#this is how you know I am thoroughly in the soup

[outoutdamnspark]

Human

Inspired by the Robo!Submas x Reader au by @nc-eikin​ - because this bitch (affectionate) has a death grip on my soul. I’m such a robophiliac, you have no idea.

(Was listening to Matsudappoiyo’s cover of Talk of the Past while writing.)

*cracks knuckles*

AIGHT. Robo-romance, here we go!

(Cw: Panic attacks and mentions of dissociation, brief themes of ableism(???) Tenderness, non-sexual body [hand] worship, pining. Robots in love. Shifting narration focus. Reader is called “lady” but is left genderless. Submas x Reader.)

soa have mercy this got so out of hand. no pun intended.

===

The entire day has been awful from the start.

You’ve suffered through bad days before - many times - but no matter how many, you’ll never quite get used to the extra long shift, or the endless slew of technical issues that all seem to spontaneously appear back to back to back, or the people being rude as hell when you're just trying to send in a report or a request for replacement parts. (And you’ll never, never, get used to how, on top of all of that, the miserable weather, dreary, wet, and cold, is causing your phantom limbs to ache.)

You’re exhausted by the time your shift is at its blessed end, fed up, in pain, and nearly ready to break down in frustrated tears as you quicken your pace towards what you desperately hope is safety in the ‘Employees Only’ corridors.

But it is not to be.

You'd always been so careful of your gloves, making sure they were as well-maintained as the delicate mechanisms your grandfather taught you to build and repair. Any loose thread, any thinning seam, and you were quick to repair or replace the fabric barrier between your prosthetic limbs and the judgemental world around you, and this meticulousness had served you well for oh so long.

But even the most vigilant of individuals can fall victim to blind chance, and blind chance is exactly what puts the snagging ends of a frayed wire in just the right place inside your pocket. It catches on the side of your glove as you pause in your walking to reach in and search for your employee pass. The tiny copper fingers seize your glove, hold it, tear it, find a weak spot in the seam and break it open. You pull your hand back out of your pocket to the soundtrack of shredding fabric.

It’s bad; the way the thread had pulled had ripped the seam in both directions, leaving the entire side of your glove split apart and the metal of your prosthetic beneath it to shine in the overhead lighting of the subway platform. You grimace. Not wanting to endanger the remaining material any further, you peel it off.

You hope no one notices.

(You hope in vain.)

“Wow, cool!!”

A small child - maybe seven or eight years old - dashes in front of you with sparkling, excited eyes trained directly on your exposed metal arm, blocking your path to the employee door just as you start to try and move.

“I didn’t know they had a lady robot here, too!”

A lance of ice and clawing shame plunges itself between your ribs and straight into your lungs, knocking the breath from your lips. Suddenly you’re shaking, too aware of how loudly the exuberant child is being, of how crowded the platform actually is.

Heart rattling, you say nothing to the child as you attempt to step around him, to cross the last few yards to the employee door and the eyeless hallway beyond. Unperturbed, the child simply moves along with you, keeping pace, darting erratically from your side to practically under your feet and then back - and all the while his incessant questioning gets louder and louder, like he thinks you can’t hear him.

“Hey! Hey lady! You’re a robot, too, right? What kind are you? How come you don’t have fake skin like the other robots? Are you broken? Can I see your hand?” He nearly trips you when he gasps and stops close enough to your foot that he’s practically standing on your shoe. “Can I have cool robot parts, too?!”

You don’t mean to almost knock him down, you really don’t.

You don’t mean to slap his grasping fingers away as he reaches for your metal limbs, nor do you mean to bolt like a wild animal towards the employee door, abrupt enough to earn you the child’s (loud, loud, so loud!) cry of surprise and his nearby mother’s angry reprimand.

They couldn’t understand. No one ever has.

Because while it may have seemed like an innocent enough encounter on the surface, just like always, you can feel the eyes of everyone within earshot turning towards you, burning along your skin. Just like before. Just like always.

(You're so, so tired of being stared at, of being bombarded with questions, of being the focus of pity and fear and morbid curiosity.)

Without slowing down, you smack the pad beside the door with your ID, barely waiting for the latch to click and the light to flash green before yanking the door open with more force than flesh-and-blood limbs would ever have allowed.

You nearly sprint down the corridor, taking the turns through sheer muscle memory as your vision blackens at the edges, until a familiar (safe-safe-safe!) door comes into view just up ahead.

It’s empty when you enter, but that’s okay. You don’t think you want your friends to see you like this - you don’t want to tell them why.

You reach the far corner of the little room the Station Masters call their own and brace yourself against the wall. Shaking, you slide to the floor and try to get your breathing under control.

-

They’re ashamed that it takes them almost an hour to find you.

There hadn’t been cause for concern at first - they’d simply realized you’d never clocked out, which meant there might still be a chance to see you again before you left for the day. It had been a happy thought, one that had them eagerly sneaking away to go and look for you.

But you were nowhere to be found.

They’d checked everywhere they knew you’d had work to do that day, thinking that maybe a task had run longer than expected. Then, they’d checked the live camera feed to see if they could spot you that way. Still nothing. Thinking perhaps you’d simply forgotten to clock out and had already left for the evening - which would have been horribly unlike you - they’d resigned themselves to waiting until the morning to be graced with your presence.

And then they’d gone back to their storage room.

There, in the corner, tucked away where the camera’s eye didn’t quite reach, was you.

The Station Masters hover nearby, processors overloading with concern as they watch you, unresponsive, sitting hunched against the wall and staring at nothing with the remains of tear tracks still drying on your cheeks. Your gloves are clenched so tightly between your fists that the fabric looks on the verge of tearing as you hold it, twisted taught between your metal fingers. Dissociation, their automatic index tells them; trace indicators of sweat and adrenaline, their cursory scans conclude.

A quick bluetooth conversation is had between them, and they determine that no, they've never seen you like this before, this isn't normal.

They approach. You don't react.

(The twins wonder if this is what it feels like to wish they could cry.)

‘Should we contact medical assistance?’

‘I... don’t know.’

They look to one another, silently hoping their brother will have the answers they do not.

(Now that they know where you’ve gone, they search back through the security logs and follow your path in reverse, tailing you backwards until they see...

Oh.)

“Oh.”

-

You’re peripherally aware of the twins as they step in perfect unison to flank you, slowly kneeling at your sides until they no longer tower over your crumpled form. You want to move, want to respond when they call your name, let them know you can almost hear them - but your body refuses to cooperate.

Instead, you stare at the empty space between the far wall and the floor and try to collect enough pieces of yourself to find your way back towards their light.

“Darling?” one of them calls - it doesn’t matter which.

“Can you hear us?”

Barely, but yes. You can make out their words as though from some far-away shore, muffled and weak. It’s a comfort, regardless.

(You trust them, you think. More than you ever have another human being.)

Through foggy ears, you listen to them speak. They murmur, coax, gently plead, come back now, please, you're scaring us, are you alright? They tell you they saw what happened, how they’re sorry they weren’t there - but that’s silly, you want to tell them. It wasn’t their fault; there was nothing they could have done to circumvent what always, always happens.

(It doesn’t stop a tiny piece of your heart from wishing they had been there beside you, with kind words and protective stances.

Maybe then they wouldn’t have to see you as you are right now.)

There is movement.

Gently, so gently, the brothers lean into you. You can feel them pressing their arms against your own, the contact oddly warm from their internal functions. Your skin prickles at the touch - but pleasantly so, instead of the crawling bad that physical contact usually brings.

With deliberate, worshipful slowness, they each take one of your mechanical hands in their own, weaving their fingers together with yours, loosening your grip on your gloves until they can be safely pried from your grasp. One of them, maybe 3MM-ET, carefully lifts your hand and brings it to his lips, resting it there reverently. The other, probably 1NG0, lifts your other hand and gingerly uncurls your fingers so he can press your palm against his cheek.

Neither one of them speaks for a time. 3MM-ET brushes his lips over your prosthetic fingers repeatedly, ghosts of kisses he isn't wholly brave enough to properly give; 1NG0 closes his eyes and holds your hand to his face with both of his. He nuzzles into your touch, lips gliding across the heel of your palm but never pressing down.

"Beautiful," one of them whispers.

"Verrry beautiful," the other agrees.

You don’t know how long you all stay like that, with your heart gradually thawing with each and every word that spills from the speakers hidden in their throats. Their warmth and the weight of them grounds you, little by little pulling you back towards that distant shore. Your lungs work without you to fill with fresh air, replacing the stagnation that’s settled deep inside while you’d been lost to the void inside your own head.

The twins continue to murmur praises, reassurance, fondness, steadily growing into whispers of devotion in between the spaces of their spoken words. They adore you, they say, you're wonderful, so human and so alive and so very, verrry lovely; you don’t realize at first that they're talking about you.

It’s like a riptide when you do.

You gasp as you slam back into your body from that foggy mire inside your mind, the burn of a sharp inhale rivaling the way it feels like something’s finally been released inside your ribs. Freed, lanced like an ill-healed wound.

Out pours the blood and pain of years of bottled emotions, of facial expressions you trained yourself not to make, of the shards of at least one barrier you’ve held tall and strong for an age. And with it all there comes the pent-up toxins of the day, spilling out over your eyelashes in a new wave of tears, tracing down the paths left behind from before. It hurts. You’re glad it does.

You don't just sit there silently as you blink the saltwater from your eyes this time; instead, they pour like a swelling river over its banks, and you lean forward with the weight of them. A low, pitiful sound pools inside your mouth and slips past your teeth before you can stop it - a quiet, keening whine that breaks and stutters into a single sob.

Then another.

And then a third.

Your shoulders jerk as you start to drop, but before your body can fold itself in half, there are arms around you, gentle and firm, holding you steady.

Your hands are relinquished and the arms cross one another over your chest like a brace, their own hands coming to rest on your shoulders opposite where they each kneel. A second pair of arms wraps around your back just above your waist. The duo hold you upright, keep you from falling, pull you close in perfect equidistance between them; one rests his cheek on the crown of your bowed head, the other rests his chin in the dip of your shoulder.

