#this is all true and I hate it. food service why are you like this.

[luxaofhesperides]

“You know, I never realized how true the ‘eyes are the windows to your soul’ thing was until I saw yours.” + fluff + cafe AU ; requested by @kiv1!

He’s sure Danny didn’t expect to see him every other day after he casually mentioned that he had gotten a part time job at a local cafe. However, as his friend, it is Duke’s moral duty to only get coffee from that shop while Danny is on shift, specifically to annoy him. 

Also, so he can support his friend, but being annoying takes priority.

It’s a routine now, for both of them. Danny clocks in for his shift and an hour later Duke is strolling into the cafe with his eyes locked on Danny’s. The rest of the baristas always shove Danny up to the register when they see Duke, taking over whatever order he was making. Even some of the other regulars turn their attention up to the counter, hoping for another few minutes of entertainment.

Danny sighs as he gets ready to input Duke’s order. It’s never the same one, because Duke would hate to be predictable and make things easier for Danny, but it has the side effect of making him realize that some of the expensive, seasonal drinks are really good. 

It’s a bit hard on his wallet, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay for teasing Danny. 

“Hey,” he greets cheerfully as he leans against the counter, grinning at Danny.

Danny sighs again. “What can I get you today, random customer that keeps bothering me.”

“A latte, but make it sweet somehow. And iced.”

“What size would you like?”

“Let’s go with medium today.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Duke leans closer to Danny, watching as he fights down a smile. “I just gotta say that you got gorgeous eyes. You know, I never realized how true the ‘eyes are the window to your soul thing’ was until I saw yours.”

Danny considers this for a moment, then shakes his head. “It kind of sounds like your trying to steal my soul through my eyes.”

“Why is that what your mind goes to?”

“Well. I watched Coraline last night.”

Duke stares at Danny, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. “...Didn’t you say that movie gave you nightmares as a kid?”

“Yeah! And it turns out, it gives me nightmares even now!”

“And ruined my pick up line,” Duke complains playfully.

“It was too cheesy anyways,” Danny replies, putting Duke’s order into the screen. It prints a moment later, no doubt with some bizarre name since Danny refuses to actually name Duke on his orders, and then recites the price. 

He pays and watches as Danny slaps the order onto a medium sized up, then tosses it over to the barista making the drinks. He’s not actually sure what her name is since she refuses to wear a name tag, but she always gives him a wave and also a rating of how good his pick up lines are.

“Seven out of ten!” she calls out to him today, then gets started on making his drink.

“I don’t see why you don’t flirt with anyone else,” Danny says, “I’m pretty sure my coworkers like your pick up lines even more than they like me.”

“Why would I want to flirt with them? Danny, I’m literally only here to bother you.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Yeah, trust me, I know. My good looks just keep pulling in business.”

He says it like a joke, but it’s true. Duke has noticed it. Danny’s coworkers have noticed it. His manager noticed it and now has him out on the floor every shift. If they can get him to work on the chalkboard sign outside, or wipe down the two tables out front, then they do it, because Danny is Midwestern to his core and it’s very charming in a place like Gotham. He smiles at people as they walk by, happily answers their questions when they ask him what the cafe serves, recommends food and drinks for them, is generally a bright and nice person to everyone who comes near the cafe. 

His cute looks draw people in, then his personality makes them stay. 

It’s all customer service, of course, because Duke never gets the cute, sunny Danny. He’s left with the sarcastic, rude, and funny Danny that’s been his friend since they met in junior year of high school. 

“Your eyes are really pretty, though,” Duke says, “Very blue. Sometimes green. It’s no wonder people keep falling for you!”

Danny reaches across the counter to shove Duke away, but he’s blushing, so Duke is counting it as a win. “Shut up. Now you’re just lying. My eyes are never green.”

“Yes, they are. Danny, I’ve seen them multiple times. They’re green sometimes.”

“No? My eyes have literally only ever been blue. They’re the bluest blue to ever blue. They don’t just turn green.”

They squint at each other for a long moment, trying to figure out who’s wrong and in what way. Duke’s pretty sure Danny’s wrong, since he can’t exactly see his own eyes, and Duke has spent an embarrassing amount of time just admiring how nice they are in different kinds of light. But also, they are Danny’s eyes, so he should know what color they are.

Then Danny’s coworker is setting down Duke’s drink on the pick up counter, giving Danny an excuse to get back to work.

“One medium oatmeal cookie iced latte for Cornelius Aggravating Douglas.” He holds up the drink and makes very direct eye contact with Duke, holding out the drink towards him.

“Did you really have to make the initials ‘Cad’?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough,” Duke says, making Danny crack a smile. 

“Are you heading out after this?”

Duke grabs a straw and sticks it into his latte, swirling it around some. “That was the plan, yeah. Got a few library books to pick up. Why?”

“I got approval for a half shift today, so I’m off in like ten minutes, if you wanna wait for me.”

“Hell yeah, dude! I’ll wait outside so I don’t distract you with my flirtatious winks again.”

“Get out of here,” Danny laughs. Duke lifts his drink in a quick toast, then gets out of there. He takes a seat at one of the tables out front, content to just people watch as he slowly sips his latte.  

It’s cloudy out, but not raining, which is always a plus. As much as he’d like to see the sun, these kinds of days aren’t so bad, either. The wind still carries a bit of a chill, but the spring is steadily warming things up. There are tons of people out, a constant rush of movement, but a few do catch sight of him, then look towards the cafe, their steps slowing down as they think. Most keep walking, but Duke does manage to get a few to go in just by taking a long sip of his latte to really enjoy it.

Really, he should be getting compensated for the work he’s doing to draw people in. Danny’s not the only one who can do it. 

Bruce keeps offering him money, so he doesn’t need to get paid, but maybe he can convince the other employees to talk Danny into accepting one of his pick up lines so they can go on a date one of these days. 

It’s become a bit of a joke, but the first time Duke used a cheesy pick up line on Danny, he was being absolutely serious about it. He definitely shouldn’t have used a pick up line he found from a website centered on relationship advice, but he panicked and needed some extra help. 

Instead of smoothly asking Danny out on a date, Duke froze up, blurted out the pick up line, then had to laugh it off with Danny and pretend it was a joke. 

He still wishes he was able to ask Danny out properly before, but he’s also glad that they got to spend more time as friends, getting to know each other. It’s easier to be with him now, no longer so tongue tied and flustered. 

Duke gets to fluster Danny now, which is much better. 

And maybe one day his pick up lines will work! Sooner or later Danny’s going to question why he keeps doing this, and then he’ll connect the dots and understand what Duke feels for him.

As it is, he has yet to connect shit. 

“My eyes are definitely blue,” Danny says as he walks out of the cafe, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “I checked while I was putting my apron away.”

“You’re still on that?”

“They’re blue.”

Duke gestures for Danny to come closer. He complies and leans down, letting Duke cup his face in his hands. He checks, considers, then checks again, and says, “They are indeed blue.”

“Told you they weren’t green,” Danny says smugly, pulling back. 

“And I said they were green sometimes. Now clearly isn’t one of those times, but they do turn green!”

“I don’t think you should be allowed to say any eye-related pick up lines until you admit that you were wrong and didn’t know my eye color.”

Shaking his head, Duke stands up and pushes in his chair. “Just wait, I’ll catch it sometime and prove it to you.”

“Sure, whatever. Don’t you have library books to get?”

“Yeah, you coming with?”

“Obviously. Why else would I leave my wonderful job where I am left alone to make drinks in peace?” Danny knocks his shoulder against Duke playfully, then reaches over and steals his drink right out of his hand. He takes a sip, makes a pleased hum, and drains half of what was left in the cup. 

“Hey!” Duke moves to take it back, which is naturally the exact moment Danny takes off running, effortlessly dodging everyone else on the sidewalk. He takes off after Danny, using his powers to make sure he can move out of the way of anything or anyone who gets in his path. 

They’re past the block when Danny starts to slow down, taking another sip of Duke’s latte. 

He puts on a final burst of speed and all but tackles Danny into the mouth of an alley, reaching for his cup. “Gotcha!”

“No!” Danny wails dramatically. He takes a step back and Duke watches as his power kicks up again, showing him a vision of Danny stepping on an empty can and falling back. Except he doesn’t really fall back? His foot rolls back on the can for a second, then goes through the can and settles back onto the ground where he catches his balance. Through the entire three second fall, Danny’s eyes are a bright green, brighter than Duke’s ever seen them.

His vision fades away and he moves to catch Danny, taking the chance to watch carefully as Danny’s foot does indeed go through the can. He quickly brings his gaze up to Danny’s eyes, which are green, but not inhumanly bright like they were in his vision.

Is the green not perceptible to normal humans?

He can probably only see it due to his powers. Which means he somewhat inadvertently outed himself as a meta.

Whoops!

Might as well just bite the bullet.

“Hey, do you have powers?” 

Danny chokes, shoving Duke away as he coughs and tries to clear his throat. He looks panicked, wild-eyed, searching for an escape route. “What? No. Why would I have powers? Maybe you have powers, have you ever considered that?”

“I mean. I do have powers. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Hold up. Stop talking. You have powers?”

“And your eyes are green sometimes.”

“That’s. No, they’re not,” Danny lies. It’s a very bad lie, seeing how on edge he is, and as much as Duke hates making Danny feel like that, he did get some bad habits while training with Bruce and this is one of them: the need to keep pushing, chasing after clear answers regardless of what the cost is. 

Duke shrugs, taking a sip of his latte, down to its last few mouthfuls, acting casual. “If you say so. But my powers don’t lie, man. As much as I wish they would, sometimes.”

“...Can we not do this out here?” The defeated tone Danny speaks with makes Duke hate himself. But he needs answers now. He needs to know if Danny is like him, if he’s safe, if he needs help. He needs it more than he needs Danny to like him at all. 

“Sure. I know a few quiet places we can talk.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Danny mutters. “Did my eyes really give it away?”

“Yeah. I mean, to be fair, I also didn’t realize until literally right now, so I don’t think anyone else will figure it out just from staring into your eyes.”

“See, this is what happens when you keep flirting when you don’t mean it. Secrets get pulled out into the open and it’s bad for everyone!”

Duke lightly punches Danny’s arm, trying to lift the mood. “Hey, who said I didn’t mean it?”

“What?”

“Who said I didn’t mean it when I flirt with you?”

Danny blinks at him, confused, then says, “I mean, no one I guess. But it’s pretty obvious?”

“I only flirt with you, you know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Duke says, trying to ignore how his voice shakes slightly. “There’s another one of my secrets. Can we call it even now?”

“Oh!” The shock of the revelation distracts Danny from his earlier nerves. Which is great, because now Duke is the one who’s nervous. It’s worth it, though, seeing the pretty blush come to bloom on Danny’s cheeks. “So all those pick up lines—”

“Yeah.”

“And the pick up line made you realize my powers!” 

“These pick up lines are doing the most,” Duke agrees. And then he realizes, “Hey, you what this means? I was right! Your eyes are windows to your soul!”

“I’m going to hit you,” Danny says, already winding back for a solid punch. He lets Danny hit him since it’s only fair for the stress he caused; as a meta, Duke knows how important secrecy is, how the difference between life and death can be just how well his powers are hidden. 

“Are we even now?”

Danny considers him for a moment, then sighs. “Yeah, I guess. Let’s be done with this for now, okay? Let’s go to the library.”

He refuses to entertain any conversation about powers or Duke’s feelings for him. It’s nice to spend time with Danny, but by the end, Duke is sure he can feel his heart start to crack in half. A sleepless night awaits him when he gets home, moving past his cousin’s attempts to talk to him in favor of flopping face down onto his bed.

But the next day, Danny grins at him when he walks into the cafe. He doesn’t have a new pick up line, choosing instead to act as calm and casual as possible to give Danny some space.

Also breaking routine, Danny insists on personally making Duke’s drink, writing something onto the cup before he fills it up with a floral tea. 

You’re so fine, you made me forget my pick up line, is scrawled on the side of his cup when he gets it. 

“Enjoy your drink, Cutiepie the Third,” Danny says with a shy smile.

“The Third?” Duke repeats, relief making him feel lighter than air, “Who are the first two?”

“Don’t worry about it, cutie. Get to class!”

Duke lets Danny chase him out, and holds in his laugh when he hears Danny’s coworker screech, “What was that?!”

Yeah, they’ll be fine. In the meantime, Duke needs to see if apology pick up lines are thing. Danny definitely deserves one.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 1

Eddie doesn’t even know why he’s at this stupid party. It’s full of jocks showboating for their girlfriends, their girlfriends clustering together and giggling like watching Tommy Hagan do a keg stand is somehow dreamy. He’d had an entire beer spilled on his shoes, been heckled out of the kitchen and into the backyard, and left to brood out by Harrington’s ostentatious, heated in-ground pool. And it’s barely been an hour.

Within that hour, he’s made enough money to buy two month’s worth of cigarettes. That’s the rub of it all, isn’t it? Counting his time with packs of cigarettes, and bald tires that need replacing. And stupid things like food for their barren fridge and heat in the trailer once fall fully bleeds into winter. Wayne can only do so much, with rolling blackouts hitting the plant, and rent increasing a little more every year.

So Eddie goes to parties full of people he hates, lunch box secured to his person with the chain at his hip, switchblade stuffed in his back pocket. Just in case.  

This party is only ramping up, people trickling out from the overstuffed house to loiter on the back porch, occasionally stopping by to procure his services. As the first hour dwindles into the second, Eddie’s supply is getting dangerously low. 

He’s just considering leaving when he notices the King himself trailing after two girls he vaguely recognizes as the two that have been haunting the edges of the jock table the past few weeks. 

The brunette is scowling, hand wrapped tightly enough around her redheaded friend’s wrist to make the skin turn unnaturally white as she yanks her along none too gently, her short legs making ferocious strides that have both her captive friend and Harrington stumbling to keep up. 

Harrington’s got his hands up like he’s placating a spooked horse, talking too quietly for Eddie to hear over the pounding beat of the music. The girl isn’t spooked though. Despite being the shortest of the group, she looks like a predator on the hunt, just waiting for a slip up to make her kill. 

Whatever Harrington is saying must not go well. The brunette shoves her friend behind her, stabbing her finger into his chest, voice rising in rage. “–know he meant it, Steve!” she yells, flatting her palm to push him back harshly. She spins on her heel, continuing her trek past Eddie’s spot by the pool and out toward the open gate to the driveway. “As long as he’s here, we’re not going to be!”

“Don’t be like that Nance,” Harrington placates, following in her wake. “Tommy’s just drunk.”

“I don’t care about Tommy!” Nancy snaps. “I care that you’re friends with such a despicable person.”

“Nance–”

“I thought you were better than this, Steve Harrington,” she says. 

Then they’re both through the gate and gone. Harrington doesn’t follow. He stands there, staring where the girls had been, back to Eddie. He’s still as a statue for a long, endless minute before growling, low and angry, pulling his fist back and punching the side of his house. 

The hit makes a meaty squelching sound of breakable skin striking an immovable object and parting under its pressure. It almost echoes through the yard in the silence between songs, the whispering from all the onlookers starting up just before the next top forty song begins blaring.

Harrington spins, glaring out at the clustered people on the porch, hands on his hips, blood dripping down onto the green of his sweater, the light blue of his jeans. It’s a little thrilling to see the King bloody, even at his own hands. Like a true royal, he snaps, “go inside,” voice demanding obedience. And they do obey, scuttling back into the house in small clusters, shutting the sliding glass door behind the last of them.

Harrington sighs, shoulders drooping as he lifts his injured hand up to look down at it. He still hasn’t noticed Eddie in his spot by the pool.

“Trouble in the kingdom, your majesty?” he asks, jumping up from his cross-legged position on the pavement to saunter up to the other boy. He leans into his space, smiling coyly as Harrington leans back like he carries an airborne disease. “Anything this lowly court jester can do to help?”

He looks shocked at Eddie’s presence, like he never even considered that his decree wouldn’t be obediently followed by everyone in his backyard. 

Eddie smirks, fishing in the pocket of his jean vest for his cigarettes. He taps one out, and holds it out–ever the consummate servant–to Harrington, who curls his lips up in disgust and takes a step back away from him. Eddie shrugs, stuffs the pack back into his pocket and fishes his lighter out of his jeans. 

“Munson?” Harrington asks, squinting like he’s never seen Eddie before, despite living in the same janky town, and going to the same schools for the past five years. “Who invited you?”

Eddie takes his time lighting his cigarette and taking a drag, marveling as the little divot between Harrington’s eyebrows grows deeper with every passing second. He holds the smoke in, feeling it settle his nerves as he stares daringly into Harrington’s eyes. He doesn’t look away as he exhales, smoke blowing into Harringotn’s face. He doesn’t cough, just gestures his hand in front of his face impatiently to clear the smoke, looking one more insolent move away from smacking Eddie in the face.

“Someone has to sell party favors to Hawkins’ elite,” Eddie replies, shaking the lunchbox where it’s resting just below his hip. 

Steve scoffs. “Well, the party’s just about over so why don’t you fuck off, man.”

He gestures behind him to the open gate. Eddie takes another drag, ashing his cigarette on the pristine concrete below him. Harrington balls up his fists before immediately releasing the tension with a wince, shaking out his injured hand.

“Looks like it’s in full swing to me.” Eddie gestures to the sliding glass door back into the dining room. The curtains are closed now, but Eddie can see the darkened silhouettes moving to the beat still pumping through the house.

“I’m kicking them out.”

Harrington crosses his arms, seemingly once again forgetting about the bloody state of his hand. He’s almost pouting now. Eddie has the insane urge to boop him on the nose. He takes another drag.

“Upset your little girlfriend wouldn’t put out?” he asks, jutting his bottom lip out, trailing a fake tear down his own cheek with his free hand. “Poor little rich boy.”

“What the fuck is your problem, man?” 

“Me?” Eddie asks, dropping the burning filter of his cigarette to the ground and using the heel of his boot to smear it into the pavement. “I’m dandy. Who wouldn’t want the undivided attention of the King?”

He smiles then, condescending and bright, planting his feet as Harrington’s gaze darkens further.

“I always knew you were a freak,” Harrington snarls, drawing out the F sound like he’d rather use a different word that begins with the letter F.

“And a startling comeback from the King!” Eddie calls, showboating like he’s DMing for Hellfire in the dingy drama room. “How many F words did your Daddy teach you?”

Eddie didn’t realize that Harrington wasn’t angry before until all the light leaves his eyes. They go blank, soulless, like there’s no real person behind them. He uncrosses his arms, fists once again clenched, not even seeming to realize that it further splits his knuckles as he takes a threatening step forward. It’s a little scary, the way one question seems to have flipped him into an entirely different person.

Note to self, do not mention the absentee Father. Eddie takes a step back on reflex as Harrington uses his bloody finger to jab into his chest, hard enough to sting. Eddie looks down as blood smears, idly grateful that he’s wearing black. 

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” Harrington spits.

Eddie, having never learned to bite his tongue, opens his mouth to crow about this new F word in Harrington’s repertoire, when he hears a sound behind him. 

It sounds almost like the foxes that sometimes chitter in the woods surrounding the trailer park. But there’s something wrong with it. It’s high pitched and cutting in and out, like a record skipping again and again. It’s staticy, reverberating behind him like the static of the television between channels but worse. A recording of television static sped up too fast and fed through three long distance phone calls. 

Eddie’s hands tremble, something animalistic coursing through him at the sound–fight or flight kicking in with only one option left. In front of him, Harrington’s gone quiet, eyes wide and unblinking as he looks fixedly past Eddie’s left shoulder. 

Then, abruptly, the sound cuts out, replaced with a guttural growling so deep he can feel it pulsing through his muscles, urging him to run. It unsticks his feet, but before he can dart through the open gate, or maybe to the shut sliding glass door to hunker down with the other party-goers, Harrington shoves him backward. Hard.

He loses his feet, loses his breath, until he’s choking on chlorinated water. He comes out of the water spluttering, coughing up water until it burns, his layers of clothing doing their best to drag him down into the bottom of the pool to drown. 

His eyes are closed against their stinging, ears clogged with water where he’s struggling to tread in the deep end of Harrington’s stupid heated pool that the King himself just shoved him in.

It’s a low enough moment that Eddie can feel his mind covering up the impossibilities of the night, paving over the impossibilities to rewrite the story to make sense: King Steve saw him, set up some speakers to spook him, and then shoved him in the pool. Nothing unexpected there.

But then Eddie opens his eyes. 

Harrington’s on the ground. Harrington’s on the ground fighting against the grip around his wrist, pulling him toward the water Eddie’s struggling to stay afloat in. 

It’s not a person dragging him, not a practical joker wearing a suit. It can’t be. The thing is standing upright, sure, but it’s too tall, too thin, too featureless. Its forearms are uncannily long, fingers twisting and look as if they have too many joints facing the wrong directions where they curl around Harrington’s wrist, claws sharp enough to make him bleed. Its ribs are showing. And there’s no face at all, just creased flesh puckered together where a mouth ought to be.

At least, that’s what Eddie thinks until Harrington struggles harder, fingers of his free hand digging into the crack in the pavement, momentarily stalling their forward momentum. Then, the seams where its head connects open, like a flower toward the sun, if each petal was fleshy and covered in dozens of sharp looking teeth. And it screeches, ear-splitting and horrible, as if reprimanding Harrington for not laying imobile like a good little live meal.

It tosses Harington into the pool. He hits with a splash, immediately flailing out, smacking Eddie on the side of his face. Eddie reaches out on instinct to pull the guy toward him, trying to keep the both of them above the water line while Harrington reorients himself. 

It shouldn’t have taken long. Harrington is the captain of the swim team. He should have been able to kick his feet under him and been off to the other end of the pool within seconds. 

It wasn’t fast enough.

Eddie doesn’t even see it move, it’s so fast. He’s holding onto Harrington, arm slung around the other guy’s waist, clutching tightly at the front of his sweater. Then, Harrington’s being pulled forcefully to the bottom of the pool, Eddie along with him. 

All of his orifices are burning from the chlorine–throat, nose, eyes, ears. He feels blind, deaf, lost, anchorless, except for the feel of Harrington’s skin beneath his hand, so he clutches, hooks his hand through the guy’s belt to keep his hold.

There’s a sensation, like meat parting around him. Then he’s breathing, sucking in oxygen, eyes still closed, head spinning. Harrington’s ribs are rising and falling rapidly. It lasts only a moment, the pair of them breathing and touching and panicking in tandem.

Until there’s that sound. Foxes chittering strangely, but it’s echoing now, weirdly like they’re in a cave forty feet underground. 

Eddie opens his eyes. The sky looks wrong–darker than it should be, and it almost looks like it’s snowing. One of the flakes hits Eddie in the cheek and he rubs at the spot, feeling it flake apart and smear across his face. Not snow. Dust? Ash?

They’re in some sort of pit made of concrete, cracked under the force of the sickly vines crawling across its surface. It’s deep enough that Eddie’s not sure how they’re going to get out. 

It’s not until he sees the ladder at the edge of the hole that he realizes where they are: impossibly, in the bottom of Harrington’s pool, somehow drained of water and decayed and made wrong, in a matter of seconds. 

The chittering turns to a growl. Harrington jumps up. Eddie’s hand, where it’s still tucked into his belt, jerks violently up with him, pinky getting stuck between belt and pants as he hastily tries to extract it. Harrington darts away, and Eddie’s pinky pops. It’s barely audible beyond the growling, but he feels it as a release of pressure and then sharp pain.

Eddie looks down at his now free hand. There’s chaffing on his palms, and his pinky sits at an awkward angle, already swelling around the knuckle where it connects to his hand. 

Nausea rolls through him–shock, maybe–at the sight. More than the pain, it looks like another wrong thing in a long line of wrongness that makes up his night, this time, attached to his own body. He heaves, water spilling out of his mouth, burning with chlorine as Eddie forces his eyes away from his hand.

