[Dave]: People really think that shit works?

[Marty]: Guess so...and I thought we did some pathetic shit on the internet.

[Todd]: Right, I mean the one I'm looking at now says: "How to summon a Succubus."

[Todd]: These nerds are so lonely they think they can magically conjure up a woman to fuck them, it's actually kind of sad at that point...

[Marty] Damn, maybe that's what Dave needs so he can finally get some pussy for once

[Dave] As if you aren't already looking into how to do it, Marty. I just know from how much you play WoW that you have some sick monster girl fantasies.

[Todd] Actually, I'm with Marty on this one, you should try the ritual and get back to us. I think you'd be less of a dickhead if you finally got some.

Dave stares at the screen in discontent. He hates when his friends make fun of him for being a virgin, which makes no sense to Dave because they're not getting any either. Todd claims that the reason it's different is because at least Todd tries to give an air of not being a virgin, and Marty got to 2nd base in freshmen year with one of the chess team girls. Dave however, according to Todd and Marty, is a quintessential virgin.

So, when Todd sends a sketchy link that Dave is almost certain will end up being a screamer or malware, he decides to click it anyways, on the off chance it actually is a way to get a demon babe to fuck you.

To Dave's surprise, it isn't a fake out. It's a forum, from what part of the web, Dave is unsure. He hasn't seen a site like this before, and from a quick glance, the people talking in it are serious. He reads as users of the forum detail a ritual, and how each of them have modified it until supposedly it worked. Dave still feels pretty skeptical about it, but it seems like everyone in this forum really believes this, and that alone is enough that Dave feels a slight chill.

Dave hears another ping! and when he clicks back to Skype, Todd and Marty are once again, egging him on about it. He tries to ignore it, not sending anything back as he begins writing down what the forum suggests. Dave hears the familiar sound of an incoming call, and reluctantly answers it. Dave watches as the screen-glowed faces of Todd and Marty join his.

"So, are you going to do it?" Marty says with a snort.

"Yeah, c'mon Dave, we wanna watch and see if it's real!" Todd looks very enthusiastic about all of this, but of course, he's safe from any harm behind the screen.

"Fine, I'll do your stupid ritual and show you how dumb it is." Dave grumbles, finally giving in to the idea fully.

Todd and Marty are pumped, and Dave let's them know he has to go gather some things from the list. He mutes and turns off his camera before trekking out of his room for the first time that night to look for what the ritual calls for, or the best things he can find.

Dave scoures the house and ends up finding most of what he needs. He steals five candles from his Dad, who is surprisingly into collecting Bath and Body Works scents. He gathers cinnamon and basil from the kitchen cabinet, and is surprised to see there is actually a bundle of lavender on the wall for decoration. He finishes his hunt by grabbing a piece of white chalk from leftover summer days when he was younger, and a needle from his mom's old sewing kit.

Dave races back up to his attic room, ready to get this over with, and tries to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. A part of him worries if it will work. A deeper part of him wonder if it was even remotely possible that he could actually get laid tonight, demonic or otherwise.

"Alright, I got what it says..." Dave turns on the mic and camera and tells his friends. They seem interested, and urge him to continue. Dave sets the webcam up so they can see more of his room, particularly the bed and the wooden floor before it.

He gets started, making a pentagram and tracing the runes that the website said to put. It doesn't take long before he has what looks like a legit summoning circle, to his surprise. He continues as Todd and Marty watch carefully, and Dave notices that they aren't joking as much as before the more he continues. He wonders how much they think this will really work, or if this is an elaborate prank to make him do all this work in a desperate attempt to have sex. He hopes neither of them are screen recording the most.

Dave lights each candle, placing them on a pentagram point, then sprinkling a bit of each herb to each candle. He looks back to the paper he has the instructions on and confirms that the next part he will have to draw blood.

"I guess it calls for blood now, guys..." Dave says, uneasily, glancing back to the screen for validation.

"I thought you said after the accident you couldn't feel much pain?" Todd asks, and Marty nods along.

"We've come this close, better just finish it up and see if it really works..." Marty quietly adds, shifting in his seat.

"I don't know what you mean by 'we'..." Dave grumbles, but grabs the sewing needle.

They were right, it won't hurt that much to prick his finger for Dave. Somehow, despite knowing the pain wasn't really an issue, Dave's heart began to pick up. The wind outside his window seemed to disappear as he carefully begun poking his finger, the blood swelling up and slipping down it. Todd and Marty were completely silent as they watched Dave add a drop to each point, Dave speaking the Latin he had wrote down for the ritual. As he neared the last line and last point, he felt something in the room shift. The energy made the hair on his neck stand up, and the candles flickered despite the lack of airflow. Dave hesitated as he began to finish the ritual, his stomach fluttering with nerves.

There was only one way to see if any of that was real or not, though. And Dave wasn't about to chicken out in front of his friends, he hated facing embarrassment like that from them because it would last for months. Besides, it was unlikely anything would happen and he could go back and goad Todd for thinking it would work. Dave smiled for a second thinking of how he could get back at him, then found the confidence to continue.

He spoke the last line, his drop of blood falling onto the last sigil. Dave watched as it sat there, and for a few moments, nothing moved.

"I told you, Todd! Nothing was going to happen-" Dave yelled back at the screen with a smirk, then paused.

He saw the sigil soak up the blood, moving the liquid by an unknown force. A faint glow of red began to take hold of the shape. Todd and Marty could barely tell through their cameras, but watched in anticipation, wondering why their friend stopped gloating. Dave stepped out of the circle, almost tripping into his bed. As he exited the circle, the wind picked up, blowing harshly into his room. He heard Todd and Marty begin chattering, asking what was happening, as one of the candles fell over, sparking a ring of fire around the pentagram.

Dave tried to move, tried to do anything, knowing he should put out the flame, but he was speechless as he watched the ring bend shape into that of a heart. Dave blinked, trying to will the images before him away, unable to process what was happening. As he was almost able to regain the ability to move, your portal opened up.

You had been watching hungrily as the young man completed your ritual, smelling the virginity on him from your realm, and wanting a taste of his sweet essence. You floated out of the portal, your tiny, pink bat-like wings fluttering. You watched as Dave's eyes grew ever larger at the sight of you. You who was practically naked, a string of bikini covering only the most sacred of bits. Your pink skin glowed in the dim light of his computer, and the horns on your head gleamed. You could hear the sounds of boys fawning over you from the computer, and glanced over with a sharpness in your Amaranth colored eyes.

"You brought me here to an audience, I see..." Your voice, dripping with honey-like sweetness, yet your demonic undertones rumbled through out.

Dave could barely speak. He looked up at you to where he had fallen into the end of his bed with fear and, to his dismay, a hardening cock clearly beginning to struggle against his jeans. He could barely believe any of it.

Maybe he had fallen when the fire broke out and hit his head, or perhaps the fumes from the smoke were making him see things, but no. You really were in his bedroom, a burning heart breaking way to the hottest creature he had ever laid eyes on.

His eyes trailed your curves, enjoying the plumpness and the way the straps of your bikini could barely hold how thick you were. He thought he might just cum in his pants right then as you turned, your ass so juicy and cute, your tail flicking with mischief. He watched as you stepped out of the circle, walking over to the computer. As you got closer, bending over and giving Dave a wonderful view, the computer began to glitch.

"It seems my magic prevents me from using such a contraption..." You whisper to yourself, and Dave opens his mouth to speak, but cannot find the words. "No matter. If you wish for these humans to watch as I take you, then so be it."

The thought of Todd and Marty watching him lose his virginity made his stomach turn, and Dave finally was able to jump to his feet, rushing towards the computer as you left it to float over to the bed. He could hear Todd and Marty trying to dissuade him from turning off the webcam, obviously eager to see what comes next even if it is their closest friend.

"Wait, Dave!" They said almost in unison as Dave began shutting it down.

"Sorry guys! Busy! Bye!" Dave uttered, the words the first thing that he could think of to say. He ended the call and turned off his computer in record time, turning to face you, who was now laid out on the bed with a sensual stare.

"So, they call you Dave?" You purred, your pink eyes glowing in the darkness of Dave's room.

The firey summoning circle has died down to a crisp ember in the floor. Dave didn't want to think about how he would have to explain that to his dad later. Instead, he couldn't help but to be entranced by you, walking forward slowly, unsure, but knowing he wants you.

"Y-yeah, that's, um, my name..." Dave speaks shyly, a nervous hand ruffling his dark curls at the back of his head.

"Cute...I'd tell you my name, but I don't think you would understand my demonic language." You tease him, bringing up a finger and curling it to signal Dave to come closer.

Dave gulps, and takes a few steps further, then stops. Even if this is all just a gas leak induced dream, he still felt the need to make sure that he was safe.

"Wh-what are you going to, uh, do to me?" He forces the words out.

"Nothing you don't want, Dave." You lay back, your pink tits falling just so, looking perfectly round and soft. Dave can't help but get caught up in them.

"But, you're a d-demon right?" He has to blink and look away to keep talking, his cock is distracting him too much when he looks at you.

"A succubi, yes... Is that a problem?"

"Aren't demons, like, supposed to be, um, really bad and stuff?" He hates how ridiculous and nerdy he sounds trying to figure this all out, but he's so nervous he can barely speak naturally.

"Depends on what you view as bad." You begin, a hand lazily playing with the strap of your bikini on your thigh, snapping it. Dave watches as your thighs jiggle temptingly.

"If you think sex is a sin, then maybe I would be bad. That was very common back in the day. The world seems to have grown a bit, but we still get summons from hunters who hate us. You don't happen to be a demon hunter, do you Dave?" You know he's not, but it's fun to see him sweat a little.

"N-no, absolutely not..." Dave stutters out, then clears his throat. "But, what do you want to do to me?"

"Well, I thought you knew the answer to that, seeing as it was you who summoned me." You giggle a bit, the sound like to soft bells. "Usually, this works as a symbiotic relationship. You get to fuck me, and I get to devour that delicious sexual energy you've been hoarding..."

"H-hoarding?"

"Oh yes, your virginity at such an age is less common nowadays. It will be very, very tasty to suck all of that pent up sexual frustration out of you..." You wink at him, and Dave's already hot cheeks darken a deeper shade of red.

"But, will that hurt me?" Dave whispers, the temptation to give in so strong he has started coming closer and closer.

"Only if you care that you'll be extremely tired afterward. But sex makes most people tired, doesn't it?" Dave thinks he's heard that before, but he wouldn't really know either way. The offer sounds like a good deal though, he could take being tired.

"And you won't do anything I won't like?"

"Not a chance."

Dave stops at the foot of the bed, looking down at you sexy form. He never thought he would ever have a girl in his bed, laid out, wanting him. He couldn't have guessed that girl would be a hot succubi like yourself. He takes one last moment to decide, and his cock overrides all better judgements.

Dave nods at you, accepting, and you smile, your tiny fangs cutely peeking out from behind your soft, plump lips. You move, cat-like and sensual, getting on all fours and meeting Dave at the edge of the bed. You place a hand on his hard cock, and he breathes out a shuttering breath, the touch warm and inviting.

"I suppose we should start by freeing up such a large cock..." You look up as you speak, your eyelashes batting.

Dave groans as you unzip his jeans, his mind reeling from the fact that you called his cock big. He didn't think he would ever hear a girl tell him that, and now here you are, looking up with your heart shaped pupils as if Dave's the sexiest man around.

Truth is, you do think he's quite sexy. Sure, he's obviously a comic book nerd, that much was sure from one look at his room. But, those big blue eyes and that sweetheart, shy smile were quite charming. You're honestly surprised that no one else has already used this boy up. Oh well, more of his fat cock for you.

You watch as it flops out, and you're even more surprised by how big and girthy it is when it's been unleashed from his jeans. You stare up at him with lustful, glowing eyes, taking his cock slowly in your hands, and for a moment you think he might just cum from that. As you continue to slowly stroke his cock, you can sense how horny he is, and are surprised by the level. Maybe he will make an acceptable sex partner after all. You haven't found someone who can keep up with you yet, at least not enough for you to visit more than once.