You shake as you cry, letting out the long stretch of the day, your hitching breath the only sound you make through clenched teeth, and through it all they hold you. Even as five minutes turn to thirty and the tears finally ebb, and you can feel yourself slot back into place within reality, the arms encircling you stay, the murmurs continue, their presence remains.

They ask you if you're alright.

You simply nod your head.

With a glance at one another that holds another private conversation, you’re sure, the androids slowly shift, slowly stand. Their arms do not move, and you find yourself pulled along with them as they lift you from your spot on the floor and guide you to a battered old loveseat along the wall - something your grandfather must have brought in years and years ago.

In perfect unison they sit, bringing you to rest between them so close that their sides, their thighs, their shoulder all press against your own once more with comforting pressure.

"I should...go. Let you recharge," you say at last. You make no move to get up.

3MM-ET hums, thoughtful. He lets his arm slide from where it crosses your chest like a seatbelt and gingerly takes your hand. Warm, gloved fingers slip in alongside yours, soft leather against sleek and shining chrome, and 3MM-ET runs the sides of his fingers back and forth between your own like gently rolling waves. With each pass he gives a light squeeze so that you can feel the hidden ball joints of his knuckles. He delicately pinches your ring finger next, your middle, your index, twisting them ever-so-slightly as if examining them from different angles. Despite the strength you know his artificial body contains, his touch is never anything but kind.

(From anyone else, you might find it uncomfortable, invasive. But not from him. Not from them.)

"...You are gorgeous, you know?" he says in his usual soft monotone. His quietude belays the strange, awed tint to his words, the softening of his synthetic smile in a way you've never seen before.

From your other side, you can see 1NG0 slowly nodding from the corner of your eye. Like his brother, he, too, finally shifts his hand from your opposite shoulder and brings it down to cover your free one. He curls his fingers around the metal plates that make up your knuckles, cradling them like something invaluable. The pad of his thumb brushes over the hinge of your own, back and forth, back and forth.

"Gorgeous," he says in agreement, uncharacteristically quiet. "And perfect."

You scoff, wet and choked. "I'm not--"

But 1NG0 raises faintly glowing optics to meet your gaze and your protest dies behind your tongue at the sight of something raw behind his eyes.

"You are human," 3MM-ET says beside you. "Something we will never be."

You turn away from 1NG0 then, and twist your neck to look at his brother with furrowed brows. But 3MM-ET’s smile is achingly fond and he shakes his head before you can speak. "It is the truth," he states simply. "We are not human." He shrugs - and it's such a distinctly human gesture, one that you know can be programmed or learned through behavioral study, but usually never properly applied in subtle ways. Here, it is subtle, and for a moment you forget which of you three is made of wires and which is made of flesh.

But 3MM-ET isn’t done. He turns your hand over in his grasp and runs his thumb down the inorganic lines of your palm. His gaze lowers to watch it, as though he’s unable to meet your eyes. “...But you treat us as though we are.”

1NG0 shifts, leans forward to study you in profile. “We are flawed in mechanical ways,” he says, voice still soft and tender and warm. “You are flawed in human ways. We can be programmed to emulate human flaws, but it’s nothing more than an illusion, a lie of perfection. Or of imperfection. Whatever the one writing our code wants us to be.”

The arms still curled around your waist squeeze you in gentle, almost nervous tandem as both the androids hug you close.

3MM-ET’s thumb changes direction on your palm, circling counter clockwise. “We are aware of this.” His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly, but it’s still enough for the sensors in your metal hand to detect. “Of our artificiality. Sometimes we forget, but not for very long.”

Your mouth twitches at his admission, not a frown but almost; he just shakes his head.

“You do not get it; you make us feel human. You. With you it is not forgetting, it is like we always were.”

On your other side, 1NG0 hums. “You have never indicated that you see us as things; you do not treat us as lesser in any way, when by nature of our inhumanity someone else might. Where another might see our personalities as faults, and our faults as something to be rectified, you treat them as though they are normal.”

3MM-ET nods. “As though we are human.”

1NG0 nods as well. His hand on yours twists, aligning his palm with the back of your hand. He threads his fingers together with yours. “Your humanity is what makes you perfect,” he explains. “You simply exist as you are, flaws and all.”

The arms encircling you slowly slide from your waist, gloved hands brushing along your back and sides until they fall away. 1NG0 brings a hand up to trace the back of a knuckle just under your eyes; when he pulls back again, there is a single droplet of moisture left on his glove.

(You didn’t know you still had tears left to shed.)

3MM-ET’s hand alights on your shoulder. He trials his fingertips reverently downward, tracing the seam where your skin meets metal - and even further down. He stops at your elbow, gently cupping it, and lifts your arm until it straightens out. The thumb that once drew patterns across your palm now carefully uncurls your fingers, and he adjusts his hold until your forearm rests across his own. Slowly, like he’s terrified you’ll pull away, 3MM-ET lowers his head and lifts your arm higher to meet in the middle.

Soft and whisper-light, he touches silicone lips to the ball joint of your wrist.

Your breath catches in your throat; this is all too much. You don’t know what to do with this tenderness, this gentleness, when all you’ve known for years is how to build your walls higher and higher to avoid the leering gaze of others. You cannot fathom, no matter your grandfather’s skill at breathing artificial life into cold copper and warm circuits, how these two (objectively inhuman) beings can show more humanity than members of your own kind.

And how they, technically perfect in their artificiality, can consider you the perfect one - because of and not in spite of, your failings.

Your mechanical fingers curl, unconsciously trying to capture 3MM-ET’s hand once more.

The brush of leather against your face pulls your attention back to 1NG0, back to a luminous silver gaze that meets your own and somehow softens as if you’d hung the moon and stars. He rolls his hand so that his palm cradles your cheek, and with his other he tugs at your fingers until he’s pressed your hand to where his core sits beneath his chest plate, holding it there like he’ll die if he lets go.

There is no need for him to breathe, no real heart that needs to beat, but you can feel the impersonations of them under your hand; the rise and fall of his chest in simulation of breathing, the faint thrum of the pump that forces hydrolic fluid through his internal structure. Even with your prosthetic, you can feel him.

“These are not flaws,” 1NG0 whispers, stroking your mechanical hand with his thumb. “They are simply a part of you.”

You feel the tickle of 3MM-ET’s lips against your wrist as he picks up where his brother leaves off, unwilling to remove his almost-kiss from your arm even as he speaks. “Therefore,” he murmurs, “these are perfect, too.”

You’d thought yourself dam-less, the cracks in your walls now laid bare as the banked-up river of emotions runs dry inside your soul. But as you look from one conductor to the other - one with his lips held to your wrist and his twin with your hand clutched to his core - you feel the tide come in anew.

1NG0 swipes at the trickle of tears gliding freely from your eyes, though his gentle touch does nothing to stem their flow. You shake your head to dislodge his hand.

Before either of them can react, you’re pulling back, tugging your appendages from their respective holds and reaching blindly out to grasp at their shoulders. You manage to find one of them through your blurry vision, 3MM-ET, and yank him to you. He lets you bury your face in the crook of his neck and rests his cheek against your temple.

Your free hand fumbles to find 1NG0 on your other side, but now that he can guess what you want, he puts himself in your path; you fist your fingers into his coat and pull him close until he’s pressed against your side with his forehead alighting just below your ear at the hing of your jaw. He ghosts his lips against the skin of your jawline and wraps both of his arms securely around your waist.

3MM-ET’s arms follow suit, coming to rest above his brother’s, as one of your own slips around his side to cling desperately at the back of his coat. You wriggle your other arm until it’s actually under the one 1NG0 has around your front and reach up to dig your fingers into his sleeve, hanging on like you’re afraid you’ll be washed away without him there to ground you.

The last dregs of overwhelming emotion wring from your exhausted heart as you allow yourself to be held and to hold in return - for once finding a hand extended in the dark behind your walls. You make no noise as you cry this time; there is only the sound of your breathing and the whispered words of two voices in your ear, telling you how glad they are to know you.

You’ve never felt more human.

[weidli]

god in my time of dying really does get me Every time

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

Dark Fae Romance: Hezirus (Chapter 1)

The first chapter in the long awaited romance story with my Dark Fae character, Hezirus!

Your can read the Starter Chapter here, which will introduce you to the characters and give some context. This story was in the kiln for so long and has many bits to it. I got way too into the story and I absolutely will not apologize! I enjoyed it too much!

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Chapter Words: 11k Warnings: a sfw starter. Notes: I do not give permission to anyone to repost, steal, copy, bind my stories. Also this is the Patreon Exclusive Freebie for you all to enjoy. You can read Chapter 2 on Patreon, which has just been published.

Your stomach growled loudly in the silence of the dungeon. Someone whimpered and the shadows chittered like a swarm of insects as they passed your door.

Daylight streamed into your cell through the small square hole in the wall of your room. And that’s where the servant found you. The moment the day winked against the stone, you sat in its brightness. Soaking in whatever warmth the cold morning air allowed.

You had no idea what time it was. But when the cell door opened, you were dizzily glad for the hot soup and bread that the owl woman placed by your feet.

“The prince wishes you to join him for a bath this morning.” The owl woman said as you dug into your breakfast. Your eyes widened as you swallowed.

“Is that an order?” You asked, a little more harshly than was probably needed. But you felt the giant round eyes regard you emotionlessly. As if your anger didn’t matter to her. It probably didn’t.

“I would assume so. Since you are his pet.”

“I’m not his pet.” You snapped, eating another spoonful of soup and buttered bread.

“Yes, you are.” The owl woman said. Her head then twisted to look behind her without moving her shoulders. Very much like how you’ve seen owls normally do. Her feathers puffed up for a second before she settled and turned her head back to you. Blinking slowly. “Would you prefer to be fed to Master Maahes? Because he is just down the hall waiting for me to leave the door open.”

Terror gripped you and you almost dropped your bowl. “W-What?”

“He can’t touch you while I am here. Since Prince Hezirus would punish him for breaking the rules. But if you do not wish to follow the orders given to you, I am allowed to threaten you to make you follow me. Master Maahes, I presume, is an adequate threat, is he not?”