Harrington’s across the pool, holding some sort of pole with a torn net at one end, thrusting it into the creature’s mouth, farther and farther. But the metal’s warping, almost decaying under the saliva in the thing's face, pole becoming shorter and shorter until It’s almost upon Harrington.

Without thought, Eddie jumps to his feet, stumbling behind the thing and bashing his lunchbox into its head. 

It’s probably the surprise of the hit that makes the thing stumble. Harrington wastes no time, jabbing the rest of his pole, fast and deep into its maw. It wails, the strike fast enough to get through whatever was melting the metal, piercing something deep inside the thing.

Eddie’s not stupid enough to think it’ll stay down. He skirts around the thing, latching onto Harrington’s wrist and pulling him along in his wake. He doesn’t hear the pole clatter to the cement of the bottom of the pool, hoping that means they have a little more time, doesn’t dare turn around to look as Eddie drops Harrington’s wrist to climb, hand over aching hand, up the ladder and out of the pool. 

Nothing looks better once he’s topside. The sky is still wrong, filled with ash and discolored light. There’s vines up here, too. And it’s quiet, so quiet he can hear every sound Harrington makes as he scrambles up the ladder behind him. 

Eddie doesn’t wait for him. He runs, fast as he can to the sliding door to the house, wrenching it open and falling past the curtain into the house. He hopes, hysterically, that no one sees him making such a fool of himself, hopes somewhere deeper that someone does and will put themselves between his fleshy body and whatever comes through the door behind him.

But no one’s there. Harrington’s kitchen is dark, the living room past it dark as well, a disturbing red glowing faintly through closed curtains like he’s landing himself in a scene straight from Evil Dead. There’s no shadows of partygoers moving, no top forty, no drunk teenagers to spill beer on his shoes.

He stands, frozen, something horrific building in his throat, like a scream or a sob as he stares, unmoving, curtains moving against the small of his back until something slams through them, pushing him to the cold linoleum. 

He pictures teeth, swears he hears a growl, but when he twists wildly from his prone position to scoot backwards on his ass, arms preemptively raised, he sees Harrington sliding the door closed and clicking the shitty plastic lock into place. 

It's hilarious, like the thing they’d both seen back there would be stopped by a little piece of plastic, or doors, or the safety of his house. Eddie bites back a laugh that’s fighting its way up his throat like chlorine, burning and not where it’s supposed to be.

Harrington’s back is shaking with the force of his pants as he yanks the curtains closed. He pivots, face devoid of anything as he bends down and yanks Eddie up by his wrist hard enough to sting.

“Harrington, the people–” he starts, but his wrist is yanked harder as he’s led up carpeted stairs and into a bedroom.

Eddie gets only a sense of plaid and emptiness before he’s being shoved into a closet, Harrington stumbling in behind him and closing the doors quietly and squatting down next to where Eddie had fallen. The outside of their thighs are pressed together. Something hysterical bubbles up his throat again at the irony of the moment. He bites his lip against it.

Harrington’s feet are beneath him, ready to jump and fight anything that might follow them up here. Eddie can’t seem to get his ass on the floor, the lethargy of shock making him complacent, the knowledge that he’d never stand a chance if that thing makes it into the house making the effort of vigilance not seem worth it.

Harrington looks fierce, like he really is in a scary movie, an action hero, the final girl, the one who’ll get to the end of the movie by any means necessary. But Eddie can feel his body shaking where their legs are pressed together. Eddie gets the insane urge to hold his hand.

It feels like hours pass like this, Harrington at the ready, Eddie succumbing to his sleepy shock, before Harrington slowly lowers himself to sit on the ground beside Eddie, knee overlapping his as he sits crisscross, still looking at the door.

“Harrington, what–” 

“I don’t know, Munson.” His voice is a sharp whisper, biting in its carelessness. He doesn’t even look away from the closet door.

“Your house is just empty, man.”

That gets him a scoff and a loosening roll of his shoulders as Harrington finally turns his head to the side and meets his eyes. Eddie tries not to notice the way it slides his thigh more firmly atop his own.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Harrington demands, and for a moment, Eddie’s afraid he somehow heard his thoughts, another in a long line of indignities in this new world they’ve found themselves in, but he continues, “–the people? Not the flower monster that tried to eat us, or the red sky, or the shitty vines all over my house?”

“People means help! Who’s going to help us now?” Eddie demands, voice rising higher than it should. He swings his hand wildly, less of a gesture and more of a limb seizing with panic until it hits the closet’s wall with a hollow thwack, sending a bolt of pain from his pinkie finger down his wrist. 

Harrington turns violently, almost climbing in Eddie’s lap in his bid to both cover his mouth and wrench his hand away from the wall and clutch it tightly in the space between their chests. Eddie bites his own lip at the pain of the squeeze. It’s dark, but he can see the way Harrington’s eyes are widened with fear, the whites too visible.

“Shut up,” he hisses, hand squeezing a little tighter around his cheeks. 

They sit in the silence of the moment, staring at each other, ears straining for the sound of anything coming for them.

All is silent. Harrington’s hands ease away and he slowly shuffles out of Eddie’s space. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says, almost reflexive. 

Steve doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t turn away either. They’re still both staring at each other. Eddie’s too tense to feel awkward about it.

He sits in the silence. He’s never been good at it—the quiet. It eats at him, picks away at his skin until he’s back in a run-down apartment with a Father in jail and Mom gone from the room even as she rots away on the couch. The silence eats and eats and eats, until he can almost smell the mildew of the always-closed windows, can feel the springs of his old mattress digging uncomfortably into his back.

The springs prod him, and he blinks into the closet, Harrington’s finger jabbing into his side.

“Don’t crack on me now, Munson.” He’s not smiling.

“Aww,” he replies, trying to make his tone its usual cloying flirtation, “didn’t think you cared, your highness.”

He twists his mouth up at the side. It doesn’t quite land on a smirk—he can feel the way it wobbles. If Harrington notices, he doesn’t call him on it.

With a roll of his eyes, Harrington responds, “like you said, no people means no help, means you’re all I’ve got.”

“Don’t sound too happy about it,” Eddie mutters, but the house is too quiet and they’re sitting too close together.

Harrington scoffs, but he leans back further, settling fully on his ass for the first time since he’d dragged Eddie into the closet with him, like all he needs to feel at ease is Eddie being a dick to him. He’s not sure whether or not that’s infuriating or charming, but the knot in his throat that feels suspiciously like tears breaks loose when Harrington leans back on the heels of his hands.

There’s something to the ease of Harrington in this moment that makes Eddie wonder if he’s ever actually seen him at ease before. When Eddie had watched him across the lunch room, eyes unwillingly drawn to the jocks table, his shoulders were always relaxed, mouth always turn up at the corners, but there was still something so stiff about him. Eddie’s not sure he’s ever seen him lean back like this.

It's almost like, without eyes on him—or with only Eddie’s—his body has gone ragamuffin. A marionette with all it’s strings cut. It’s like. Like—

It’s like hiding from a horrific Lovecraftian monster in the alternative dimension version of his own closet with Eddie Fucking Munson is the first time Steve Harrington has felt comfortable in his own skin. Either that, or Eddie’s spiraling.

“Stop staring at me, man,” Harrington says, draping a hand over his eyes to block out the nonexistent light.

It’s only then that Eddie realizes he has been staring. He snaps his gaze to the floor, running his fingers through the soft shag of Harrington’s fancy carpet. It’s things like this that got him marked as queer within weeks of moving here.

“What’re we gonna do, man?” Eddie asks, like a broken record.

Harrington sighs, drooping further into the carpet. “I vote we go to sleep and hope this was all a bad dream.”

And as if his word had been decreed, Harrington stretches out as much as he can in the confined space, using a pile of dirty clothes as a pillow, and closes his eyes. The side of his leg ended up pressed across the entire side of Eddie’s thigh.

Eddie stares, struck dumb by the audacity of Harrington checking out in a moment like this. When his silence gets no reaction, he slumps down, dragging his cheek into the soft carpet as Harrington slumbers beside him. It feels like hours until he falls asleep.

Part 2

[angelatsumu]

simon as your allistic husband

hello friends, i am autistic and i wanted a little allistic husband for my own comfort. this may be slightly unrelatable because autism is a spectrum and autistic people experience overwhelm and meltdowns differently. here is my interpretation of my experience (a very small picture of it).

cw: none, autistic reader x allistic!husband!simon riley<3, johnny is a bit overwhelming, overstimulating stimuli + potential meltdown

simon had always been your self-proclaimed protector. he was like a devotee the way he watched you, always keeping an eye on your mannerisms and responses. simon was on his knees before you with just one beck and call, and you knew this to be true in your heart of hearts. your lover, your beautiful simon, was privy to your disability and the way it could render you helpless with no regard for your plans for the day. in an effort to be an “adult”, you might overwork yourself directly into overstimulation or autistic burnout. if you had tried to mask well past your limits in social situations, you found yourself stimming in secretive but painful ways, and perhaps even losing all social awareness as a whole. you constantly cursed yourself for not getting a service dog to help you through these scenarios, but why would you when simon was at your side so quickly? simon knew you like the back of his hand, easily detecting the signs fo your withdrawal or teetering on the edge of insanity. Simon was so equipped to care for you, constantly studying your fidgeting and tone in any situation.

tonight was no different. Simon had asked if you felt comfortable with a small gathering of the Task Force after a bit of time apart, and you willfully agreed. you thoguht you’d checked all of the boxes to prepare yourself for the evening; you’d rested all day, gathered your stim toys and fidget rings, remembered to drink water (with several small reminders from simon), and you even ate an appropriate amount of foods to fuel you for social interaction. Simon was sure to allow you time to indulge your special interests and give you space without overwhelming stimuli. you’d felt pretty equipped for the night, especially since simon had ordered your comfort foods and even prepared a special nook incase you felt a bit overwhelmed. with earplugs in ears and a comfort outfit, you felt far more prepared with the help of your understanding lover. the overwhelming dread that usually accompanied social gatherings seemed to melt away with your anchor who was more than helpful in refilling your cup and taking care of you.

just as everyone was arriving, Simon was sure to dim the lights in the bedroom and set aside a bottle of water with your favorite stims to allow you a safe place. He hated to assume that you might approach metldown territory, but he’d learned that preparing for it is far better for you than simply hoping for the best. He’d taken the liberty of safety proofing the room, giving you a sensory swing and a cushioned corner to prevent you from harming yourself if the meltdown is to worsen beyond his control or interventions. He hummed as he made easy work of it, being sure to charge your headphones and queuing up a playlist you adored to allow you less work during a time of distress. goodness, he loved you so much. he loved doing this gentle and domestic work for you, and he loved the safety that came from his efforts.

it’s now well into the get-together, and Simon has you nestled into his chest. you find the smell of him grounding, and the compression of his arms squeezing around your torso makes you feel safe and comforted. your ears began to sting at the constant and overwhelming timbre of Johnny and Gaz’s bickering, seemingly infiltrating your brain and sowing seeds of hate. you’d tried to fidget with Simon’s dogtags or the hem of his shirt, but the constant booming of their voices had begun to sink its teeth into you. Simon was never loud, and he certainly never yelled in your vicinity without warning. your chest felt tight as you began to feel your clothes rubbing wrongly against your skin every time Simon had a hearty laugh at his coworkers. you squirmed in an attempt to regulate yourself, to move the painful energy you’d been harboring since your nervous system began to fray. the interaction was tiring, draining you of all your humanity as you had to pretend to be interested in the topic of conversation. your breathing shallowed, breaths quick and uneven as you tried your hardest to stave off the boiling under your skin. suddenly Simon’s skin against yours felt wrong, like your nerves were set aflame and stealing the little reserves of normality you’d been clinging to. you didn’t want this happen, you never did. you’d spend every waking moment post-meltdown crying and begging the skies above to “fix” you, to make you less susceptible to these painful experiences. you didn’t want to feel lie this anymore, to hurt anymore.

Simon feels the shift in energy, having stealthily been observing your descent into uncharted territory. he knows where your mind space is, knows that your mind is ricking you into believing you’re too much and that things were easier without you. the way you slightly fled his touch led him to slowly and sneakily withdraw his arms from you, placing them behind his head to allow you to be freed from his grasp. he relishes in the sigh you let out, the way you teeth latch onto his shirt and begin to chew away to calm the nerves. Simon calmly reaches to his right where your spare ear defenders are tucked away, and he slowly slides them over your head. he makes quick work of tying back your hair to lessen the amount of stimuli you had to process. your lover lessens his own chatter, reducing himself to careful nods and short sentences or small laughs to allow you a full realm of recovery. he gives you two taps to your back, a silent inquiry to your current state. you respond with a head shake, signaling that you were far beyond your capacity. simon could tell that your thoughts were being unkind to you, but he was certain he could help you through this difficult period. “they alright,” Price asks, eyes kind as they fall on your frame in Simon’s grasp. the men knew you were autistic, and they were more than supportive to you. Simon sighs, eye soft as he looked at the men and back at you. “Yeah, i think they're just pushing toward overload. ‘m gonna take them to the room, let them get this out,” Simon hums softly, timbre of his voice lowered to create less strain. He gives you another silent tap as a request to carry to your bed, and you nod softly against his chest. his chest dims the lighting of your living room, lessening the stimuli you’ve been taking in. Simon scoops you into his arms and carries you to your bedroom where he gently sits you on your bed. the lights have been dimmed, and Simon slides your weighted blanket closer to you. “Blanket’s here love. ‘M gonna let you have some space, but i’ll be back to check on you soon. ‘M so sorry this happened lovie, but I love you. You’re safe. I am not angry with you, and you’re allowed to feel these things,” He comforts you, placing your stims within reach as your eyes fix on the floor in front of you. He knows words have left you, and he hums before leaving the room to allow you time to process.

thank you for reading! if this experience does not feel very cloe to yours, please feel free to send a request with a different scenario of autism reader x allistic simon <3

[legendaryvermin]

What if No Gold?

If you've talked to me about game design before then you may have heard me talk about how much I hate two things in TTRPGs: Gold and Trad Game XP.

While I may write a post later talking about why, today I was thinking about what sorts of systems you could use to make a fair start at getting rid of gold pieces in your game entirely, and so I'm here with a couple of quick ideas and partial systems that you are free to try out or steal for something yr working on.

Barter Tables

Barter tables are simple, they are a list of the kinds of things a person or community might have or could give, versus the kinds of things they might need. For a simple one: Wandering Knight:

A day's worth of hard tack -> a night's watch A fine weapon -> fine maintenance on all medium and heavy armor Saving them from certain doom -> A true name, used to summon them once for battle against a worthy foe

On the left, we have something the party might have or give, and on the right, something they might receive in exchange. We can already see from this that goods and service are at odd equivalencies. This table needn't be the only set of exchanges available, but it offers a place for us to not only understand this character, but to think about what skills and goods they are likely to have on them, and how they fit into our world, and build off of in the future. Here's another:

A Reputable Inn:

Nothing -> A thin broth and a bench in the main hall to sleep on Fresh ingredients -> A fine meal and a private room A Golden Trinket -> A fine meal, a private room, and the attention of pickpockets A well told tale or song -> Food and beer, trinkets and tack if you're lucky Breaking up a fight before anyone is hurt -> a well packed lunch and extra supplies for your departure A well-woven tapestry -> Fine food whenever you are in town, and a favor from the owner

Discreet Value Matrix

This is a fancy way of saying that depending on certain factors, we might be able to assign a specific value to different kinds of objects to help decide how much you get for them. Imagine a few axes for this kind of matrix, all with possible values between -10 and 10:

Quantity

Scarcity

Utility

Magical Endowment

Age

Beauty

You could use these values to figure a rough value of something based on the condition of not only the object, but also the environment of the thing. Let's take a normal sword as an example. When seen by a warrior, a sword might have the following value:

Scarcity -> 2

Utility -> 7

Age -> 6 (it's new)

But to a farmer it might look more like this:

Scarcity -> -5 (I do not need this)

Beauty -> 2

What you do with these numbers (adding them, just comparing them) doesn't matter as much as having a consistent way to identify how much a person or group needs something, and potentially makes for some very interesting trades:

Let's say our party needs a magical relic that is in the possession of a local town. to the town the relic has the following value:

Scarcity -> 10 (there's just the one)

Age -> 10 (it's been here since the town's founding)

Utility -> -3 (there's a rumor it's cursed)

Beauty -> 5

Magical Endowment -> 10 (it's clearly magic so come on, can't get something for nothing)

Now the party doesn't have the time to do a side quest to help this town with the skeletons popping out of the graveyard, but they do have two things the town needs: weapons (to fight the skeletons) and food (there was a blight on the crops, maybe related). Through some negotiations, the players trade the following to the town:

Spears

Utility -> 5

Quantity -> 4 (enough for the toughest townsfolk)

Scarcity -> 7

Food

Utility -> 7

Quantity -> 8 (it's all their but the party has a druid that can create food)

Scarcity -> 7

It's pretty quick to do napkin math on what makes a fair trade for the facilitator, and the party gets to go on their way knowing that they're eating nothing but roughage for a couple of days.

[gothicprep]

twitter lesbians who intellectualize why they can't find a girlfriend are so annoying. "i'm convinced that the etiology of female homosexuality is blah blah" shut up and stop making excuses. get out of your head and follow my example.

hold down a part time job in food service for at least six months. the skills you develop from this benefit you in a variety of ways, from dating women who are out of your league to landing jobs you're probably not fully qualified for. this is especially true if your bag is something STEM related.

hate dating apps? me too! i've never bothered with them. all you really need to do is develop your social muscles and be open about your sexual orientation. or go to one of those lesbian meetup hobby groups called "dykes on hikes" or whatever. are you a musician? go to an open mic night and fraternize with people. you can adapt this in whatever way works for you.

be flexible with your aesthetic choices. some women like the ~queer~ aesthetic, some women are turned off by it. master looking as good as possible in queer and conventional self-presentation and you'll always win.

if applicable, keep your interest in manga and anime out of the range of date conversation topics. unless it's something massively popular like one piece or eva, i cannot emphasize enough how much this scares the hoes. you can have private interests and i'd recommend relegating this one to that sphere in the early phases of seeing someone.

source: this attitude got me a wife. you'll be fine. just start pressing the limits of your comfort zone.

[kasagia]

Would've, Could've, Should've...

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/Darkling x heartrender! Kaz Brekker's sister! reader Summary: Your life would have been completely different if it wasn't for Aleksander. You regret meeting him... but saints only know that he is the one who can make you feel this way... Warning(s): angst, death, blood, violence, manipulation, falling in love with the wrong person, toxic love, Aleksander is a little manipulator and the reader enters his web, the reader rebels, they love and hate each other, kind of dark! reader? Inspired by "Would've, Could've, Should've" - Taylor Swift SPECIAL FOR 10K LIKES AND 500 FOLOWERS 💙🖤 Thank you once again!! Words count: 11,6k+ Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @morrigan-crowmwell ~•♤♤♤•~ Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~

If you would've blinked then I would've Looked away at the first glance If you tasted poison, you could've Spit me out at the first chance

You were a thief and a paid killer. In Ketterdam you were known as the sister of Dirtyhand, Dreg's second bastard. But that was before you met him... or before you were commissioned to kill him.

You were in a bind then, a messed-up situation. Your elder brother, Jordie, died, and your younger brother, Kaz, was your dependent. You both had to work hard to earn money for food and a dry (but often cold) place to sleep.

That's why you packed up. You left your brother with the promise to return and provide him with a place to stay while you were away. You exchanged as many letters with him as you could. You learned that he was doing well in Ketterdam, slowly becoming the head of one of the most important gangs. You helped him build his "empire" as much as you could, travelling around the world and making money by killing your targets.

But everything went to hell and your life changed completely on the night of a winter fete in Ravka.

You had a very simple task.

Disguised as a servant, you were to deliver the glass with poison to the Darkling, mingle with the other servants, and leave. None of the nobles ever paid attention to the service. Especially when you cover your face with makeup, making it look so dull and ordinary that no one will remember it.

But Darkling was different... you were supposed to find out about it soon.

Everything was going well. You walked over to him and handed him a poison glass, avoiding eye contact with him. But as you walked away, glancing discreetly to see if he raised his glass to his lips, you noticed he gave you a second glance.

You shivered.

He stared at you intently without even blinking. You felt mesmerized under his gaze, like you couldn't take your eyes off him even if you tried... but you didn't even want to try to save yourself from the gaze of his dark eyes.

And just as he was about to raise the cup to his lips, a commotion ensued around you. One of the paid hitmen you worked with has been identified.

The general threw down his glass and gave chase to the hitman. You took this opportunity to run out of the ballroom unnoticed.

You were lucky the general didn't drink the poison after all. If he did, it would be harder for you to leave Ravka and go back to your brother, since you all got disclosed.

In retrospect, you'd rather he'd drank that poison... maybe he'd have gotten rid of you at that first night.

If I was some paint, did it splatter On a promising grown man? And if I was a child, did it matter If you got to wash your hands?

You ran through the corridors until you bumped into one of the people who worked with you. You were breathing heavily from running from the pursuers of the First and Second Army.

"These Grishas dogs are everywhere. They caught Kostrov. We have to get the fuck out of here before their crazy Black General catches us too."

"Kostrov is caught? Shit. He'll turn us in before we leave the walls of this damn palace." you knew very well that if that was true, it was only a matter of time before the man revealed your hiding places. You must run away from there. And as soon as possible.

The voices of the soldiers and their quick steps rumble around you.

"Please tell me you have a plan."

"I always have a plan." you answer confidently and take her by a hand. You lead her through the corridors of the Little Palace until you are outside.

You are heading towards the exit gate when Grishas suddenly appear in front of you. You both stop, looking uncertainly in their direction. Fortunately for you, your disguise makes them a little less suspicious.

"You, get back to the Grand Palace. It's not safe here, servant." they said to you. "You're coming with us." they say, taking your co-worker by the hand.

They drag her towards the Little Palace, but she doesn't give up that easily. She breaks free from their grip, hugs you from behind and puts a dagger to your throat.

"One step closer and I'll kill her." Grishas' joined hands, ready to use a small science. You feel her dagger pierce your neck gently. Blood drips onto your collarbone just like the drops of your sweat. From this position, you can practically feel both her and your heart racing.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, angry at her.

"We'll both get out of here, or no one does." she growls furiously in your ear, backing away slowly. The dagger digs deeper into your skin as she realises there may be no way out of this situation.

You let out a loud scream, and suddenly her grip on you loosens. She falls dead to the ground, and you are right next to her. You press your hand against your throat and try to stop the bleeding. Your eyes study her lifeless body intently.

There are no injuries. No blood. No wound. One of the heartrenders must have stopped her heart.

You look around at the Grishas who are now coming towards you, and in a panic, you realise that there is not a single red kefta among them...

If it wasn't one of them then...

You shake as an unlikely thought comes to your mind, and the world slowly begins to blur into blurs as you feel the blood flow more freely from your neck and seep into your clothes. The dull, thumping beats buzz in your head, making it even more difficult for you to remain conscious.

Black material flashes before your eyes. You feel someone's strong arms lift you up. And before you completely lose your consciousness, you can feel HIS heart pumping warm blood rapidly. Yours is getting slower and slower.

And you wish you had died in his arms right then, before it all started...

A few hours later, you wake up in the Little Palace infirmary. You find out that you are a heartrender, and with your scream, you knocked down not only the woman who worked with you on this assignment (luckily no one knows about your identity and what you were really doing in the palace), but also the Grishas who caught you both (for the second time, the saints took watch over you, so you only knocked them unconscious for a moment).

Ah, and the Black General brought you here himself… the day like others.

Ooh, oh All I used to do was pray Would've, could've, should've If you'd never looked my way I would've stayed On my knees

You were kneeling in the chapel. The stained-glass windows and images of saints gave you a kind of solace in a strange way.

You often prayed to the saints. Even though there weren't many believers in Ketterdam in anything but profit and money.