You slowly slide his jeans and underwear down, his mess of curls at the base of his cock meeting your hand as you fully stroke him. He leans his head back, his eyes scrunched up from trying to keep himself from cumming too soon. You bite your lip, ready to give his cock a taste.

Your warm mouth engulfs the tip of Dave's cock, filling up more of your mouth than you imagined. Dave moans out from the sudden warmth, and his hips gently buck for more as your tongue swirls around the head of his cock gently, teasing him. You feel his cock begin to leak, even after such little contact, and you lap it up happily, feeling the sexual energy begin to energize you.

"P-please..." Dave barely gets out as you continue to tease. "I can't take much more,"

You look up at him, taking your mouth off and giving him a breather. You flip over, so your breasts are facing him, and open your mouth as your head dangles gently off the bed.

"Fuck my mouth, Dave..." You command, and it doesn't take anything else for Dave to nod and listen.

He gently places his cock in your mouth, slowly rocking his hips in, going shallowly in and out. You reach a hand between your own legs, feeling your wetness from the outside of your bikini, and placing with your pussy on top of it. You reach a hand up to his thigh and without warning to him, push, making his cock dive deep into your throat.

His muscles tense and he let's out a loud whimper, not moving because he knows he will burst in your mouth right now if he does. You enjoy the feeling of your throat being so full, feeling his cock twitching and aching to cum in there. You feel him slowly begin to move again, taking deeper and deeper thrusts with the help of your guiding hand. You feel a bit surprised by his sudden boldness when he reaches down, and grabs a handful of your tits. You're moaning along, happy he is getting the hang of this.

You take his cock with ease, that's what you were made for after all, but that doesn't stop how horny it makes you to have a throat full of such a big cock like his. You love the way it chokes you when he dips in as deep as he can go, your spit slipping down the sides of your mouth. The feeling of being used in such a way as your pussy tingling, and you can't wait to have Dave's fat cock fill you up there too.

"Fuck...I'm so close to cumming..." You hear him whisper, and you're not worried at all that he will cum so quickly. You're a demon, after all, you have your ways of getting a cock hard again, and you don't plan on letting Dave go on only a fifteen minute throat fuck.

Dave can hardly believe how good this feels. Or the fact that he, someone who no other girl would even look at because he's such a shy nerd, gets to fuck someone like you. He feels so powerful right now too, being able to fuck you in throat, and no matter how much he tests how hard he can go, you take it with ease. His hands play with your breasts, and he slips a hand under the fabric of your bikini. He's surprised to find your nipples are pierced, but the idea turns him on even more. He softly twists them, earning him a moan from you every time, which only goes directly to his cock. He isn't sure how much longer he can hold it. He wants to explore so much more of your body, but he needs to cum so badly it hurts.

You feel Dave's cock swell in your throat, and you're sure he can see the lump he's leaving from the outside. He shudders as he tries to drag this out, attempting to save himself for more of your body, but he knows he can't stop himself. Dave cuts off one of your pretty little moans by jolting his cock hard and fast deep into your throat, spilling over and filling you up. You can barely breathe, and the hot liquid tries to choke you, but you're no amateur. You happily swallow all of Dave's seed as it twitches out inside of you.

Dave carefully pulls his cock from your throat, and your smile up at him, cum slipping down the side of your mouth. You use a hand to quickly get it in your mouth, his sexual essence most powerful there. Dave watches as your eyes glow a bit more strongly after swallowing so much cum.

"You really did suck the life out of me, huh..." Dave says wearily, feeling the effects of your succubus powers.

You sit up and smile, nodding to his question. You feel the energy making you more awake, but you're still hungry for him.

Dave sits on the bed next to you and you lean into him. You let your hands pull off his shirt, and explore his body, your kisses to his neck, biting and sucking softly.

"I'm not sure I can..." Dave begins, but when your hand reaches down to touch his cock, he's surprised at how easy he gets hard again. You giggle into his neck, his curls tickling your face.

"How did you..." He asks, his voice full of wanton.

"A perk of spending the night with a succubi," you whisper into his ear. "Is that were finished, when I say were finished..."

Dave feels your voice against his ear, and he shudders, a chill from how good it feels to be touched by your taking over his body.

"Tell me Dave, what else would you like tonight?" You whisper as you stroke his cock back to life.

"I um..." Dave's cheeks heat up as he thinks about one of his biggest fantasies, the feeling of you stroking him not helping to keep his mind straight. "I actually...would love if you would let me eat you out..."

Dave whimpers out his request, and you're surprised the second time tonight. Most men that summon you can only think of themselves, but you're turned on by the fact that Dave seems to love giving just as much as he likes receiving.

You pull him back with you, laying onto your back, and letting Dave get in between your legs. You keep his head by yours so you can kiss those big, luscious lips of his, and he happily receives them. You guide him down your neck, to your breasts where you let his mouth explore for a while. You arch your back into him, your tits so sensitive to his touch. Dave sucks on them, pulling them together even and getting both nipples in his mouth. He remembers seeing that in a porn flick once, and he gets ever harder as he realizes how good it feels to do so. What feels the best right now, is hearing your moans as he pleases you. Dave's always loved the idea of giving, of making you feel so good, and the fact that it's him who's able to please a woman turns him on the most. He wonders what other moves he can try on you.

Finally he slips his head between your juicy thighs, taking both and squeezing them, pushing your legs against his face. You see what he wants and laugh a little, putting more pressure to smush his head between your thighs. He seems to love the feeling, and when you release him, he looks up at you with such love and lust in his eyes. You pull your tiny bikini, now soaked with your wetness, to the side, and let Dave get a good look at your cute little pussy.

"God, you look so gorgeous..." He whispers, not realizing he's thinking his thoughts out loud. He's already so intoxicated by you, and he wonders how much of it is natural and how much of it is your demonic influence. Then he looks into your cute eyes and he doesn't care.

He leans in, inhaling your scent before lapping up your pussy with a flat tongue. He already loves how you taste, and while he's surprised by the taste as it is his first time, he also finds it so strangely enjoyable. He picks up the pace, your breathing changing with it, and you give him praise while he gives you head.

"You're such a good boy for me, Dave..." And suddenly, Dave feels as if he's doing what he's supposed to. He loves being praised for doing such a good job, and he had no idea that your soft whimpers and approval were so poignant. He takes your thighs and pulls you into himself, his mouth working harder to make you feel good.

He tries to remember techniques he had, of course, searched for. He didn't know when he might need to know how to eat pussy, so he tried searching various reddits and wikihows to make sure he would do a good job. He swirls his tongue around your clit, and teases it the way you teased his cock. You enjoy the feeling, loving how he explores what feels good for you, and how he listens to your commands and moans to do just that.

Dave laps up all of your pussy, exploring more than just your clit, and looking up at you with his big blues pussy drunk. He remembers one tip, and tries it, putting his whole mouth over your clit and sucking. You moan out, arching your back into him and gripping his curls. He can't believe how good it feels to have his hair gripped like that, and soon enough your bobbing his head in the perfect motion, using his mouth up to your liking.

Dave's glasses begin fogging over and getting in the way, so between breaths he plucks them off and tosses them away, uncaring what happens to them. He's too busy with the euphoria you're giving him. He feels his cock against the bed, so hard. He is practically humping the bed to get some friction down there while his head keeps in time with the motions you guide. You feel yourself getting closer and closer.

"Put your fingers inside me, Dave..." You command with a husky voice, and Dave doesn't hesitate.

He wets his fingers by licking the first two, and slowly plays with your hole, easing himself inside of you. He can't believe how warm it is, and he slowly curls them like he read about. You moan out, his fingers are so long and thick.

"More..." You breathe. "Harder..."

Dave complies, giving you anything you ask for, completely taken by your spell, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You feel him finally hit that perfect spot inside you, and you practically scream out.

"Yes! Right there, right there!" You whine, your legs shaking and your hands a mess in his curls. Dave doesn't let up, and instead brings you over the edge, letting you buck into his face and hand.

He watches as you come for him, whining out his name, and he feels as if he may just cum himself against the bed. He only pulls up and stops when you tell him to, looking up at you, breathless and lips wet. He looks dazed and satisfied with himself, and you look at him with a similar expression. Your eyes glow and take in the experience, and soon enough you're already aching for his cock again.

Dave can hardly stand it himself, all of his thoughts are on how badly he needs to finish fucking you. He doesn't wait to see what you do next, he feels way too primal to do so. Instead, in his sex drunken state, he moves up, bringing his cock to meet your pussy. He taps it in your wetness, before playing with your folds, making you bite your lip with want.

"Fuck me, Dave..." You whisper, wrapping your legs around his waist and pull him in.

Dave doesn't need to be told twice. He slips his cock down, your pussy wet and like satin, smoothly and slowly pressing himself inside of you. You can take his cock, but that doesn't mean you can't feel his girth stretching you and his length filling you to the brim. Dave settles his cock into the warmth of your pussy and for a second he wonders if this is what heaven feels like.

He thinks to take it slow, but when he looks up at your eyes, he knows. He slips back out slowly, almost pulling all the way out, before pounding back in with force, testing out how hard he's allowed to fuck you. Turns out, you like it pretty damn hard. Soon enough, he's fucking your tight little cunt so hard your tits are bouncing uncontrollably, and your moans are reverberating off the walls. Dave's very happy he's the only one home right now, but he's sure at this point even the neighbors know.

Dave get's caught up in the moment, and grips your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He pull you up so his cock angles so he can go deep, savoring the way your pussy holds him so firmly. He doesn't know what overcomes him, but he pulls out for a minute, and with strength he didn't know he had, he flips you over. He grabs a handful of your juicy ass, before giving it a slap, and diving right back in.

Your tail flicking with delight as he fucks you from behind, and soon enough he's grabbing a hold of that too, holding it at the thicker base and using it to keep you right where he wants you. Dave fucks you like the dirty cumslut you are, and you love every minute of it. You're panting and looking back at him with eyes that soak up every stroke, enjoying how delicious his sexual energy tastes. You wonder how a succubi could get so lucky as to find suck pure virgin nerdy dick like this. You don't think you can go back to being pleasured by just anyone.

Dave feels you tightening around him, your hand slipping underneath you to find your needy clit, rubbing frantically now to get off.

"You like when I pound you with this cock?" Dave has no idea what has possessed him to say such a thing, usually he's so shy, but right now, he can't help but to dominate you.

"Yes!" You respond, happy to switch roles however your dorky lover wants. "Please fill my pussy up, I need it..."

Dave gets closer and closer as you beg to be his cumdumpster, and you feel yourself beginning to cum again yourself. You feel your muscles stiffen, and your moans get away from you as you cum. Dave can't take it anymore, not with your cunt spasming and tightening all over his cock. He fills you up with his own groan, pounding his cum deeper and deeper with every stroke.

You feel yourself being so full, of Dave's cum, cock, and essence. You look back at him, completely taken away by how good of a fuck he is. When Dave is finished filling you up, he pulls out, carefully. His breaths hard and his body sweaty. He can't help himself, he falls next to you and pulls you close, spooning him from behind.

After the two of you finally settle down, enjoying the silence and the way each others body feels, Dave speaks.

"Not at all what I was expecting for my first time..." His voice is sleepy and deep, sending butterflies into your stomach.

"And what if we did it again sometime...?" You say tentatively, biting your lip.

"Really?" Dave doesn't know what to say, he had no idea that it was possible to see you again.

"You might just become my main meal, if you want to be." You tease and Dave snuggles into your neck.

"Hmm...I think I would like that..." He can hardly keep his eyes open, all the energy having been drained from him.

He gently holds you close, one hand softly thumbing your horns and petting your hair. You usually don't stay this long, but for some reason, you're really enjoying this. You allow your body's exhaustion to take over, relaxing into his arms. Soon enough Dave slips into the best slumber he's ever had, and you follow him.