You wanted to throw the soup. Maybe not at the owl because she is only doing her job. But at something. Did you risk getting rubbed down by the prince in a bath? Or thoroughly destroyed on the floor of a cell by a mountain of a man?

You grumbled and sighed. Finishing off the soup before handing the owl woman back the bowl. “Fine. Take me to the prince.”

“Excellent choice. Follow me.” The owl turned on her three toed feet and led the way out of the dungeons. You expected to see Maahes around every corner. But as you scaled more and more stairs, you felt like Maahes was no longer around. The owl woman looked calm as she hopped up each step. Her feathered hands gliding along the banister of the staircase as she walked.

You couldn’t stop staring at the way she literally jumped up every step. It was kind of adorable.

“What are you?” You asked. Unsure how to entirely word your enquiry without sounding rude. But the owl woman didn’t seem to mind. She kept walking as she answered.

“My name is Nola. I am Prince Hezirus’ head Steward of the estate.” Nola finally gave a reaction by her feathers puffing up proudly with the title. But it didn’t answer your question. And when you voiced this, Nola glanced at you with her own quizzical look. “What do you mean? I am Nola. Stewardess of the estate.”

You were unsure if Nola just didn’t understand the question. Or was not giving you the proper answer on purpose. You decided to leave it. Maybe even ask Hezirus if you needed something to talk about. “So…the prince asked to bathe with me?”

“He asked me to bring you to him while he bathed, yes.” Nola nodded. Her hopping gait shifted to a walk once the stairs leveled out onto flat ground.

“Why?” You asked.

“I would assume to bathe.” Was Nola’s response. And it was physically painful not to roll your eyes. Was this how all Fae creatures spoke, or just Nola? Another question you added to the list you were going to ask of the prince.

You gave up trying to make small talk and followed Nola to a beautiful set of wooden doors. Bronze and gold encrusted the carvings of a tree in autumn. And when Nola approached, the doors opened. Splitting the tree directly down the center.

Nola halted by the open doors and stepped to the side. Bowing her curved beak. “In you go. Call for me if you need an escort back to your cell.” Her tone was so sweet it didn’t at all fit the situation. And you stuttered a thank you as she turned on her clawed feet and hurried away.

You hesitantly stepped into the room beyond the entrance. And when your bare feet touched warm stone, the doors behind you swung closed. And your ears picked up a very soft click of a lock setting into place.

The room in front of you was as if you stepped into a forest oasis. A large pool of crystal clear water filled the majority of the large room, steaming in the early morning light. Moss circled the pool. Poking through rocks and twisted roots that acted as a natural border encircling the pond. The soft green flooring felt as soft as a cloud under your feet as you stepped closer to the water. Inspecting its depth, and finding that it was merely deep enough to come to your waist.

A harp was playing somewhere, filling the room with a soft lullaby-like melody. And cascading over the room was a ceiling made from the branches of a white tree. Golden leaves rustled in a cool breeze and small birds fluttered between the thick, pale branches. Sunlight streamed into the room through an open ceiling, giving the water a pale gold reflection.

“Over here, pet.” The prince’s smooth voice echoed softly through the room. You followed his voice over a path of moss, circling around a flowering hedge, acting as a barrier to shield the area beyond from the door. And there you found the prince by a tumbling waterfall. His long hair twisted up into a loose bun and his bare chest had a glistening sheen to it. His wings were soaked through. Sprawled heavily over the surface of the water as Hezirus dipped lower into the pool to wash off the soap from his shoulders.

“I see the dungeons didn’t dampen your light.” The prince hummed. Those bronze colored eyes traced heavily over your body as you moved closer. “Come join me. You reek of the lizard and the filthy cells.”

You could feel the warmth of the pool even from your position by the edge. The chill was still heavily set in your skin and the thought of a warm bath sounded heavenly. But the dress wasn’t designed for swimming. And you didn’t see any swimwear around to put on. Only plush towels and more plants. Even a cart full of food and beverages.

“Is there a problem, pet?” Hezirus’ tone made you snap your attention back to him. There was an undertone of impatience but his gaze was gentle, waiting for you to join him.

You sighed, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

Hezirus chuckled. And he gestured to himself…all of himself…from the chiseled, flawless chest and down below the water where you could see his cock swinging freely in the water. “Neither do I. Strip. No one will see you.” The last few words were a tease. One that was carried on a smile that carved his beautiful face into something gorgeous.

It hadn’t been an order. But you felt the promise of one lingering on the edge of his words. You sighed and threw your pride and embarrassment aside, sliding the sleeves of the dress down your shoulders and then wriggling out of the tight material.

Hezirus’ gaze didn’t budge from you as you became bare in front of him. Raking down over your breasts and the curve of your hips. You ignored how he licked his lips when your core was left unclothed.

And his smile broadened when you quickly slipped into the pool. Hissing as the warm water bit at your frozen skin.

“There. Isn’t that better?” He asked, leaning back in the water so he was somewhat floating on the surface. Thankfully his hips were still below the water so you were graced with not seeing anything.

It was better. Much, much better. You sighed and let yourself sink until only your head was above water. Enjoying the sweet salvation that the warm waters brought. Your eyes even closed for a second, but they flew open when you felt a finger graze along your arm.

You jerked back. And Hezirus laughed, raising his hand as if showing you where they were. He was much closer than before. “My apologies. I couldn’t help but touch you. You look so soft.”

“Please,” You bit at the word, like it was a bad taste in your mouth. “Don’t touch me.”

“Or what? You’ll splash me? Get water in my hair?” Hezirus scoffed. But thankfully, moved back a step and his wings made a wave behind him as they shifted. “But as you wish. I won’t touch you until you say so.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised there was no fight in the prince to get closer. “You’re awfully compilable for a fae.”

“And you’re awfully skittish for a woman who willingly jumped into a fairy circle.” Hezirus retorted. Lacing his fingers behind his head. His arms flexed as he rested his head against his palms. You looked away before your staring was noticed. And you half turned your body so you could start rubbing your hands over your body. Using the water to try and get some of the dirt and grime off your skin. There was a smell on you. It was unpleasant and you hoped it wasn’t something you had laid in while in the cell.

“Want me to scrub your back?” Hezirus asked as he floated nearer to the waterfall. His gaze still fixed on you as your palms brushed over your shoulders and sides.

You shot the prince a glare. Giving up trying to get your fingers to reach the area that you weren’t flexible enough to reach. “I don’t know, maybe you should just make me let you.”

Hezirus’ eye roll was followed with an exaggerated roll of his head, and a groan of irritation. “I merely made you drink water. It would have been more cruel of me to let you starve at that table.” Hezirus stood and made his way over to you. You had somehow moved away from him so much that your back hit the side of the pool. And Hezirus approached until he was directly in front of you. You don’t remember him being so tall. Towering over you with his wings creating a shadow around you. Like he was deliberately trying to crowd you.

A chill ran up your spine. Despite the warm water that surrounded you.

“And are you cruel?” You asked. Your voice felt too quiet against the racing pulse in your ears. Your heart pounded and you wanted nothing more than to avert your gaze from the fixing gaze of the prince..

“I can be if you want me too.” Hezirus said. Leaning so close that you could see flecks of gold in those pretty bronze eyes. “But you’d enjoy our time together less if I was. Now, do you want me to scrub your back?” He offered his hand out to you. Tilting his head in a way that a stray strand of brown hair tumbled from the bun.

You blinked and suddenly the shadows were gone and the Hezirus standing in front of you watched you with a gentle smile. Your heart calmed and you released the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“O-Ok…but nothing cheeky. Just…Just my back.” You said. Forcing your eyes to narrow, despite the warning bells that were sounding in your head.

“Nothing cheeky.” Hezirus repeated. And he twirled his fingers, gesturing for you to turn and rest against the edge of the pool. Which you did. A little hesitantly. But you followed the unspoken order and laid your arms over the side of the pond. The moss was cool under your heated skin and the rock that was pressed against your stomach felt rough against your skin. But you forced yourself to relax. Holding back the flinch that attempted to jerk you away from the hands that brushed along your spine.

Hezirus was gentle. His fingertips felt like the ghost of a breeze against your skin. And as his palm pressed against your back, you felt a weird sensation spread over your skin.

“It’s just soap.” Hezirus explained as you tried to look at what was in his hands. The prince titled his hand up so you could sniff the substance. A simple white bar of soap that smelled strongly of honey and…some other sweet scent. “It’s made from the sap of a tree that grows only in the groves of my estate.” The prince explained when he saw your quizzical look. “When in its natural state, it can burn through fabric and sting the skin. But refine it and it is better than any moisturizer I know. And the smell is one of my favorite scents.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. Of course he would lather you up in a smell he liked. “It’s not going to affect me differently?” You asked. “You know, because I’m human?”

“I’m going off the assumption that if any of the people in these lands can use it, humans can as well.” Hezirus replied. When one hand circled your skin with soap, sudsing the entirety of your back in white bubbles, the other massaged and kneaded. You felt the tension in your spine release and even a knot in your shoulder give way under the prince’s touch.

But as you asked, his hands never went any further than your back. Perhaps teasing your sides and dipped under your lower back. But they never found purchase or strayed for too long.

Eventually, you were so relaxed that you laid your head on your arms. Your eyes half closed as you lost yourself to the gentle pampering. Hezirus’ hands cupped water over your back to wash away the soap before returning to spread another layer of bubbles.

At some point, you knew this was going on for longer than it needed to. But it wasn’t until the prince huffed irritably that you sat up and turned to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. Your voice almost slurred, you were so relaxed.

“Unless you allow me to wash the rest of you, the smell is going to stay.” Hezirus sighed. Pouting as he looked you over. “Let me wash the rest of you.”

“Absolutely not.” You said. Feeling more alert now you were standing again. “I said nothing cheeky.”

A grimace flashed over Hezirus’ expression but before you could properly assume his reaction, it was replaced by a look of exasperation. “I won’t do anything cheeky. I just want you to stop smelling like Maahes.”

You crossed your arms over your bare breasts and shook your head. “Either you let me do it or I’ll stay smelling like your friend.” You opened your palm for him and wiggled your fingers.

The prince scoffed, as if you had offended him. But curled his lips in a distasteful grunt and slapped the soap into your waiting hand. “Fine. Be quick about it.”