You believed that they were somehow listening to the prayers of the people on earth… you just didn't know why they chose to so painfully ignore the cries for help for the lifes of your family.

You clutched a letter from Kaz in your hand. The tears had long since stopped falling from your eyes and had already dried on your face. After all, how many hours could you cry while sitting on one of the pew?

You didn't want to leave him like this. He was your little brother, and you loved him more than anything. Yet he threw it in your face for choosing your own comfort over his well-being. That you wanted to join the ranks of saints, forgetting who you were and leaving behind your past.

As if staying in the Little Palace was your choice.

You were thrown into the role of Grisha. You didn't even know how to control it... yet you were able to hold back thousands of hearts without any training or learning about small science.

You were capable of much more than an ordinary heartrender. You could manipulate the blood. Move people at your will, controlling the movement of blood through their veins and into their muscles, manipulating people's bodies to your will.

And you found out all this in just a few weeks.

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead on your joined hands. You were tired. Tired of being forced to accept a life you never wanted. You were a thief and a paid killer. Not any Grisha.

In the distance to your right, you heard a faint heartbeat. You sighed. Another bonus of discovering your powers. The sounds of the hearts of people around you overwhelmed you to the point that you had to hide in some secluded place to get rid of the pounding in your ears.

It sucked. And the man who was responsible for your miserable situation was standing right next to you now.

"I wouldn't take you for someone who prays to saints." his whisper echoed throughout the chapel. You turned your gaze away from him. You started looking at the stained glass windows in front of you.

"Maybe I just admire art, general."

"On your knees, with your hands together?" he asks sarcastically. You ignore the intense look of his dark eyes on you. He sighs, sitting on the pew next to you. "And it is Aleksander. I've told you many times."

"Shouldn't you be planning a war or something like that?" you huff, earning a small chuckle from him at your annoyance.

At first, you were afraid of this terrible, Black General of the Second Army. Over time, however, you allowed yourself to be more impertinent towards him. (When pretending to be an obedient Grisha irritated you to no end, you got into a fight and ended up in his war room while he was scolding you. You guess that you fascinated him not only with your powers then.)

"Shouldn't you get enough sleep for training with Baghra?" you groan in despair at his words. Baghra... another reason to run away from this place as fast as you can.

You get up from your knees and sit on the pew next to him. Kaz's letter tucked safely in the sleeve of your kefta, but you wonder how long it will be before he notices the unusual stiffness in your left arm.

"I'm not going there. This woman will kill me one day and tell everyone that it was my own incompetence that did it." his soft chuckle definitely shouldn't make your heart beat faster. You were glad he didn't have powers like yours to find out about this embarrassing fact. "I'm also a little concerned about you knowing my timetable." you say, actually suspecting that the general's good intentions are based on something completely different than your well-being. You still didn't know how you sold him the story about how the orphan from Ketterdam managed to become a servant for Ravka's royal family and didn't pass a single test during her stay in the Grand Palace.

"I care about every Grishas. Some require my attention more than others." He says, shifting his gaze to the stained glass window you were staring at.

Sankta Ursula of the Waves

"You can mock all you want, but I believe in them. You have to believe in something if you want to survive in Ketterdam."

He trembles slightly. He thinks you haven't noticed, but you have. He clears his throat and looks down from the image of a Sankta to look at something else in the chapel.

"Why you pray to her?" he asks, and you, not knowing the importance of this question at the time, shrug and simply say the truth.

"My brother crossed part of the sea alone when he was only 10 years old. If not thanks to the saint's help, I don't know how he survived…" you tell him.

You don't know why, but he has such an aura around him that you just WANT to tell him everything. It was easy to trust him enough to share some of your secrets... After all, everything that's in the shadows is safely kept from the world, right?

And in those dark eyes and that mysterious, confident smirk you could get lost so damn easily…

If you knew better, you would have tried to push him away from you instead of spending nights with him in the chapel, talking about your past or when he "accidentally" joined you, or in the palace garden when he "accidentally" wanted to walk around the lake in the moonlight. You have unknowingly let him to direct you straight to his intricately woven spider web.

And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil At nineteen, and the god's honest truth is that the pain was heaven

Genya has provided you with a wonderful kefta. However, its red was different from the others, Corporalki. It was more bloody, wine-like, and so dark that one could say it was mixed with black.

Aleksander said he needed to recognise his best heartrender, and this kefta, too fanciful for your taste, was supposed to be a symbol of your importance to the Second Army. As if the ridiculous amount of black thread he had ordered to use to decorate it wasn't enough of a sign that the Black General favoured you over his other soldiers.

It was one of many celebrations in the Grand Palace. However, on this occasion, the Tsar and Tsaritsa decided to invite the Grishas as well... or rather, have them entertain a crowd of self-righteous nobility on the occasion of the anniversary of the Ravka uprising.

You weren't a Ravkan. You weren't interested in some artificial celebration, but the general almost forced you to come to this stupid holiday with others... at least you could drink wine secretly with Genya and Fedyor.

You felt the blood flowing freely through your body as you danced with some other Grishas. You laughed carelessly for the first time in a long time and let yourself spin around as the handsome blonde held you in his arms.

The others' heartbeats hummed softly in your ears as you allowed yourself to let go of control a little. The orchestra's music effectively allows you to drown out the sound your powers have picked up.

Being so distracted, you didn't even notice when Grisha leaned closer to you and started whispering something in your ear. You laughed at the ridiculousness of his flirtatious offer and were about to reject him when suddenly an arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you into a strong chest.

As soon as the familiar smell of burning wood and musk mixed with kvass enveloped you, you relaxed. Suddenly, the possessive, too-tight grip on your waist where his large hand was pressing against your stomach and holding his breasts too close to be appropriate didn't bother you as much.

And if, instead of inhaling his scent and perfume like some drug and getting high on it, you saw the death glare he was sending towards the guy who was only flirting with you, maybe you would understand that it was better to run away from him as far as possible instead of melting into the soft fabric of his black kefta and appreciating his muscles you felt through it.

But you couldn't think of anything else but how lucky you were that your summer keftas were so thin.

“I'm going to steal Miss Y/F(ake)/L/N for a while." he says as if he has every right to you. But you are too intoxicated (both by his close presence and the wine you drank) to notice that something is wrong.

And instead of yelling at him like you should have, showing him that you weren't a thing he could take whenever he wanted, you blushed as he turned you towards him and gave you that damned, dangerous smirk that made many Grishas women swoon.

"You looked like you needed saving." he whispers into your ear, gently touching his bearded cheek to yours.

You bit your lip, looking at him as he pulled away from you, perfectly playing the role of gentleman and your fucking knight on a black horse. Too perfect for you to notice then...

"Thank you, general, for caring so much about an ordinary heartrender like me." you tease him as he leads you in a dance.

"My best heartrender." he replies, running his hand down your back, making you shiver. He suddenly dipped you down, forcing you to lean on his hands and trust that he won't let you fall on the floor. You were so close in his arms that you felt every breath he takes matching yours.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Grishas whispering about you, but you don't care. Not while you have him with you, not while he's looking at you with such curiosity and admiration that you feel like you're the only damn person in the room. And you see his eyes linger longer on the black stitched decorations of your kefta on your waist and chest.

"Be careful, Ivan will be jealous." you tease, giving him one of your prettiest teasing smiles, and you almost hold your breath, seeing a hint of something akin to lust in his eyes, as dark as his shadows.

"He has his Fedyor." he replies, pulling you slightly closer to him, and you know he can feel your rapidly beating heart.

He was dangerous—everything you should avoid—something that young and naive girls were warned about. But you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. And the fact that such a special, powerful man like him was interested in the thief and killer from Ketterdam like you made you unable to push him away.

You liked his attention. The way he touched your cheek tenderly as he brushed the hair from your face after riding with him. The way he sought your presence and the way he showed up at unexpected moments when you really needed someone. The way he gently grabbed your hand, amplifying your already formidable powers so you could practice bigger, more impressive things with him than with Baghra.

He made you felt special, chosen. And with every single second you spend with him, you wanted more from him…

He left you with the tingling feeling of his lips on your hand after thanking you for dancing. He walked away from you, giving you a second glance and a wink. And then you knew he would be your death...

And now that I'm grown I'm scared of ghosts Memories feel like weapons And now that I know I wish you'd left me wondering

"I do not like winter." you say, sitting in one of his armchairs in the war room, warming your hands by the fireplace.

Baghra forced you to train outside, and the cold ingrained itself into your bones. You tried in vain to warm yourself up using your power. The old witch, seeing your incompetence, only let you go when your lips turned blue enough from the cold. And Aleksander was bustling around you now, wrapping an absurd amount of blankets around you and making tea for the two of you.

"Why is that?" he asks, placing the warm mug in your cold hands. You smile gratefully and take a sip, deciding that he did it perfectly, just as you loved it. Which, by the way, wasn't so strange, knowing how many sleepless nights you spent in that chair talking with him.

"My brothers once took me to a frozen lake to go ice skating. I fell into an ice hole, almost froze to death, and got a terrible cold. My mother said that I miraculously escaped death. My parents spent all their money on doctors and medicines for me. And as a result, my brothers and I were strictly forbidden to go out without her supervision. As you might expect, they weren't very grateful to me for this."

You see him swallow and stare into his cup in silence. You don't miss his tense shoulders and the frown on his forehead as he mentions something—something very bad, judging by the pale knuckles of his hands as they grip the cup tightly.

You slowly get up and put your mug on the table. You walk up to him and kneel in front of him. You take the cup from his hands before it breaks under his force, and you slow down his rapidly beating heart with your power to calm him down a bit.

The touch of your soft, gentle hands on his brings him back to reality. His dark eyes stare at you with great intensity, assessing and wondering something deeply as he pierces your very soul.

"I fell into the freezing lake too." he finally says, lowering his gaze to your joined hands. He plays with your fingers and draws patterns with his fingertips on your palm as he weighs his words, not looking at you, as if he might break down under your compassionate pattern. "I was 13 years old… two other children, my dearest friends, attempted to drown me in that freezing lake."

A cold chill runs through your body. You unconsciously squeeze his hands, trying to catch his gaze.

"Why?" you whisper, shakily, imagining that cruel moment.

He doesn't say anything. He lifts his head and looks at you, and he finds something in your gaze that makes him decide to stare hopingly into your eyes with his dark irises that reflect the glow of the fire in the fireplace for a while.

He sighs, closing his eyes, and suddenly you feel your hands tingle where your skin meets his. And it's not the usual feeling that washes over you every time you're in his intoxicating presence.

NO.

It was something bigger, more powerful, and much more addictive than anything, than Darkling himself was already to you.

"Use your power. Listen to the heartbeat." he whispers his command quietly, completely unlike the way he expresses his orders. And if you opened your eyes, you would see him staring at you intently, watching the reaction on your face.

And then you hear it. Thousands of heartbeats, you feel every flow of blood in the bodies of thousands of people present from the Little and Greate Palace, even throughout the whole capital.

Overwhelmed by so much power, you let go of his hands and breathe heavily, still feeling the blood rushing through your veins and that warm tingle spreading throughout you.

"What... what the hell was that?" you ask him in shock, trying to catch your breath. "How... how did you..."

"You know what an amplifier is, right?" he asks, sliding out of his chair and kneeling in front of you.

He reaches up and slowly tucks your hair behind your ear. You flinch at first at his touch, and he freezes, but you quickly nuzzle into his hand when you notice that you no longer feel as much power emanating from him to you as you did with his earlier touch.

"Yes, but..." you freeze, realising what he's implying. The impossibility of it all only stuns you for a moment. But so many impossible things have already happened in your life that, in the end, this little piece of information doesn't make that much of an impression on you. But you can't say the same about what you found out... about what he must have gone through in his childhood. They practically hunted him like those animals that enhanced Grishas' abilities. "Oh, Aleksander." you whisper and lunge at him to hug him tightly to you.

And by the short sigh he let out as he buried his face in your hair, and by the way it took him a moment to undoubtedly return your strong, tender hug, you knew that this wasn't what he expected, that this wasn't the kind of reaction he was used to seeing.

If only you knew back then that he would start using his memories more often as a weapon in the fight for your feelings, your affection, your forgiveness, and your compassion, then you would rather he left you in the dark, for him to never start sharing THE REAL parts of him with you.

If you never touched me, I would've Gone along with the righteous If I never blushed then they could've Never whispered about this And if you never saved me from boredom I could've gone on as I was

Ravka's love day celebrations are… more successful than you would like to admit.

You went to breakfast, convinced that you would spend today's day off alone, locked in your room or gossiping with Genya about anything other than the romantic, tense atmosphere in the palace.

You were wrong.

It started with you being presented with various flowers from various Grishas along the way, asking if you would spend the evening with them. And they were various proposals. Dinner, a walk in the palace gardens, a horse ride, even spending the night with them (which you found disgusting).

You entered the dining hall and sat down in your usual seat, responding to Fedyor's teasing as you placed a bouquet of all the flowers you were given on the table next to you.

"You don't want to take them from me? Ivan would be happy." you try to shush him but he just laughs more.

"Better tell me which ones are from the general." he teases you, picking up one of the flowers and hitting your shoulder with it.

You tense up and blush slightly. You make sure to mask the beating of your racing heart so that Fedyor can't use it as a clue to your true feelings for the General, which have developed over the months you've spent in the Little Palace.

"None. And it better stay that way. As if all these women didn't look at me with hatred anyway. Can you believe that for all these flowers, no one brought me my favorites? Or any sweets?" you complain jokingly, digging into your food and trying to act as if you were unimpressed by his comment.

"And what are your favorites?" he asks casually, also starting to eat his food. You answer him and then suddenly someone sits next to you. Inferni - Luke, the one you danced with at one of the events and your faithful library buddy, gives you a shy smile.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" he asks, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

You feel Fedyor's eyes on you, but you try to ignore him. The heartrender flies away, leaving the two of you alone. You don't know how to answer Luke. He was that classic nice, funny guy that any woman would kill for attention. And probably, if your life were different, you would gladly accept his invitation and reciprocate his shy flirtation.

But you can't and don't want to do it. You don't feel an ounce about Luke what you feel about a certain dark-haired man in a black kefta. And when Inferni's hand connects with yours, you mentally compare the feeling to the tingling excitement that the mere look of Aleksander's dark eyes stirs within you.

Fortunately, you're not the one who has to answer. A grunt from the two of you makes Luke let go of your hand. You both stare at your general, who stands with his hands clasped behind his back. He approaches you slowly and catches your gaze with his dark irises before looking at the Inferni sitting next to you.

"Unfortunately, Miss Y/F/N will be busy tonight." he replies, not even trying to hide from you the silent, unspoken threat he sends with his gaze towards the boy who tired to ask you out.

Luke nods and leaves with a quiet: "Yes, General."

Alexander looks at you, and for a moment, that's all you do. And if you were a little more careful, less blinded by your fascination with this dangerous man who, for some reason, puts you at the centre of his universe, you would try to get away from him as far as possible.

But you are not.

He offers you his hand, patiently waiting to see if you take it or reject it. But you both then know that you are too deeply enchanted by his intoxicating appearance, too mesmerised by the sound of his voice, and too hungry for his touch to allow yourself to lose his attention for even a moment.

So you gently placed your hand on his. He wraps it in a safe hug and helps you up. He pulls you a little closer to him so that the materials of your keftas rub against each other. And the overwhelming amount of black embroidery on it practically hides the red material underneath, matching perfectly to the general's black kefta. This obvious match only now seems trivially obvious to you.

And if the Grishas had any doubt that you belonged to the Dark General, the fact that he pulled out your favourite flowers from behind his back and handed them to you with a small, charmed smirk as you took them from him and buried your nose in the petals told them so quite clearly.

In that moment, you too realised how deeply you felt for this man.

That's why, when he leans towards you, his bearded cheek brushing yours, flushed from the overwhelming feeling that overwhelms you in his close presence, you don't object when he whispers in your ear:

“I'm about to kidnap you for tonight.”

The rational part of you screams at you that this is a bad sign, that he is saying it with too much confidence and hunger in his eyes to be considered mere flirtation and not an act of pure possession and dominance.

But you don't listen.

You don't want to listen.

You want to drown in those dark brown irises, be consumed by his darkness, if it meant that for the rest of your life he would look at you as the only person he wanted.You want to finally feel wanted. Needed. Chosen. The one and only.

And the fact that it was this most powerful Grisha who made you feel this way only fueled your desires more and blinded everything your mind was screaming to your deaf heart. A heart that was deaf to everything that wasn't HIM.

"I can't wait." you whisper back.

And you know, by the way he nods at you and walks away with his usual confidence, the twinkle of victory in his eyes, and the huge, satisfied smile when he realises you're watching him closely until he's out of your sight, that you are gone for good and there is no going back to who you were. That he has clawed his way into your soul too deeply to ever try to deny it.

But lord, you made me feel important And then you tried to erase us

This is one of the best nights of your life.

You knew this from the moment you climbed with him to the highest tower in the Little Palace, which was used to teach little Grishas astronomy lessons.

He laid down with you on the blankets and pillows he had prepared, especially for this occasion, and let you lean against his chest as you both gazed at the stars. You, safely wrapped in his arms and blankets, listened to his slightly accelerated heartbeat as if it were the sweetest music you had ever heard. And the fact that he rested his chin on top of your head, occasionally whispering something in your ear about the constellations in front of you, quickly became by far your favourite place in the world.

"For a long time I only slept under the stars. My mother and I always had to be on the run. We couldn't find a permanent place. People would try to kill the Darkling's son as soon as they found out about my existence."

You lift your joined hands and press a kiss to his as you continue to listen to him. You feel shivers run through his body. You learned, with the time you spend with him, that he was completely unaccustomed to the tender touch of another.

"They were my only solace in the darkness."

"Were you afraid of her? And your shadows?" you ask, turning in his arms to look at him properly. He shifts his gaze from the night sky above you to you and disentangles one of his hands from your grasp to caress your cheek tenderly.

"A bit. I couldn't control them then... they were... unpredictable. My mother used to mock me and say that I was no summoner if I allowed my own power to rule me."

"Aleksander." you whisper, tears in your eyes as you see the pain written all over his face. It was there every time he mentioned that cruel woman. You hold one of his hands tightly and say, with all your conviction and unwavering faith in this man, "You are the strongest person I know. You've been through so much... I'm probably not even aware of half of it yet, and yet, look where you are and what you have achieved. There has never been and never will be a better Darkling than you. You are caring and attentive; you take care of your people, and the Grishas under your rule are better than ever."

He stares at you, frowning halfway through your speech, and something like guilt shines in his eyes as tears begin to form.

You don't know it yet, then.

You don't know why he feels guilty. You don't know why he shivers as you lean into him to press your lips together in your first kiss. You don't know why his hands are shaking as he cups your cheeks. You don't know why, as you try to undo the buttons on his kefta, his hands suddenly stop yours. You don't know why he pulls away after a moment, whispering something under his breath as he practically runs away from you.

All you know for sure is his heart beating madly as he disappears from your sight and the tingling of your lips after the kiss the two of you shared a moment ago.

He hasn't come near you since that night. In fact, you feel like he's trying to avoid you at all costs. And in hindsight, you curse yourself for not taking the hint. That you didn't move away when he tried to make it easier for you.

But you were too stubborn, too longing for his presence floating around you like his shadows, to simply give up and do what's best for you. So you knock on his chambers in the middle of the night, and when he opens the door, you both know you're too far in all of this to try to ignore an attraction between you—this ache in your chest after not seeing each other for weeks.

You don't know who kisses who first. Or when he pulls you towards him and closes the door behind you to pin himself against it. You have no idea who took the other's kefta off first or when you found yourself in his bed as he tried to kiss every part of you. You know you feel safe, warm, loved, and at home. And it's a feeling you haven't felt in a very long time. And so did he. That's why you get lost in each other, completely disregarding the fact that, in the end, you would probably both tear each other's hearts out.

Oh, you're a crisis of my faith Would've, could've, should've If I'd only played it safe

He finds you kneeling by his fireplace as you slowly burn letter after letter you wrote to Kaz that he sent back to you. The bastard didn't even open it.

It's been a long time since you kneeled before anything other than him. Your faith in the saints was crumbling with each passing month in the ranks of the Second Army. If the saints were so powerful, why did they continue to allow Grishas to be treated worse than dogs?

You didn't understand it. And the next bottle of Aleksander's kvas that you opened only confirmed your belief that the saints sucked, your brother was an ungrateful scoundrel, and your boyfriend was the only good thing that happened to you. Boyfriend… it felt weird for you to call him that, but you had no other idea in your half-drunk state.

You put another letter into the fire when you suddenly feel a pair of arms wrap around you, pulling you into his strong chest. You sigh, appreciating his scent and the warmth that emanates from him. His shadows slowly wrap around the two of you as you both kneel in front of the fireplace and the burning letters to your brother.

"Are you playing Inferni?" he asks teasingly as his hands go to the bottle of kvas you're holding, and he takes a sip from it.

"Possible. Did you have to grovel before the king again to get money for Grishas for uniforms, training, and food? Which should actually be his fucking duty to provide this for the soldiers who are bleeding for him and other royal snobs on the Fjerdan border.”

"Possible. Don't say it out loud or elsewhere. I don't want to see that pretty ass through the bars in the dungeon."

"We both know you'd save that ass and drag it back to your bed." you both giggle like fools. You lean more into him and sigh satisfied when he starts running through your hair, playing with it.

"Possible. Very much. Who deserves your hatred?" he asks curiously as you throw another letter into the fire. "Be careful not to set fire to my chambers. I have some nice, matching keftas here for the two of us."

"I'm glad you find it amusing that my brother is a dick." you complain a little, wondering what keftas he's referring to besides the ones you're currently wearing.

He insisted that you have at least one all-black one with red embroidery. Of course you agreed. You wanted people to know you were his.

"He didn't respond?" he asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You take his hand in yours and start drawing patterns on it with your finger. You cling to his claw-like ring and play with it for a while, spinning it around his finger.

"He actually did. He write a big 'Fuck you' at the back of one." you say thoughtfully as you shift your gaze to the letters burning in the fireplace. Maybe it was actually better to stop trying to establish contact with him for a moment and give him space to think?

"Don't think about him. You don't need him." he says, nuzzling your temple with his nose. You frown and turn your head to look at him.

"He is my brother... that's a bound that never die." you speak strongly, convinced that you are right.

The determination in your eyes makes him fall silent, staring at you as he thinks about something, or maybe someone, as he mindlessly plays with your fingers—a nervous habit he showed every time he held you against him and he thought about his past. In moments like these, you just wanted to kiss the sadness and pain from his face.

"Maybe." he finally whispers back, lost in thought. Suddenly, he shakes his head slightly and flashes back to you from his memories. "Maybe it is better for him like that? To only care about himself. To show that he is not emotionally connected to anyone. Maybe he is trying to keep you safe?"

"Why live without love? Without someone close to you who waits for you and cares for you? Who believes in you? Who would have your back at your worst and when you need a rescue?"

"Sometimes people have no choice. It's safer to live alone. To care only about yourself. You know that your actions won't hurt anyone, and if they do, it will only hurt you."

"I would rather live one life in the arms of my love than hundreds of them all alone and in meaningless glory."

He tenses, but his grip doesn't loosen around you. If anything, he grows stronger, as if he's clinging to you to make sure you don't go anywhere further than his arms reach.

He kisses your temple and pulls you in so that you're straddling his lap. He strokes your neck and collarbone gently, and after a long, tender kiss, he whispers into your lips:

"I need to get out and visit a few camps near the fold. Come with me… I need to keep an eye on you to make sure you stay in these arms of mine as long as possible." he teases you, but you know his question-order has more meaning than he is willing to admit.

For the first time, neither of you are alone. You have someone to come back to at night, someone to talk to about your problems, someone to hold in your arms. And it's both a pleasurable and addictive feeling for the two of you.