𖤐Taglist𖤐

@lazyneonrabbitt @nikistan @remuslupinsno1slut @haha-im-dumb @shakedogshake @beep-boop-baby @aesniri @pinkyyy666 @lpeanut-butterl @shrekscrustybudassy @lookatmelookatme @dreary-salem @almostjollypizza @boo8008 @arabellacrybaby @imaslutforcuddles @yasugardaddieshouse @real-sharena-h @stilloverthinking @tvgirlsbluehair @magicalgoopdeanhuman @jazmin25 @sknnylgndsstuff @lenasdmns @iluvkr @d3psta @sinjinpools @whotfistaylor @mut4nts @loser-lover0527 @vselva-blog @adrienette715 @jayjay57 @gildedgwen @izzyisstuff @casuallycruel-tswiftie13 @winter-bearv

Feel free to ask to be taken off Dave's taglist!

[harmonictechnicality]

*my humble offering to @steddie-week (and the s4 anniversary!) | ao3 link here*

Like most bad ideas, it starts with a question. Eddie is sitting on the ground, messing with the laces on his sneakers. Tying, untying. Mindless shit.

Steve is taking up the whole damn park bench, practically laying on it. Hasn’t said a word in the last ten minutes. 

And Eddie sort of hates the silence. Would like Silence to get decapitated with a chainsaw or something equally gruesome. Needs that particular volume to die the loudest death possible. For the sake of irony, of course.

So Eddie kills it - the silence, that is. The lull taking up all this air between him and Steve Harrington.

He kills it with a question:

“What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

Steve’s head snaps in Eddie’s direction. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Fuck, I don’t know, man.” Steve sort of twitches, right between his eyebrows. Shoulders going lopsided, unnaturally angled. Uncomfortable.

Eddie shouldn’t be feeding off this tension so much. Judging by Steve’s body language though, the answer must be a good one. 

He leans forward, almost singing the words. “You sure about that?”

Pushing is fun, darkly playful. Eddie enjoys getting under people’s skin, crawling around till they shrivel up. Is it wrong? Morally unethical? Well… the verdict is still out on that.

Besides, he’s been around Harrington enough lately to know that it doesn’t take much to make him surrender. 

“Fine.” Steve huffs. He lifts himself to a sitting position, knees bobbing up and down. It takes all of Eddie’s leftover energy to not gloat about how easy that was - how quickly Steve caved. Teasing can (will) come later - right now, he wants answers. 

Secrets.

“So, Robin and I went to this party in the city… got pretty shitfaced.”

Eddie throws his head back. “Lame.” 

“Story’s not over.”

Oh? Interesting. Eddie places his hand over his heart, then waves it back at Steve. “My sincere apologies. Continue.”

Steve rolls his eyes, clears his throat (not that he needed to but whatever). “Anyways, she somehow convinced me to go to this tattoo parlor with her. Said her friend worked there and she wanted to visit them, so-”

“Wait wait wait. Don’t tell me this story ends with you getting a butterfly tattoo on your lower back.”

“Will you stop interrupting?”

There’s this serious expression in Steve’s eyes. A combination of dark colors and pure annoyance. Eddie is sane enough to know that annoyance isn’t something he should find endearing, but he does. On Steve.

Just a little.

He shrugs, and Steve continues. “Well, it turns out her friend wasn’t working that night. But the piercing lady was working and was like… superpersuasive.”

“Look, Munson, I don’t remember many details after that. Like I said, totally shitfaced. I just know when Robin and I woke up the next morning, we were so fucking sore. And not like, hangover sore either. We were sore in the same exact place. Right here.”

Steve’s pointer finger is gesturing at his stomach. Right in the center.

No. Absolutely not. Either Steve had severe stomach pains that night, or he’s suggesting that…

No.

“Yeah. There you have it.”  Steve says. Blankly nodding into space. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done is get a matching belly button piercing with my best friend. Jesus christ, that’s freaky to say out loud.”

The Silence sneaks up on him. Stabs Eddie in the back when he isn’t looking because he’s too busy trying to imagine Steve Harrington with a piercing of any kind. Let alone the most famously slutty kind.

Wrong, so very wrong. He should never let the words slutty and piercing clutter up his imagination while thinking about Steve. The silence has been too long now. Gotta say something, anything.

“Bullshit.” His tone is harsh. Doesn’t mean for it to be. “There’s no fucking way.”

Steve pouts, crinkles his forehead. “I swear on my car - I’m not making this up.”

And see, here’s where the bad idea comes in. This stormcloud of pouting and piercings and chest hair, it’s all becoming dangerous. That urge to provoke is in Eddie’s bloodstream. He has to tip the scale, twist the knife of chaos as far as he can. Self control is out the fucking window.

“Prove it then.”

“Fuck off, Munson.” Steve laughs, maybe scoffs. Either reaction is a little confusing. “Seriously, this isn’t truth or dare.”

The truth is already out though. It’s the dare that Eddie is hungry for. “You can’t just drop a nuclear statement like that and expect me not to ask to see it.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask.”

Eddie clamors over to Steve, all theatrics and fake agony. “Please, Lord Harrington.” He clasps both hands together, rests his cheek on Steve’s knee. Batting his eyelashes till Steve cracks a smile. “Let me see the metal that has punctured thy skin. I beg of thee.”

Steve shoves him off. “You’re such a dork.” It’s lighthearted, barely qualifies as shoving. He���s become way too decent for actual aggression these days. 

A fact Eddie tirelessly clings to when Steve stands up. Lifts the bottom of his shirt and puts it in his fucking mouth.

“Holy shit.” Eddie mutters. No time to consider how pathetic it comes across.

In theory, this should all be stupidly unattractive. The way Steve holds his shirt between his teeth. The way he mumbles incoherent shit between the fabric in his mouth. The way he keeps pointing at it, poking it.

That shiny, teardrop-shaped metal. Just… hanging from Steve’s belly button, swinging slightly with every small movement. Eddie’s eyes start to swing with it, back and forth. Back and forth. Maybe those roadside hypnotists are onto something, because the dumbest piece of jewelry has Eddie captivated.

He could just be captivated by the guy attached to the dumbest piece of jewelry. Piercing.

Jesus Christ. Eddie really didn’t think his life could get any weirder. But here he is. Staring at Steve Harrington’s belly button piercing. Fucking mouth-breathing at the sight of it. Probably seconds away from salivating. 

He really should consider seeing a licensed psychologist. Fix his terminally horned-up brain once and for all.

“It’s…” Eddie swallows, his eyelids feel heavier than his stare. “Not what I expected.”

The fabric drops from Steve’s mouth. Unevenly falls around his waist... hips. “What were you expecting?”

To laugh. To mock. Threaten blackmail for six lifetimes, maybe more.

Instead, Eddie gazing at it the way people gaze through telescopes. He peers lower, tries to see if it’s silver or gold. Hard to tell at sunset. None of Eddie’s typical instincts are sinking in. All he wants is to feel the metal rolling over his tongue or get it trapped between his teeth. See how it tastes mixed up with Steve’s skin.

“Fuck.” Yikes. Eddie didn’t mean to say that out loud. Straightens up from his questionable position, does it so fast that his spine sounds like bubble wrap. “Sorry, sorry.”

What the hell is he apologizing for? Cussing? Having a skeletal structure? Christ almighty, he’s a mess.

Steve’s lips spread into a grin, doesn’t look like his own. Looks more like the kind Eddie might give after pulling off a successful decoy in one of his campaigns. “What’s wrong with your face, man?”

“My face?”

“It’s all…” Steve trails off. Sighs and sits back down on the bench. “Nevermind.”

Eddie reaches up to his cheek, understands exactly what Steve is referring to. He feels feverish to the touch, must be a shade of red that is so deep, it’s noticeable in the darkening sky. 

“Sorry… sorry.” Steve hangs his head. Seems troubled even though Eddie is nailing that particular routine all on his own.

“Think that’s my line.” Eddie jokes. 

“Right.”

Silence is lurking around them yet again. Eddie hates it, but he’s running out of steam here. The embarrassment is on display, his cheeks and neck covered in splotchy red patches. His voice is higher, somehow, as if his vocal chords are shrinking. He’s undergoing a crisis and crush simultaneously and it is not an attractive look for him.

“Just go ahead and get it over with.” Steve says. Interrupts whatever cynicism that’s currently brewing in Eddie's head. 

“Get what over with?”

“The teasing.”

“Oh that’s not… it’s um… you don’t…” Eddie can’t pick an appropriate response. They’re way beyond politeness and niceties. And any bullshit he tries to pull isn't gonna be convincing. So it’s best to stay honest. Embarrassing, but honest. “I think it looks pretty good.”

“You do?” Steve looks softer. 

“Yeah. I mean… Bowie probably has one, and he’s a fucking superstar so. Uh. Yeah.”

“Bowie, huh?”

“I like Bowie.” I like Bowie? What a beefhead answer. Eddie joins Steve on the bench, hopes it distracts from that very un-cool line. 

“I like Bowie too.” Steve messes with his hair a bit. Elbows Eddie in the side and chuckles. “You should get one.”

“A piercing?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t hold your breath, man. I’m not letting that nightmare creator you described anywhere near my lower abdomen. Not gonna happen.”

Steve reaches out, runs his knuckles down the bridge of Eddie’s nose. Stops at the crease of his nostril. “What about one right here?” His voice is even, calm. Too calm for what he’s asking.

His hand is warm, slightly calloused. The only two thoughts Eddie can process without going fully catatonic. Steve’s hand is on his face and it’s warm.

Slightly calloused. 

“Uh. Dunno.” Eddie says. A hoarse whisper in reply. “Probably not.”

Steve scoots in closer, never taking his hand off Eddie’s face. Just moving it around. Exploring. He brushes along to Eddie’s ear this time. Holds the edge of it between his thumb and index finger, looking straight at it. 

“What about right here?” Steve’s eyes stay fixed on Eddie’s ear. Every touch seems natural, just questions that involve connection or something.

Internally, Eddie is dousing flames. Fanning them left and right. Running in circles, fucking clueless on how to properly calm down. Be civil. Be Dude Civil. His breathing is so rapid, he knows it. Can hear it between them, collecting space. Decides it would be best to mimic Steve. Fix his eyes only on him, borrow the stability as much as possible.

“Mmm… maybe.”  Eddie gets stuck on the ‘mmm’ sound. That’s how good it feels having someone touch him like this. Careful, yet heavy in curiosity. Rolling the tip of his earlobe between two fingers, just enough pressure to create heat. 

It warrants that sound.

Steve’s glance drifts before his fingers do. Eyes landing on Eddie’s lips, slight hesitancy before his hand follows. Eddie has to hold his breath now. Minimal oxygen is the only way he’ll survive this moment, which makes no fucking sense, but it does all the same.

“Here would look really good.” Steve slowly traces the curve of Eddie’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. The back and forth pattern is disarming. Makes Eddie’s lips part, mouth slightly open.

Just enough to speak. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

If Eddie passes out from lack of oxygen, he’ll regret it. He’ll regret not taking the risk, finishing what Steve has started. Because this surpasses friendly touching. 

This is charged in electric shockwaves.

Eddie dips in, kisses Steve before he can move his hand out of the way. Steve makes a sound, not even a surprised one. It’s sweeter, laced in relief. Eddie pushes in, wants more, whatever he can get. Has his fingers wrapped around Steve’s wrist, the same hand that’s dragging down his face, his neck. Stopping at his chest. 

Every rumor is true, that kissing Steve Harrington is like the gates of heaven opening up. That his tongue could work miracles on amateur lips with a few licks and curls. But no one ever told him about the noises he makes - and those are the best fucking part. Heaving breaths, pleased whines, each one captured with Eddie’s mouth before they get any louder.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe those are just for Eddie. Reserved for kissing him.

Goddamn, he’s delusional. Completely delirious from kissing a dude with a belly button piercing.

There’s a light getting brighter, almost approaching them. Eddie opens his eyes, quickly backs off while Steve does the same. Has to literally detachhimself from wherever his hand was busy wandering all over Steve’s body. 