You smiled and nodded. And immediately started to run the bar along your arms and across your chest. Then turned your body around so Hezirus’ gaze didn’t leave heat marks on your breasts as the bubbles started to form over your nipples. He laughed but said and did nothing about it.

You washed yourself twice. Once apparently wasn’t enough for Hezirus. “You’re not washing yourself correctly. Just let me do it.”

You moved away when he tried to take the soap from you. You saw anger flash in his eyes but thankfully Hezirus’ words remained free of an order. “Gods, you’re stubborn.” He snapped.

After some time, the prince seemed satisfied enough that he allowed you to relax again in the pool. But your floating around and exploring the gardens circling the water was soon cut short.

Hezirus left the bath with a cascade of water following him from his wings. He dragged what seemed like half the pond out onto the moss covered ground as he walked over to the rack of towels and grabbed a large plush one.

Your eyes must have strayed for a touch too long because he turned sharply, catching you staring at the muscles of his back stretch and flex with every twitch of his feathered limbs.

“Beautiful aren’t they?” Hezirus said, smiling when your eyes darted to the ground. But you then looked back up at him as he stretched out the left wing to its full extent. Even when wet, the feathers gleamed in the bright sunlight that streamed through the yellow leaves. Flecks of gold twinkled like stars throughout the deep brown tone of his feathers.

Yes, they were beautiful. He was beautiful. In a way that seems unnaturally so. But you placed that uneasiness that came from looking at him for too long down to his nature. A Fae. Or at least a creature your mind was perceiving as a threat.

Something in you still screamed at you to run and hide. And those voices heightened when Hezirus lowered his wing, turning to you with one of his beautiful smirks. “Dry them for me.” He said, the tone bordering a command but the order didn’t stick. You could tell he was leaving it as a suggestion, so the magic didn’t take hold of you.

You glared at him, but found yourself moving through the water towards him as he wrapped the towel around his waist before fully turning to you. “You could say please.” You mumbled. Heaving your relaxed body out of the pool to join Hezirus by the towel rack.

“I prefer to hear ‘please’ in other contexts.” Hezirus replied. Shifting through various jars of leaves and ground powder on one of the carts before finding what he wanted and scooped a small teaspoon of it into a cup. “It would sound better on your lips, anyway.”

You stared at him. Your mind stumbled as you tried to come up with a retort, but ultimately failed to do so. Your thoughts are too flustered to find something coherent to say back. Hezirus didn’t seem to notice. He poured steaming hot water from a porcelain kettle into a cup and stirred the contents. The clear liquid turned brown and the scent of strong tea filled your nose.

“Grab a towel and start drying. Be sure not to crinkle a single feather.” Hezirus said. Sipping on the scalding hot drink. Smacking his lips and turning back to the cart to place a sugar cube into the cup. “And please, feel free to get cheeky.”

Your cheeks burned but you nodded. Sensing the threat behind the ‘suggestion’ if you didn’t do as you were told right away. Grabbing two plush towels from the rack, you wrapped one around your body and made sure it was secure enough that it wouldn’t fall while you were moving. And then moved up behind Hezirus as he flexed and his wings fanned open. Water dripped from the tips of each feather. But the moss soaked up the escaping liquid. Leaving your feet only damp against the soft ground, rather than standing in a puddle of water.

You looked up at the lord’s wings and pouted a little. There was so much real estate to dry. You would probably go through ten towels before he was dry.

“A problem?” Hezirus asked. Tilting his head so he could glance at you over his shoulder.

“I’m just trying to figure out where to start.” You told him, somewhat truthfully. You were also fighting the urge to reach out and touch his wings.

“My servants usually begin by drying the feathers by my shoulders and work inwards. From the tip of the wings down.” Hezirus explained. And it shocked you a little by how genuine he sounded. Like he was actually trying to help and not give a bit of cheek to your hesitance.

You nodded and did as he said. Placing the towel between the blades of his wings, against his skin, and started to wipe. His back felt like you were wiping down a rock wall. Smooth and hard against the palm of your hand under the soft fabric of the towel. And his feathers felt like shards of glass. The fine edges caught on the plush material of the towel. And you started to get frustrated with pulling the towel off the pin-needle threads of his feathers. It slowed you and eventually you had to discard the shredded remains of the first towel for another. But you still dabbed the feathers with as much care as you could. The strange, hard make of these feathers still felt fragile. Under your fingers, it felt like you could squeeze them and they’d shatter like a thin panel of glass.

Eventually, your arms started to ache. You were halfway done with the left wing and on your fourth towel since the others kept catching or became too wet for you to use. But it was taking you a long time to finish this task. By the time you got to the next wing, it probably would be dry.

Hezirus didn’t seem to mind how long it was taking you. He made himself another cup of hot tea and seemed content to hum along with the music that wafted through the baths. Occasionally, when your hand slipped and your fingers met the smooth, sharp lines of his feathers, he’d stop and glance at you. The first time this happened, you feared you had sliced your hand open. But your skin was left unmarked. Only his feather was damaged. Which you quickly smoothed down and ensured the rachis (the very thin base of the feather) hadn’t snapped under your touch. You kept your frustration and discomfort in check so you didn’t hurry and make a mistake. But there was so much to dry out.

And then you had to do the undersides of each wing as well! Which was a very intense experience. Not because anything was different, but Hezirus’ gaze was fixed on you the entire time. Over the lip of his cup when he sipped on his tea. Or when his head tilted, smirking when you had to readjust your towel when it started to slip.

You ignored him as much as you could. Keeping your eyes fixed on the feathers you were carefully drying.

An hour seemed to go by before you finally completed drying each wing. Your arms felt like jelly and in the heat of the room, you were sweating a little. Hezirus stretched his wings and curled one around himself so his fingers could glide over a few feathers. Testing your work.

“You’ll get better at it.” He said in amusement when his fingers came back with the smallest amount of moisture on his skin. “But next, you’ll need to oil them.”

“Oil them?” You huffed. Your arms, that had started to regain strength, gave a promising ache at the thought of another strenuous task. You followed Hezirus through another set of doors that led into, what you could only describe as, a fitting room. There were many shelves and dressers around the room. Mirrors lined the walls and a short stage was placed in front of the right hand wall. Obviously where Hezirus would stand to get fitted or stare at himself in each outfit.

Hezirus led you over to a large vanity with a massive round mirror. And Hezirus sat in the plush cushioned stool in front of the vanity, handing you a crystal bottle. The contents were clear with a slight shimmer when you tilted the bottle and the light trickled through the thick substance inside.

“You will only need a small amount for each wing. Too much and my feathers will be too heavy to lift me.” Hezirus explained, reaching into a drawer of the vanity and removed a silken hand-towel. Then grabbed a fine toothed comb with white teeth from the vanity top. Handing both to you before looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. “A little bit on the cloth, then as you spread it over my feathers, run the comb through the threads.”

“And what does this do?” You asked, popping the lid off the crystal bottle and dropping a small ball of oil onto the cloth. You then placed the bottle at your feet and moved closer to Hezirus. You followed your previous work and started running the cloth over the feathers nearest to his shoulder blades. Running the material down and the comb followed behind it. Sliding between the feather’s threads like a hot knife through butter. It gave the feathers a brilliant sheen and a nice aroma started to fill your nose.

“It makes my feathers look pretty.” Hezirus said simply. Watching you work over his shoulder. His wings were fanned out but relaxed. The longer feathers on the bottom of his wings curled as they rested against the marble flooring. You had a thought to say something, to warn Hezirus of crinkling the beautiful feathers. But his question scattered your thoughts, “What was it like falling through the fairy circle? Did it hurt?”

You thought back to when you tumbled through the darkness and cold. The harsh iron smell that welcomed you as your body free-fell through a vortex of freezing wind. You don’t remember it hurting. And you said as much. “It happened rather quickly. To be honest, I was drunk at the time, so if anything amazing or terrifying happened, I didn’t notice it.”

Hezirus hummed thoughtfully. His left wing twitched as the comb slipped and scratched the skin beneath the glossy feathers. You muttered an apology. Catching the small glare from the lord through the mirror. “Before the rings were outlawed, humans would come through battered and broken. Some even dead. You were lucky.”

You didn’t feel lucky. But you guessed there could be worse fates than combing oil into an other-worldly being's wings. “Why were they outlawed?” You asked. Though you could probably make a few good guesses.

“The new Queen disliked the use of human pawns in our wars.” Hezirus said. There was no judgment in his voice, only facts. Like he was reading it out of a book. “Some of the courts in our realm bred humans to fight against their enemies. Your kind are easier to grow and train than the long maturity of Fae warriors. You could never hold a flame to a trained elf or Fae lordling. But your numbers and stubbornness are nothing to scoff at. That, and she didn’t like how much mortal blood was running through her subjects.”

Your work stalled for a moment as you took in this information. But you quickly started moving the comb and cloth again when Heazirus shuffled his wings impatiently. “But Jackal had one open.”

“I doubt even he knew it was still active,” Hezirus said. His eyes searched your face for something. Horror? Disgust? But he only found silent concentration as you tried not to snag the comb on his skin again. “You haven’t asked why I have so many in my manor.”

“I don’t think I need to know.” You replied with a half shrug. Moving a step along his wing so you could start on the next section. “I could guess, I’m sure. But I think it would only horrify me.”

“Guess.” Hezirus smiled a vicious, almost hungry, type of smile. “I doubt you can guess correctly.”

It was your turn to glare at the lord over his shoulder. “I’d rather keep the rest of my sanity intact, thanks. I’m still trying to come to terms that I’m not having a really weird drunken dream. That feels very real.” Your fingers brushed over the feathers again. Feeling the sharpness of their edges before wiping the cloth over them, cleaning any smudge you might have left behind.

“You think you’re dreaming?” Hezirus asked. The smile faded into one that was more casual. Less predatory. “Is it common for you to have dreams that seem so real you question them?”

“Sometimes.” You replied. “I once had a nightmare that had me think something was in my house. Not a person, but a creature. Another time, I could taste the sweetness of a treat I was eating while dreaming. Made me very hungry when I woke up.”