I would've stayed on my knees And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil At nineteen, and the god's honest truth is that the pain was heaven And now that I'm grown I'm scared of ghosts Memories feel like weapons And now that I know I wish you'd left me wondering

Sun Summoner. Saint Alina. Ravka's Savior.

The girl received more titles and merits, more hope placed in her than many saints to whom you prayed. You would feel sorry for her if she didn't completely rob you of YOUR Aleksander.

And you would endure it. Really. If only that little saint hadn't accidentally blurted out his name at dinner while she was talking to you.

And that's why you stood crying in your... his chambers. You were packing instead of getting ready for the winter fiesta celebrations, fully ready to mend your broken heart on the borders of Ravka, preferably in some camp near Fjerda, so that you could vent the anger, despair, and disappointment boiling inside of you to them.

Although you preferred to keep the heart of a certain little saint rather than some Fjerdan or Drüskell, and to be honest, that desire scared you.

Kaz was right. You chose comfort. You could have tried to escape from the Darkling better and put more effort into your escape plans instead of letting yourself be slandered by that damn bastard who gave that sunny whore a kefta in HIS colour after a WEEK. You waited fucking months for him to give you the black kefta you wanted, which was now hanging in his closet, abandoned like a rag.

In your anger, you packed your things blindly, oblivious to your surroundings. That's why you flinched when suddenly HIS hands gently held your arms, preventing you from packing any further.

You don't turn to face him. You don't make a move, waiting for him to say something as you listen to his heartbeat.

"Where are you going?" he asks, but you know he's only doing it to analyse his next move, to come up with a reason in his head why you'd want to leave him, and he's trying to quickly come up with a plan to talk you out of it.

You may not have known what a son-of-a-bitch he was, but at least you knew him almost as well as you knew yourself.

"On a vacation." you huff and shake his arms off of you. You close your leather suitcase with a bang and turn to face him. He notices that you're wearing your red kefta—the first one that clearly wasn't trimmed with a ridiculous amount of black embroidery typical of heartrenders.

"Y/N..." he sighs and reaches for you, but you pull away from him before his hands land on you and your traitorous body succumbs to his familiar touch.

"Don't. Don't even start it. I know what you are going say all to well."

"What are you talking about?" he asks, frowning at you. You look away from him and sit on his bed as you tie your travelling shoes and make sure you have your daggers hidden in them.

"Oh, you know. That typical 'It's not you, it's me' talk. And the classic 'I don't feel the same about you anymore. And it's my fault, not yours.' Just spare us this crap and let me go somewhere where I don't have to watch you cling to that sunny bitch."

In an instant, he's on his knees in front of you, clutching your hands in his. You know that looking into his damn hypnotic eyes will ruin you, but you're too weak to resist him.

"I admit... I've been busy with the Sun Summoner lately... but she's not the one I return to every night. She's not the one I think about every free moment; she's not the one I want to hold in my arms..."

"But she's the one who got the kefta in your colours from you. She's the one who learned your name before I did. The one you trusted right away when I had to earn your trust every fucking week here. She's your equal. Your goddamn complement. I won't stand in the way of your great, epic love and play the role of the other woman, only because you get used to having me around." you say mad and push his hands away from you.

And instead of letting you go and making the one damn right choice in your life, he stands up and traps you in the tight embrace of his arms and shadows.

You scream, squirm, and try to struggle out of his strong arms, even going so far as to pathetically punch his chest with your fists, but weakly enough that it seems more like a frantic act of your despair and hurt than an actual attempt. hurting him.

You scream, squirm, and try to struggle out of his strong arms, even going so far as to pathetically punch his chest with your fists, but weakly enough that it seems more like a frantic act of your despair and hurt than an actual attempt to harm him.

“Milaya, moye serdtse… (Sweet girl, my heart.)” he whispers in your ear, his hands caressing your back tenderly as you tremble against him. "You are the only light of my life. Moi sol ye tselai. (My sun and stars.) There is no one else, and there never will be. Alina may be the Sun Summoner, my opposite and complement, but it is YOU who challenges me, you are my EQUAL. It is you that I want to return to every night, you are with me... you are the one I want to always have with me."

And then it feels so romantic and sweet, so right, when he kisses the tears from your face and pulls the ring from his pocket to slide it on your finger after his quiet: "Kei onolich yash, milaya?" and your little, almost unnoticable nod.

It feels so good when he throws your leather suitcase off the bed in one move and lays you on it, worshipping you all night long and assuring you that he is yours and yours alone. You feel loved. Wanted. Chosen above the one and only Sun Summoner.

And in that moment, his warm, soft lips on yours, his cold hands caressing your body heated by him, the shadows floating around you that he accidentally released, and the sound of his pounding heartbeat in your ears were enough for you to forget that he was planning to gain Alina's trust in a nefarious way. It was so easy to explain it to yourself. It was so easy for you to convince yourself that he was a good man. It was definitely easier than admitting the obvious, painful truth.

After all, that was all you two wanted... to never feel lonely and unimportant again.

God rest my soul I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close Stained glass windows in my mind

The fold is dark. Cold. It doesn't resemble Aleksander's shadows at all. Your fiancé is also nothing like the version you knew.

Version. That's exactly what he was showing you.

Another version of him. Another of his hundreds of lives. You were so naive and stupid. He had to handcuff you to the deck of the ship so you could finally understand what he was really like.

And so you found yourself in the front row, watching the Black Heretic widen his fold.

He has the nerve to walk up to you and brush the hair out of your face that has been ruffled by the wind his squallers have summoned. And he does it with such tenderness that you almost believe in the truth of his feelings. Almost. The handcuffs blocking your power and hidden beneath the fabric of your black dress—another one of his sick ways of marking his ownership—are a stark reminder of how he has degraded you and how he has reduced your role to nothing more than a pretty toy on his arm so that he is not alone in his madness.

"Please... I just want to talk." he whispers, his hand never leaving your cheek as he caresses it with his thumb with utmost care.

You don't look at him. You can't anymore. His face is a blatant reminder of your stupidity and naivety. Your greatest weakness and desire - all hidden in the face of a handsome devil in front of you. A Starless Saint you used to pray to in the past...

"I don't care how long it takes you, but in the end, you'll understand and come to accept that there was no other choice. That I'm doing this for us. For you. For all the Grishas." he whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead.

You're shaking. And you curse yourself for doing this, both because you're afraid of him and because his mouth still manages to tear down all the walls you put up because of him around your heart.

"Do not touch me." you snap at him, furious. Trying to at least pretend that you really hated him with every fibre of your being.

This doesn't discourage him. Even the other way around, he pulls you closer to him, tangling his hand in the back of your hair to whisper into your ear:

"I will banish this attitude from you in time, moya tsaritsa." you freeze at his words, realising his true plan—to expand the fold and take over Ravka. He wanted to become a tsar...

"You must be delusional to think for even a second that you will take control over Ravka and put me by your side."

"Isn't that what we promised each other? Stay with each other no matter what? I have seen what you truly are, and I never turned away. I never will." he's trying to convince you, and you know that if it weren't for the numerous lies and half-truths he fed you, you would join him.

You wouldn't care about what he did, what he intended to do, or who he would hurt to fulfil his sick plan that had been hundreds of years in the making. You feel weak and naive like never before. All because of the man, you decided to give your heart and all your devotion.

"I promised this to General Kirigan. Not to the Black Heretic, poisoned by his maniacal beliefs and blinded by the grip of authority and power. No matter how hard you try, you will never have control over anything. Your shadows and pride will be your undoing, Aleksander."

You gasp when he suddenly grabs your jaw roughly, tightening his fingers around your bones and preventing you from saying anything. He glares at you, a combination of betrayal and pain in his dark eyes as he tries to decide what to do with you. And you know that if you were anyone else, he would have used his shadows on you long ago.

And for a moment, you wish that he could finally free you from the suffering, hopelessness, and inner conflict you feel every time you look at his face.

"You shall be right by my side... no matter what you think about me." he promised you, which almost sounds like a threat, and placed a soft kiss on your cheek, near your lips. "You will understand; I know you will... we have all the time we need."

Before you can ask him about the meaning of his words, hell begins to break loose around you.

And you don't know what amazes you more, the fact that Alina is able to resist the bond and summon an incredible amount of light, or the fact that your brother appears next to you, and with the help of some mad hatter with a gun who turns out to be a fabricator, they free you. Kaz and his people take you away from the fold, Aleksander and his Grishas.

You are free.

Only your heart seems to be bleeding, left far behind you in the hands of a man you don't know if he's still alive.

And for the first time in several years, after you have a very emotional conversation with your little brother and after you promise to help the Sun Summoner, you allow yourself to cry quietly in the room they rented in some old inn.

And the worst of it all is that you don't cry for who you were, for the lost years in the Little Palace, or for how Aleksander changed you and transformed you in his image. No. You cry over him because you don't know if you'll ever see that damn bastard again.

And to make matters worse, you find a picture of a Starless Saint in the room. And you know that Aleksander, dead or alive, will haunt you for the rest of your life.

And his engagement ring resting safely on your finger is obvious proof of that.

I regret you all the time Can't let this go I fight with you in my sleep The wound won't close I keep on waiting for a sign I regret you all the time

Baghra teaches you how to control and summon shadows.

Yes, Baghra, Aleksander's mother, who apparently turned out to be on your side, teaches you how to control and summon shadows.

During one rather nasty fight with Drüskelles, it turns out you can summon a fucking shadow cut.

And after Aleksander starts haunting you in your dreams and even in broad daylight, just like he does with Alina, you realise that she's not the only one who got an amplifier from him.

And so you found yourself in a library near the village where you were hiding, trying to find any information about Morozova and his amplifiers. And the women sitting across from you weren't much help.

"Why does he haunt her more than he haunts me? Could it have something to do with the fact that the bond between us is falling apart or is less durable than theirs?" Alina asks Baghra. You roll your eyes at her.

"He obviously has other… priorities." the old woman replies, clearly insinuating the motive for these priorities.

"Maybe please stop insinuating such nonsense?" you mumble over your book, trying to read the text.

It didn't help that you were distracted by their conversations and hadn't slept in days, too afraid of meeting him in your dreams. He was all you could think about anyway.

"I'm just stating facts. The boy constantly thinks about you; you think about him. You seek and reach out to each other unconsciously and appear before the other eyes."

"I'm not at all…"

"I wouldn't embarrass myself more if I were you." Kaz says, walking alongside Mal, Inej, and Jasper. Everyone but him is carrying large stacks of books for your wonderful group to look through.

"At least this one has a brain." Baghra comments, insulting everyone at the table. You can see from Kaz's look that he's rather pleased with her comment. "It's better for you that you're a cripple." you huff, amused, seeing Kaz's expression revert to his trademark cold stare. He frowns grumpily as he plops down on the couch next to you.

It was in good enough condition to allow you to lean on it for a while. That's why you took the opportunity and placed your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Are you going to meet your geek?" he asks teasingly, and if you didn't know him, you'd think the snarky tone was meant to mock you.

"You better keep an eye on your girlfriend, Kazzle. She's far too good for you," you whisper back to him and smile victoriously, hearing his heart speed up at the mention of Inej.

"Shut up and go to sleep."

You agree and allow yourself to fall asleep for the first time in days, hoping someone will wake you up if Aleksander invades your dreams again.

If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners You and I Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts Give me back my girlhood It was mine first

As soon as you open your eyes, you realise that you are in a different place, somewhere you have never been before. You look around the room and stop in front of the mirror. You shudder as you realise you're wearing the black kefta HE once gave you.

"One day without your annoying presence, is it that much to ask?" you say, turning around after you saw his figure in the mirror.

You shiver, realising that he's much closer than you expected. For a moment, you wish you could pinch yourself to get out of there. It would definitely make life easier for your battered heart.

"You're so successful at avoiding me that I have to take advantage of every opportunity you give me, milaya." he says and takes a step towards you.

You automatically step back, making him clench his fists, keeping them to himself. He sighs and looks at you again, his dark brown eyes scanning your soul, trying, as usual, to find something to convince you to come back to him.

"Please… I just want to talk. You know I would never hurt you." he makes his cute, kicked-up puppy face. Your stupid heart hurts to see him so... broken, but this time your brain is screaming over your heart's pleas for mercy to this man.

"Do you want to talk? Then maybe you can tell me why you put an amplifier in me? Why did you let me summon your shadows?! Why did Grishas have to evacuate from the Little Palace, and why is the king hunting us like Fjerdans and Drüskelles?!" you ask angrily, unconsciously moving closer to him with each sentence you shout at him.

"You can try to make me a monster if it makes you feel better, but I am not your enemy. And you know it. Everything I do, everything I have ever done, I've done for Grishas. And everything I ever do will be for Grishas and for you." he says, as usual, maintaining that damn composure that makes you hate him more. You hate that he pretends he's perfectly fine while you're falling to pieces every day you walk without him by your side.

"Lying. That's all you can do. Lie, manipulate. Tell me, how many gullible girls have you fooled with your beautiful eyes and idealistic talk? How much girlhood have you taken and used for your own benefit?" you ask him, wanting to hurt him, wanting to cause him the same pain he gave you when you found out the truth about him, and your world crumbled around you like a house of cards. Because that's all your life was. Illusion. An illusion created by a man you couldn't hate like he deserved you.

"I've never taken anything you didn't give me willingly."

"I gave you everything just not to lose you. You made me dependent on you; you made life without you seem like cruel torture; you showed me things that I can't even feel with anyone else; you manipulated me so well that I don't feel that I exist without being by your side." you accuse him with tears in your eyes. You're letting them fall freely as you look at his shocked, hurt face. "And every pain you brought me was like fucking heaven. And the worst part of it all is that I would still be your fucking faithful follower and completely surrender my battered soul to you if only you hadn't fucking lied to me."

You let yourself fall apart in front of him. You let him touch you again as he tenderly cups your cheek and pulls your head to his chest. You cry into his kefta, hugging him tightly and digging your fingers into his back as he presses his lips against your head and holds you tightly in his arms.

"I hate you. I hate you." you cry into his chest, inhaling his scent like a drug.

"I will always love you, milaya." he says calmly, but you feel the drops dripping on your hair, and you let yourself believe that they are his own tears as you stand there in each other's arms, clinging desperately to each other.

And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil At nineteen, and the god's honest truth is that the pain was heaven And now that I'm grown I'm scared of ghosts Memories feel like weapons And now that I know I wish you'd left me wondering

Fedyor struggles with Ivan's grip. However, both you and the two heartrenders know that this makes no sense.

The two of you (and Baghra, whose whereabouts you were unaware of) were captured by Aleksander's men. You both actually volunteered. You were supposed to distract attention from the rest of your group of world saviors. Aleksander took the throne as he had predicted. And Ivan now leads you before the new tsar.

You walked through the corridors of the Little Palace, knowing this place all too well by heart, and you wondered if, when Aleksander was building it, he always had in the back of his mind that it would serve as his royal residence in the future. You were actually surprised that his first order wasn't to demolish the Grand Palace.

"Moi tsar." Ivan's voice pulls you from your thoughts. You weren't even aware that you had already reached the throne room.

"Finally. Interrogate the prisoner. Tsaritsa stays here." he says, and you feel his gaze on you, but you don't give him enough satisfaction to grace him with your gaze.

Fedyor swallows. You give him a sympathetic look as he walks away, with Ivan holding him tightly. What can war do to two people in love? You think. At least Fedyor knew how to hate Ivan... not like you.

There's an awkward silence between you for a moment. Only the rustle of his royal kefta and the heavy steps he takes in his shoes make you look up at him. And you hold your breath.

Of course, you had heard the rumours about his visit to the fold, leaving him with souvenir scars from his encounter with volcras, but well... it wasn't your fault that you immediately thought how hotter he was because of them. And with a crown on his head and a black kefta with red embroidery, he looked amazing. He had no right to look like that when you stood in front of him in your brother's oversized shirt and pants borrowed from Inej.

"Tsaritsa?" you finally ask with a sneer, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I knew you'd react to that." he says with a smirk, walking over to you. "I promised you this, remember? And I keep my promises. Even if I didn't really know you, Y/N Rietveld." you flinch at the sound of your real name, which you somehow managed to push from your memory. You also notice his clear reference to what you told him then in the fold. 'You lied to me too. About your identity. A paid killer. That's why you were at the palace, right? That's why I got the cup from you, with poison in it, if I'm not mistaken?"

"As you can see, quite miserable if you're still alive. Besides, I tought telling you half a story was not a laying at all?" you say, looking at him defiantly. He just laughs and stands in front of you, chest to chest, as you stare at one another.

"Is this how it will be now? Using each other's words against each other?"

"You can let me go, and then you won't have to talk to me at all." you say and he laughs, tucking your hair behind your ear and caressing your cheek with his thumb.

His fingers wander along your jaw, to your neck, to your collarbone, to your shoulder, and to the handcuffs on your hands, blocking your power.

"That's not the option. You are staying right where you are, right where you belong. With me." he says, and to your surprise, he removes the handcuffs from you. He takes your hands in his and presses his lips on the small, almost imperceptible marks on your wrists from handcuffs. He also didn't miss the opportunity to fondly stroke the engagement ring he gave you, which is still on your finger. It makes you blush unwillingly. "I can be your monster and force you to stay to make the whole situation easier for you."

"I would never choose you. Blood is thicker than water." you say, furious at his suggestion that you would choose him over your brother.

"But you can't leave without any of this, can you?"

You become silent. Because he's right. You can't live without him, and you have no idea what awaits you next, but you know that you will have to lose someone. And you are afraid of the end result more than anything else.

Suddenly, he stands behind you. You feel his chest rising and falling with each breath on your back as he suddenly raises his hands. There is something heavy, metallic, and heavy on your head. The bastard gave you a damn crown.

"It's you and me, Y/N. And we are all we need anyway." he says and places a kiss on your temple. He presses his nose, inhaling your scent and hugging you tightly, pressing you against him as his shadows circle the room and wrap around the two of you. You can't deny it and say that you don't feel comfortable at all, that you don't feel the relief that his presence once brought you. Because you do. You've always done. "I will give you the world, everything you want... all you have to do is stay."

You don't protest when he places a gentle hand on your jaw and tilts your head to kiss you. You don't try to break free from his grip as he deepens the kiss, expressing all the longing, anger, and affection you feel for each other. And you eagerly push him to his throne, to straddle him and prove that you want him as desperately as he wants you.

Oh, God rest my soul I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close Stained glass windows in my mind I regret you all the time I can't let this go I fight with you in my sleep The wound won't close I keep on waiting for a sign I regret you all the time

You stood next to him. Just like he wanted. This was your plan before you even came back to him. Fedyor also got back into his good graces and gave them information, and you tried to convince your stupid heart that you were doing the right thing. And now you watched as Alina fought with him to destroy the fold.

And you're really prepared for him to die. You replayed this moment a thousand times in your head as you lay by his side in the Little Palace, watching him in his sleeping state.

What you are not ready for, and what the volcras around you make you realise, is life without him. Without his shadows. Without his voice. Without his dark eyes. Without his touch.

You're still trying to fight with it. Convince yourself that you are stronger and that you can do it. But when you see Alina pick up a Grisha steel dagger and aim it at Aleksander's chest, you react automatically.

You link your hands and form a cut faster than you can process it, and in a moment, the Sun Summoner ceases to exist.

It's just you and Aleksander in the fold.

The world stops for you. Your hands shake as you realise what you've done. And if it weren't for Aleksander's quick reaction and logical thinking, the volcra would have sniffed you out before you could take a step. He guides you out of your crease without even stopping for a moment. But you know it doesn't make sense. You will both perish without light.

Volcra attacks you, despite Aleksander's best attempts to keep them away, and cuts your arm. You scream as suddenly a bright light flows out of you along with your blood. Both you and Aleks freeze and stare at the strong beam of light from your shoulder.

Aleksander tightens his grip on you. You feel him as he amplifies the light within you and brings you out of the fold. You stop only when you are a few metres away from it. You kneel on the ground tiredly, mentally both cursing and thanking the saints, because you have no goddamn idea how you survived this and why Alina's powers transferred to you.

Aleksander is quickly at your side and wraps you in his tight embrace, whispering something you don't quite understand yet. You're too focused on the fact that you can't feel his heartbeat anymore. Your own powers are gone...

And with that, you realise that Y/N Rietveld had long been buried six feet deep beneath the walls of the Little Palace when your eyes met the devil you sold your soul to for the first time.

You gently push Aleksander away from you and kiss him, knowing that this is the only thing that can calm the storm of thoughts raging inside you as you absorb new revelations.

The fold claimed many lives. And it will absorb more than one in the future. It was the tomb of many common people as well as Grishas. And you know it buried Y/N Rietveld/Brekker today.

But a completely new person came out of it. Y/N Morozova. And she was no longer going to pretend that her soul knew anything of her old life anymore. She wasn't going to waste another night wondering how her life could've, would've, or should've gone. Not wasting another moment in the arms of the love of her arms, wondering if it was right to care about him. You didn't play it safe. So now you're going to take what life has got for you. And not alone. Never alone anymore.

"Let's go home, Sasha." you ask him, whispering.

And after a tender kiss on the forehead, you know that you couldn't have made a better decision. Maybe your soul has always been under the care of the saints, specifically this Starless one?

In any case, being the devil's wife suited you.

[fandomination666-blog]

As someone who lives in Texas (unfortunately) I find it SO FUNNY when people make keith overwhelmingly southern. Like, cmon yall. Texas history 101, the cowboy era ended a long ass time ago, most of us DONT wear cowboy hats anymore. Why the fuck would keith ride a horse???? Nobody does that unless they own horses??? And horses are incredibly expensive???

Like, I understand cowboy aus, and historical aus, but if Texas, in 2024, isn't like that (the stereotypes are so wild) then why would it be like that in approx 2314?

Very few wear cowboy hats or boots. Very few have horses, and NOBODY rides them to school, ffs. Keith is not a farmhand.

Some texas stereotypes that are true, however...

-yeah we say yall nonstop

-ain't, wouldja, couldn't've, etc.

-confederate flag is less common here, normally you see the "come and take it" or the "don't tread on me"

-if keith ever went to public school, 1/3 of his classmates or more are Latino

-most Texans know moderate amounts of Spanish

-we celebrate Cinco de Mayo, and most ppl think it's Mexican independence day (it's not)

-barbecue.

-chili WITHOUT BEANS YOU HEATHEN

-will fight over food, family, or football

-either you support the Dallas Cowboys or the Houston Texans. Any other team is sacrilege. Once you make this choice, it WILL have effects on your social life.

-football is basically king here lol, none of the other stuff in school gets nearly the funding

-people living in rural areas (like Keith's dad) often own guns, and not pistols either-- rifles and shotguns, usually

-NOBODY SAYS YEEHAW. at least not unironically

-Texans will ironically say yeehaw, rootin-tootin, etc bc we are aware of our history and think it's wack

-were not all racist, but everyone knows at least one person who is (usually an older family member)

-mind your gotdamn manners at the table. Get those elbows away from your food

-sir and ma'am for strangers

-open doors for old people. You don't have to be a man to do this.

-please and thank you is SO important, people will assume things about you otherwise

-if you don't have a church, you miss out on a lot of community (coming from a non-religious person)

-most people here are Baptist, on that note (Hispanic people contribute to the Catholic population, but still, Baptist is #1)

-internet service is awful unless you're in a city

-we WILL close all schools for 2 inches of snow/ice

-we laugh at hurricanes, and then do our best to help our Houston neighbors

-but everybody hates Houston and Dallas, unless you live there

-most people are okay with Austin, San Antonio, etc

-EL PASO IS TINY, AND HALF OF IT IS IN MEXICO (and is called Ciudad Juárez there)

-beer is god. And God has no problem with drinking. (According to beliefs here)

-gambling is illegal here, but we love it, so states like Oklahoma have built casinos RIGHT ON THE STATE BORDER so that we can drive a bit and gamble as we please

-everybody's dad drives a truck. Otherwise people assume he's got a small pp

[marmorafarms]

Self Love: Shane x Cis Female Reader

Hey guys!