Headlights pull into the nearby parking lot. Eddie squints to get a better look at the car. It’s Robin and Vickie, showing up fashionably late as always. Sure, he’s grateful that it’s just them, the queerest people in his circle of weirdos. And while they’re reasonable people with shit like this, even they’dbe shocked to know that Eddie and Steve just sucked face for a solid three minutes. Probably best to not mention the gory details, not tonight. Eddie hopes Steve is thinking the same thing.

Both of them stand up, rearrange themselves to look presentable. Less tousled and kiss-bitten. Steve spends a few extra seconds with his hair before turning to Eddie, eyebrows high. Likely a non-verbal ask if his hair is looking as godly as ever.

Of course it does. Looks even better knowing Eddie’s nails were just digging into it.

Steve is a few steps ahead of Eddie, heading for the girls, when Eddie does it again. Kills the silence with a question. 

“Can we… do this again?” It’s edging on desperate, he’s so fucking aware of that. Self control really proving to be a major downfall with him tonight. Should definitely consider taking classes, train his willpower or some shit.

Steve stops walking. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even look at Eddie as he speaks. “My place.”

Oh. That’s… wow. Unexpected. Eddie jogs up to Steve, beside him. Way too eager now, sort of buzzing for more information. Hints of excitement or maybe a smile. Anything, really. He’s at that level of weak for this guy.

Steve just keeps walking, but leans in, right next to Eddie’s ear. The same one he messed with earlier. His voice is quiet, but Eddie hears every damn syllable:

“I’ll leave the window unlatched for you.”

For him. 

Maybe Eddie isn’t completely delusional after all.

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

x. what a shame she's fucked in the head.

— the one where they tell you what your word is worth.

❝𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦❞ —𝘛𝘢𝘺𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘚𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵, 𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵.

warnings: abuse downplay, bashing towards taylor swift (i obviously adore her pls don't come for me haha), online bullying, new york inaccuracies, corny taylor references per usual, etc. 2k words + articles

in my head there's a mix of begin again and cornelia street playing as background music.

masterlist ✢ next

NO one likes a mad woman, but not for the reasons Taylor Swift made you believe in the lyrics of her 2020 song. Although we are definitely afraid y/n might get 'more crazy'.

Honestly, who gave her the right to speak like that about Aidan Kim? As it turns out, the three-year relationships she willingly stayed on was a 'dead-end' one, and Aidan "abused" (and I cannot stress the quotations enough) her through several stages of their shared time.

Well, I call bullshit.

How is it that after Aidan Kim helped her build whatever she has going on that people call a 'career' she wasn't bothered about being told 'how to look and how to act' (direct quote from her own video, by the way).

Breaking up with your sneaky link and calling him your friend won't save what you did before, y/n, it's the oldes trick in the book. Everything she said in her Youtube video, one I regretfully watched despite the knowledge that I won't get those 45 minutes of my life back, is rehearsed and calculated and just tried to paint the real victims in a bad light.

Playing the victim worked for Taylor Swift in 2009, 2017, 2019... but we surely won't let it happen again, right folks? y/n needs a new tactic to crawl back from the hell, because we're not believing anything that comes out of her mouth anymore.

It's true what they say, an untalented actress makes an untalented liar.

By Lia Yim

Victoria Presley is worried about best friend's y/n y/ln's well-being after the actress 'completely ghosted her' since moving back to New York.

"One day we were fine and the next, she had packed her bags and left my house," Presley said in an exclusive interview with iNTouch. "I'm not going to lie, I was deeply hurt by her actions. I offered her my home as a safe haven and she left without explanation."

y/n had been living in Victorias Los Angeles home since mid-February until this month when she returned to her infamous SoHo apartment, one she shared with Aidan Kim until their breakup.

"I can find it in my heart to forgive her, of course," 'Vic', as she's known on social media, added. "Right now, I just want my best friend back. I want the y/n I've known for years and not this person she became since Matilde Bassi and Charles Leclerc inserted themselves in her life."

Victoria Presley, the founder and CEO of Presley Beauty, is the daughter of Luke Presley and Claire Walker and has been in the influencing business for a few years now.

"If y/n ends up reading this, I want her to know that I will support her decisions but not in the way her new 'friends' are doing. I just want what's best for her."

SEE ALSO:

→ Vic Presley on having to start from zero: "I'm not a nepobaby!"

→ A look inside y/n's SoHo apartment, the one Aidan Kim paid for.

→ Is Charles Leclerc's career going downhill thanks to y/n?

By Beatrice Mann

With y/n y/ln's latest controversy, the whole world has turned their backs on the actress. But, is it really that bad? Or is it just because she's a woman in the business?

The online community's hottest topic is y/n's Youtube video where she speaks on her relationship with Aidan Kim, her friendship with Charles Leclerc and, most importantly, how all of this has affected her career. And I want to tell you all, y/n is right.

If the roles were reversed, Aidan Kim would be thriving on a newly unlocked 'Heartbreaker' persona and y/n would still be constantly humiliated for not being 'wife material'.

I believe y/n deserves much better than what she's getting. The woman admitted she escaped a relationship where her partner LAUGHED at her and manipulated her actions for his comfort. And people are still siding with the man? Seriously, people, use your brains and dig up your morals!

The only thing we're communicating to younger generations by constantly doubting women's words and putting them in the spotlight for standing up for themselves, is that only men's words are worth something.

June 14th, Manhattan, New York.

It isn't much of a surprise when Charles calls you while you're trying to get your Moka pot to work that morning. It's your third attempt at it and the previous mornings you've left it alone with tears in your eyes to walk down the street and get Starbucks coffee. You might be a little too attached to that coffee maker.

Charles got to New York city the previous night, and reminded you that you promised to show him around more than once. You intended to keep your promise, thinking you would have more time before the day came.

But as you walk to the restaurant where you decided to meet him, you can't help but think how exciting it is that you get to show the city you love so much to Charles. And just like that morning in Monaco, you can't help but remind yourself that this is a friendly get-together.

Charles has slowly, but surely, become one of your closest friends in the middle of the frenzy that your life is. With your ex-best friend saying you walked out on her and your failed fiancé insisting that it was you, who acted like a 'total psychopath' towards the end of your relationship, you have more fingers than people you can count on.

You watch him carefully as he smooths the napkin on his legs twice and then drops in on the table again, fidgeting with the loose threads in the corner.

Your wristwatch says it's 10:00 am, which is the exact time you agreed to meet. You wonder how long he's been waiting if there's an empty cup of coffee in front of him.

"You know, it's also rude to be too early for a meeting," you say as a form of greeting once you approach the table.

This startles him enough to drop the napkin on his lap again, proceeding to scramble to return it to the table before pushing his chair out to get up.

You chuckle, but before you can say you were joking, Charles is engulfing you in a hug. Your stomach flutters because of the way he holds the back of your head with his palm. It feels like you're being reunited after months instead of just two weeks. Time doesn't feel real sometimes, you would know.

"Soleil!" he says excitedly, putting his hands on your shoulders. "It's so good to see you,"

"It's nice to see you too, Charlie."

There's the nickname again. You've tried not to think too hard about it. Is it a European thing to call your friends that? When you asked him about it the last time he called before taking his flight to New York, his response was a simple 'it suits you'.

Charles pulls your chair for you and grabs your purse to place it on the empty chair between you two. He grabs his napkin again, pulling one last time on a thread before smoothing it down and forgetting about it.

"How are you?" Charles asks, a bright smile on his face. It falters in a barely perceptible way because he doesn't want to give you bad thoughts, which seem to come automatically every time the question is asked.

"Well, I'm okay," you assure in a soothing tone, "Still looking for jobs. And you?"

"Alright. Lots of work in the simulator and I'm hoping this is a good weekend,"

"Are you sure you'll be okay getting to Montreal tomorrow?" you smile at the waitress that approaches your table, "Can I have some coffee, please?"

"Of course," Charles assures, with a gesture of his hand. He's getting to Montreal at seven in the morning and running straight to his motorhome. "There's time for everything."

"What do you want to do, then?"

You don't want to exhaust him by showing him around New York, he has a long weekend ahead. To be honest, you really wonder what compelled him to make this stop instead of going straight to Canada. Sure you had talked about him coming to New York, eventually. Not a day before he had to start his Grand Prix weekend.

"Anything you want us to do," he replies, the single-dimpled smile on his face. "I'm open to anything."

"MoMA? Central Park? Something not so touristy?" you suggest, before thanking the waitress as she places a hot cup of coffee on the table.

"Just show me the places you like, y/n, don't stress about it." Charles laughs, eyes returning to the open menu in front of him. "I only care about hanging out with you."

"Thanks," is all you manage to say as you sip the scalding coffee, you do your best not to wince as it burns your tongue and down your throat. "Let's do it then."

"So, what do you think? Everything you expected and more?"

You're taking a walk in Central Park after Charles agreed to see the Alice in Wonderland statue. It's a warm morning in New York and although you haven't been walking around for that long, Charles seems content enough with what he's seen.

"It's very... you," Charles replies, and you're sure he means it as a compliment, but New York can be really ugly too. "In a good way!" he adds when he sees your expression.

"Thank you, Charlie." you laugh again. It's easy being with Charles, laughing with sincerity and really being in what's happening in the moment.

You didn't lie when you said you weren't afraid of speaking up anymore, but the dread of actually doing it is inevitable. Your words are being twisted and marked as false because Aidan is far 'more loved' than you are. Not to mention Victoria's interview about your lack of reciprocity to her humble feelings

You're still thinking about suing her. But it hurts to know that she was your best friend a week ago.

A few people stop you both to ask for pictures and autographs on the back of phone cases. A few of them ignore you, others smile politely at Charles before asking him to take their picture with you.

"I'm really polishing my photographing skills," Charles jokes as you walk away from a group of young girls who gush about how much they wish they could dress like you.

"Sorry if it bothers you," you whisper, looking at him only from the corner of your eye.

"Of course not, y/n. They ask nicely, and you're okay with it." he shrugs.

There was one time when a teenager, around fourteen or fifteeen, asked Aidan if he could please take a picture of her and yourself. It was an innocent question, she had already acknowledged him as 'that guy from Star-5' and how he'd been in Supercut with you.

But just by the way you saw his expression change, you told the girl a selfie was a better option, you would hold the phone yourself if she was okay with it.

You didn't hear the end of it for the rest of night. Aidan berated your career for the first time of many, saying it was frankly offensive that he’d been treated that way. It didn't matter that you told him the girl was barely a teen and she hadn't been rude. Still, he was more famous than you, he didn't deserve to be made felt like the opposite.

"What are you thinking?" Charles asks, touching your shoulder gently to make you pause your walk.

You really don't want to admit you were thinking about your ex-boyfriend. Not that it matters, Charles knows you think about Aidan often in a mostly negative light, but it feels weird to say it here. So you shrug and sigh. "I wish I thought of nothing, to be honest."

Charles squeezes your shoulder in a half hug. He doesn't push your boundaries, although he wishes he knew what was actually going through your mind.

─────────

It's when you two are having dinner in a restaurant in SoHo that Charles asks the question that has been eating him away since he landed in New York the previous night.

"Do you want to come to Canada with me?"

"Am I not blacklisted from the paddock?" you tease, although Elix is gone. You wonder if Ferrari people blame you a little bit for their sponsor dropping them.

"Absolutely not," Charles frowns, "And you would be my guest, you get to be in the Ferrari Suite like always."

"Thank you, Charlie–"

Charles tries not to seem disappointed as he waits for the 'but' to follow, so he drinks from his wine.

"—but I have some back to back things to do this weekend," you do regret not being able to make it, you loved the few Grand Prix you were able to attend and you would love to see Carlos too. But you have booked a few interviews with people who, more than anything want to consume gossip, but have disguised it as 'letting you tell your truth in more depth'. You cannot back down from what you started.

"That's okay," he assures with a quick wink. "You know you can come to races whenever you want to, though, right?"

"I can?" you raise both eyebrows and Charles rolls his eyes. "The benefits of having a Ferrari driver as a friend. I should have befriended you sooner."

"Very funny," he says as he hides his smile behind his glass of wine again. "Do I get invited to the Red Carpets?"

"You kind of befriended me at the downfall of my career. It's going to take a while for you to be on a Red Carpet."