Hezirus chuckled. A proper, light-hearted laugh that made his wings shift against the cloth. “What was the treat?”

You attempted to remember. But you couldn’t. You only recalled waking up confused and the memory of a flavor on your tongue.

And when you said this, Hezirus looked confused. “You don’t remember your dreams?”

“It depends.” You said. Moving along his wing, Hezirus stretched the limb as much as you needed to continue your work. “Nightmares are easier for me to remember. But I think that’s because the mind wants to remember it for future survivability. Even if it is my mind making them up and they’re not real. Dreams scatter the moment I open my eyes. It’s like grasping at floating specks of dust. The more you try to catch them, the more they evade your hands.”

Hezirus looked deep in thought as you combed through his feathers in silence. You completed the first wing and stepped over to the other, continuing the motions. This felt a lot easier than drying him.

“We don’t dream.” Hezirus said suddenly. “Some of us have prophecies when we sleep. But that’s linked to a power very few have. I’ve heard Maahes waking up, roaring at unknown voices. I doubt Jackal even sleeps. But I didn’t know humans could dream.”

It was your turn to glance at Hezirus in puzzlement. “You don’t dream?” Hezirus shook his head. “I suppose, a few humans don’t either. Or maybe, they do but they’re gone before they wake up. I don’t think you’re missing out on much. Some of the nightmares I’ve had are…wild…”

Hezirus’ brow grew faint lines as he stared at himself in the mirror. Deep in thought. You allowed the silence to grow between you. Concentrating on the task at hand. Even when you stood in front of him, polishing and combing the undersides of his wings, Hezirus continued to stare at nothing. As if he was trying to remember if he had ever dreamed of something before.

Then his eyes slid to you. Contemplating. “What causes your nightmares?”

You shrugged again. “Lots of things. Past trauma. Stress. I once watched a movie that made me dream of monsters in the dark.”

His wings shifted and you paused your combing to let Hezirus get comfortable. He then said, “Would you expect my home to visit you in your nightmares?”

You turned to look at him. Surprised by the question. “Oh, um…I don’t think so. Don’t get me wrong, I’m freaking out a little about all this. And Maahes definitely left an impression. But the dungeons might be the worst part so far. Or maybe the shadow things Jackal has. I don’t know. There’s a lot going on.” You returned to preening him and Hezirus fell quiet again.

You worked until each feather gleamed like polished glass. And Hezirus stood. His wing curled around himself so he could inspect your handiwork. You were surprised when he smiled and his wings tucked themselves tightly against his spine. “Not half bad. With practice, your hands will move more quickly. And I won’t be sitting here for hours while you shred my flesh apart.” He said. And you replied by rolling your eyes. Returning the items in your hands to the vanity and drawers.

“If I’m so bad at it, why don’t you get someone else to do it?” You asked. Watching the lord as he went to a dresser and opened it. Revealing a collection of clothes hanging on silver hookers. They were arranged in various shades of red and gold. And when Hezirus opened another cupboard, those were aligned in tones of blue and green.

“How else are you going to improve your skills?” Hezirus replied. His slender fingers delicately sliding down the hem of a gorgeous sapphire coat. “If you are to be my favored pet, I want you to do more than sit around my feet and look pretty.”

You pouted at his words. “Don’t you have servants that could do a much better job?”

“Of course. But none are as fun to play with as you. They don’t bite back. They’re so afraid to make a mistake that it takes longer sometimes for them to pamper my wings.”

Hezirus shifted back to the first dresser and removed a beautiful robe of autumn red and shimmering gold details. You averted your eyes as the towel dropped from around his waist. You felt him glance at you, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at the beautiful body in front of you.

Beautiful tanned skin, chiseled in a way that would put some Greek statues to shame.

When you saw the red and gold stop shifting in the corner of your eye, you turned your attention back to Hezirus. Who reached up to his hair and pulled a single pin from the bun. And a silky cascade of brown hair tumbled down over his shoulders. Perfectly untangled, as if he had already put a comb through it as it fell from the pin.

“Now, you my sweet thing, need something spectacular to wear.” Hezirus beamed as he turned to you. “We have a big day of sitting around listening to very old nobles talk. So, I need you to look stunning enough for me to distract myself when I get bored.”

You gawked at him. Trying to form a question, but having too many in your mind to properly make one, as he herded you into another room. His wing acted as a barrier behind you so you were forced to walk next to him.

Through another door, was a room smaller than the first fitting room. But very similar in layout. But here, instead of dressers and ranks of clothes, there were fabrics and materials on rollers. Stacked on top of the other to the ceiling. And there was a person here. A very tall, slender being with four arms and a face that reminded you of a praying mantis. But they looked human. Or…human-like.

When you entered, their long fingernails clicked excitedly and they bowed so low that their pointed chin almost touched the ground. “My Lord, what brings you in here? Are your robes not suitable?” Worry coloured the being’s voice. But Hezirus shook his head, waving away the creature’s concern.

“No, no, your clothes are fitted well, as always. But, I need something for my new pet.” The wing against your back pushed you forward. The strength behind it had you stumbling a few steps until you were standing directly under the chin of the being with too many arms. “Something that catches a gaze but keeps them wondering. Thin but modest.”

The being in front of you tilted its head and your throat tightened as two abnormally white eyes peered down at you. Your skin crawled as its gaze filtered over your body with precise concentration.

“Accessories?” The being asked. And Hezirus thought it over for a moment, but shook his head.

“No. She’s pretty enough without baubles and trinkets distracting the eye.” There wasn’t a flash of a smirk or a teasing stare that you could imagine would come with a sentence like that. And something about the genuine look in the lord’s eye that had your chest warming.

“Very well. Step here.” The being instructed with a wave of two hands to a small platform in front of a corner of mirrors. You hesitantly did as you were told. Staring at four versions of yourself at different angles.

Then, before you could protest, the towel was ripped from your body and discarded across the room. You yelped as the cool air bit at your skin and when you tried to cover yourself up, the being hissed like an angry snake. “Stay still.” Bony fingers wrapped around your wrist and your hand was yanked away from your chest. The harsh touch made you grimace. But the being’s hand quickly disappeared when a growl tore through the room.

You looked at Hezirus’ reflection from the mirror. His eyes were tearing into the creature by your side, the bronze now molten and bubbling with a restrained anger as the creature cowered at your ankles. You heard it whimper. And you didn’t blame it. Though the glare wasn’t set on you, the heat from the lord’s eyes was enough to sizzle your own skin just being in proximity of the target. “Forgive me, Lord.” The being chittered pathetically. “I only-”

“Bruise her and I will take an arm.” Hezirus warned it. Then the anger faded as quickly as it sparked. And the creature stood straight again. Its hands were now careful and light on your skin as it started taking measurements.

Fabric was pressed against your skin. Colors were matched to the tone of your complexion. All at the nod or shake of Hezirus’ head. And when Hezirus liked a color, or the feel of a material against your skin, the creature started to stitch. Skirts were placed around your waist and fabric wrapped around your bosom. Tightly enough that they were perked higher than they normally would. Giving them more volume. Almost to the point that your chest looked like it was going to jump out of the dress that was developing around your body.

The dress was almost an exact replica of the one Jackal had you dressed up in for Maahes. However, the material didn’t sparkle and was thicker…barely. The shape of your body was revealed only by the tight confines of the outfit. A deep ‘V’ revealed the even deeper crevasse of your breasts. It was gentle on your skin. It was unlike anything you’ve touched before. And the stitching that held it all together created gentle swirls, giving a delicate shape to your hips and thighs.

When the creature was done, you felt like a doll put on display for Hezirus to inspect. And he did so thoroughly. “Are you comfortable?” Hezirus asked. His fingers sliding along your hips. He didn’t comment when you pulled away from his touch. Glaring at him.

“I doubt you’ll let me put on a jacket?” You asked. And when Hezirus shook his head with a teasing smirk, you shrugged. “It’s fine.” More than fine. This dress looked like it cost more than you could afford in a lifetime. And when you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t deny how goddamn gorgeous you looked in it.

“Good. Because you’ll be sitting in it for the rest of the day.” Hezirus said. And with a gesture of his hand, the being beside him presented you with slippers. Silk and soft soles welcomed your feet as the being carefully slipped them on.

Another being was summoned to the first room and Hezirus had you sit in the vanity chair. The woman, a beautiful rosy cheeked elf, her pointed ears poked through neat strands of blonde hair, stared in shock as Hezirus asked her to do your hair. You weren’t sure if it was because you were sitting in a seat obviously reserved from Hezirus, or because you were human, but the elf’s hands were hesitant on your hair. Until Hezirus barked an order for her to hurry up.

Your hair was combed and made to shine. A pin was slipped between the strands, a beautiful piece of rubies and watery pink stones. Again, something you could never afford. Something that Hezirus was placing on you as if it was normal.

Once your hair was to his liking, Hezirus dismissed the elf and you followed him out of the room and into the neverending corridors of his estate.

You passed windows that overlooked the front of the manor and saw a large crowd gathering there. Your eyes widened when you noticed the line continued through the gardens and out past the estate gates. “Are they all here to see you?” You asked. Hurrying to catch up with Hezirus’ long strides.

He nodded. “Even escaping to my holiday home doesn’t allow me to evade my responsibilities. I’m sure some are even here to see you. The nosy vultures that they are.”

You swallowed the ball that was growing in your throat. And tried to speak without the unease flowing through your words. “They won’t…try anything would they?”

Hezirus laughed. But it wasn’t light or playful, it was cruel. Vicious. “They can definitely try. But as a guest in my home, any slight against you would be a slight against me. They’ll gawk and slobber at you. But no, my dear pet, none will touch you. You have my word.”

That sharp iron smell hit your nose and you expected something to happen. But nothing did. Your legs and arms moved as you wished and you didn’t see anything change as magic flowed around you. You looked at Hezirus and he merely smiled at you. Your silent question, unanswered.

You followed Hezirus into a throne room. A vast room of polished tiles, hanging tapestries and a single carpet that rolled in the center of it all. From the gold doors that were closed, to the throne of carved wood, stone and metal that sat at the opposite end. The throne was magnificent, but simple. And as you got closer, you noticed the intricate designs of leaves carved into each different material.