I've got a new smutty fic for you, and it stars Shane!!! I'm pretty excited about it, so I hope you enjoy!

Rating: 18+ ONLY

Summary: Shane comes over after a rough day. You want to help him relax and have some fun, but Shane is feeling self conscious. It's time for you to work your magic!

Warnings and Content: Alcohol mention, face sitting, creampie, body worship

Working at Joja Mart sucked. A lot. Shane hated that his work options were manual labor or customer service. And honestly? Manual labor would've been the better pick.

Shane had gotten written up today for saying "Your pussy is way too dry to be riding my dick that hard," to an angry old man. The dude had it coming! He was just passing through town and was yelling at Shane because they were out of bananas. The old man was acting like Shane was purposefully denying him the fruit, and he was just so, so tired.

After being sent home early, Shane texted you. You had sent him a quick "dude wtf" before asking him to come over. He agreed immediately. Marnie would definitely yell at him, and he wasn't in the mood for that.

He only had to knock once before the door was flung open. The smell of pizza and pepper poppers was in the air.

"You made food?" he asked as you let him in.

"All homemade! Nothing frozen!" You said proudly.

"Well shit," Shane said as he plopped down on your couch, food already on the coffee table. "How did you manage to get this ready so fast?"

"Well," you said, sitting next to him, "I was going to invite you over anyway. So I had started on it already." You placed a hand on his, and smiled at his look of surprise. His fingers twitched slightly, but he kept his hand in place. He was still getting used to your touches.

It wasn't that Shane was against you touching him, far from it. But his days of big biceps and washboard abs from playing gridball were over. Now he was old and fat and–

"Shane?" you said softly.

He blinked, realizing he'd been quiet for a little too long.

"Why did you want me to come over?" he asked.

"Aside from enjoying your company?" you asked. "I have something I want to show you. Can I go get it real quick?"

Shane nodded, and watched you hurry to your room. He grabbed a slice of pizza and took a bite, wondering what you got him. Maybe it was more of that non-alcoholic wine. Shane had been skeptical, but it actually tasted really nice.

"Here it is!" you said. He turned to look, and his jaw dropped. He set his pizza down, missing the plate entirely.

You were wearing the most beautiful set of lingerie he'd ever seen. It was made from a bold red lace, with golden chains sitting on your waist and hips. Your breasts were displayed beautifully in a bra that plunged low. The fabric was so thin that he could see your hard nipples.

Shane felt like he was going to pass out. Both from how you looked, and from how all the blood from his head had drained straight to his dick. He was at full mast already, drinking the sight of you in.

"Do you like it?" You asked, slowly sashaying over.

Shane wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell you how stunning you looked, how he wanted to pull your panties aside with his teeth and lick your wet pussy straight away.

But that wasn't what he said.

"Why?" he croaked out. "Why are you wearing this?"

"You don't like it?" You asked, face falling.

"No! I mean, yes I do like it! It's just…I don't get it."

You looked perplexed. "I wanted to look sexy for you. And I was kinda hoping you would think I am and would fuck me on the couch."

Shane turned bright red and cleared his throat. God, that sounded amazing. But there was still this nagging feeling, this horrible thought that you were doing this out of pity. He was fat and hairy and nothing at all like the other men in town. There was no way you were seriously attracted to him, right?

"You want to do that with me?" he asked.

"Well, yeah. I mean, we've done it before," you pointed out.

"We were drunk!" Shane blurted out, eyebrows furrowed.

This was true. Your first encounter with Shane had been a drunken hookup that led to him avoiding you like the plague for a while. He had admitted later that he had been embarrassed about having random sex with a stranger, and was trying to forget about it.

It was hard to forget about it though, especially with you bothering him on the daily. Your soft lips all over his body, tongue dipping into the slit of his cock before lavishing it with attention…it was hands down the best sex he'd ever had. If he believed in Yoba, he would be on his knees praising the deity for allowing him to remember that night in full detail.

"So what?" you said, moving closer to him. "It was fun. And it'll be even more fun without our minds clouded."

Shane tensed as you got into his lap and began to grind against his clothed cock. Fuck, why couldn't he be normal for two seconds and enjoy this?

"I think I need a drink," he mumbled.

"You can have a Joja Cola when we're done," you murmured, and nibbled the shell of his ear. Shane let out a whine and you grinned.

"Where else are you sensitive?" You asked, moving to his neck. You pressed soft kisses against his skin, starting with his jaw, rough from stubble, and trailing your way down.

"Lie down," you said. The two of you shuffled around a bit until you were sitting on his hips, while he lay back. You pressed down on his cock with your pussy, continuing to grind against him. Shane groaned, and you reached down for his button, ready to get this show on the road.

"Wait!" Shane said sharply. You halted your movements immediately, looking at him, concern on your face.

"You're really sure you want this?" he asked. You let out an annoyed huff at these words.

"Of course! Shane, what's going on?"

Shane closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his eyes were glassy.

"All the other guys in town are…are fit and healthy and handsome. I'm an ugly old hairy fat guy and–"

"Whoa whoa what?" You said, eyes wide in shock. "Let me start off by saying that you're not ugly or old. 37 is not old, okay?"

"You're 28," he muttered. "I'm 9 years older than you."

"I don't give a shit," you said firmly. "And I happen to like how you look. I personally think you're so sexy."

"No you don't," Shane said looking away.

"I do though," you said, and gently kissed him. "So sexy. So gorgeous. Wouldn't trade you for anyone," you said in between kisses. You snaked a hand under his shirt and tugged at his chest hair. He hissed slightly, and you pushed his shirt up.

"Love your body hair," you said, kissing his chest. "Love your soft pecs–"

"Man boobs," Shane corrected in a breathy tone. You chuckled.

"Whatever. I love them." You covered them in kisses, nipping a nipple gently. Moving down, you continued complimenting.

"Mmm I want to see those thick thighs," you said, gripping his legs. "Those thick hairy thighs. Want to spread them open so I can suck that gorgeous cock of yours."

"Fuck baby," Shane said, eyes fluttering shut. Your words were getting to him, and he found himself enjoying the attention.

"Can I?" you asked, touching the button of his jeans. After giving his consent, you popped it open and slowly pulled his zipper down. You looked hungrily down at him.

Shane helped you shimmy his pants off, and you got in between his legs, gently kissing his cock over his boxers. You cupped his sac while you did so, and he moaned in pleasure.

"I wanna see," you finally said, and Shane quickly kicked his boxers off. You hummed in appreciation, and he blushed.

"I'm not that great," he said. Shane didn't have a tiny dick, but he was on the shorter side. He was decently thick, and you nearly licked your lips, ready to take him into your mouth.

"Yeah you are," you said, licking a stripe up his cock. "Perfect for my mouth. Mmm I remember that night…you felt so good in my pussy too."

Shane moaned at your words, and let out a stream of swear words as you took him all the way into your hot mouth. You slobbered all over him, getting as messy as possible as you kissed and slurped.

"W-wait!" he gasped. "Too close!"

You understood. He wanted to last so he could fuck you properly. You pulled off, and he lifted your chin up with a finger, wanting you to look at him.

"Sit on my face," he said. It wasn't a question, it was a command, and you were more than happy to listen. You quickly pulled the panties off, the beautiful jewelry still on your body.

Shane gripped your thighs as you lowered yourself down.

"So wet already," he said before your pussy covered his mouth.

"I wasn't lying when I said I find you–ahhhhh…." you moaned as he began to lick between your folds. His tongue moved to your clit, giving it lots of attention before he dipped it inside of you.

"C-close!" You panted after barely any time had passed. This had happened before as well. You had came on his face in record time from how good he was with his mouth.

You practically screamed out his name, head thrown back in ecstasy. He let you sit there, casually lapping at you, making you twitch. Finally you lifted yourself off.

"Enjoy yourself?" he asked. You responded by kissing him deeply. He touched your lips with the tip of his tongue and you opened up. Your tongues slid against each other as you passionately kissed.

"Gonna fuck me now?" you asked. He nodded, and the two of you swapped places.

"Shit I don't have a condom," Shane said. "Do you…?"

"Just put it in me!" You said desperately. "I'm on birth control, it's fine."

Shane nodded and pushed in. He closed his eyes in pleasure, but they flew open when you wrapped your legs around him, making him unable to move.

"Wh–"

"Compliment yourself," you said.

"Excuse me?" He said.

"You're excused. Now say three nice things about yourself and I'll let you move."

"What the fuck?" Shane said annoyed, but you were clearly serious. He sighed.

"I'm good at making you cum, I'm good with animals, and…I dunno." he said, shrugging.

"Say you have a hot body," you said firmly.

"I have a hot body," Shane said in a monotone. You glared at him.

"Like you mean it," you said.

You went back and forth for a bit before he snapped.

"I'm hot, okay? My body is gorgeous! I'm sexy as fuck!" he practically shouted, but there was something different in his tone.

"Yeah you are!" You said happily, and let him go. "Now fuck me."

Shane grinned, and began pounding into you hard and fast. He smiled as you shouted in pleasure, complimenting him at every turn. The two of you reached your peak at the same time, Shane burying his face into your shoulder as he painted your insides white. Your walls clenched around him, milking his cock for all it had.

"Fuck," Shane said after a moment.

"That was amazing," you panted. "We gotta do this more often."

"Yeah, yeah we do," Shane said. He was no longer worried if you wanted his body. Shane had never felt this loved in his life. And he was going to do everything he could to protect this happiness.

[frenchie-sottises]

Back at it With the Punch Out Headcanons.

It's been a long while since I've done any Punch Out Headcanons, and combined with the fact that I looked through my old posts and may or may not have cringed a little, I'm gonna add some more headcanons and update some current ones. (Mostly cause they were made out of little information I had at the time.)

Also, just throwing up a warning real quick as some of these headcanons do mention some heavier topics like familial abuse and childhood neglect for some of these boxers. However, they don't go into detail.

Glass Joe:

I called him a cinnamon roll last time, and that still holds true, but I didn't realize how sassy this man was. Telling you you're bad for his health, making it clear he's coming for you by pointing at you like you just committed a crime, this mfer has some spunk for having a hundred losses to a single victory. He's still extremely chill, but he's not above throwing hands if necessary.. even if he might lose.

100% the type of person to make baked goods for someone if they're down or it's their birthday. Part of the reason why he likes taking his friends to lunch.

Even though the WVBA doesn't seem to have an age limit, especially apparent with boxers like Gabby and Hoy, he's still not looking forward to the day he must retire. He enjoys boxing, it's why he's still kicking despite losing so much, and he hates the idea he won't be in the ring anymore.

Tumblr has broken his humor.

Von Kaiser:

Was exposed to so much propaganda as a kid that he makes a point to learn all sides of the story purely out of spite.

His dad was in the military, so respect was almost literally beaten into this man's head as he grew up. However, despite the trauma, he doesn't believe in his father's tactics, so he chose to turn his boxing career into a place where he can teach other kids the proper way to become respectable adults without the trauma he was put through.

Has a difficult time expressing his feelings, but will eventually give in if it's someone he's close to or with enough coaxing. However, the quickest way to gain his trust and help him open up is to respect his space. His expressions make it pretty clear what he wants.

Kinda has to be dragged to make any sort of online presence. He only has a Facebook and a Tumblr. It would've been strictly Facebook had Joe not encourage him to make a Tumblr. (The site has also broken his humor.)

Disco Kid:

Has 100% wore your typical 80s disco fashion. There's a reason why he's called "Disco Kid." His grandparents were big disco dancers, which eventually got passed down to him. Rollerskating's pretty much paired up with that, so he breaks it down.

Is quite an oddball when it comes to being a boxer. With his history, you'd think he'd just stick with being a dancer, but he's never liked the idea of his passion being his profession. He likes the freedom in his dancing, so it's staying as a hobby. Of course, you need money for hobbies, you saw his car, so he took up boxing when he saw a poster for a WVBA match. He may not be the best, but he loves boxing enough to want to incorporate it with his dancing.

Has made it a mission to learn every instrument there is! He loves his disco stuff, but he has a general love for music. Old, new, fancy, simple, it doesn't matter. If it exists, he wants to learn it.

Is one of the more tech savvy boxers of the group. There's a chat in the Discord server that is solely for memes cause he wouldn't stop posting them in general. ("I've been kicked for posting memes in general. Help-") May or may not be part of the reason Joe's and Von's humors are broken.

King Hippo:

He may be royalty, but he's one of the most humbled beings you'll ever meet. He's definitely an acts of service kind of guy, so he's holding doors open for people, giving people food, using his money to help the citizens on his island, his mother raised him well.

Has personally fought and chased Airbnb off of his island after they tried their greedy bullshit. They already cause people in other places problems, he'd be damned if they're welcomed on his island! (It was televised too, so his appearance alone made even Sandman shake in his boots.)

You're not gonna believe this, but.. Hippo can speak English. He can speak it really well, actually. His iconic way of speaking originally started for show, but became his main way of talking, but English was his first language, so, on the few occasions where he needs to actually talk, he surprises everyone in the room with it.

Has experience in architecture. Safe to say it's one of his biggest passions, and he uses it often to help his citizens because why be a king if you just sit on your ass all day when you can help your people instead? He sneers at most kings he's heard about.

Piston Hondo:

He's such a snarky lil shit in the ring, it's almost comical. He does it on purpose just to cause problems. He's fine outside the ring, but the boxers can tell when he's out to cause problems when his moves his eyebrows more than he normally should.

Second to Tiger when it comes to being a clean freak. He sneezes at the littlest things, so he has air filters and humidifiers all over his home. It's helped quite a bit! If he's in a room where it's dirty, he immediately goes into cleaning mode, outfit and all.

His love for drawing and art still holds true. He gets easily inspired, so he always has a sketchbook on him. He eventually picked up digital drawing, feeling unsure at first, but his determination led him to discover how much he loved it! He now makes a point to learn different forms of art, having made a room in his home dedicated to all things art.

Sneaks up on people too easily. He doesn't even do it on purpose most of the time, he's just very light on his feet. Not even the lightest sleeper can hear him moving around when it's three in the morning. 100% mastered this to raid the fridge, there's no way you're this quiet without picking it up somewhere.

Bear Hugger:

Got his knowledge and love for nature from his dad. He fully understands and accepts nature in all her beauty and ugliness. This also means that anything you'd want to know about nature, he's your go-to. He isn't one to sugarcoat things, so any information you wish to know is to be done at your own discretion. (Is also one of Casual Geographic's biggest fans as he keeps it straightforward while also having master word play.)

May or may not have his DNA altered via a were..bear bite. Yeah, who knew his sparring partner was a mythical being? He paid no mind till he started noticing the typical changes found in such a transformation. His speed and strength led to him breaking his tools by accident fairly often, and his sharpened senses overwhelmed him a few times, but he's adjusted to this and uses these abilities to his advantage, especially in hunting. He's thought about possibly climbing the ranks while he still has the time, but is still unsure as he doesn't mind where he currently sits.

Will fight and has fought people who litter without a second thought. The forest he lives in used to be covered in trash, which he spent weeks cleaning, so he takes massive offense to those who don't bother to throw away their trash. If the person purposely does it after being warned? Only God can save you, cause he's thrown people's whole selves into trashcans. (His werebear abilities make this easier to do.)

Was originally gonna be a massage therapist before attending one of his mother's boxing matches. He has always been good with his hands, so he went all the way and gained his license for it. Of course, he prefers boxing, but he hasn't let his license expire, so he still holds the therapist title!

Great Tiger:

Number one clean freak out of everyone in the WVBA. No one knows where he got it. He doesn't even have health issues that require it like Hondo does, but he feels the need to keep his house clean. This also, by extension, means he keeps himself extremely clean. It's not to insufferable levels like with Don, but he always has a light scent of lavender on him. If he was in a dirty room, or a dirty home, you're gonna see about thirty clones all dressed up and cleaning the place.

If the light shines on him just right, his eyes almost look like they're made of liquid gold. He gets a lot of compliments on his eyes, it's ridiculous. It's either the eyes, or the mustache, which, he won't deny, his mustache is pretty fabulous. He loves the compliments, but he does get a bit overwhelmed if they get too much.

Has a deep love for mythology. It doesn't matter where it's from, he reads and learns all he can about it. He's one of the few boxers who suspects Bear Hugger might've had something happen to him due to the subtle changes he's picked up. He's also dressed up as a vampire on a few occasions just for funsies.

He doesn't want to admit it, but whenever he wears a sash belt, the extra bit behaves like a cat's tail. He tries to control it, but it's apparent when he's irritated, it flicks around just like that of a cat. The only thing it doesn't do is lift straight up, which is something that happens when a cat is happy to see you, but it does curl at the end.

Don Flamenco:

For being as cocky as he is, if he feels like he's in the wrong in any way, he's apologizing FAST. He can't imagine ever hurting someone, even if it's unintentional. He also struggles to not cry as he admits he was wrong, but, dammit, he can't help it.

Absolutely adores games that encourage creativity like Sims and Minecraft. He's always looking forward to designing houses and gardens in these games, using any and all tricks he knows to bring extra pizazz to them. It's even better when Carmen's around to join in. His favorite of the bunch is probably Sims 4. Animal Crossing is a close second. (And you know, damn well, that they got the fanciest, gothic houses in the games.)

Don't ever assume Don performs actual bullfighting, cause this man will not let you hear the end of why he's against it. He's one of cultural heritage, but bullfighting is a disgrace in his eyes and looks forward to the day it's illegal across the country. He'd rather fight the bull with his bare hands in a test of strength than ever bring out a weapon.

Doesn't realize how much his perfume bothers people. He loves the smell of perfume, especially anything floral because of course this dude loves his flowers. He gets fussed at a lot for it, so it's a miracle Mac wasn't fazed by it.

Aran Ryan:

His parents are both terrible. The father pretty much drank his life away while the mother ran away. Because of this, Aran was forced to grow up and fend for not only himself, but also for his little sister, Arabella. It's mostly the explanation for his unhinged and masochist-like behavior. Most people don't fuck with crazy.

Despite his rough background, he was able to get help from neighbors, who all silently agreed to take turns watching the two cause American foster systems tend to not fair much better. He worked at several jobs once he was sixteen. He's worked anything from cashier work to yard work and even some automotive work. He wasn't able to finish school, he dropped out as soon as he started working, but eventually got his GED once he took up boxing and got a steady income to help keep Arabella in school.

Does not give a fuck about what people say about him, but will be on the verge of wailing on someone if they dare trash talk his sister. Soda's had to hold him back a few times cause he'll halt the match to fight whoever said some bs, he doesn't play. Luckily, for everyone involved, anyone with a sane enough mind will not dare cross that line.

Thanks to the WVBA and the neighbors, this is the craziest he'll ever get. Outside the ring, he's pretty much one of the most chilled boxers you'll meet. The most he does is pranks, which all go for annoying the people he targets. You can take the Irish man out of the chaos, but you'll never take the chaos out of the Irish man.

Soda Popinski:

Number one cat magnet. He can't explain it, nor is he trying, but cats love him. He can literally just sit on a bench in a random spot, and it wouldn't even take two minutes before a cat comes out of the wild for some pets. He was even once bombarded with a whole bundle of kittens when he saw one on the side of the road one day. He took them all home, named them, and takes great care of them. Tiger seethes with jealousy.

His calm nature is the Yin to Aran's chaotic Yang. He was one of the first boxers to greet Aran when he first joined, and lent an ear to all the stuff Aran was going through and had to get off his chest. After that, the two pretty much became best friends. He's even helped babysit Arabella a few times if no one else was around to help. It's a bromance at this point. Only Soda can calm Aran down if something, or someone, severely pisses the Irish man off.

Has an immune system of steel. Not even diseases like Covid can faze this man. People suspect it's the soda, but it actually lies in the fact that Soda's technically a genetic experiment gone undetected. Someone messed up the shots and his mother got the shot the Russian government was using to make super soldiers. No one knows about it.

No one has successfully hid from this man, his sixth sense for sniffing out bullshit is insane. Don was sent to get drinks, but came back claiming the store was closed, but Soda pointed out the shirt he left with had tiny flowers, but the one he was wearing currently is only dots. Then Disco came in late for his training sessions, claiming he caught the train, but Soda told him that there's a road that avoids it altogether and questioned why he didn't just take that route. It's almost annoying for the other boxers how quickly he puts them on the spot.

Bald Bull:

Mother died when he was only ten, so the rest of his childhood was handled by his shitty father. Despite being the oldest of three, his father gave his younger brother the ranch due to his disapproval of Bull taking up boxing. He kept what his mother said in mind: to follow his dreams, so he did. He's tried to keep contact with his siblings, but they cut contact with him despite knowing their father is in the wrong. He's understandably bitter about it.

When he has himself a me day, he dresses up in his biker gear and drives his saddlebag bike with the ape hangers. (Ape hangers are high sitting handlebars that encourage upright posture.) His helmet conceals his identity, so no one knows it's him driving around and having fun. He became a rebel/biker as a way to break free from his father's control, so it's forever a part of him. He's also outrun the cops on several occasions. They still haven't caught him!

When it's a good day, he's got that extra bit of shithead energy about him. Doesn't even care if he gets his ass beat by Sandman, when he feels good, he's taunting EVERYBODY. His favorite method of taunting is taking the heaviest dumbbell available and lifting it while cocking an eyebrow and grin while the person is down. Heaviest he's done is 260lbs. He's aiming for higher.

His love for Turkish delights came from his mother making them every weekend after dinner. They hold a special place in his heart, using the same recipe his mother wrote for him, along with several other of her recipes, to keep ever since he took up cooking classes. Will burn someone's house down if something ever happens to that little booklet.

Super Macho Man:

Pissing off people is his specialty. Even when he's not really trying, he'll say something extremely dumb that encourages one of the other World Circuit boxers, usually Sandman, sometimes Bull, to come and beat his ass. He's either oblivious, or he's secretly a masochist, cause this happens a lot.

Takes the BIGGEST offense when someone doesn't recognize him. He thinks he's super famous, and there's some truth in that, but you'll always have people who don't keep up with celebrity drama, so his dramatic self gets salty when the person claims to not recognize him. "Well, I thought I was more popular than that!"

Despite being a dick most of the time, he has his silly moments. People compare him to Randy Savage, they're being generous, so he'll go out of his way to quote him with the voice and everything. He's nothing like the guy other than name, but he does find it endearing and will happily give his fans free meme material. He even quotes memes made of Randy, even the breathing one. He almost passed out.

Loves musicals. He was a huge theatre kid, so he's really good at playing assigned parts and has an extremely good singing voice. (Disco may or may not be slightly jealous.) Absolutely got hooked on musicals like Hamilton, The Count of Monte Cristo, and even the Heathers! Doesn't care he's a buff dude, let him wear the costumes and play those leading roles!

Mr. Sandman:

BIG momma's boy. His mother basically raised him on her own, making sure her boy never lost his way once he got out there. He's grateful for having such a loving mother, and he often gifts her a good chunk of his paycheck so she can treat herself nicely. Not much is known about what happened to the father, but he was a former boxer.

Had dreadlocks at one point in time. Took amazing care of them, even sometimes decorating them with golden braid clips. When they fully matured, they made him look like a lion. He was super proud of them and was upset that they got in the way when he decided to take up boxing. He tried to tie them up in a ponytail, but some of the matches he had got heated, and it led to some of his locks getting ripped out. He plans to regrow them once he enters retirement.

Quietly thanks Mac for taking the belt from him that day. He aimed to be the best, not because of his insecurities, but because he wanted to ensure he could provide for his mom. He thought claiming the belt was it, so when Mac took it, he got the much needed kick in the ass to realize that he doesn't need to be perfect to help out. He's already top dog, so he's already reached that goal.

He tries hard to be stoic, but he can't help but chuckle at some of the shenanigans that occur with the other boxers. Aran smacking Bull's head really hard and getting decked for it? He snickered. Soda constantly putting people on the spot? He smirks at it. Macho almost passing out from doing that one Randy meme? That took some self control, especially when all he heard was Macho falling on his back with a loud "THUD" when he had his head turned.