Charles clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "You're only just getting started, soleil. Don't say that."

You hope he's right, because you have castings lined-up for next week too and you don't want to call him, or Mati, or your mom, crying about how unwanted you feel.

You shrug, drinking from your own wine.

"I'm being serious, y/n," Charles' tone is stern for a moment, yet not aggressive. "You have a lot of wonderful things to do in the future."

"Yeah, thanks." you dislike yourself for ruining the mood yet again, but Charles isn't bothered as he smiles at you once again.

"I mean it,"

He does, and so does Mati, and your mom. You are bound for great things, although they're taking time to find you right now.

"I know. Thank you Charlie, you're very kind. I hope you have a good race this weekend."

Charles huffs. "Yes, me too. Wish me luck?"

"I feel like I jinx you more than help you, Charlie."

"You didn't wish me luck in Spain, look how that went," he fakes a shudder and you snort. You hated every minute spent in Spain after FP3.

"Good luck, you'll do great." You pat the hand that he keeps on top of the table a couple times and before you can take your hand back, he grabs it, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Your heart races and you take a deep, sharp breath, like that would help it go back to normal. You have tried not to overanalyze everything about today, from the way Charles looked to the words he said, to the way your body responded to it. You don't want to go down that specific spiral.

"Thanks for stopping by," you take your hand back and keep it busy with your almost empty glass of wine. The alcohol has turned your cheeks warm. "You really want to see New York, huh?"

"I really wanted to see you," Charles replies, nonchalantly.

And you know you'll be spiraling, despite your best efforts.

─── team principal radio: ❝thanks for reading! also thank you so so so much because last chapter got to 1k+ interactions and i was beyond shocked!! it means a lot that you're enjoying delicate!♡❞

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[littlechaoticwitch]

Things I want to happen in Dead Boy Detectives Season 2

-Edwin and Crystal bonding over their grief about Niko's “death”. Both blame themselves for what happened and still have nightmares of Niko's body, so they turn to each other for comfort and a beautiful new bond is built between them. They're still catty and bitchy to each other, but in a more loving and playful way

-Maybe an unpopular opinion but I really don't want Payneland to get together in this season, purely from a narrative perspective. I would much prefer for Charles to slowly put the pieces together and realize he has been in love since that night in 1989, but confused those feelings for a strong friendship due to the rampant homophobia of the AIDS crisis and his own father being an asshole. It would make any future intimate moments with Edwin feel more special and carry so much more weight, especially since he KNOWS that Edwin is in love with him back, he just has to figure out what these feelings mean. Plus, the idea of him being all bashful and excited of being loved by TWO amazing people is good therapy for all the bullshit he had to deal with when he was alive, let my boy have that.

-Please please please let Charles get some closure on his past. As in he gets to haunt his murderers for an episode or stand up to his father, but that’s me wanting him to get some well-deserved revenge

-PLEASE give Crystal her own closure too! Personally, I would love to see her stand up to her parents and eventually cut them out of her life, but that's just me loving the narrative of cutting toxic parents out of your life. Also let her find a way to kill David because being buried underneath that damn tree isn't good enough for me

-Honestly we would to see an exploration of Edwin's family and the fact he was alive when the first world war happened. There could be a lot of unpacked trauma there (whether it's from the religious views of the time, societal expectations/pressures, or from his own parents) and how it shaped Edwin into the person we know now

-NIKO NEEDS TO RETURN (idk if she's a ghost or a demon or whatever now but she needs to come back and still be her bubbly self, I love her too much). My theory is that the Principal is her ancestor and her coming back could somehow link back to her father's death

-FLASHBACKS TO OLD CASES

-GALA EPISODE! No, listen, this only serves the purpose of getting to see them dressed up and the episode itself being pure shipping fuel

-More low-stake episodes, at least in the beginning

-More monsters-involved cases, such as vampires or dragons or werewolves. As someone with an unhealthy obsession with monsters, this would be a delight

-St Hilarion's being fucking burned to the ground (Crystal needs to do it, I will accept no other way)

-Esther Finch was such a fun antagonist for the first season, but I would want the next antagonist (regardless if they’re introduced in the second season or later on) to be a little more threatening. Still campy as fuck but maybe someone who has more of an active role in being an asshole. A demon would be a huge leap from a small-town witch who sacrificed young girls to stay youthful, so maybe a formerly-possessed psychic (which would parallel Crystal’s storyline) could work.

-And finally, the agency adopts a not-so-normal dog. While a ghost dog would make sense, it would be funnier if it was a hellhound or some kind of mythical creature they just picked up on a case. Niko wanted it so they could be more like Mystery Inc.

[ltleflrt]

This whole backlash against printing fics irks the fuck out of me, and I got some shit to say about it. Mostly "Fuck You" but here's some nuance:

On the surface, I understand where the naysayers are coming from. It's a legitimate fear that making a profit from fanworks will bring down the C&D Hammer on fandom. I get that. Do not put on the One Ring, or you'll risk the Eye of Sauron.

But here's the thing. Fuck capitalism. Fuck digital only. We're living in the digital dark ages, and 100 years from now huge swathes of our history, fact and fiction, will be lost to our descendants because there will be no physical copies of our lives for them to find in old libraries and boxes in the attic, etc.

Creators deserve physical copies of their creations, and so do the other people in the world who love them.

I don't want to profit from letting people print my fics. That's why I use Lulu, since they have an option to set zero profit and make the links hidden so only fans in the know can get a copy. Other printing sites I've looked at in the past don't have those options. In fact, the first time I ever even thought about printing one of my stories was when I won NaNo for the first time and one of the prizes was a coupon for 3 free printings of your story. HELL YEAH, that's a copy for me, a copy for my beta, and a copy for the artist who made the cover for me. Perfect! But I ended up not using that coupon, because the site required I set a profit margin, and did not have an option to make it private. Ummm, no thanks. Not worth the risk. And even though the profit margin could be set as low as ten cents, I did not want to make ANY money from my fic, because I know that would be breaking Fair Use rules. I found Lulu instead, and decided to let other people get copies too, because I'm nice. And if I don't, it's not like I can stop them from doing it themselves, no matter how much I'd rather they not do that.

But that's not good enough for the Reporting Trolls. Their argument is that it's not possible for it to be completely profit free, since Lulu makes a profit on the printing costs and the shipping carriers make a profit off the shipping costs. Someone is making a profit, and that's unacceptable, even if that someone is not Me, The Person Who Made The Printing and Shipping Worth Paying For.

I would like anyone who thinks that to delete your accounts where you read fanfiction. AO3, Wattpad, FFNet, LJ, Dreamwidth, hell even Tumblr for the short ficlet stuff that only gets posted here. Because even if the website it self isn't profiting, (AO3 for example), the companies that sold them their server hardware made a profit. Since utilities are privatized, the electric company that runs those servers are making a profit. IF YOU PRINT IT ON YOUR PRINTER AND PUT IT IN A 3 RING BINDER, the paper, printer, and ink manufacturers made a profit from your dinky little print out. The companies that build all the parts for your computer or your smartphone made a profit on your portal to the internet, who profits from your monthly subscription, just like your electric company profits from the power it takes to run your pc or charge your phone battery. IT'S A SLIPPERY FUCKING SLOPE, AND YOU NEED TO LEARN WHEN TO BACK AWAY FROM THE LEDGE.

We live in a Capitalist Hellscape, and if a company could figure out how to charge you to breathe and for every single beat of your heart, they'd fucking do it. So get off your goddamn high horses with this "wELL SoMEonE iS makINg PrOFit" bullshit. Or if you truly believe that, shut off every account you own, turn off your utilities, and go live in the woods and make up your own goddamn stories, which you can only share orally to the local wildlife. They give kudos by biting you and giving you rabies.

(not to mention; these assholes don't go after fanartists who are ABSOLUTELY making a profit off their work. but noooo, Flirty can't format a fic for print and allow other people to pay for the printing service and shipping, while never seeing a penny of that herself, despite all of the GODDAMN WORK I HAVE PUT INTO IT, WRITING IT IN THE FIRST PLACE INCLUDED FUCK YOU VERY MUCH. fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufucky--)

[queen-haq]

Fic: Grudgingly Yours - Part 10

Grudgingly Yours, Part 10

Summary: You are a general surgeon, working in a hospital that’s slowly sucking the life out of you when one day you’re given the offer of a lifetime.

A.K.A  - An arranged marriage fic :)

Pairing: Billy Russo x You

Rating: R

Masterlist (contains links to my other stories and this one)

Chapter 10

You were irritated beyond belief, but you reminded yourself to stay calm. Six weeks. It took six weeks for Alistair to agree to meet you. His avoidance and refusal to see you was intentional, your punishment for daring to speak up when he was bitching out Billy and then ignoring him. In hindsight, you should have kept your mouth shut and minded your own business. But that was the past, and there was nothing you could do to change it. Now you just had to eat crow and make amends so you could move on with your fucking life.

After another twenty minutes of waiting in Alistair’s home office, he walked in. His slow gait, supported by the ebony walking stick, may have made him look weak and fragile – but it was a ruse. This man was brutal and ruthless, and you couldn’t afford to forget that.

“Such a surprise to find you here.” His tone was cold as ice as he took a seat across from you. Obviously he wasn’t just going to get to the point, he wanted to put you through the wringer for talking back to him.

“I apologize for ignoring your calls after the party.”

His disapproval was evident, his tone dripping with scorn. “Yes. You did that, didn’t yo?”

Maybe he expected you to beg and plead for his forgiveness but that wasn’t your style. Besides, he’d be ecstatic at the reason you were here. “We both know this arrangement hasn’t worked out like we hoped.”

“Indeed.”

“So it’s best that we cut our losses and move on, don’t you think? I’ll happily sign the divorce papers as soon as you can get your lawyers to draw them up.”

Alistair simply stared at you, no emotions on his face. “I suppose you expect the same payment of $5 Million?”

You cocked your eyebrow. “I deserve more for putting up with your asshole grandson, but I’ll settle for $3 Million instead.” Frankly, you were willing to walk away with nothing but Alistair didn’t need to know that.

“It hasn’t even been a year of marriage and you expect more than half the amount?”

“I’m willing to negotiate.”

A cold smile fell on his lips, and it made the hair stand on the back of your neck. “There will be no negotiation. You will stay married to him, as agreed upon, for a period of three years. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You stared at him dumbfounded. Was he fucking with you? You thought he’d jump at the offer. The most pushback you expected was about the divorce settlement, but it never occurred to you he’d force you to stay married. No, absolutely fucking not. “You can find someone else to punish your grandson.”

“I’ve already spent considerable time sourcing you. That was enough.”

“I’m not the kind of woman who follows orders, Alistair. I’m trouble. I fight back. And you don’t want that, you want someone who obeys. So there’s no need to prolong this bullshit arrangement.”

Alister raised his eyebrow, drawing your attention to the uncanny family resemblance that existed in the Russo family. “You will do as I say when I say it. You will be at my beck and call and ready to do my bidding.” A cold sneer settled over his lips, like he was enjoying this.

Disgusted, you stood up. “I’m not your fucking servant.”

“Sit down, cunt!”

The stark hatred in his voice stunned you frozen. His face was red with anger, his dark eyes flashing with pure vitriol. “You think I’ll let some dirty whore belittle me and get away with it?” He shook his head ‘no’. “You’re nothing. Less than nothing. A fucking cotton-picker. The only reason you’re here is to knock some sense into my goddamn grandson. So you’ll do your fucking part and you’ll behave. And if you don’t, I’ll make sure you and your dirty pack of monkeys pay.”

His racist tirade shouldn’t have been a surprise. You dealt with microaggressions your entire life but to have it be so explicitly thrown in your face, that too by someone whose life you saved in the operating room – that was a bitter pill too swallow.

A deceptive calm settled over you. “You will regret this, Alistair.”

His demeaning smile was like salt on your wounds. “We’ll see.”

You watched after him as he made his way out of the room.