Then there was the seat next to it. A simple, low to the ground stool that was large enough for you to sit on and even curl your legs under yourself. The cushion was deep green and looked comfortable. But next to the throne, it looked like a pet bed.

“Sit.” The Fae Lord said. Again, not an order. An offering of comfort. And despite yourself, your nose curled a little at the thought of what this was leading to.

“I’m not a dog.” You spat and Hezirus’ eyes twinkled.

“Would you rather sit on my lap? There’s nowhere else to sit.” Hezirus replied. Seating himself on the throne and kicking an ankle over his knee. The robe flowed over him like a red blanket in a regal display of power. A crown of gold vines and roots sat atop his head. You don’t remember ever seeing him put that on.

You eyed the nook of his lap with disdain and slumped down on the stool. His chuckle echoed through the throne room.

The same elf from before approached you and started fiddling with your dress until it pooled around your ankles elegantly. You found yourself straightening your back as two guards, strapped in armor, also stepped closer to the throne. To their lord.

And the elf girl quickly retreated from your side when Hezirus waved his hand and the gold doors slowly opened.

You caught sight of many faces and bodies pushing to be first through the door. You almost laughed at the polite scramble of the two at the front of the pack as they tried to beat each to Hezirus’ feet. If they weren’t trying to hold their heads high and feign boredom, you were sure they’d be sprinting to beat the other to the throne.

“My Lord,” The one on the right rushed to greet the Fae Lord first. Much to the disgruntled glare of the other. Who fell silent and stepped back. Obviously having lost whatever race was happening between them. “I hope your morning has been pleasant. I see you have a new pet, congratulations.”

The man’s eyes flickered to you. And your whole body tensed with pins and needles as an unworldly blue gaze settled on you. A hunger blazed through the stranger and your pulse stuttered with a spike of nervousness, before settling as the man turned back to the lord beside you.

Hezirus tilted his head in a polite greeting. “Welcome. Make this quick, there is quite the line behind you.”

“Yes, yes, let me start off with the important query I come to you today.”

You grew bored incredibly quickly. You sat beside Hezirus while what seemed like hundreds of people came to ask him questions or ask permission. Once or twice, a person came to his attention and offered an alliance between houses. Something about a person in Hezirus’ court that would be a fine match for the person’s offspring. Hezirus seemed disinterested in it all. But spoke politely and firmly. His words carried authority, and none challenged it.

As much as the people stared at their lord, you were centered with quite a few curious and hungry eyes. Hezirus wasn’t kidding when people would slobber in your direction. You noticed some beast-like persons wiping their lips after staring at you for too long. Others snickered. Some sneered in a way that made your blood turn cold. Frozen with fear.

When these people came forth, Hezirus shifted and his hand casually drooped over the arm of the throne. His fingers brushed over your shoulder, sometimes playing with a curl of your hair, and you felt a calm wash over you. The scent of iron and fresh air following the sensation. When this happened, those who had cruel eyes that drank you in, turned away and hissed. As if burned.

Hours passed and your eyes wandered from strange faces and lust-full gazes, to inspect the room around you. You counted twenty tapestries. Each with their own design and colors. Houses, maybe. Courts of royalty in this strange world?

Then you noticed that the tiles on the floor had a decorated outline to them. And weren’t just colored shards of greens and browns and golds. A forest of sharp leaves and elegant flowing roots. Strange animals bounded between ferns and colorful flowers. You busied yourself with inspecting these floors, until Hezirus tensed beside you and his hand disappeared from your arm. Leaving warm tingles as his back straightened.

You moved your attention to the person in front of you. They looked similar to the guards that were positioned on either side of Hezirus’ throne. But this one was in green, rather than gold and brown. You hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation, but their pale eyes flicked to you. “You know what will happen when the Queen finds out about it.” It took you a moment to realize who the person spoke about. You. “Harboring humans is outlawed. Your pet will need to be sent home or killed, if you wish to avoid any punishment from her majesty.”

You risked a glance at Hezirus. And almost wished you hadn’t. The sheer anger in his eyes had his pupils blown wide and his knuckles white on the arms of his chair. You glimpsed talons sneak out from his human-like nails. “The human is under my protection until I find her a way home.” Hezirus replied. His calm voice contrasted the expression that painted his face. “I am searching for the cause of her coming here. Your Queen has no need to send a reminder of her laws. I know them well. Since I helped write them.”

Surprise riddled through you. And a wave of murmuring washed through the crowd behind the messenger. Who didn’t look convinced. “You prance it around like a prized horse and expect me to believe you are not…using her.”

Hezirus’ talons scratched at an imaginary imperfection on his throne as he replied. “Would your Queen rather I lock her up? Forget about her in the cold cells until I can shove her back to her realm? Keeping her fed, clean, clothed and comfortable is my priority. She is my guest here. Not a prisoner. Not a caged beast I found in the forest. A guest.”

Something about the word and how Hezirus said it carried more weight than you understood. And the messenger’s eyes narrowed in on you for a moment before he bowed. “Very well. I will inform my Queen of your intent. But, my Lord, know that she is watching you. If this goes on for too long or it disappears-”

“She,” Hezirus hissed. “Will not leave this estate unless it is to go back to her realm.”

As if that’s all he needed to hear, the messenger bowed again and left. The crowd watched him leave, continuing to mutter amongst themselves as Hezirus relaxed. His hand returned to lightly touch your shoulder. And you didn’t lean away from his fingers as they drew circles on your skin. Even if the talons left red lines instead of warm goosebumps.

Late in the afternoon, when the sun started to dip and shadows stretched over the estate, Hezirus finally stood. The room bowed to their retreating lord. You hurried after him. Taking a glance in your direction as a signal for you to come with him.

His wings shifted as he rolled his shoulders. Stretching and groaning as the doors behind you both closed. “I couldn’t take it anymore.” Hezirus scoffed. Continuing down the corridor, with you trailing behind his wings. “Not one had anything interesting to say. All demands and no compromises. At least some had some news of the lands on the outskirts of the forest. But still nothing interesting. What do they think drabbling to me will get them in return?”

You let Hezirus rant. Your legs were just happy to be moving again. You had been shifting restlessly on your stool all day. Unable to find another comfortable position until you were leaning against the throne and your legs sprawled out beside you. The elf girl had come out each time and shifted your skirts so they sat elegantly around you. Regardless of how you sat. Hezirus had taken the new position to reach new skin. Anytime they dipped lower than your collarbone, you shifted, and his fingers returned to your arms or brushed his knuckles along your jawline. Your skin itched from the claws he still hadn’t retracted. The lines on your skin weren’t harmful or permanent, already fading now he had left you alone. But the slight irritation made you long to bathe.

“Is it like that every day?” You asked. Your dress flowing around your legs, as light as a cloud.

“Not every day.” Hezirus sighed. Slowing just enough to let you catch up and walk next to him. “I offer my attention to them every so often so the nobles don’t get antsy. They swarmed here to see you. The news of your arrival left my estate quicker than I anticipated.”

“Did you mean it?” You asked. Lifting the dress a little so you could climb the stairs he took unhindered. “When you said you are looking for a way to send me back?”

“Yes.” Hezirus said. And you felt the glowing light of hope and relief flood through you. “You can’t stay here forever. As much as I would want that. But the Queen’s laws dictate any human that comes here, regardless of free will or otherwise, is to be sent home right away or killed. To stop any…procreation and abuse against your kind.”

“You said you helped write them, the laws.” You asked. And Hezirus nodded.

“As much as I hunger to devour you, my sweet flower, I can see the damage that it could cause if a human continued to stay in my court. The same damage I knew would unfold if those laws weren't set. Eventually, I could see your kind breaking through to our world and starting a revolution. Blood would be spilled on both sides. It wasn’t worth the risk, in my opinion. For sex and blinding pleasure. Or fodder for wars that are needless and proud.”

You nodded. Stunned, but understanding of his position. “It’s just surprising…” You said.

“Because I play with you so much that it makes me seem predatory?” Hezirus asked. And you nodded, not bothering to lie to him. He laughed softly. “Your kind never truly understood the allure you possess. You always tried to use it, and sometimes it would work, but it would get them killed more times than not. You’re like…catnip to Fae.”

“Why?” You asked. And Hezirus shrugged.

“I’ve found it to be a manner of things.” Hezirus led you into a dining room. Not the same one you first dined with Hezirus at, but very similar. It was on a higher level of the estate and the windows overlooked a garden of color. “Your blood, rich and untouched by magic, calls to some of us to be devoured. Though, many of us consider humans to be impure and toxic to consume, something about your blood calls to them. It could be a trace of Fae lingers in an ancient ancestor, passed down to an unsuspecting human. And it yearns to be with Fae-kind. Another reason is the strange obsession that grows in us when we bed a human. It has baffled my kind for centuries why we get such delicious pleasure from you. But that is the main reason. Once you lay with a human, you start to crave it.”

“We’re nothing but sex slaves in your eyes.” You said a little bitterly and Hezirus shrugged. Seating himself at the head of the table and gesturing for you to join him on his right side.

“Lust and love were commonly mistaken back then.” Hezirus explained. Leaning on his elbows that sat on the smooth surface of the dining table. “I had a friend that followed her human lover into their realm. I felt her life smolder out after some years. Consumed by the smog that plagues your world. It’s a dangerous thing, this…obsession. It’s another reason why the Queen had your kind banished from our realm. So fairies, fae and all in between are saved from the cruel fate of being consumed by a human’s allure.”

“But…we’re just…”

“Human. Yes, you are. And that alone has killed more of us than you can imagine.” Hezirus held your gaze until you tore yourself from those beautiful bronze eyes. “I have Jackal looking into how and why the ring brought you here. He has assured me that the ring had been disarmed when I ordered it. So, a mystery of why it flared to life when you stepped into the circle, is being investigated. The magic needed to take you back is dangerous. Since those traps were always a one way ticket to a cell and chains. But until then, I don’t want you to leave the estate. The Queen would find it easier to destroy you, than risk someone in my court using the portal to sneak more of you here.”

“She’d really just…kill me?”