Extra:

Carmen:

At first glance, she seems incredibly tame, but she's feisty! If someone angers her enough, she'll straight up rip a nearby door off its hinges and beating them with it. Hell, when she's really happy about something, there's a chance she'll kick the door on the wrong side and rip it off the hinges. She's had to replace the doors around the house a few times due to this, and Don finds it hilarious.

Pastel goth type. She was a pink hater for a long while, but the color grew on her. She's also incorporated other pastel colors into her wardrobe. May or may not also have Monster High stuff that she wears as well.

Works as a hairdresser. She colors and styles her hair often, and it's done so well that her girlfriends got her to do their hair. Some of them eventually suggested to her to pick up hairdressing as a profession, which she decided to give a shot and winded up loving it. She's even helped Don with coloring his hair a few times cause he tends to make a mess when he does it.

Cannot sing to save her own life. She was long ashamed of it too, but Don truly doesn't care whether or not she can sing. Due to this, she slowly regained the confidence to sing her heart out again. Anyone who judges or dares to wish for her to shut up will be met with a very angry Don.

Arabella:

She can do no wrong. No, seriously, she's far too sweet to even attempt the kind of bs Aran pulls on a regular basis. Unfortunately, this also means she's gotten bullied a few times as other kids think she's an easy target, especially considering she's chunky and is likely on the spectrum. When Aran had to try and teach her to defend herself, she questioned why she couldn't be friends with them instead.

People make jokes Joe is the baby of the WVBA, because, y'know, his record, but it's really Arabella. Literally everyone has adopted her. If she ever needs help with anything, there's always someone around to help her. Homework? Hondo, Soda, and even Macho can all help. Friendship advice? Disco is literally the extrovert. If she gets bullied? Well, God help the school board cause everybody's showing up. It's hard to not spoil her cause she's such a good kid.

There's a good chance she could be an engineer when she grows up. She comes up with the most creative, and sometimes simple, ways to solve an issue. Her and Aran had to use bunk beds for a while, but nobody really told them how to properly bunk the beds, so Arabella dug into the closet and grabbed a couple of hangers that they could break and use. Surprisingly, they worked really well. Aran's pride shows when he tells this story.

She loves to color in her free time. She has a whole drawer's worth of coloring books and coloring supplies. When she's done, she often gifts the boxers her work, which is also often themed based on what she thinks fits them. They cherish her work, often framing it and hanging it around their apartments. Some of her work is even on display around the gym they train at. She mostly uses crayons and coloring pencils, but she's been learning to use markers as well. She loves the alcohol markers.

[gauloiseblue]

Second Time The Charm

He comes back to the house the next day, still try to knock on the door, but minutes pass and it's still unopened

He wanted to be a proper guest, who goes into the house through the front door, invited, but in this case, he had no choice but to leave the shovel by the door

That is, until the door suddenly opens, and the owner of the house comes out. She seems surprised to see him, and he can't say the feeling's not mutual

"Oh hello…" She greeted, "Didn't expect you'd come."

"I came to return the shovel." He said, "Thought it'd be very rude of me if I leave without saying thank you."

"Don't worry about it."

At this point, he's at a loss for words. She's dismissive, and doesn't hide her indifference. He'd not fancy her much, if she didn't have pretty eyes

He pretends to look at the trees, before attempting to revive the conversation again, "Those are beautiful, you've taken care of them very well."

"It's not me, I have a gardener."

So that's why

"Private gardener?" He asked, knowing that a commercial one would use their own tools, and not the owner's

"Maybe. He's an amateur." She told him

He raises his brow, "It doesn't look like an amateur work."

"Seems like you thought the word amateur as a beginner." She chuckles, "He's an amateur, someone who does it out of love. He loves the garden, that's why they're beautiful."

He looks at her with interest, she seems to have her way with words

She turns her head to him, "I'm going to the farm, you wanna come?"

With a curiosity in mind, he decides to come along

They both talk for a bit, and he soon learns about her and her activities. She likes vinyl records, because the sound quality is different. She cooks her own food, and she likes to bake. She hates hot weather, and bugs. She also talks about the town folks, and how they all are eccentric in their own way

"You know Callum? He's the town's handyman. He likes to collect scraps, to the point his house is full of things other people discarded. You might find your broken plate there if you look around."

"Really?" He hums, "I've met him a few times, he's a nice fellow. Though Claudia and Flores said I should watch my belongings around him."

She rolls her eyes, "I suggest you to take their word with a grain of salt, especially Flores. She's the one who attempts to take one of my lipsticks because I said I never really wore them."

"Oh?" He said, "What happened then?"

"Nothing, I caught her red handed."

"She apologized?"

"Of course not, I told her to leave before she could embarrass herself further."

At the farm, they're greeted by the owner himself. He's an old man with big arms, though he's not too tall

"I see you bring our newcomer here." He said to her before offering his hand to him, "Name's Harris."

"John." He said, "She didn't bring me here, I was the one who went along."

"Consider yourself lucky. She hates strangers."

"Not true. I already liked you when we we first met, Mr. Harris."

"Aw, drop the honorific, will ya?" He chuckles, "Us cowmen are honest, of course you'd trust me. Can't say the same for other people, especially you." He then looks at him, "Y'look like you've served during a war. Navy?"

"Probably worked for the special force in the army." She said, which immediately set his alarm off

"How did you know?" He said as he smiled, keeping his friendly facade

"Your body said it all." She shrugged, "I've met a lot of people, so I developed an intuition for it."

"Special force? Someone who carried out secret missions?" He whistles, "You have a lot to share. Tell you what, I'll keep it a secret, but you gotta tell me what happened during your service. Not the government secret stuff, of course."

She chuckles, "I suggest you, John, keep your past to yourself. The town folks are very curious, so you better keep it close or they'll hound you for stories."

"Roger that."

"I almost forgot, you came for the milk." The man clicked his fingers, "Come, I'll prepare it for you."

The three of them walk inside the farm, where the occasional moos and smell of manure fill the room. They walk until they reach the small room full of gallons, and he opens one of them

"Did you bring your bottles?" She then hands him the basket, which contains 4 bottles. He begins to fill each bottle with fresh milk, before handing them back

He refuses when she tries to pay him, telling her she's done a lot for him already, and sending her out before she can insist. He then waves them both goodbye, telling them to come over and have a tea sometimes

"He's a nice fellow." He commented after offering himself to hold her basket

"He is. He's too nice in fact, that it worries me sometimes." She replied

"He'll be fine. He has good people around him."

"Hope so."

They stay quiet for a while, before deciding to ask her something. "Say, you've met a lot of people before. Did you meet a lot of people like me too?"

"Never, in fact." She replied, "I've met some people from the army—commander, secretary, almost everyone who work in the office, but never one from the field. That's why I assume you're in a special force."

"That easy?" He chuckles

She nods, "Everyone can do that, it's not hard to guess."

"Well, I disagree." He smiles, "I can't figure you out in the same manner."

"You just have to look closely."

"Won't you be uncomfortable with that?"

"I am." She told him, "But I'm used to it."

"Then I won't do it." He said, "I'm not comfortable with prying into people's life."

She seems amused by his answer, "Lying is a sin."

"Scout's honour."

"Alright, do what you want."

They part ways once they reach her front door. He insisted to bring the milk to the kitchen, but she told him it's not necessary. So they exchange pleasantries before he leaves

Halfway through his home, he realized he hadn't learnt her name at all

《 Prev | Next 》

[queen-dahlia]

𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐯𝐨𝐧 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧

𝗠𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗥𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟵

CW: Mentions of rape

Note: Translation is not 100% accurate. Expect grammatical errors.

// : alternate translation | ⫘⫘ : flashback | 4:4 answer

Gilbert: "Now, again... If you have something to say, I'll listen to you, Little Bunny?"

Before my eyes is His Majesty the Emperor, who rules the great nation of Obsidian—

A commander-in-chief who possesses the power to overwhelm other countries with just one voice.

(… However, it's just a title with a big name; the one inside is Lord Gilbert.)

Looking up at the throne, there is no need to be too afraid.

Emma: "Then, if I may be so bold as to presume..."

Emma: "Why does Your Majesty the Emperor push for the invasion of other countries?"

It was the first thing I wanted to ask the "Emperor," not Lord Gilbert.

Obsidian has always plotted to expand its territory as a matter of policy.

I don't understand the intention of wanting to continue the invasion to the point of trampling on other countries' cultures, ideologies, and lives.

Gilbert: "The ostensible reason is to protect our own people. Obsidian has a lot of barren land compared to how vast the land is."

Gilbert: "We always had the problem of food shortages, and exploitation was necessary to keep the people alive."

Emma: "… What's the purpose behind this?"

Gilbert: "I hate dirty things."

Gilbert: "I hate deception, corruption, bribery, all of it. But the way the continent is structured now, they occur frequently."

Gilbert: "It's not just Obsidian. Wasn't there a trace of corruption in Rhodolite too?"

Emma: "Do you mean the orphanage?"

Gilbert: "Yes, there was some of that, but what about the larger corruption—the debauchery of His Majesty the King?"

(Debauchery... meaning being drowned in women, I guess that fits.)

Gilbert: "He used his power to heal the wounds of a broken heart, and he laid his hands on many women."

Gilbert: "… Do you know the story of Luke's mother?"

Emma: "No…"

Gilbert: "His mother was a mere maid in the service of the court."

Gilbert: "But the king forced himself on her because she looked like the woman he loved."

(…!)

Gilbert: "She left the court heartbroken and secretly gave birth to Luke."

Gilbert: "Do you think the king was punished for this? Yes, of course, he was not punished."

Gilbert: "Because he is the supreme authority in Rhodolite…"

Gilbert: "And because he had the right to do as he pleased with those below him."

(If what you just said is true... I can't defend him even though he is the king of my country.)

(No matter how wise a king he was, it is unforgivable.)

Gilbert: "Do you think that's unusual?"

Emma: "… At least, it's not something that happens very often."

Gilbert: "That's what it is."

Emma: "On what basis…"

Gilbert: "It's the result of statistics on the internal affairs of the countries I've ruled."

(… It's not an emotional story; rather, it's a grounded story.)

Gilbert: "It is not uncommon for a royal family to become prodigal, and in worse cases, there are countries that enslave their people."

Gilbert: "This continent was built on authoritarianism. It is a world dominated by royalty and nobility."

Gilbert: "It is ingrained in your bones that a lowly person like you should not defy those in power."

Gilbert: "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Remember when you were chosen as Belle?"

Gilbert: "The report is that... you did not hesitate to slap a man who had been disrespectful to Chevalier."

Gilbert: "That was because you quickly decided that if anyone disrespects those in power, they will be killed."

Gilbert: "He actually pointed a sword at you, making sure his judgment was correct…"

Gilbert: "It's a funny thing when you think about it. How can one be guilty of disrespect?"

(I never thought about it before.)

For me, the royal family has always been recognized as "a person to be respected," and even if he was disrespectful and had a sword pointed at me, I tried to understand it because "he is a member of the royal family."

Gilbert: "There is no superiority or inferiority between you and me. As long as we are humans, we should all be the same."

Gilbert: "Of course, it may be necessary to have someone to lead socially."

Gilbert: "An outstanding person brings people together and builds a better tomorrow. That's how a person should be."

Gilbert: "But, you know, on the continent today, it's all about who has the power and who can get others to behave as they please."

Gilbert: "Of course, not all of them, okay? The Princes of Rhodolite are quite excellent in that regard."

Gilbert: "Even Silvio and Keith will be good monarchs."

Emma: "Then—"

Gilbert: "His Majesty the King of Rhodolite used to be a reputable monarch."

Emma: ". . . . . ."

Gilbert: "People are creatures of change. There is no such thing as "absolutes."

Gilbert: "That's why authoritarianism shouldn't exist in the first place."

Gilbert: "There were only a handful of wise kings if you look at history."

(In other words, Lord Gilbert...)

Gilbert: "Because the king of a country that knows so much about deception and corruption…"

Gilbert: "My "ideal" is to trample down all the royal families that spread throughout the continent and free the people from the rule of power."

What I felt from Lord Gilbert was a strong will that resembled a solid castle wall.

No one can change him or stop him. I assume it is that kind of thing.

(A revolution involving not only his own country but the entire continent...)

(I know it would end up as a dream story for normal people, but not for Lord Gilbert.)

(But it's strange.)

Emma: "… It's contradictory."

Emma: "Isn't Lord Gilbert the epitome of that power?"

The figure sitting on the throne and looking down at me is exactly the "authority" that Lord Gilbert hates.

(Even though you once threatened me with that power...)

Emma: "Are you an exception?"

Gilbert: "Ahaha! No way."

Gilbert: "If the people in power disappear and a new era comes, I will be the first to become unnecessary."

Gilbert: "I might as well die then, right?"

Emma: "… Uh."

(What are you... saying...)

His usual refreshing smile shines brightly on his throne.

I couldn't believe my ears and wondered if I heard him wrong.

Gilbert: "Because it's natural. I want to wipe out those in power, but it's not right for me to survive."

Gilbert: "Especially the Obsidian royal family, the most evil bloodline on the continent."

Gilbert: "It's better for the world if it's destroyed... Ah, but if I'm going to die anyway, I want Little Bunny to kill me."

Gilbert: "If you do that, you'll remember me forever, won't you?"   //   "That way you will remember me for the rest of your life, right?"

Emma: "That's... of course I'm not going to do that!"

I screamed without a moment's delay.

Even if it is a joke, it is a bad one.

(Lord Gilbert's ideal is based on the assumption that he will die in the end.)

(And he doesn't think anything of it.)

It would have been better if he had said, "I'm an exception," like a villain.

Emma: "… Why do you go to such lengths to exile those in power?"

Emma: "Lord Gilbert should have benefited from the power...even to the point of killing himself..."

Gilbert: "That's..."

Gilbert: "… A secret."

(… That part is a secret.)

Gilbert: "But I don't think it's a bad deal for you."

Gilbert: "Rather, it would be more convenient for you if I died."

(…!)

Gilbert: "If I'm gone, maybe Rhodolite won't be trampled and the world will continue like this."

Gilbert: "Besides, when I die, you will be properly released."

Gilbert: "You can settle in Obsidian or go back to Rhodolite, whatever you want."

Gilbert: "Because the "power" that holds you back is gone."

(What is that...)

The front of my eyes were pure white, and the back of my head felt hot.

Emma: "… Are you serious?"

My voice spilled out unintentionally, and it was lower than usual.

Gilbert: "Of course—"

Gilbert: "… What's wrong?"

(What's wrong... with me?)

I look down, and my fists are shaking.

(Even if you're a big villain, I've never wanted you dead. I didn't even think about it.)

(Lord Gilbert... was not the kind of person who could think such a thing.)

It may be possible to think that it is a great villain who cannot be saved, I am already poisoned by malicious kindness.

And that kindness itself shouldn't have been a lie.

I suffered at Rhodolite because I was repeatedly exposed to Lord Gilbert's good intentions.

What he just said was an outright denial of that suffering and struggle.

(After acting like he was such a good friend of mine...)

(When the time comes, should I kill him? Is it better if he is dead? **

(… Don't be silly.)

I have no right to say anything about Lord Gilbert's ideals.

But for those few words, I should have the right to be angry.

Gilbert: "I don't get it. I don't see anything to be angry about right now..."

Emma: "Because you don't know that, it means that Lord Gilbert is not really my friend!"

Emma: "If you thought that I was the kind of person who would be happy to see you dead, that is beyond disappointing!"

The voice echoes to destroy the intimidation of the throne room.

Lord Gilbert, who could be seen in the distance, seemed taken aback.

(… I wish I were so evil that I wanted to kill him anyway.)

(Oh, this is bad...)

I feel like my vision is blurry.

As I wrinkled my brow and held on, I suddenly felt a breeze behind me.

???: "Lord Gilbert!!!"

(Whoa, what the!?)

A man in military uniform pushes open the door to the throne room and walks in,

Without paying attention to me, he pushes his way to the bottom of the stairs as if he were about to attack Lord Gilbert.

???: "You... you left the castle without saying anything again!"

???: "How much more do you want to shorten my lifespan?! Come on, now, let's test—"

???: ". . . . . ."

(... Oh, our eyes met.)

The man with curly hair stiffens, and so do I.

A strange silence fell.

Gilbert: "Good for you, huh? If you had slipped up just a little bit more, you... today would be the anniversary of your death."

???: "Who is she?"

Gilbert: "The Lady of Rhodolite."

???: "Rhodolite's… Ah! What? She really exists? Lord Gilbert's first—"

Gilbert: "Huh? You must really want to die."

(…?)

The man deliberately clears his throat and turns to me.

The salute-like gesture may be Obsidian's way of saying "hello."

Walter: "You are Emma, right? I've heard rumors about you... I'm Walter. My occupation is—"

Gilbert: "My aide. Servant. A maid. I'm having an audience, will you leave?"

(… I feel like he's deliberately covering his words again just now.)

(How did you know my name in the first place… What's the rumor?)

(I wonder if Obsidian has heard about the story of Rhodolite...)

As soon as the man finished his greeting, he pointed his finger at Lord Gilbert.

It felt like an obvious act of disrespect, but there was no one there to reproach it.

Walter: "I will definitely visit you later. Listen, please don't run away. Even if you do, I will let Roderich catch you."

Gilbert: "Alright, alright. I'll act like an adult when I feel like it."

Walter: "Not when you feel like it... but absolutely!"

Gilbert: "Okay, okay."

After a strong tone of voice and a reminder, the man leaves.

It was like a storm.

Gilbert: "… I've lost interest."

With a resounding sigh, Lord Gilbert stands up from his throne.

The audience is apparently over.

(Me too... I'm not sure I can speak well right now.)

Lord Gilbert descends the stairs with the sound of his cane.

He came right next to me, and I didn't make eye contact with him.

Gilbert: "Yes. The fact that I am His Majesty the Emperor has only been revealed to a limited number of people."

Gilbert: "You know what I mean… right?"

(He'd like to say he'd kill me if I ever told anyone about it.)

I nodded while looking away, and Lord Gilbert took another breath.

Gilbert: "What can I do to put you in a better mood..."

(... I really don't know.)

(A genius like Prince Chevalier, who can easily manipulate people's minds...)

Gilbert: "A whole day's sleep will do it, right? By the way, I've got your room all ready for you."

Gilbert: "I asked them to make the interior as similar to Rhodolite as possible, but I hope you like it."

(I can't believe he even had a room ready for me.)

This is Obsidian. There is no need to isolate me by daring to be friendly, like in Rhodolite.

Still, Lord Gilbert's poison-like kindness hasn't changed.

I am tormented again by being treated not as a hostage but as a guest of honor.

Emma: "… That's the point…"

Gilbert: "Hm?"

Emma: "Nothing..."

(I hate… this feeling.)

══════════════════

—After taking Emma to her room, he returned to his own room for the first time in a long time and found himself in an unusual silence.

Walter: ". . . . . ."

Gilbert: "How much longer?"

Gilbert laughs as he buttons his shirt.

But Walter, sitting in the chair across from him, said nothing.

Walter: ". . . . . ."

Gilbert: "I'm asking you, so tell me."

Walter: "… You really..."

The chair falls over in the moment of a vigorous standing up.

Walter: "I beg you, please stop. This country goes on without you. That's how you were raised. So..."

Gilbert: "You didn't answer my question."

Walter covers his face with his hands under the pressure of his compelling smile.

His fingertips trembled, and his breath spilled from the gaps.

Walter: "… I don't want to say it."

Gilbert: "I see... it was the right decision to return home a little earlier."

Walter: "Hey… That story you've been telling me for a long time—seriously think about it. Now, I really believe you." **

Gilbert: "It's not a matter of believing or not believing, it's not necessary in the first place."

Walter: "Then why did you bring that woman here!"

Gilbert: "… That's terrible."

Gilbert: "Because I’m a big villain who couldn't be saved."

Walter: "You..."

A blood-colored, cold gaze pierces Walter, as if to interrupt his fury.

A pressure resembling murderous intent dominated the place in an instant.

Gilbert: "Never speak of it. She is no exception."

Walter: "That woman... she doesn't know yet?"

Gilbert: "She doesn't know, and she never will. And I have no intention of telling her."

Gilbert: "I'm going to rest now. Good night."

Walter: ". . . . . ."

Walter: "I'm not giving up."

Grabbing a sturdy-looking bag from the desk, Walter leaves the room.

Gilbert: ". . . . . ."

Gilbert: "… Why…"

Gilbert: "Why wasn't Little Bunny... happy about it?"   //   "I wonder why the little rabbit... wasn't pleased."

══════════════════

Obsidian is synonymous with evil, so much so that it was called the land of deceit and corruption.

When it comes to life in the castle, which is its home base, I imagined it to be brutal.

I was prepared for the fact that I would not be treated well, including being in a vulnerable position…

Gilbert: "Look, Little Bunny. So, how do you like it?"

Emma: "This... is a kitchen."

Gilbert: "Yes, a kitchen. Your very own kitchen."

Emma: "!?"

(Next to the guest room, there is a kitchen! W-What do you mean...)

Far from being treated badly, it is rather too good to pull off.

I had been dragging out yesterday's events until a few minutes ago, but it was such a shock that it blew away, even if only temporarily.

Gilbert: "This is the same as the room, I had them prepared in advance."

Gilbert: "Do you know why I... prepared the kitchen?"

(I see... that means...)

Emma: "You want me to make sweets."

Gilbert: "As expected of Little Bunny. I'm glad you know me so well."

Gilbert: "—… Actually, I just wanted to please you."   //   "—… I really just wanted to make you happy."

Emma: "… What is it now?"

Gilbert: "No, it was nothing."

(I can't believe you liked it enough to prepare a kitchen…)

(I've only served amateur sweets... and they were as simple as cookies.)

Lord Gilbert's smile was so bright that he seemed like a different person from the emperor who sat on the throne yesterday.

Gilbert: "You are free to use any of the ingredients here."

(Let's see... eggs, milk, flour, sugar, fruits, vegetables... that's quite a lot of variety.)

Emma: "I have heard that Obsidian is suffering from food shortages..."

Gilbert: "It's not like that these days, you know?"

Gilbert: "Because we have built supply lines and established stable food production technology in the last 10 years."

(That's right... just like Prince Chevalier said.)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Chevalier: "—Second, I want to know the degree of development of Obsidian's technology."

Chevalier: "Obsidian's military engineering technology seems to be quite advanced..."

Chevalier: "Those technologies must have been applied to many things related to daily life."

Chevalier: "Aside from the rural areas, the central areas may be even different."

Chevalier: "Go and see for yourself."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gilbert: "—Obsidian has a lot of barren areas despite its vast land. But just because it's barren doesn't mean it has land."

Lord Gilbert spun his words without any hesitation. His eyes were somewhat lively.

Gilbert: "If we can build facilities that can grow crops regardless of the soil, it will take a lot of work, but there is no reason why we can't provide food in our own country."

Gilbert: "If we can produce food, we can also produce the fodder necessary for livestock. That's why we don't have food shortages right now."

Gilbert: "By the way, most of the food here comes from the research facility in the castle."

Gilbert: "We can't put those on the market... but we collect things that are a waste to throw away."

Gilbert: "Then it's also sweets that help eliminate the loss of ingredients."

Gilbert: "That's what I mean."

(Though the way you spoke just now was like your own achievement…)

Emma: "… Did Lord Gilbert solve the problem of food shortages?"

Gilbert: "Of course, it's my job. The food supply is an important issue, necessary to guarantee a minimum standard of living."

Gilbert: "Did you think we were always at war?"

Emma: "… I'm sorry."

(As expected, the idea was shallow.)

I had the impression that Obsidian was focusing on military affairs and neglecting domestic affairs, but it seems I was just being shallow.