***

Calvin was on his phone, sitting up in bed next to you. Sheets were gathered around his waist, his chest bare. It was almost a year since you saw him last and in that time he’d gotten more buff. That was definitely a pleasant surprise. Smiling, you snuggled up to him and he squeezed your arm in return.

It was so easy with him. It always was. The relationship, the sex, the friendship. Even the fickin’ breakup in college had been smooth. That’s because Calvin didn’t play games. He wasn’t romantic or thoughtful – or faithful - but you knew exactly where you stood with him and that’s what mattered the most. Besides, you weren’t looking to be in a committed relationship. The no strings thing worked for you and satisfied all of your expectations, and you were happy with it.

"Still can’t believe you’re married.”

Calvin’s words brought you out of your reverie. “It’s a marriage of convenience. Nothing more.”

“Who does that shit these days?”

You scoffed. “Like you would’ve said no.”

“Maybe not but I’d be worried. What if I ended up with a psycho? Or some ugly hag?”

“Oh no, not that,” you deadpanned.

He gathered you in his arms. “That’s a guy’s worst nightmare. Stuck with an ugly wife.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey, it’s not like I called you ugly.”

“Yeah, I’m so lucky.”

He laughed, hugging you tightly. “No, it’s Billy Russo who’s lucky. He could’ve gotten stuck with pure ghetto trash. Instead he got a queen like you.”

You grimaced, hearing Billy's name but Calvin didn't seem to notice. Instead he angled forward to kiss you as your mind dwelled on his words. As flattering as they were, the Russos didn’t share the sentiment. To them you were nothing, less than that. And there was no way you'd stay connected to them.

Despite Alistair's threats, you were going to find a way out.

***

“What do you think?” Calvin asked.

The two of you were out for dinner at a new restaurant Calvin was excited to try. He was supposed to leave yesterday but had extended his trip, which you were originally happy about. Unfortunately Calvin’s finance bro side was out in full-force and he was trying to sell you on some stocks.

You studied the financial records in front of you, trying to focus. While you could easily get through pages and pages of anatomy and physiology textbooks, finance was never your thing. But even you understood that the return in your investments Calvin was promising seemed too good to be true. “I’m not sure. I need time to think.” Which meant Ritu, one of your closest friends and a genius at this stuff, would be vetting the records for you.

“What? You don’t trust me?” The same dazzling smile that hooked your attention from the moment you met graced his face. “Think I’m hustling you?” He winked.

You shut the folder, biting down on your bottom lip. “Not making any deals when I’m hungry.”

He laughed, dragging the menu closer to him. “What do you want to eat?” You were still deciding when he spoke next. “How about lobster? Been craving it.”

You shook your head, not at all surprised. “Sure. Been dying for an anaphylactic shock.”

“Shit. I forgot you’re allergic.”

“You always do.”

“But I mean, I can have it. Right? It’s not like you’re going to start wheezing if it’s on the table.”

You sighed, shaking your head. They had this conversation every few years, because Calvin couldn’t bother to remember the details. Which was another reason why he was a friend and nothing more. “You can have it. I just won’t kiss you for the next few hours.”

“Oh, it’s like that?”

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he leaned down to give you soft, staccato kisses on your lips. “Totally,” you murmured, kissing him back.

“Technically we don’t need to kiss to fuck,” he murmured.

You pushed him away, giggling. “Or maybe you can go fuck yourself.”

He laughed, nodding at the waiter to get his attention. After the two of you put in your orders, his phone rang. “I have to take this.” Calvin slid out of the cozy booth and headed outside, leaving you alone.

Out of boredom, you started flipping through the statements again. Like that wasn’t bad enough, you took a sip of his bourbon to see if you’d acquired a taste for it. Immediately you put it down. Nope, absolutely not. You hated the stuff. Swallowing the liquid, you were about to reach for a glass of water when a familiar face slid into your booth. Immediately you froze.

Billy.

Eyes bloodshot, face weary, fatigue marked his features like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His beard was a bit fuller, not as neatly trimmed, and hair a bit longer. The scruffed-up look should have been a deterrent to his good looks but it proved to be the opposite. Even in his green bomber jacket and casual get-up, he looked like a GQ model.

Your heart pounded in your chest, you wanted to bolt. But you didn’t. Because running would mean he affected you and he absolutely didn’t. Not anymore. You learned your lesson from your last encounter with him.

“Disappointed to see me alive?”

Your voice was calm and steady, just like your heart would soon be. “Couldn’t care less actually.”

His molten eyes narrowed onto your face. “I went through hell to come home but you weren’t there. The place was empty.”

You swirled the liquid around in the glass before taking a sip again. This time you were numb to the bitter taste.

“Anita said you moved out weeks ago.”

Your gaze lifted to meet his. “What do you want, Billy?”

“We need to talk.”

“About?”

His eyebrow quirked up in surprise. Maybe he was expecting tears or some kind of angry showdown, but you were prepared to give him nothing.

“You’re pissed at me,” he said after a few seconds of silence.

“No. Why would I be?”

He paused, peering at you closely. “How I left Curtis’s wedding, I want to explain-”

“There’s no need.” Head tilted to the side, you casually ran fingers through your hair. “It doesn’t matter and I don’t really care.”

“Bullshit.” His dark eyes bore into yours, trying to forge some kind of connection. “You care. That’s why you’re here.” His head nudged in the direction of the door. “With that fuckhead.”

Rage rushed through you like wildfire but you refused to give into the chaos. He didn’t deserve any kind of emotional outbursts from you. He deserved nothing. Leveling him with a fixed gaze, which took all of your resolve, you responded in a steady tone. “Don’t insult my friends.”

“Yeah but he’s not just a friend, is he? He’s more than that. You’re fucking him!” He gritted through clenched teeth.

You leaned back in your seat. “And how is that any of your business?”

“Say it. Admit that you’re fucking him.”

Pure menace laced his voice but underneath the danger you also sensed hurt, like he was in pain – and you didn’t understand why, you couldn’t wrap your mind around it. He was the one who humiliated you. He’s the one who walked away. And now he was here demanding answers like he had a right to you or something. Fuck that. You weren’t going to play this game with him.

You crossed your elbows, straightening your back.

Two months ago you opened yourself up to him, letting him in a way you rarely had with anyone else. Despite all your reservations about his behaviour, despite your insecurities. You used to think you could trust your instincts about people because they never guided you wrong. Your instincts screamed Billy was safe, that he could be trusted, that he wouldn’t hurt you - and then you were swiftly proven wrong when he absolutely shattered you.

You hated him. Despised him. Because of him, you could no longer trust yourself and you could never forgive him for that.

And he would never know anything about you again or how you felt. He’d never have that power over you again. “What I do with Calvin, if I fuck him, how I fuck him, when I fuck him – none of that concerns you, Billy.”

Suddenly he reached across the table, grasping your face, the desperation in his eyes startling you. “You’re my goddamn wife!”

Voice exposing none of your tumultuous emotions, you wrung his hand away from your face. “On paper. That’s all. And only because your grandfather promised me the good life.”

He didn’t release his grip on you, his fingers intertwined with yours. “In the beginning, yeah. But things changed.”

You gave him a perfectly perfunctory smile that belied all the anger and hurt swirling through you. “Nothing changed.”

Billy squeezed your fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Once a golddigger, always a golddigger. We don’t change our ways.”

“What’s going on here?” Calvin asked.

Shit.

His return caught you by surprise, you totally forgot about him. Immediately you retracted your hand from Billy while Calvin’s eyes wandered from you to him. His return was a blessing in disguise because he distracted Billy, giving you the opportunity to compose yourself.  You could still feel the heat of Billy’s touch on your skin, like he’d branded you permanently. You wanted to cut him out, out of your life, out of your mind, out of every crevice in your soul he’d managed to sneak into and embed himself.

“Is everything okay?” Calvin asked, looking at you.

“Everything’s fine.” You gave him your most flirtatious smile before casting a quick glance at Billy. “You’re interrupting our date. Please leave.”

Billy leaned back in his seat, still watching you intently before a sneer curved his lips. Finally he shifted his focus to Calvin, the snide smile on his face growing more prominent. A smug prick through and through, and you wanted to slap the smirk off his face.

Not one to back down from a fight, Calvin stared back at him. “She asked you to leave.”

Billy snickered, amused. You expected him to be a little intimidated by Calvin’s muscular frame but he didn’t seem the least bit threatened, irking you. His gaze finally returned to you, his hands sliding into the pockets of his bomber jacket. Only few minutes earlier he was playing the part of jilted lover, and now he was right back to being the entitled asshole that he really was.  

“I fucked up before, so this right here?” He drew a circle in the air with his fingers.  “I’ll give you a pass for this fuckface. But it ends here. Tonight.”

“Who the fuck you think you’re talking to?” Calvin roared, taking a step toward Billy.

You grabbed Calvin’s arm. He was ready for a fight but Billy remained seated, grinning, like he was enjoying this. “Ignore him,” you urged Calvin.

“This one needs a tighter leash, sweetheart,” Billy taunted.

Seeing that Calvin was about to pounce, you pulled him into the booth to sit beside you. Snuggling closer to Calvin, you linked your hand with his. “Go away. You’re not wanted here.”

Billy’s attention shifted from you to Calvin. In an instant his smarminess was gone, replaced with a sinister expression that made the hair stand up on the back of your neck. “End things with my wife. Tonight.” The quietness of his voice contradicted the full malice in his tone. “Because if I see you with her again?” He slid out of the booth in one fluid motion, rising to his full height. His stature was foreboding, his words hostile. “I’ll kill you.”

He swaggered away as quickly as he appeared, leaving you and Calvin watching after him.

“You should’ve let me take a swing at him,” Calvin griped.

You scooted away to put some distance between you and him. Your throat felt dry, your nerves on edge. Seeing Billy again, talking to him, it unleased all of the emotions you’d buried after he left you. You swigged back a glass of water.

“Thought you said he was cool with everything. Why was he being a punk then?”

You rubbed your temple, closing your eyes. “Because he’s bored and this is a game to him.”

“Do I have to worry about this asshole?”

You turned to look at him. “Of course not. Someone else will come along to distract him.”

“Are you sure?” Calvin asked.

“Yes,” you said with certainty. Spotting the server bringing food your way, you bit down on your lip. “Can we grab this to go? I just want to go back to the hotel room.”

“Thought you were hungry.”

You sighed. “I lost my appetite.”

***

The moment you and Calvin returned to his room, you jumped him. Kissing him roughly, grinding your hips against his. You needed to forget every trace of Billy and Calvin could do that for you. His mouth claimed yours, his body holding you down on the bed. You closed your eyes, letting the pleasure take over.

You needed this, you needed him.

Because losing yourself was the only way to get Billy out of your mind.

***

Few days later you returned to the Airbnb you were staying at. Eventually Alistair would force you to return to the penthouse but until then you were doing short-term rentals. After coming back from the wedding, you couldn’t stand to live in the same place you shared with Billy. So you’d grabbed a bunch of your clothes and necessities and found somewhere else to stay. The one-bedroom condo was definitely not on the same level as the penthouse, but you liked it. It was small and cozy and had everything you needed.

You glanced down at your phone. Still no texts from Calvin. You were supposed to meet him for dinner at Carbone but he hadn’t showed up. That in itself wasn’t surprising. He had a tendency to forget plans or run late most of the time, but usually he texted. Oh well.

You flicked on the light switch in the kitchen but nothing happened. Great. You’d have to contact the host to get the bulb replaced. Walking over to the cabinet, you reached up to grab a glass and strolled over to the fridge to get some water.

You were almost done with the drink when you felt a strange sensation sweep through you. Like you weren’t alone in the apartment. Like you were being watched.

You paused. Knives were two cabinets over. Too far. But you had a glass in your hand.

“Miss me, sweetheart?”

Billy. His low, raspy voice was coming from behind you.

You took a slow, deep breath and then whirled around to attack him.

To be continued...

A/N - As always, thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts. Feedback keeps me going and I appreciate every comment and reblog you guys throw my way.