“For the safety of her people and the forgotten truce between our worlds, yes. She’d burn you and forget about it an hour later.” Food was brought out and placed in front of you both. A warm dinner with wine to sip that matched the food perfectly.

Your stomach gave a loud rumble at the sight and smell of the food. You didn’t realize how hungry you had been until you started to eat. You waited until you started to feel full before asking the question that was dancing on the edge of your mind.

“Have you fallen to this…obsession with humans before?” You asked. And the amused smirk that curled Hezirus’ lips made you want to take back the question.

“When I was young, yes.” Hezirus replied. “My first human was gifted to me by the same friend that disappeared into your world. ‘You’ll love it,’ she said. ‘It’s like riding a cloud made of ambrosia on a summer’s morning. You’ll never want to leave their body.’ I was…let’s say, doubtful about it. But she was right. By the Hells…she was right.” Hezirus’ eyes clouded for a moment, but when they lifted from his plate to you, he was smiling playfully. “My parents were less than understanding why I spent all my time plowing humans everyday. A mated Lord and Lady had no need for outsourced pleasure. But I was young, they gave me more leverage than I deserved while being a Prince of the Wilds.”

You tilted your head, sensing a cloud of dread behind the lord’s words. “What happened?” You said the words slowly, very carefully. As if you had approached a wild beast and didn’t want to startle it.

Hezirus opened his mouth to answer. Those beautiful bronze eyes searched your face for something. And kept still, seeing the turmoil behind his gaze before he shook his head. “It’s a dark tale. And one of the reasons why I was so heavily involved in the creation of those laws.”

His tone attempted to keep the air light between you two, and something in your mind told you not to push. Or else something bad was going to happen. You merely nodded and finished your plate in peace.

Hezirus made small conversation, despite the heaviness in his gaze. You answered questions about your world. How the lives of humankind have changed over the centuries. What your life was like back there. You answered honestly. Once attempting to lie but Hezirus’ glare set a cold tremble through you and you quickly dropped your words. Giving him the truth about your mundane life.

Once dessert was presented and then eaten, Hezirus then brought you back to the bathing room. You went through the same song and dance as this morning. Hezirus would get too close and you’d shy away, snapping at him. He would laugh and tease you, splashing water at you as he backed away.

“You’re already naked, half the fun has already started.” He had said. Eyes twinkling. And you poked your tongue at him. Snatching the soap from the side of the pool before he could try and start that argument again.

Hezirus had you dry his wings and comb the oil through the feathers once more. When you questioned why he did this twice a day, the lord’s wings twitched hard enough to cause a stir of wind across the dressing room. “I like to be clean.” Was his only answer. And the tone of his voice silenced you for the rest of the task.

Once Hezirus was satisfied with your work, he led you a touch further down from the bathing room and to a pair of doors that looked far too magnificent to just be doors. The entire wooden surface were carvings of forests and battlefields. Creatures and faerie types raged in a battle beneath a canopy of trees. A gorgeous illustration of a winged wolf loomed over it all. Howling up at a sky full of stars and an eclipse in the center. It split down the middle as Hezirus approached the entrance and the doors opened up into a room the size of a house.

It was a lovely decorated room.With a roaring hearth warming the air with a large loveseat in front of it and a stack of books sat on the small table beside the lounge. Paintings filled the creamy walls and the ceiling was a mimicry of a tree’s branches in summer. Sunlight streamed through hundreds of leaves, giving the illusion of light through various shades of green.

Then your eyes fell on the absolute monster of a bed, and your heart sank a little.

This was a bedroom. Hezirus’ bedroom.

“I don’t think…” You started speaking but what were you going to say? It’s not appropriate? You didn’t want to stay here? Anything the lord wanted he very much could have. Did your worries even mean something to him? He brought you here, to his bedroom!

Hezirus strode through the room as if he didn’t hear the fear in your voice. He went to a door beside the large fireplace, hidden from you with your position by the door, and opened it.

“I know better than to force myself on a human.” Hezirus said, expression unreadable as he waved a hand through the open door. “But unless you’d rather sleep in that cold, dark cell, I’m still keeping you close.”

So he could come in later tonight while I’m asleep. I’m within arms reach and-

Hezirus sighed. Seeing your hesitation. “Would it make you feel better if I told you a little truth about myself? A piece of trust to gain trust. I used to be…like that. Used too. Humans were nothing but tools to me. A simple household item that I could use at my leisure. But I learnt my lesson in the power of consent. The brutal consequences of forcing a yes onto someone's lips when everything is screaming no. Your body is safe from me unless you say otherwise. I promise.”

His words were followed by a sting of iron on your nostrils and a cold wind that ripped through the room. You felt something in you seal. Like a lock in your skin that you couldn’t place the location of. The feeling caused a strange tingle to run through you. Enough so that you wrapped your arms around yourself and rub your skin for a bit of comfort.

But you nodded. Still feeling unsure, but anything was better than the cells. You approached Hezirus and peered into the next room. Another bedroom. It wasn’t as big as the first, but still rather spacious. And the bed was large enough that three of you could fit in it and still have room to roll around in. A smaller fireplace flickered and spat. And the room was decorated with a few paintings and shelves, crammed with books. A window looked towards a forest, dark and looming on the edge of the stone wall of the estate.

“To stop any unwarranted visits directly to your room, anything you need, let me know. And I’ll have it delivered to my room.” Hezirus explained. Keeping a respectful distance behind you as you take in the room. “I’ve already had clothes provided for you. They’ll be in the dresser.”

You glanced at the armoire and when you pulled open one of the drawers, you found lacey, thin clothing neatly folded within. You shot Hezirus a glare and he smiled innocently. “I’m going to freeze in these.” You muttered. Pulling a pair of lacey sleepwear from the piles.

“The fire will keep the room warm enough.” Hezirus replied. Leaning against the door, watching you as you inspected more of the clothes. Finding less and less coverage than the last. “Or if you get too cold, you can always share my bed.” You rolled your eyes at the honey and silk in his words. When you shot him another glare, he clicked his tongue. As if irritated. “Well, you can’t hate me for trying.”

You laughed and Hezirus smiled. You picked out a pair of sleepwear with the most material you could find. A simple pair of silk shorts and a top that looked more like a sports bra than a shirt. You tried to ignore Hezirus as he watched you drop the towel from around your body and change. Once you were clothed, Hezirus retreated to his bedroom. Taking a lounging position on the loveseat. His wings draped lazily over the cushions and sides. He almost took up the entire space. But conveniently there was a section for you between the side of the sofa and Hezirus’ side.

“No bedtime oi-” You stopped yourself before saying the word. Because you could imagine Hezirus’ reply if you finished your sentence. And the flash of mischief in his eyes confirmed your hunch. “I mean, no bedtime cleaning routine?”

Hezirus laughed and shook his head. Plucking one of the books from beside the lounge and began to read as he replied. “No, sweet flower, you can relax. I’m sure today was a lot for your adorable head. You can retire if you wish or join me by the fire.”

The warmth from the flames was comforting. The walk from the dressing room to the bedroom, with only your towel, had robbed some of the blissful heat from the baths. The night air had a chill to it. Even just standing by your bedroom door allowed some of the cold to brush along your skin.

Eyeing the very small space, tightly snug up against Hezirus and his wing, you bit you lip and tried to look for any other spot that wasn’t the floor. But there wasn’t anything else to drag over to the fire. You spotted spaces that could have once help a chair or lounge, but they were empty. How inconvenient… “I think I’ll retire.” You said. Glancing back at your room and Hezirus’ smile was soft when you said. “Goodnight, Lord Hezirus.”

“Goodnight, sweet flower. Sleep well.” The bronze of his eyes flickered with reflected flames and your heart thundered in your chest as you closed the door. You thought about locking it. He’d definitely hear it and you doubted it would stop the lord in his own home. But the whispering worry in the back of your head told you to do it anyway. And when you did, the sound echoed like a thunderclap in your room.

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

The Continuations: Prince Hezirus: Chapter 2 (Patreon)

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[eoieopda]

I am here to request some silly, sweet Channie fluff 🥺🥺 as mild or spicy as you want, idm, just want some deep comfort feat. my favourite fun-sized snack 🥰🥰

the one with chan and the promotion (i)

pairing: bang chan x gn!reader type: drabble (fluff, hurt/comfort) au: fuck buddies to ?, pining rating: 18+ wc: 2.2k (don’t look at me) summary: you need a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happens to be free. | part two (4/20/24) cw: chan’s pov, minimal pronoun use (they), no smut but it’s referenced, reader has outpatient dental surgery (not depicted), reference to blood/swelling, reader is doped the hell up. 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

You’re drifting off in some twilight on the other side of a closed door, but Chan’s the one that’s stupefied.

Mechanically speaking, he knows how he got himself into this position: drove here in his car, parked in the lot outside, walked into the front door. His ass is in this very seat because he dropped himself there, and he hasn’t moved in the two hours that have passed since.

None of that explains why he’s in his current position, though — why you reached out to him, of all people, to come with you to something like this.

Why he’s more giddy over that choice than confused by it, even if it turns out that he was your last resort.

He’s lost in thought when your oral surgeon’s head peeks out through the doorway to the recovery room. She asks if he’s “the boyfriend”, and he has no idea how to explain that he’s more of a “semi-consistent fuck buddy”, so he simply says “yes” before allowing her to usher him into the room.

You’re slumped in a reclining chair when Chan walks in, heavy eyelids fluttering as you try hard to fight off sleep. Better still, the gauze in your mouth makes your chipmunk cheeks stick out while your still-numb lips fumble with words. The urge to reach for his phone and snap a picture makes his fingers twitch, but he doesn’t; you’d absolutely murder him if he tried.

“Mmfph?” You grunt when your narrowed eyes manage to clock him standing there.

He grins automatically, fingers reaching up to tip a hat he isn’t wearing. “Mmfph to you, too.”

Whatever drugs they gave you to knock you on your ass aren’t strong enough to overcome your personality; you roll your eyes much more easily than you keep them fully open. That trademark sass must’ve taken a lot out of you, though. You doze off again before he can blink, slumping further in your chair with your head lolled uncomfortably to the side.

Your neck is going to hurt later, he thinks with a frown. 