Gilbert: "Hehe... your image is not wrong either. The Emperor has always had that policy."

Perhaps the "emperor" here was the late former emperor.

Gilbert: "He won a lot of countries, but he didn't look inward at all."

Gilbert: "They were almost lawless, so Albert and I spent a lot of time trying to improve it."

Gilbert: "Well, the regions are still so corrupt that I think I'm only halfway there."

Emma: ". . . . . ."

Gilbert: "More than—"

(Whoa…!)

Suddenly I am hugged on the shoulder, and my body leans back.

I fell into his cold chest with all my might, but he held me.

Gilbert: "What? Can't you just read the atmosphere and leave us alone?"

(… What the…)

(!?)

When Lord Gilbert calls out to the doorway, a crowd of soldiers appears.

1, 2, 3 — Surrounded by about 10 male and female military personnel, my body stiffened.

(I didn't notice it at all. I guess they were waiting for Lord Gilbert outside.)

Soldier 1: "I am sorry. Lord Gilbert, the military has asked me to consult with you concerning the budget..."

Soldier 2: "I, too, would like to ask Lord Gilbert's advice on lifeline capital investment—"

Gilbert: "You know, I've been telling you for a long time. You don't have to rely on my judgment every time."

(... Eh, even though he's the Emperor?)

Gilbert: "You are professionals in each field whose abilities have been bought."

Gilbert: "I'm giving you full authority because I think you can do it. Or what? Do you doubt my eyes?"

Soldier 1: "No, sir! But I would like to have your opinion, Lord Gilbert, because it would be very helpful..."

Soldier 2: "Please. After all, there is no one better than Lord Gilbert's keen eye!"

Gilbert: "Nope. Everyone, you can see that I'm busy, right?"

Instead of letting me go, he holds me tighter.

The gazes of the soldiers were clearly perplexed and bewildered.

Emma: "Uh… No! No, he isn't! Please give priority to your official duties." **

Gilbert: "Ehh..."

Emma: "In the meantime, I'll make you some sweets, how about that?"

Gilbert: "… I think I'm the one who's sulking."

Emma: "Lord Gilbert…"

Gilbert: "All right, all right. Just for today."

With a deliberate shrug, Lord Gilbert finally moves away from me.

Gilbert: "All of you, make it quick. Each of you has two minutes."

Lord Gilbert walks into the circle of soldiers, and the atmosphere changes.

I could see that the people gathered were tense and straightened their backs.

But that is not a bad thing.

Rather than dominating through fear, they seem to be voluntarily respecting Lord Gilbert out of reverence.

(… It became clear to me when I came to Obsidian).

(Lord Gilbert is an emperor who can act for the people.)

Looking back on our discussion of ideals the other day, it was also about being close to the weak.

While he acts like a big villain in other countries, he appears to be a perfectly good emperor in his own country.

(But there are some things that bother me.)

What the soldiers are talking about is the kind of thing that the nobles and bureaucrats bring to Rhodolite.

However, there are no signs of nobility at all in this castle.

(Even though Obsidian is a country of military and ore, it's unnatural that there are only soldiers—)

══════════════════

Gilbert: "Ah, is that so?"

In the end, soldiers gathered one after another under Lord Gilbert, and even though each person had two minutes, it was nighttime by the time they had all been processed.

Lord Gilbert, who was in a very bad mood because of this, took me back to his room with the baked cookies,

He started a tea party on the bed in a bad manner.

(Actually, I was surprised that Lord Gilbert's room was like a library…)

(I have a lot of questions, like what kind of books are on the bookshelves…)

What I asked before them was about the wonder of the absence of the nobles.

Gilbert: "It's the same as His Majesty the former emperor."

Emma: "The same...?"

Gilbert: "Yeah. I killed them."

I felt dizzy.

Emma: "… Not only the emperor, but also the nobles?"

Gilbert: "Of course, I didn't kill them all, okay? I just wanted to clean up the deceit and corruption, and there are still a lot of nobles out there."

Gilbert: "The people who work in the castle are all highly qualified, chosen from a wide range of people, from commoners to nobles."

Gilbert: "The reason they are all dressed almost entirely in military uniform is to break down the barriers between the nobles and the commoners."

Gilbert: "The castle you are in is still not perfect, but it's better than it was a decade ago."

Emma: ". . . . . ."

(I knew it, but life may be the same as dust for Lord Gilbert.)

(So he lost the value of his own life as well... the more he killed people, the more he lost the importance of his life.) **

No matter what the reason may be, the act of killing is inherently unforgivable.

Perhaps Lord Gilbert knows this, which is why he doesn't cling to his own life.

(… Even though I'm calm.)

My chest feels murky again.

I can't taste the cookie in my mouth.

When I cast my eyes down, cold fingers grabbed my chin as if to say no—

Gilbert: "Hey, I want you to tell me one thing too..."

[rain-dom]

[Girl to Femboy Transformation] Coming Out Of His Cocoon.

“Goddammit! No service, still!”

Stacey was holding up her phone into the air, desperately trying to get some sort of connection to the outside world.

Stuck in the middle of the A Thousand Eyes Forest, with no connection to the internet, no way to call anyone, and no way home, this would be a nightmare for the average person. But this was pure hell for Stacey, a popular social media star, who was used to her millions of adoring fans - and haters - watching her every move, either judging and mocking her, or cheering her on and defend her her at every turn. That was company.

Not that she cared about any of them that much, anyway. Blind hate or love was all the same, as long as she kept up her good-girl schtick online and kept growing her audience, it didn’t matter what people online thought. Even her shallow fellow-influencer “friends” only tolerated her so that they could get numbers off of her and vice-versa. Purely transactional. She didn’t need true friends or companions, all she needed were the increasing views and followers, which made her more money, which made her Mom and Manager happy, and that’s all that mattered.

Well, until recently. Stacey wanted to stop being online all of the time for the sake of her mom’s praise, and wanted to go out and find herself. Get a hobby that she liked, go on dates with cute boys - stuff any nineteen-year-old would do.

Let’s just say… her mom wasn’t too happy with her daughter’s newfound sense of self, with her kicking her out of the house indefinitely. So, Stacey would, after joining her “friends” on this camping trip, she would leave her campsite and never come back.

In any case, she didn’t even have them to comfort her. And making matters worse, her phone died, due to the lack of battery.

In the middle of the night.

“Ugh, well isn’t this just terrific!” she yelled as she kicked a rock, which bumped off of a large, nearby tree, scattering a few animals - birds, rabbits, raccoons, and squirrels. Unknown to her, however, her careless actions made this old tree spirit unhappy with her.

“I’m stuck here alone with little food and water, in the middle of some…disgusting forest, walking in circles in the dark. And I can’t see shit! Who even names a forest A Thousand Eyes, anyway?? So creepy…” she said as she ate the last of her chocolate bar, which she then tossed onto the lush, green grass. “And my boots are all dirty, too!” she pouted, gesturing to her $5,000 pink glittery boots, covered in thick, brown mud.

“Know those bitches are gonna have a blast with me out of the picture. They’re probably already making their sad little videos about ‘HoW muCH tHeY mIsS StAcEy’, then a week later they’ll post some expose about me or whatever.” She laughed.

She sat down at the bottom of a large, ancient tree, and sighed. It was starting to rain, and she started to cry with the sky above.

“I guess this is what I get for not getting you enough views, huh, mom? You got what you wanted. Now, you don’t even have to face me! God, you’re so…arghh!! I HATE you!!” She yelled, breaking down in tears.

“I wish I could have seen you for who you were before! But it’s too late for that now. Maybe this is just what I deserve. Not like I’m a saint, or whatever.”

She closed her eyes and decided to at least get herself some shut eye.

Stacey awoke to a voice, one that was deep and ancient sounding.

“Stacey Steinberg. You and your companions have desecrated our home, the Forest of A Thousand Eyes.”

It was morning now, and the rain had long since subsided. “Is the tree… talking to me? Through my head? God, I must be going crazy…”

She knew what this tree was talking about, though. Her and her friends did make a mess at their campsite, leaving all sorts of junk - wrappers, water bottles, and even food.

“So that’s why it’s called the Forest of A Thousand Eyes.” Stacey thought, feeling both embarrassed and fearful of this forest that watched her every move.

She turned to face the tree, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Y-you know, being stuck in the middle of this stupid forest is punishment enough, so if you think-“

“We were thinking of a punishment, yes. But sensing your pain, your frustration, and your anger against your fellow humans who have wronged you - and us - we thought it would be best if you could join us in our great battle against your kind.”

She sighed. “I have literally nothing else better to do so, what do you want me to do, hive-mind?”

“Let yourself be renewed by the vines, and let us mold you into the Protector of the Forest of A Thousand Eyes.”

“Protector?? Of this forest? I hate this forest, but…not gonna lie, I like the title though. Protector. You know…I don’t dislike the sound of that”, she said with smirk.

“So be it.”

The clouds parted, and light beamed down onto the spot Stacey was sitting. The green tree she was sitting on glowed green, its layers in its bark shining brightly. Stacey took a step back, closed her eyes, and turned her head away from the tree, shielding them from the light by holding her hands out.

“Our vines will mold your body to your liking. You will have all the powers of the forest, and will protect all life within it, with your life. Now, remove your clothing and lay on the Home Tree. You will be gagged with the vines as well. This is done so that you can be as connected to nature as possible. But, you will be able to communicate with your voice and your thoughts if you want us to terminate the modifications at any time.”

“…you guys are bunch of perverts.” She said with a disgusting look on her face, opening her eyes as the light dimmed. “But hey, I’ve got nothing more to lose. And…hm, it would be nice to exist in a different body.”

She did as they said. First, she took off her pink and purple backpack. She then took off her clothes - a pink leather jacket, her pink boots, white sweater crop top, her light blue skirt.

Then, she took off her pink panties and bra, and her white socks, and laid on the tree trunk.

Then, the tree glowed again.

“Ugh…I feel so warm-agh!”

She saw as she was being covered in vines, as they one by one started to wrap around her hands, arms, legs, neck, and torso. The vines restrained her arms and legs, pinning her to the tree.

“Eww!” Stacey said, disgusted as more of the vines wrapped around her body. The vines covered up her eyes and shoved themselves into her mouth, gagging her, and squeezed and wriggled around her head and throat, making her face change somewhat, although she didn’t know in what way, but it felt…good, nonetheless. Her straight, neck-length blonde hair felt longer and free.

Meanwhile, she heard her voice deepen, sounding more boyish.

“Mmm..ohh..” she said with her new voice as her muscles began to relax.

“Oh! hah….” The vines squeezed around her chest, pushing down on her breasts, as if they were massaging them. Her shoulder and arms felt like they were pushing out of her body, as if like bubbles of stress were popping out of them.

She felt the vines tighten around her waist and hips, massaging them as well.

“Are you enjoying the changes so far?” Home Tree asked.

”I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…yeah, the feels so good!” She thought, while also nodding in between her muffled moans.

“We have one more change we need to address - would like us to give you a beautiful gift?”

”Mm-hmgh!” Stacey agreed.

With that, she felt the vines quickly spread her legs, as something warm and slimy ran down her thighs from her crotch. Something started to tickle her clit, making Stacey’s body tremble and moan with great pleasure.

After thirty seconds, the teasing stopped.

”H-hey, what’s the hold up—AH!”

After the teasing, it felt like two large vines were inserting themselves into her pussy and her anus, each one taking turns fucking her.

”Oh, fuck yes!” Casey thought, her moans getting loader and loader, the penetrations becoming faster and faster, harder and harder until she finally felt herself squirt.

”Wow…I’d never thought my first time would be with a tree, but…fuck! I don’t care anymore! This feels great!”

Then, she felt the vines, tugging, pulling…something in her vagina.

”Oh god, what’s happening nOwW?!?”

As the vines kept pulling whatever was inside of her out of her, she felt it growing, expanding…twitching. She also felt two other, smaller things being pulled after it, growing size as well.

The vines then wrapped around those unidentified things, then pulled them even harder.

”Gagh!! Ooh!!” Casey groaned. ”What is that thing??”

As the vines kept pulling, the faster those things grew. Faster and faster, bigger and bigger did they grow, until they were…pulled outside of her?

The vines tugged on them three more times, with more and more of them wrapping around it, until they seemed to reach a large enough size.

The largest of them, already feeling like it was about to burst.

Long and hard, twitching and throbbing, Casey didn’t care what it was, as the sensations coming from it were too much for her to bare!

”Oh god! Whatever that thing is, it feels like it gonna explode! Please, do something!” she begged.

The vines answered by rubbing it, the feelings almost pulsating from her crotch, Casey’s body shook as she moaned loudly, her head throwing itself back, reacting to the new feelings down there, as the vines also started to penetrate her ass again.

”It-it feels like lightning…exploding all over my body!”

As the vines kept rubbing it faster and faster, penetrating harder and harder, she could feel the sensations increase, higher and higher, faster and faster, until suddenly-

”Aahmngh!!” she moaned, feeling whatever that was welling up inside of her finally released themselves, as warm, thick liquid shot out of her and onto the vines, and dripped down onto her.

She hadn’t even begun collecting herself, when she felt the vines moving across her body, shuffling and flexing, wrapping tightly around her torso, and getting looser at her thighs and legs. Some of them didn’t even feel like vines anymore, most of them felt like…leaves? And a few twigs?

Afterwards, she felt the leaves release from her body, as they returned to the tree.

“Ack! Hack!” She gasped as she felt the vines leaving her mouth. She pushed her long, brown hair out of her eyes as the vines over her eyes lifted. “Hah, hah...wait cough, cough, is my hair…long again? And why is it- my voice? It sounds so weird now! What the fuck happened to me—oh, my god!!”

She looked down, as her eyes revealed to her her new body: She was wearing nothing but a almost skintight, shoulder-less, and sleeveless green dress, which was made up mostly of leaves and a few brown twigs, the lower parts being shades of a darker green, the edges of which shaped into cute triangles. A few pink and white flowers sprouted on the dress, too. Save for her nipples poking out of dress, her boobs were gone, her shoulders were slightly wider, her arms a little longer, and her hands were bigger. Complete with soft, pale skin, it replaced her fake tanned skin. Her curves smoothed out, and her butt was slightly bigger. And there was something, something hard and leaky poking out under her tight, green dress, between her soft, thick thighs-

“I’m…I’m a boy?? You…you turned me into a…a femboy??"

“This isn’t our doing. While we might have assisted in giving you this body, this is the body you wanted, is it not?”

“A-a mirror! Where the fuck did I put my mirror?!” She looked around for her backpack, but it was gone.

“You wanted to leave your old, filthy life behind, so we removed all of your material possessions that reminded you of it. But, if you want a ‘mirror’, we suppose we do have those here. Go to the nearest lake and see, yourself.”

After she ran to the lake, she bent over to see how much she had changed.

“My…my face…” she said as she touched her more androgynous face, its edges more defined.

She looked at the rest of her newly minted body, and blushed.

It had tiny freckles that danced across her nose and under her eyes. She saw how her nail polish now alternated between green and brown on each nail. She touched her hair, which was finally in its natural color again, brown, something that her mother never liked.

But he did.

Tears started welling up in his eyes.

“H-holy shit…I’ve never really considered being a boy, or any of this ever happening, but now I…think I can totally get used to this.” He smiled, wiping a tear from his face. “God this is…so weird, so confusing, but I also feel…amazing. Thank you, so much!”

“It pleases us that you enjoyed the changes. Now, the real work must be done.”

The animals - deer, birds, rabbits, raccoons, squirrels, butterflies, ants - all moved in around him. He stood back, scared that they might attack him.

“What, what’s happening now??”

“There is no need to fear. These are your fellow members in the animal kingdom. They are the ones you are going to protect.”

He looked at them, now seeing the little details he had never seen before. The way the ants moved together, they way the birds protected their nests, and the way the caterpillar hatched from its cocoon, turning into a butterfly.

That butterfly landed on his hand, softening his tense stance as he recognized himself in its transformation.

“Wow…you are all actually beautiful, in your own…weird way. Like, I-I’m still not completely sold on the dirt and the elements, but…maybe I was a little too quick to judge you guys.” He said, almost about to tear up again.

Casey turned to the tree once again, which seemed teleport wherever he went. He smiled and put his hands on his hips. “I think I’m definitely ready to be the protector of this forest. Now, where do we begin?”

[0ystercatcher]

ok now that i have a little time. time to post about my america journey. this ones about restaurants and service work. im sorry in advance but also im not because im objectively Correct.

dear american friends. tipping there is bullshit, retarded, insane, fucked up. restaurant service does not need to be that involved, complicated, annoying or intrusive. yes i understand the us kind of sort of runs on its service economy, yes i understand work is work, yes i understand often its corporate policy and yes i still fucking hated it. there is genuinely no good reason for anyone to be paying 15%+ ON TOP of the actual prices at a restaurant. yes yes i undeerstand the wage issue yes oh all powerful american yes you deserve to be properly compensated for your labors but the way youre also just supposed to accept random customers are the ones who owe you 15%+ MINIMUM (and some places had like an 18% minimum, for real what the fuck) is genuinely crazy to me. im also going to be real min wage in wa for all tipped workers is the normal min wage so you cant even bullshit me w the federal rates or whatever. its a crazy policy. it makes no sense in the vast majority of cases and it makes servers ANNOYING ill get into this also. again yes i understand the reasons people often bring up as to why this is the case but i still simply disagree this is the best way to do this.

also once again sorry. servers are fucking annoying when everyones angling for tips. sorry. i simply do not want to be bothered 5 times while im eating my slop or whatever just to get asked if the food is good or whatever. im eating it just fine brother please just leave me alone. yes im being a cunt yes im getting borderline misanthropic with this but for real i find it crazy, insane, stupid, that people will genuinely respond to this with like. the vaguest arguments about how if you dislike eating out just dont. bc like i dont dislike eating out at all but this particular way of dealing w customers is like. fucking crazy. i want...to just enjoy the meal. this is where i could get into the other thing that deeply annoyed me abt the usa and once again im going to be evil but its the fake nice small talk w cashiers or whatever like look. look. i am not mean in person. i believe treating people who are just doing their jobs in your presence with respect and dignity are absolute necessities and i prommy i am very nice to people when i am consuming products or services. i do in fact, say please and thank you. but bro americans go crazy with it and yes yes corporate policy yes this and that. but oh my god i was sick of it by the end of the trip even if i was also getting better at it. i simply do not think you need to exchange a minimum of 2 unrelated pleasntries to begin any sort of transactional interaction though and again im not opposed to hi, please, thanks, thats obvious and necessary. but to be fucking honest i dont want the beloved talented barista who made me a delicious espresso to ask me if im having a nice day. i dont need it. i dont need to ask it back either this guys just working like what exactly are they gonna say. they dont need to be wasting their time like this. i am there for coffee or whatever the fuck else no offense to them obviously but we all know this is true. so why. why bother. why bother with any of this. the third world does just fine without it. why bother. i think this may have been the thing i disliked the most.

[abarbaricyalp]

Written for the @samsseptember prompt Riley // Rated G // CW: death, grief // title from the Laura Gilpin poem "Life After Death"

A Dead Tree Casts a Shadow

"Hey, Rye," Sam greeted as he dropped a backpack full of food to the ground and shook out the blanket under his arm. He laid it on the ground, tamped down the sun dried grass underneath it, and then sat and began to distribute the food.

"I just happened to be passing by and you know I've always gotta stop. I didn't mean to come this way, but I've been following a lead and he's dragging me all over the place."

Sam propped a beer and a Dr. Pepper against the gravestone. The screw top caught on the engraved letters that spelled out Beloved Friend, which was fitting enough. Really, it could have just stopped at Beloved.

"This is a crazy story," he admitted in half a chuckle, even if there was something a little darker, a little more bitter behind his voice. "This guy I'm kinda seeing--you may have heard of him, Steve Rogers, right?--dragged me into this mess. His best friend came back from the dead. Can you imagine? Hey, are you planning on doing that to me?" He reached over to rap on the stone and then smoothed his hand over the ground in front of it.

"Kinda wish you would," Sam admitted. "Even if you came back as much of a pain in the ass as this guy. Hey, you were into Captain America. Who the hell is Bucky Barnes? What kind of name is that? I know he was the handsome one in the photos. The one that died, obviously. I've been trying to do research on him but it would be so much easier if you just info-dumped on me. I know you know useless shit like his favorite record. Come on. Come back just long enough to tell me."

The ground did not part like some great, giving maw and Riley didn't pull himself out, bitching about dirt in his hair and 'why the hell did they bury me in black? I said blue.' Sam still watched for too long and then sighed.

"I guess it's only fair. Barnes didn't actually die. Rogers couldn't go down after him to bring home a body. I had you. I carried you."

The memory had been warped every which way to Sunday. Most of the time, he was saved from the true terror of it. In his memory, that old thing protecting him after all these years, Riley was just a little smokey and dusty, a little bloodied. Just dead enough that Sam couldn't argue about it, even as he begged Riley to wake up. In the nightmares, there was almost nothing left of him. Splatters of blood and uniform. Or a crawling, screaming zombie of bits and pieces. Really, it had been messy and horrifying. Sam hadn't really seen much of anything. Truly couldn't recall the exact state of Riley's body as he carried him away. He'd just known his best friend was dead and there was nothing that he could do to change it.

Nothing evil Nazis could do either.

"I miss you, man," he said softly. He rubbed the lip of his own bottle along the top of the gravestone and listened to the glass catch on the rock. "I'd almost convinced myself I was okay without you, but having friends again just makes it that much more obvious that you're not alone. I almost tried to text you the other day, y'know.

"Hey, you know it took your momma almost a year and a half to pull your number outta service? She kept saying it was the same price just to leave you on. You know how she is about that kind of thing. But I think she was calling you even more than me. Leaving all these voicemails just in case you might ever come back and need to be caught up thirty seconds at a time."

Sam bracketed his knees on either side of the gravestone and laid back in the blanket to watch the sky. There were two birds doing acrobatics on the breeze and, all of a sudden, hot tears sprang to Sam's eyes and choked him down the throat.

"I miss you so bad, man. I'm in the wings again. I kind of stole them back. And I love it. I love it just as much as the first time we strapped them on. And I hate myself for loving it. You're supposed to be here. It's not a solo operation. I look for you before every jump. I think about you every time I see a bird. And you're not here. You're never here. There's a whole empty section on my vital menus where yours are supposed to be.

"How am I supposed to do this, Rye? I'm one of a pair. And Steve, he's great, but he's not my other half. Not when I'm in the air."

He hadn't realized he was sobbing until he had to turn onto his side to avoid choking. The sky left his field of vision, replaced instead by a tranquil cemetery. Well, a blurry cemetery at any rate. There was no one else around, so Sam let himself curl up in the fetal position, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to pretend him and Riley were twin commas in a huge bed. He hadn't done anything like this in months and months and months but he couldn't help it now. Even if he knew it wasn't going to work. He'd forced himself to stop picturing Riley next to him and now he couldn't make himself do it even under duress.

Of all the emotions he'd thought he'd have to deal with by tagging up with Steve Rogers, this bone deep ache for the things he'd lost hadn't been high on the list. If anyone had asked two months ago, he'd say he had friends. That he missed Riley but life had to go on and Riley wouldn't want him to mope. He hated moping. But evidently none of those friendships elicited the same kind of response that Riley had. Sam had barely known Steve before he started to fall back into old habits. Throw in a dead best friend come back to life and Sam was in further over his head than he anticipated.

There was no way Barnes could have known to drag Sam out here. After the program was grounded, all of Riley's information went behind walls of black marker. And Barnes would only have looked into it if he thought this was a good way to lose Sam's tail, which would imply he'd gleaned some amount of privy into Sam and Riley's relationship. All of it was impossible. Just a horrible coincidence. Or maybe a really good coincidence.

Sam had needed this. He could pretend that holing himself up in DC was actually steps in the right direction, that ignoring the ghost of Riley's presence, always right in his periphery, was the best course of action, that fiddling away time with mindless relationships was healthy, but he knew all of that was a lie. He couldn't just pretend this was fine. That he was fine. He clearly was not.