Next chapter - we'll finally get Billy's POV :)

[anakinskywalkerog]

My Very Soul (Chapter 34)

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Link to Chapter 33

Warnings: a bit of sad reader, a bit of angsty Anakin, FLUFF, clandestine love affair bullshit!! and a very subtle implied *you know* at the very end (rated teen as always)

Summary: Your training with Obi-Wan constitutes a new beginning; you and Anakin reckon with the fight you had after Felucia (WE HAVE NEW CLONE WARS ANAKIN GIFS TO USE I'm screaming)

Word Count: 4.2k

You felt the crisp, cool, morning air of the Temple hit your face like a bucket of water, as if the wind wanted to keep you awake and upright. You walked slowly through the hallways, focusing on your breathing, on the cold air, the hard marble beneath your feet, on anything but the whispered conversations you heard around you. Not heard—felt. You knew that the few Jedi you passed in the halls were not responsible for the accumulation of the voices in your head. This was just how it was for you, now—you couldn't help but pick up too much, like you were receiver that was too sensitive, picking up too many transmission signals.

It was easier to ignore the feel of all of the whispering voices than it was to ignore the pain you felt in your entire being. Walking through the Temple halls, even, felt like walking through thick, piling sand, your limbs aching. But you knew you mustn't focus on the pain—the pain of your grief, still so heavy, or the pain that twinged in your mind as you thought about the fight you'd had with Anakin last night—you mustn't let it consume you. You had work to do.

You felt horribly guilty for how you had shouted at Anakin the previous evening, how you had pushed him away, how you had told him to get out. Not that he had listened; he'd held you all through the night, and even after you'd calmed enough to dose, you still felt the guilt of it in your veins. So, when you'd awoken to the coruscanti light streaming in through the window slats, and you'd seen Anakin fast asleep, his peaceful, beautiful face finally at ease, you knew it wouldn't be right to wake him. You'd taken one last look at his face, admiring the shape of his jaw, his eyebrows slightly downturned in sleep, his eyelashes that shown blonde in the morning light, before you'd slipped out from under the covers and donned your robe, holstering your lightsaber before sneaking out of your apartment.

There would be time to apologize later. Now, you knew, you needed to clear your mind. You kept walking. As you passed the archives, something that you had been thinking about since you had returned from Felucia flashed through your head. Later, you told yourself, turning to look ahead and stilling yourself for what was to come.

You stopped outside the meditation chambers. You knew you didn't need to knock—knew that he would sense your presence. And, as you heaved another sigh, working to keep your body upright, fighting the weight of that ever-present grief, you heard his quiet voice.

"Enter," Obi-Wan said, and you pushed the button on the panel on the wall, walking slowly into the darkened meditation room. Everything inside was a shade of blue and grey, even the pale light slipping in through the mostly-covered windows. The room contained only a few soft ottomans, and gave the impression of stillness, of calm. Even so, you had to hold your breath as you bowed to Obi-Wan and took your place on the ottoman across from his. Everything in this Temple reminded you of Yuma. Everything reminded you that she was no longer here.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," Obi-Wan said gently, his eyes grazing over your form, your face. You realized you still had yet to visit the refresher, your hair still looking like a nest something might crawl out of. You couldn't find it in yourself to care.

"Thank you for...offering, to help me train," you responded, bowing your head again slightly, forcing yourself to look him in the eye.

"I will do what I can," Obi-Wan replied, folding his legs on the ottoman, assuming a straight-backed meditative position. You followed suit, and found that your body felt comforted in this position, like muscle memory, as if its familiarity made the weight a little bit easier to bear.

"It is my understanding that you were unsuccessful," Obi-Wan began, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "when trying to extricate yourself from Yuma's thoughts and memories in the Force."

"Yes," you said, swallowing hard, trying to ignore the lump that had formed in your throat as you thought back to those training sessions, some that had taken place in this very same room. It felt like a different lifetime, compared to the one you were living now.

"And you were unable, as well, to stop reading other's presences, when you tried." You felt Obi-Wan's thoughts drift lazily toward Anakin, and you checked to make sure your own Force presence was folded neatly and minutely into yourself. The last thing you needed from this training was to reveal too much.

"Yes," you said again, watching Obi-Wan with interest.

"What did it feel like? When you tried to disentangle yourself from Yuma's presence?" Obi-Wan sounded genuinely curious. You swallowed again, pushing your head and back up straight, blinking away the pang that her name sent through you.

"It felt like..." you thought back to those training sessions. "It felt like there were thousands of...tendrils, connecting my presence to Yuma's presence, in the Force. And all of the tendrils were tangled together, knotted and looped...it took so much effort to disconnect one, or two, but before I could make progress, her thoughts or emotions would shift, and new tendrils would take their place. I could never get too many disconnected at once."

"An interesting metaphor..." Obi-Wan mused, his hand gracing over his mustache, his eyes unfocused as he considered your words. "My thought is that we are going about this the wrong way." He looked up, making eye contact with you once again.

"I'm listening."

"I've observed your Force empathy myself..." Obi-Wan said, looking at you as if he could see through you, right to your very soul. "I've found that your own emotions form a strong connection to those you read in others."

You thought back to all the times you'd mistaken others emotions for your own...with Anakin, the first day you'd even met him, or with Henry, when you'd seen his memories and assumed they were yours. You nodded.

"Sometimes...sometimes they even become indiscernible," you confirmed. "My own emotions, and those I read in others." Obi-Wan nodded as well.

"Logically it follows that extricating your emotions from the emotions of others would be very difficult," Obi-Wan said. You thought back over your relationship with Anakin—how at first you'd been afraid your feelings of affection, longing, of love weren't yours at all. Over time, though, your own feelings had grown such that their strength couldn't be denied. They had asserted themselves over you, over both of your lives. You shuddered at the thought, at how difficult it felt, even now, to not be by his side, not be in his arms. How those emotions threatened to swallow you whole.

"If the two are inseparable," Obi-Wan continued, snapping you back to attention, "instead of trying to separate your emotions from the emotions of another, I'm wondering if we can cut both off at the source."

"You mean..." you pondered, thinking this through, "not feel anything?"

"Not exactly, no," Obi-Wan explained, his voice thoughtful. "You are gifted at meditation, yes?" You nodded, wanting to see where he was going with this. "Instead of trying not to feel anything, you might think to separate yourself from your own emotions, when in particularly dangerous or high-stakes situations."

"You're speaking of impermanence," you murmured softly. Obi-Wan nodded. It was an old Jedi principle, one you had learned from a very young age—that the root of all suffering was impermanence. That to fear the impermanence led to anger, and then to hate, and then to suffering. A Jedi must accept the impermanence of all things. Especially emotion, you thought to yourself.

"I think you might have more success if you were to try to separate yourself—your being, your very soul—from those momentary feelings. The emotions you feel, and those that others feel, entangled and entwined as they are." Obi-Wan watched you, waiting for your response.

"So, it isn't about trying not to feel..." you said, thinking deeply. "But rather, allowing my sense of self to detach from my feelings, when the occasion calls for it."

"Yes." Obi-Wan affirmed. "It isn't about escaping your own emotions...but rather, forming a stronghold against them, and the ones you might read in others." Obi-Wan paused for a moment while you thought this over. "The Sith are controlled by their emotion." You looked up, and for a moment, instead of Obi-Wan's blue iris, you saw the purple one that had haunted you in your dreams. "They draw strength from it, yes," Obi-Wan continued, "but they also let it consume them. It seems to me that when you intuit Sith presences, that emotion consumes you too."

You thought back to when Count Dooku had taken you prisoner in your own mind. It had felt like being led down a dark path, one that narrowed, narrowed, until...until you'd been trapped. You didn't want to be rendered useless ever again. You didn’t want anyone else to come into harm's way because you were unable to keep your own mind for yourself. As your resolve hardened, you sat up straight, meeting Obi-Wan's gaze.

"What must I do?"

It was difficult work. Obi-Wan led you through a series of visualization exercises, and then meditations. You waded so deeply into the weeds of your own mind that you felt, for a moment, afraid you might get lost in it once again. But Obi-Wan was there, his voice guiding you, allowing you to continue mapping those deepest parts of yourself. You soon found that you were not one whole, but a composite mix of things; you were not solely a Jedi, nor were you solely the self that Yuma had taught, nor the woman that Anakin loved. You were many different things, different forms, ever-shifting and changing along with your consciousness.

By the end of the lesson, you'd achieved a moment—only a moment—in which you had looked at Obi-Wan and felt nothing emanating from his presence at all. It snapped away as you lost your focus, and you'd been certain that it was a mistake, but Obi-Wan had assured you that he did not have the gift of hiding his Force presence, and that if you had not been intuiting it, you had made great progress. You could admit that the flow of conversation in the back of your mind, the ever-present murmuring, had quieted to only a trickle. This was a great improvement from the storm of voices you had grown accustomed to. After only one day's effort, you and Obi-Wan had achieved more than you and your Master had been able to accomplish in six months.  

"Thank you," you said, breathless, sweat dripping down your brow from effort. For the first time since Felucia, you felt a bit looser, like you didn't have to try quite as hard to stand up straight.

"I appreciate your gratitude," Obi-Wan said kindly, "but you know it isn't necessary. I want to do anything I can to help you." You nodded your thanks to him, all the same. Obi-Wan's face became thoughtful. "I've never encountered anything like you, in the Force," he added, considering you.

You paused, taken aback. Obi-Wan, one of the most talented Jedi in the Order, who'd had a Padawan that—

"But...Anakin..." you mumbled, confused.

"I've never encountered anything like either of you," Obi-Wan said, chuckling and rubbing his beard. "You astound even the wisest of us." You laughed too, and felt yourself surprised to hear the sound.

"I know it doesn’t help," Obi-Wan remarked softly, "But I…have been in your position before. I watched my own Master be killed." You went quiet, your eyes fully on Obi-Wan, his head bowed, his hair hanging over his face, his eyes glazed with the memory. "And I was there, and I could do nothing to stop it. The mark that it leaves…it gets easier, with time. Easier to bear the weight of it."

You had never heard Obi-Wan speak of his Master before. Qui-Gon’s passing had happened when you were so young—it had scared you, at the time, with all the rumors surrounding how it had happened, but you hadn't thought, at that young age, of the effect it must have had on his Padawan.

"It does help," you told him quietly. The two of you sat for a moment in comfortable silence.

"How do you feel?" Obi-Wan asked, looking you over with careful concern. You considered his question honestly, allowing your body to express itself to you.

"I feel...hungry," you breathed, surprised at yourself. Obi-Wan smiled widely, and you grinned back at him, feeling, for the first time in a while, like there was solid ground beneath you.

Anakin stalked through the halls of the Temple. Jedi who were in his path moved swiftly to get out of his way; a maintenance droid squealed as the toe of Anakin's boot just missed it, but he wasn't paying attention. He looked down for a moment, but could barely see the tendons in his hands as he clenched his fingers into fists. He barely noticed the way the other Jedi were looking at him, his furrowed brow, his tall stature. He had other things on his mind.

He had awoken in your bed to find it empty. Fear and panic had gripped his heart as he tore apart the sheets, looking through the apartment, calling for you. It was only then that he remembered your training with Obi-Wan, your promise from the previous day. It had calmed him, but only a little. He had dressed quickly, sneaking out of your Jedi apartment with ease. He knew he had to find you.

Anakin's heart raced thinking about how you had been these previous days, how immobile you seemed, how you had been refusing to eat or drink, how you hadn't been able to get out of that bed. It terrified him whenever your eyes started to glaze over; when you didn't seem to fully see the room you were in. He was worried you might slip back into that Force haze at any moment, that space where you had seemed all but lost to him forever. He wouldn't let that happen.

The meditation room was empty; Anakin paused in the doorway only for a moment, before wheeling around and continuing down to the lower level. Where could you have gone? Surely not back to the medical chambers, unless—unless something had happened to you, during your training? Unless your mind had gone back into that cloudedness—

Surely there was no way the council had already sent you into command, was there? Anakin himself had been granted a small reprieve after the events of Felucia. He knew the council had appointed you general of the 415th batallion, Yuma's former position. He knew you had accepted command—what else could you have done? But could the council have sent you back into combat so quickly? Panic gripped Anakin's heart as he considered what it might mean if you returned to battle in your current state. He paused just outside the Temple gardens, half-ready to turn around and head back up toward the medical bay, to the council chambers, to demand to know where you were, when—

He felt a tug within him in the Force. It was a familiar presence; it felt like comfort, and reddish brown hair, the sleeve of a tunic...