Man, he'd just jumped feet first into taking down a century old Nazi cult. And now he was hunting down an undead assassin who may or may not still be brainwashed. An assassin who had tried to plummet him to his death.

"He was rude about it too," Sam told Riley. He figured whatever Riley was doing, he could probably read Sam's mind. No need to fill him in. He turned over onto his back again. "He had this grappling hook thing that he shot at me. Why? That's not important. Point is, one second he was down on the ground doing these acrobatic jumps to avoid bullets--the dude can jump out of the way of bullets--and the next he'd yanked me out of the sky. Ripped the wing clean out of the pack. And then the motherfucker kicked me off the landing deck of a huge airship.

"You would've loved this thing, dude. It was like one of those navy jet ships you're so obsessed with, but in the sky. Man, I don't think I could've gotten you back off of it. You would have moved in and never left."

The birds had disappeared, following the current the way Sam and Riley would on the quiet days.

"You remember the first time the wings malfunctioned on us? When we were actually in the air? A whole system malfunction. We both lost control. Had to pull the parachutes for the first time. We pulled them so late. You probably broke your ankle but kept lying to the medical team. God, we were giddy when we landed. That freefall was unlike anything I've ever felt. I mean, it was horrifying, but wasn't there that moment where you just let yourself fall? Just felt the air and your stomach rushing by. The world was so far away."

Until it hadn't been.

"It felt like that again. I remembered to pull my parachute this time. You weren't around for me to fuss over, so I had more time to actually think. But it felt the same just for a second. I was less giddy on the landing. You weren't there to limp over to me on the ground, and I had someone to be mad at this time. But still. There was that flying-falling feeling that I only got with you."

The words ran out then, as quick as they came. There were a million other things he wanted to tell Riley, but nothing was sticking in his mouth. So he just sat up and parsed out the gas station picnic he'd brought. A whole extra meal for a man who couldn't eat it. But Sam would leave it out and maybe a different kind of shadow would take advantage of it before a billion bugs did.

He ate the sandwich and half the bag of chips in silence and had started to sort out a bag of M&Ms by color before he spoke again.

"I think I'm happy. Like, actually happy this time. I mean, I'm exhausted. This superhero thing is no joke. And weirdly lonely? I mean, Steve and me are together most of the time but I haven't met, like, Iron Man or Thor. I hang out with Black Widow though. You never stood a chance by the way. You would literally be like a cute puppy to her. But she's great. She's teaching me a lot. She's hilarious. But she's busier than Steve is. Has a real job in this organization, I guess.

"I forgot how good it could feel to be tired. Full days and new experiences. Chasing this other asshole all around. But, I mean, I'm getting that travel vacation I always wanted. Went to the coolest natural history museum. It was, like, a literal cave. And rock climbing. I had to do some crazy rock climbing. God, I just wish I could be doing this with you."

He laid out all of the yellow M&Ms across Riley's headstone and then leaned over to kiss the stone itself. "I'll see you later, man. Won't stay away for so long this time. Tell my mama and dad I said hi for me and I'll stop by and see your mama, alright? Be good."

He let himself trace Riley's name one more time before he stood up and collected his trash and blanket. He shoved it all back into his bag before casting one more look around. There was no one. No best-friends-come-back, no shadows, no other picnic-ers. Up in the sky, the birds had come back, circling around each other and tumbling down and then soaring back up with joyful little calls.

Sam smiled at them as his heart squeezed in his chest again. "Yeah, I see you, Riley," he said. "I'm right there too."

[vidjausers-fable]

PenPals(Veneer x OC) Chapter 2

Previous Chapter

It was hour three of her eight hour shift, and Avery felt the exhaustion wearing her down. She skated across the Roller Rink called Racer’s Rink, serving tables and picking up messes left on them along with some extracurriculars. Music of all different kinds of genres blared through the speakers, giving the girl a headache that made her feel irritable and grouchy. Despite all that, she still put on a smile for the customers and served them their food and drinks without hinting toward her true mood.

A certain song came on, and Avery felt her mood immediately drop to her stomach. Rivers. She hated her.

Avery had worked at that same place for four years, so when she needed a moment to skate into the back for a break, no one batted an eye as long as her customers were happy. She rolled back there and sat on a few boxes she had previously stacked in a makeshift chair, releasing a long sigh. They had played her music ten times since she had started her shift, and it annoyed her. Her head was throbbing, so she took some aspirin and drank some water. She massaged her temples. 

No one knew why she was annoyed however—just herself. They didn’t know that the person they were listening to was herself, lip synced by someone she thought she trusted. A girl named River, who had once been her best friend. The two had struck a deal together. River wanted to be famous but didn’t have the voice or the talent to write music, and Avery hadn’t wanted to be in the spotlight when she shared her music. So the two had devised a plan, where River would be the face while Avery wrote the music then sang it. Avery didn’t personally find it a problem that someone was lip singing her music, not at first anyway. It really wasn’t a problem since Avery had given permission. It’s not like she liked the attention anyway. 

It only became a problem when River cut her off, and took over the entire production. The money, the credit, everything. Avery was left in the dust. 

Well, no, she had been left with one thing. Blackmail that detailed how Avery’s life would be destroyed if she stepped forward and “lied”. How no one would believe her. Yes, Avery knew that she could possibly prove them wrong…But how? She could be called an impersonator, or thanks to the incident with Velvet and Veneer, called a Trollnapper. The fans loved River so much, they believed every word she said, so would they believe the words of a greedy nobody that called her out? So yeah, River was possibly right. If she said anything, she risked ruining her credibility, especially since she never put herself out there in the first place. River held her by a tight rope and every outcome seemed impossible.

Knowing she had spent too much time away from her tables, Avery composed herself and skated back into the lounge, returning in the nick of time. They hadn’t even noticed her absence. That was good, so she wouldn’t get in trouble. 

There were a group of teens probably a year or two younger than her. About five of them, sipping on their drinks from the self-serve center. They hadn’t been there when she took that small break. She skated over to them, putting on her customer service smile. “Good evening, fellas! I’ll be your server for tonight. What can I get you?” She took out her notepad and pencil, smiling down at them. 

The teens looked up at her with cheerful smiles. One by one she took their order. Most just wanted pizza and shakes, along with fries. After working here so long, Avery had learned how to initial the orders in a quick and efficient manner. MPep w olives stood for a Medium Pepperoni with olives. It helped with large orders like this one.

“Great, coming right up!” she said cheerily and skated over to the counter, where she hung up the ticket and repeated the order out loud to the cook. The cook repeated the order back before she went over to the stand, making both the shakes and malts for the teenagers. A couple chocolates and a few strawberries, then one vanilla. She placed them onto a server’s plate and skated back to the table. She placed the shakes down. “Enjoy everyone!” She tried to sound as cheery as her overworked mind could. 

As she was about to skate away from the teens before she heard them talking among each other. 

“Did you hear that Rebel River is going to perform live soon?” a teen boy didn’t bother whispering with his friends. 

“Yeah! We’re so excited. She’s hardly done any shows. So far they’re been exclusive to get into. But now they’re going to be in more public areas like the Boom Box!” 

“REALLY?!” A girl squealed then sipped on her strawberry milkshake. “How expensive are her tickets going to be?”

“They’ll be a whole lot cheaper than her old private shows. In fact…” The main boy took out two tickets from his pockets and presented them to the girl with the strawberry milkshake, and her eyes went wide with admiration at the sight of the golden tickets. “I got us some so we can go on a date together, listening to her!”

Her second squeal sounded like forks on a chalkboard and Avery had to try and not cringe at the noise that threatened her recently medicated head. She skated off as she heard the others began to chew out the friend for not getting them tickets as well. She wanted to go hide in the back again, but there were people leaving and she had to clean their tables so others could sit and not bitch at her for sitting somewhere dirty. 

Though thoughts swirled in her mind. River was going to start doing concerts, yeah? When they had first made the plan that they would help each other out, concerts weren’t on the table. River was only supposed to be the image that was on magazines, and their website, or videos they did. She wasn’t supposed to be doing live concerts. That was risking their reputation. Avery never wanted to resort to lip syncing in front of others, and now it looked like it wasn’t her choice in the matter. River took off with Avery’s music. Someone she had once trusted. A friend that she went to school with. She felt so betrayed. She wanted to break a glass on the ground and storm out, but she needed this job.

Avery was cleaning a booth seat when she saw a paper on the table that caught her eye. Usually she was able to shut her mind off, but this paper sat at the booth like it was waiting for her in particular. She grabbed it and skimmed the top of the page. Pen Pal Program. Writers Needed! The top read. Giving the rink a quick look around and making sure that no one was going to come back for the paper, she folded it and shoved it back into the pocket along with her notebook. She finished cleaning the table—putting dishes in her box before giving the table a good cleaning. She would have to vacuum when she closed that night. 

As she took the dishes back to the dish room, she had forgotten about the paper she had found and placed in her pocket. At least for now.

The rest of the night passed as slow as the first three hours of the shift. But when it ended and everyone had left, Avery gladly took off her skates and cleaned the room until it was spotless and ready for the opening shift. She left after taking some leftover food from the chef and rushed out the door.

Avery took the late night bus to home, to MR Apartments. They weren’t the luxurious kind, but enough that Avery felt safe at home. She took off her work uniform, and showered the greasy fried smell of pizza still clung to her as she flopped against the couch, brushing out her blonde hair, making sure the pink strip in the front laid correctly. She groaned and took her apron, digging out her notepad. The paper she had folded and shoved into the same pocket fell and landed on the floor, catching her attention. 

“Oh yeah…” she said to herself and picked up the paper, sitting crisscrossed on the couch. Unfolding and smoothing the paper out on her knee, she read the paper. 

Pen Pal Program. Writers Needed! 

The Mount Rageous Correctional Facility is looking for those who would like to talk and make friends with those who struggle making friends in this facility. Model clients in these facilities are rewarded with the Pen Pal program to help make friends who would make the transition back into civilization easier. If you are interested, please call the number listed below, or go to our website. Please submit an application online and send your letter through the mail. You will be assigned a person. Please call the number if you have questions. 

After reading the summary over and over, Avery thought out loud. A pen pal program, uh? That sounds fun…Different even.

Avery shuddered momentarily as she imagined what kind of person would be on the other end. Someone like River, who would lie nonstop in their letters. She wasn’t sure if she was interested in talking to someone like that…But then again she couldn’t be picky. It’s not like she had any friends right now. She would give it a day and call tomorrow, to ask a few questions. Her shift didn’t begin until the afternoon, so she had plenty of time to work on it if the questions didn’t catch her off guard.

Pinning the paper on her board of bills and other important papers, Avery put her uniform into the dirty laundry and got clean ones out for the next day. With that, she brushed her teeth and wished her pet Guinea Pigs goodnight, making sure they were taken care of. 

Avery went to bed. 

Avery woke up around ten, considering she had gone to bed around Midnight. She got up and didn’t dress (she didn’t plan to until it was time for work), then got herself an egg sandwich muffin that was in her freezer. Her brain was still half asleep, until she downed a cup of cheap coffee she swiped from the rink. By 11, she was ready to get some work done before her next shift. 

Like every morning, she stopped in front of her board after caring for her pets and letting them free roam. Her board, which was a disorganized disaster, helped her keep other things in order. When she saw the PenPal paper from the night before, a small “Oh yeah” left her lips. She took the paper down and checked the time that the phone line would be open to call. 

Flopping onto her couch, Avery dialed the number. It rang up before a sing songy voice answered on the phone instantaneously, “This is Dr. Lindsay Graham, at your service! With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

Avery held the phone away from her ear. She had never heard someone sound so pleasantly happy to talk to her before, let alone over the phone! She blushed softly. “Oh hello, my name is Avery. I’m calling in regards to your PenPal service. I had a few questions about that, if you don’t mind.”

“Well of COURSE! Ask away, I love answering people’s questions and helping them!”

Avery began, “Well, what’s the process like? I just submit an application and a letter, right? Don’t I have to wait for the application to be approved before I can send in a letter?”

Lindsay answered immediately, “Oh that’s just more efficient! We will be able to give your letter immediately to one of our clients the moment your application is approved. However, if you would prefer to wait until you get your confirmation email, then that’s just fine, Deary!” 

“How long does the program last for? Do we have to stop talking at any point?”

“The program won’t ever be discontinued on our end, unless either party that’s sending the letter sends something that’s against our policy, which you will see listed on the application when you open it. When the client leaves our facility, it’s up to the two of you to continue the conversation if you would like to. So send as many letters as your heart desires!”

“Will we learn who we’re sending letters to?”

“It’s up to both the senders to decide what information they reveal! Some use their real names or pseudonyms. So don’t reveal any information you’re uncomfortable with and know that the other party will be doing the same.”

“I think that’s all the questions I have for now…”

“GREAT! Are you planning to send a letter?”

Avery nodded her head, but mostly to herself. “Yeah, I think I will. Is there a certain deadline?”

“Nope! But the sooner that you submit your applicant and letter, the sooner you will be able to send a letter. You could get one within the next three days if you submit it now! Well, of course as long as your application is approved. Which it most likely will be!”

“Thank you for answering my questions. I’m going to start filling it out. Goodbye,” Avery said her farewells. 

“Goodbye, my dear!”

Sure enough, as soon as she hung up, Avery went online and worked on the application alongside her letter, taking that morning before work to do so.

As Linda placed her phone down on the receiver, it clicked. She looked up excitingly to Veneer, who had been there for the entire conversation and gushed, “Sounds like you’re going to have a possible application very soon!

A few days had passed, and Veneer carried on his normal routine through the day. He ate, spent his rec time in the library reading fashion magazines and sketching lazy designs, then ate again. As he was heading back to his cell, being guided by the guard, another guard intercepted them. “Excuse me, can I bring Veneer to his counselor? She’s requesting him right now.” He waved his hand, “Come with me, Veneer.”

“Yes sir.”

Veneer was redirected toward the office. He didn’t feel too nervous this time, especially since the guard didn’t seem rushed to get him to the counselor. Plus his anxiety seeing his counselor had died down. Linda probably was just going to update him about his request for the room…

“Thank you,” Veneer thanked the guard before slipping into the office and finding his seat. It had been a few days since they had talked, but she looked the same as ever. She greeted him with a smile which he returned as he sat down. “Did you need me for something?”

“Oh my gosh, Veneer, do I have NEWS for you!” Lindra drummed her hands against the table. “It seems that you’ve got a match up approval for your pen pal program!” She cheered, making Veneer perk up as he heard the news.

“Oh, that’s actually great news. So I got a letter?” he asked.

Linda nodded and handed the letter to him. “Do you want to read it here, so your sister won’t be able to read over your shoulder?”

Veneer shook his head. “No I would prefer somewhere more…private, if that’s okay. Is there a way I can get another hour in the library?”

“Well…” Linda rubbed her chin, but eventually smiled, “Yes that sounds just fine. Here, let me write you a pass.” She took out one of her slips and wrote out the time and her signature, handing it over to Veneer along with a letter she had taken from her desk. She grinned. “Enjoy your new friend, okay? If there’s anything you need to talk to about stuff, don’t hesitate to put in a request. Thank you for being such a good patient…A good person. It’s nice to see a soul heal here.” 

“And thank you for putting your faith in me, Dr. Graham. It helps having someone on my side. Thank you for this opportunity.” He smiled and stood, leaving. 

Veneer would be escorted back to the library and sat in his normal spot in the back. The guard wasn’t far behind but they both knew that the guard wasn’t really needed at this point. He took the letter and opened it, surprised to see so much writing on the page. He was having flashbacks to the constant fanmail he would receive in his time as a popstar. However, this all felt…different. More sincere. 

Dear New Friend,

Hi. Hello. This is really weird to write, but I know that it will feel less awkward the more that we write back and forth to each other. I’m a female, eighteen years old. I didn’t have many friends other than the people that I work with, but do they really count? By the way, I work in the Racer’s Rink in Mount Rageous, as a waitress, skating instructor, and the occasional dance instructor too. So, I typically have a busy day of being on my skates more than my feet. I’m not sure if you have ever skated before, but it gets a bit tiresome, but it’s amazing when at the end of the day you can see people happy doing something new. I like games, and I like music. I hope that I can learn more about you. I won’t ask anything personal about how you got into the correctional facility, but I hear that this program is for those who are doing a good job. So keep it up, and I am proud to hear that you’re already doing better. I hope I can hear back from you, and that you can tell me about yourself, and that we can become close friends. 

Your Friend, 

Avery

Veneer was stunned as he stared at the letter in front of him. He saw her name, and how well she could write. It almost felt unreal that he had contact with someone from the outside, but nope this was all real. He smiled, so it was a girl the same age as him, which was probably the reason they were paired together. Though he didn’t want to question it, Avery sounded interested. He didn’t realize someone could have three jobs at once!

Veneer began to write back, his hands flowing on the page. 

Dear Avery, 

My name is Samson (He didn’t want to use his real name at first. Everyone from Mount Rageous knew who he was). I’m male, 18 though I was 17 when I was sent here. I did something stupid and now I’m stuck here for a few years. I appreciate you not asking questions about it because I’m not sure if I want to talk about it just yet. I don’t want you to assume the worst about me because of poor judgment I had long ago. I want you to get to know me first as a person. Your job sounds interesting! No, I’ve never actually skated before, so I can’t imagine being on my ‘skates’ all day. I hear that it’s impossible to skate if you don’t have good balance. I hope that maybe one day I will have the option to come check it out once I’m out of here. It does sound fun, though it sounds overwhelming to have three jobs at once. How are you doing by the way? I hope that you’re resting when you’re not working. I can’t wait to get to know you better…

After several mark offs, and rewriting certain sentences, Veneer didn’t realize how much time had passed until his escort cleared his throat behind him, making him jump a little. 

“Yes?” he asked.

“You have ten minutes left.”

“I must have lost track of time!” Veneer gasped and tucked the letter away and his rough draft into the envelope. “I guess I can go back early. I don’t think my sister will be happy either way.”

With that, Veneer was guided back to his cell. Veneer barely had time to sit down at his desk before Velvet was already up on him, grabbing at the letters he was holding onto.

“Give me those!” she demanded. 

“Stop it Velvet, you’re going to rip them!” he argued and managed to rip the papers out of her hands and shoved them into his desk. “Stop trying to take my stuff, Velvet!”

“I just want to see! Can’t you let me see?!”

“NO! They’re mine! Don’t go snooping through my stuff or I’ll tell the guard and your rec time will be reduced again!” he snapped. 

Velvet huffed and backed away from him, sitting on the bottom bunk as she crossed her legs and arms. “Whatever you say, brother.” She spat at him. 

Veneer would have to finish his letter tomorrow. 

Author’s Note: Here’s more fanart of Veneer AND Avery here. I don’t want to spoil anything but I based Avery off of Avril Lavigne, and her body double River off the Avril replacement conspiracy from long ago. Enjoy the fanart!! <3 If you would like to see more, look up Vidjauser on Twitter, Instagram, or Tik Tok. Thank you to my friend @tinalbion for beta reading for me and catching some simple (but silly) mistakes! Love you, bestie!

[lover-girl-estxx]

Him?!

*not my gif*

I was now it Vegas the boys fights we're in 5 days so now I was in my hotel room editing for Conor from training this morning.

Conor: going out,ya coming?

Y: i'm still working maybe tomorrow night

Nate<3: can I come to the hotel?

Y: yeah i'm workin though just so ya now

Nate <3: sounds good be there in a bit

I opened the door "hi" I smiled wrapping my arms around him "hey" he smiled and pecked my lips walking us into my room "how was your training?" "good....did BJJ with my brother" "nice you feeling good though?" "yeah i'm good you've been asking that alot?" "I know I just Don't want you to get hurt" "you think i'm gonna get hurt?" "well its a fight your gonna get hurt... you took a fight on short notice just want to make sure your good" "I'm good and ready I promise" he smiled again "okay" I kissed his cheek and laid my head in his shoulder.

"you hungry babe?"he asked from the bed while I worked at the hotel desk "yeah I won't mind eating," I turned in the chair he walked over and leaned back on the desk handing me the menu "mm burger and fries what do you want?" "the lemon salad" "okay" I called in the order before going back to work.

I was washing my makeup off in the bathroom when room service knocked "babe will you get that?" "yeah" he got off the bed, "oh shit" he said "wheres Y/n? what are you doing in here?" I hear Dee say "fuck," I whispered I wiped my face I moved nate by his shoulder "Dee come inside" I pulled her in and shut the door "you can not tell my brother promise please?" "y/n I have too your dating who he's gonna be fighting" "Dee please just till after the fight he hates Nate Right now after they fight they'll be no bad blood I swear he will want nothing to do with me if he finds out before the fight" she sighed and looked over to Nate "how long?" "5 months that's why I went to California and have been" "fine but ya have to tell him after or I will" "okay promise" "he's still gonna be pissed" I nodded "I know thats why I haven't told him"she sighed "well I came to tell you that Conor what's to meet in the lobby at 7am" "okay" I nodded "see ya in the morning" she said walking out just as food came.

"shes gonna tell him" I said taking a bite of my burger "she won't she knows he's in a fight camp you wouldn't tell me something crazy while I was in camp" "yeah true" "it's fine babe I'd all work out" he rubbed my shoulder I smiled and laid my head on his shoulder. We laid back on the bed after eating and I looked up to him "you want a face mask you'll skin will look great for your interview tomorrow" he chuckled "no mamas i'm okay" "no come on you'll look so cute please?" he looked down at me for a minute "fine go get it" I smiled going to get it, I sat over his lap his hands on my waist "it's gonna be a little cold okay?" he nodded I opened the face mask and laid the sheet over his face "shit" he hissed "I told you," I giggled "cute" I pecked his lips and lined over and grabbed my phone to take his picture. I sat behind him and rubbed his shoulders "how long do I have to keep this on?" "like 15 more minute" "dude" "your skins gonna look great" he chuckled.

After 15 I looked down and he was dead asleep so I slowly took the mask off him and set it aside just letting him sleep. "mmm sorry" he sat up a bit "it's okay" I rubbed his back "can I stay here?" he said half asleep "yea" he turned around and laid his head on my chest "wake me up at 5:30?" "yeah babe" I turned the light off and put my hand in his shirt scraching his back.

The alarm went off at 5:30 I groaned hitting my phone "Nate babe" he sighed dinging his head into my neck "I know i'm awake I don't wanna get up" "you want coffee?" he nodded I reached over grabbing the phone calling up coffee. he sat up a bit leaning down to kiss me his one hand on my hip "I have morning breath" "I don't care" he leaned down and kissed me I put my hand on the side of his face. I pulled away "okay sadly we have jobs" I got up going to the bathroom.

"thank you" I took the coffees and handed him his "okay I gotta head out" "okay love you" "love you" he kissed me "i'll see you on the presser" "k" he smiled "be nice to each other" "can't promise" he said walking out the door I chuckled.

"your playing touch butt with that dork in the park with the ponytail and I ain't got no training partners I don't think so, you seem to got it all figured out when your fighting midgets" I put a hand over my face to stop the smirk. "He's like a little cholo gangster from the hood but he gos on bike rides with the elderly....gang signs with left hand animal balloons with the right hand" I slightly chuckled "I gotta go" I said to Dee going to the bathroom because they were arguing like 5-year-olds and I thought it was pretty funny.

I got in the car with Conor and the team "fuck that guy" Conor said I sighed as Dee looked over to me "you wanna see the pictures I got?" I said trying to change the subject "yeah" I handed my camera to him "I ordered ya a better one" "oh thank you Con I was gonna get a new one".

Y: you good babe?

Nate <3: yeah! I'll see you tomorrow though I'm really tired today is that cool?

Y:yeah whatever you need to do I have to work then I'm gonna go to sleep anyway! I love you 🖤

Nate <3: okay love you🖤