Anakin found him on the other side of the gardens, in the corner, sitting with a cup of tea.

"Where is she?" Anakin demanded, looking around quickly. Obi-Wan seemed relaxed, so, at the very least, nothing horrible could have happened to you.

"Good morning, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice sounding tired.

"Where is she?" Anakin asked again, bouncing back onto the heels of his boots for emphasis, feeling unable to keep still, even in the presence of his seated Master.

"I believe she went to get something to eat," Obi-Wan replied, looking warily up at Anakin.

"To eat?" Anakin asked, pausing for a moment, debating turning around on the spot and heading for the mess hall. But if you had gone to get something to eat, then—

"Training went well, then?" Anakin asked, lowering his voice, perching on the bench next to the one on which Obi-Wan lounged, in the corner of the Temple garden.

"I would say so," Obi-Wan said in his infuriatingly calm voice. Obi-Wan took another sip of his tea, looking out at the garden as if deep in thought.

"What does that mean?" Anakin asked, feeling impatient.

"I'm not sure," Obi-Wan replied, his voice still infuriatingly calm.

"Don't be cryptic," Anakin accused, leaning back on his bench and crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "Do you think you'll be able to help her, or not?"

"I am optimistic," Obi-Wan said, finally turning in Anakin's direction to look him over. "You should be patient with her, Anakin. This was a serious loss for her."

"I know that," Anakin responded, his heart pounding, his anger jumping up a pitch. "I am being patient." Did Obi-Wan think he, Anakin, didn't know what you needed? How could Obi-Wan not see that your well-being was the most important thing in the world? Of course, Obi-Wan couldn't know about your relationship with Anakin...but didn't Obi-Wan realize the importance of keeping you alive, regardless? Didn't Obi-Wan realize how much danger you were in? Anakin took in the posture of his former Master, how calm Obi-Wan seemed, how superior, and felt his frustration grow. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath.  

"She's grieving—" Obi-Wan tried, but Anakin cut him off.

"Felucia, Obi-Wan?!" Anakin rasped, his volume increasing. "That wasn't grief!" Anakin recalled again the way you had looked with your body limp, your eyes clouded over, milky white, unable to hear him, trapped in your own suffering.

"I'm looking into it," Obi-Wan responded quietly, lowering his eyes.

"Well, look harder," Anakin said, his breath coming out in a huff. He leaned forward again, looking to Obi-Wan beseechingly. "If she takes command of the 415th, and she doesn't have this under control—"

"If you don't trust her by now," Obi-Wan began, but Anakin cut him off again.

"Of course I trust her! But you know as well as I do—as well as Yuma did—that her gifts are a liability!"

"She is not a liability to the Order—"

"I don't give a kriffing gundark about the Order! I'm talking about her—her life. You need to help her, Obi-Wan. We need to...to find a way to make sure..." Anakin's breathing was heavy. He found himself looking down at his hands, his shoulders moving up and down quickly with his breath. He blinked, his fear overwhelming him.

"We will help her," Obi-Wan said, putting a bracing hand on Anakin's shoulder. "And she will help herself."

You sat, staring into the archive memory, sifting through the holobooks to find what you were looking for. The Temple library was quiet, the atmosphere one of focused attention. Something about it calmed you, but you also found it a bit unnerving, that every bit of galactic knowledge that existed could be found in these very archives.

Your stomach was full for the first time since Felucia; you were sitting upright, able to fight the weight of the grief that had been threatening for days to consume you. You felt exhausted, and sad, but it was a start. And after attending to your needs in the mess hall, you'd come straight here, to the Temple library. Even in the darkest parts of your grief—even when you'd been totally trapped under that weight—you'd known what you needed to do next. You'd been forming your plan. All you had needed was the strength to begin. And, thanks to your training with Obi-Wan, today you'd found it.

You used the controls to pull forth one of the holobooks, and as the holoimages came up, you sat down to focus. You felt yourself getting lost in the text, trying to remember everything. Your focus was so intense that you didn't feel his presence coming until he was right behind you.

"Why are you researching Galactic Sign Language?" Anakin asked, his hand gently stroking your shoulder. Such a small, subtle movement was likely to go unnoticed by those other Jedi in the archives, absorbed as they were in their own research. The sound of his voice made your body electrify—all of the longing, the guilt, and the desire passed through you at once. You shivered.  

"It's a long story," you told him, turning around in your chair to face him full on.

"I'm sorry," you breathed, right as Anakin had said the same thing, leaning in toward you, his eyes wide. You felt the corners of your mouth turn up at the sides, and Anakin's face fell open, his surprise taking away his supplication.

"Me first," you said, getting up out of the chair and shutting off the hologram. As you faced Anakin, you felt through his emotions in the Force, sifting through as if the man in front of you were a different type of archive memory—one that was tangled, passionate, complex, brilliant, and beautiful. His emotions mirrored your own; you felt his guilt, his longing, his love for you. The first and most prominent emotion surrounding his presence was worry, and this made you feel even more guilty.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you," you told him quietly, aware of the others milling about the great library. "I'm sorry I took my anger out on you. It's only anger at myself—" Anakin looked as if he were going to cut you off, but you silenced him, holding up your hand. "I shouldn't have gotten angry with you at all. Not when you are so kind," you voice grew quieter, "and so loyal, and so patient with me." Your faces were closer together now; if anyone were to look over, they might wonder why you were having such an intense, whispered conversation. "I'm sorry I fell apart," you continued, feeling the hint of the tears pinpricking the corners of your eyes. You pushed through, closing your eyes to keep the tears from falling. "You shouldn't have to worry about me. I won't let it happen again. I promise I'll be here for you. With you."

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Anakin said eagerly, acting as if he were about to take your hands in his, and then looking around, thinking better of it. Instead, he surreptitiously reached up and brushed under your eye, stroking away the ghost of the tear that didn't fall. "I shouldn't have said anything about...I shouldn't have assumed I know anything about what it felt like for you, on Felucia."

You nodded, but really, he didn't need to apologize. You'd put your own words into his mouth; it hadn't been a fight between you and Anakin, but one between the warring sides of yourself. And you knew now that you needed to face those warring sides head on, and deal with them before they could manage to hurt anyone else.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," you said, pulling half of your mouth up in a small smile. Anakin's eyes were stars, on fire, the blue looking like it was burning, like it would melt out into the air.

"Obi-Wan said training went well," Anakin whispered, hopefully, looking around you for a moment before grazing your hand with his.

"I think it did," you whispered back, looking up into his eyes. You wanted nothing more than to take his face in your hands, but you held back. All this secrecy, you thought, might just drive you mad.

"And you'll tell me about your research..." he continued, glancing back at the archive computer behind you.

"Another time," you assured him, looking around again, making sure no one was close enough to overhear while you leaned in closer toward him. "You know that I love you," you breathed. Anakin's face broke into a joyful smile, his body leaning in closer to yours.

"You know," he said quietly so only you could hear him, "that I love you more than all of the books in this archive." He glanced back at the other Jedi, huddled in their research. "And more than all of the stars in the galaxy, and more than all of the galaxies in the universe." Anakin met your gaze, his sorrow gone, his eyes alight and mischievous. You felt the intention in his Force presence, and it made your insides turn over, your breath becoming short.

"And I love you more than whatever lies beyond that," you whispered, smiling up at him, your heart full. Anakin surreptitiously stroked his hand over the top of yours once again.

"Do you have much more research to do?" Anakin asked, his face forming a familiar, cocky smile.

"It can wait," you murmured, smiling and cocking your head as you strode past him toward the doors, gesturing for him to follow.

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

thank you all for being patient with these updates <3 if you are following this story, you and I are besties, that's how it works

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[mediacircuspod]

AJ Crowley vs Forgiveness

I need to talk about Crowley for a minute so buckle up or move on.

"It’s not so bad once you get used to it” from Season 1 Episode 1 and an early chapter of the book is something of a throwaway joke. But being damned isn't much of a joke to Crowley, even if he makes jokes to cover it up.

The first thing to understand is that damnation doesn’t end after Crowley either saunters vaguely downwards or is dropped into a burning pile of sulfur(conflicting accounts from the demon himself). Being damned is a continuous state of being AND something that could very well happen to him again. 

He was too ambitious for heaven—too curious. Something that he now knows is distinctly not a heavenly virtue. It’s just that those traits are also not virtues in hell either. And on top of that—he’s good. 

Which in his particular role, is an extremely dangerous thing to be. So he isn’t good, and he isn’t nice and he doesn’t feel trite things like empathy or love. Except that he knows intrinsically that all of that is utter bullshit. And if anyone who isn’t Aziraphale realizes this, he doesn’t really know what falling from hell would be like, but he doesn't want to be the first. 

Another thing to remember is that Crowley doesn’t understand why he was cast out. He understands that it was the questions, that it was his ambition to try and suggest improvements, but he can’t understand why. And the shame of that being yet another question is not lost on him.

The resentment there that has festered for millennia is understandable and expected and HES RIGHT TO FEEL IT. And it’s the reason why he has such a negative reaction to the concept of “forgiveness” but has a relatively amicable relationship with apologies. And I know this is going to sound crazy after nearly 400 words, but this is the actual concept I want to dissect.

Because Aziraphale’s “I forgive you”s of the past have never gotten a good response, but they’ve also never gotten a “don’t bother”. Aziraphale uses that phrase specifically against Crowley when he needs to put distance between them. When he knows that Crowley is right. And Crowley knows that Aziraphale uses that phrase for exactly that purpose because they have being playing their parts for thousands of years. And he’s always been willing to wait in the past. The dance begins with Crowley challenging Aziraphale with something tempting. 

The Great plan is dumb. What if we just left together? You’re being dumb. (I need to link that one Tumblr post that inspired this, just look at this.) Here.

And finally, desperately, This is what you’re giving up. Because Crowley doesn’t actually think it will work. He may hope it does. But he has played his part for long enough to know exactly what Aziraphale’s next line will be. And it still devastates him. And well, it’s his decision to be done waiting for Aziraphale to catch up. Being “too fast” has been his insecurity for too long, and he’s done slowing down just so Aziraphale can try and forgive him. He still doesn’t know why what he is, is wrong. 

(He isn’t)(I mean he certainly makes some unhealthy choices, and he isn’t exactly completely in the right, but he’s NOT wrong.)(Running away together ISNT the right move, but it is the more romantic one so take that as you will.)

The part that makes my brain buzz is that this aversion to forgiveness does not apply to apologies. Specifically it does not apply to the phrase “I was wrong” or "you were right" or the little dance.

This. Is. Interesting.

He doesn’t have a problem with apologizing, and he doesn’t have a problem accepting apologies from Aziraphale if that wonderful scene is to be taken at face value. The fact that the 1941 apology dance wasn’t shown is actually a crime, and you can’t convince me otherwise. And I think this is specifically because he’s not actually averse to forgiveness on the whole. It’s the idea that he needs forgiveness for simply being who he is that actually bothers him. And well. I guess he was tired of Aziraphale pretending that the concept had merit, too. 

For four years he's had the freedom to be exactly who he is without the fear of damnation even if he still has the baggage that went along with the first time it happened to him. And even though Aziraphale doesn't realize it, he's asking Crowley to do something impossible for him. He's asking Crowley to admit that he needs forgiveness, and come back to heaven.

Aziraphale assumes that Crowley would not only want that, but that being with Aziraphale would make it even better. But what the angel has actually done, is give Crowley's deepest insecurity wings. And given him a reason to step away from their millennia long dance.

Because Crowley has finally, finally, finally, found something that he can't give up for Aziraphale. It's extremely poetic that that thing happens to be himself.

And okay now I’m done. I’m gonna go scream into a void.