“Once they get their sea legs back, you should be okay to go.”

Chan jumps when the surgeon pipes up, having completely forgotten anyone else was in the room.

She clears her throat sheepishly, clearly aware that she’s interrupting something. Breezing right past that awkwardness, she pulls a prescription pad from her coat pocket. The top page is promptly ripped off and passed to him with a stern look. 

She warns, “Make sure they don’t take this medication on an empty stomach.”

Damn — only two hours in, and he’s already being promoted from chauffeur to caretaker? It should embarrass him that this fact tickles him thoroughly pink, but it doesn’t. Inwardly, he high-fives himself.

Nice one, Chan!

“Soup is best,” the surgeon continues, once again pulling him out of his own head. There’s a pause before she remembers the kicker; she waves her hand urgently when she finally does. “Nothing spicy, though.”

He nods in understanding, and just like that, she pats his shoulder and disappears out the door. Unsure what else to do, Chan takes a seat on the small stool next to your chair and waits.

And wait, and waits, and waits.

Jesus. What did they give you — a horse tranquilizer?

When your eyes open the second time, they find him immediately. They’re still a bit glassy, but they’re much more alert. Bright, even, which is a bit of a wonder, given the circumstances. Right away, he can tell that the space cadet has — sort of — returned to Earth.

“Can —?” You gesture to your mouth, which struggles to frown around the gauze. 

Uselessly, you flick out your tongue in an attempt to wet your lips. They're dry from all the time you must’ve spent with your mouth open, and his fingers twitch again when he pictures the chapstick in his pocket.

You distract him with what he assumes are words, prompting him to shift his gaze from your mouth to your eyes.

Everything that comes next is garbled, totally incoherent, but he gets the gist. With a quick glance at his watch, he confirms that it’s been thirty minutes since he started watching you sleep, and that feels like enough time. 

Right?

So, he shrugs permissively; you perk up the second you’re given the green light. Bravely, you only whine a little bit when you lay eyes on the slightly bloody, thoroughly spit-soaked material as you pull it away from your gums. 

Chan can’t tell if you’re trying to pout when you hold that mess out to him and stare expectantly, but the intent doesn’t matter much in the long run; the effect is the same. He takes your drooled-on trash without a second thought.

Squinting as he concentrates, he fires it off towards the bin in the corner like he’s trying to beat a buzzer. The pair of you watch as it ricochets off the wall, then drops perfectly in the basket below.

Immediately, he turns back to you with wiggling eyebrows and a smirk. “Bank shot,” he brags.

You ignore the true purpose of his raised hand — a well-deserved high-five — and instead latch onto it.  Gripping tightly as if your life depends on it, you drag yourself up and out of your chair. 

Before you can throw yourself entirely off balance, Chan swoops in to tuck you under his arm. You’re independent to a fault, however; and you glare up at him exactly like he guessed you would. Apologetic, he keeps his distance with his hands raised.

Go for it, then.

All it takes for you to accept defeat is a few wobbly steps toward the door and some curse words muttered under your breath, for zest. You give in faster than you want to and dive into his side with a long-suffering groan. You’re not looking, so he doesn't bother to hide the triumphant smirk that spreads when your arms wrap around his waist.

The walk back to his car takes a lot more effort than he initially expected. Though you cling to him like you’ll float off without him, you insist on attempting to wander in every direction except the one you need to head in. To the best of his ability, Chan steers you across the pavement; you babble through every stumbled step.

“I’m going to open your door now, okay?” He coos once you finally reach his car.

It surprises him slightly — the softness he’s exuding, and how much like a reflex it feels — but he doesn’t dwell on it. He’s got a far more difficult puzzle to solve: getting your wriggling body into his car.

After a few unsuccessful tries, you finally let him usher you out of the way of the door. You spill into his passenger seat like you’re more jelly than bones, knocking your skull against the doorframe as you go.

Jesus Christ.

Eyes wide, Chan ducks down to run his fingers gingerly over what will likely be a goose egg tomorrow. Nervously, he chuckles, “That — uhh — that was quite the entrance. You okay?”

Tilting your chin just so, you push your cheek into his palm and blink up at him slowly like you’ve already forgotten the question. Suddenly, so has he. Several moments whizz by just like that — with his arm raised uncomfortably and your heavy head resting against his hand.

Never in his life has he wanted to kiss a forehead as badly as he does yours. It’s like you’ve got a magnet where your orbital bone should be, and it’s a bit shocking. Whatever magic you’ve got — some sort of tractor beam in your eyes, perhaps — pulls, pulls, pulls, but he stops himself.

That’s not what this is, he reminds himself as he backs away and shuts your door carefully in his place. That’s not who I am to you.

In this moment, Chan is your taxi driver, carting you off to the apartment he’s been in a hundred times — but never once in the daytime.

As he goes, it becomes a little clearer with every kilometer: the sun can’t be beating down overhead because he feels it next to him, warming his arm through his jacket; blinding him whenever his gaze drifts over to the passenger side.

“Chan,” you pout out of nowhere.

Again, your head droops fast and bumps his shoulder. You don’t react to this second knock, but he does, sucking air in through his teeth.

“Need to get you a helmet,” he mutters with a sheepish laugh. “You’re gonna give yourself a concussion at this rate.”

“Don’t need a helmet,” you argue. “I need pork belly, bad. Stop, please?”

Glancing quickly down at you, Chan bites back a smile. You look so adorably pitiful with your hazy eyes blinking one at a time, lips all puffy to match your cheeks. It takes all he’s got to tear his eyes off you and put them back on the road ahead.

He sighs, genuinely sorry. “No can do, champ.”

You repeat the nickname, pop the last letter, and make yourself laugh so hard that you hiccup.

“Your options currently are soup or… well, soup.” He tries to sound firm, but if you pout at him a second time, Chan might throw your dentist’s warning right out the window. “Think it over while I stop at the pharmacy, yeah?”

In the quiet that follows, he swears he can hear the gears turning in your head. He doubts it has anything to do with what he just told you, but he doesn’t mind. Come to think of it, he doesn’t mind any of what this day has turned out to be so far. That doesn’t necessarily surprise him, either.

With the way things currently are between you, you don’t feature much in his everyday life; only weekends and the occasional weeknight. It works well, this thing you’ve got going. He enjoys what you do — that head game of yours is otherworldly — but judging by the glimpses he’s seen so far, he likes who you are, too.

Despite not knowing you on some deeper level, shit like this — being around you for some profoundly asexual purpose — feels natural. Like he could do it more often; be a little more than just a recurring character. If you let him, that is.

Would you let him?

That question rattles around his brain when he pulls up to the pharmacy and dashes inside, too wary to leave you alone for long but wholly unprepared to guide you through a shop in your current state. He’s still thinking about it when he jogs back to his car with your prescription in hand.

That bag is nearly dropped to the pavement below when he sees you, however; and he can’t remember what he was thinking about before because you’re weeping now. In a flash, Chan throws himself into his seat and jerks the door shut behind him, metal groaning in the process. 

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t mean to sound so forceful, but he can feel his pulse in his ears. On instinct, he reaches out and places gentle hands on your temples. Eyes scanning for any sign of injury, he tries to bury his urgency in a soothing voice. “Hey — talk to me. Are you okay?”

You blink up at him with wide, wet eyes. Oh, fuck, you’re breaking my heart. His stomach drops at the sight of your lower lip trembling, but then you whimper:

“What if worms don’t have best friends?”

And Chan needs a minute because he can’t believe you’re real, that you’re borderline bereft over worms, or that he’s this fucking enamored.

Before he knows it, he starts giggling so hard that his eyes start to swim. Thankfully, it’s with mirth and not utter devastation like yours. Pinching his bottom lip between his teeth, he wipes a tear off your cheek with the side of his thumb. Just as gently, he tries his best to reassure you, “I’m sure they do.”

“You’re sure?” You repeat with a sniffle. Chan nods; he’s never been more so.

Successfully placated, you fall into thoughtful silence next to him. It doesn’t last long, though. Abruptly, you and your goldfish memory change course: “Can we get pork belly?”

Something in him wants to give you the world in this moment — the moon on a string, or whatever — but he shakes his head, unwilling to budge. But then your face falls, and he blurts out, “When you’re better, I’ll take you out for some.”

And he means it.

You peep, “Maybe next week.”

Chan laughs while he puts the key in the ignition and turns it. Maybe, he thinks, if you remember having this conversation. As the engine roars back to life, a new thought bubbles to the surface in his mind:

Maybe you will remember.

If you do — and if he’s brave enough then — maybe he’ll confess that he’s a liar. He might own up to the fact that, when you called to ask for his help, he didn’t already have the day off like he claimed to; or that the sick time he rushed to claim in the aftermath wasn’t attributable to his health at all. 

Maybe he’ll admit that he doesn’t care how many people you asked before you turned to him because you ultimately did.

Just maybe.

As he backs out of his parking space, Chan casts another glance your way. It takes all the effort in the world for you to do it, but you smile at him with your whole damn face. 

That settles it, then.

He nods once — firmly — and corrects you, “Definitely next week.”

Part two.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Am I Still Your Favorite Escape?

Gale & Maureen -requested? ✔️

As a new year and a new unrelenting malaise settles over the prisoners in camp, Maureen Kendeigh finds the journey from viewing Gale Cleven as her prize collector’s item to the man others suspect she loves most harrowing indeed.

Note: y’all wanted handjobs and I gave ya one, with a twist, and yall wanted more of what Maureen is thinking during this time and so you got it. Along with 6k of other dynamics and plot and feelings, buckle up 👐🏻

Warnings: 18+ smut, female fingering, some cum play, semi public sex acts (not trying to be exhibitionists, but the place is packed ok?) erectile disfunction, not the most supportive attitudes towards partners feeling out of sorts, BUT ALSO!! Please note the typical universe warnings apply with an addition in this chapter being a discussion about terminating a pregnancy, those discussing it disagree strongly and due to religious beliefs one refers to it as “murder”. No action is taken in this chapter. There are hints of Buck x Bucky in this one, although can anyone actually define for me wtf was going on!? Because by Buck x Bucky I just mean they’d die for each other and that’s stronger your average marriage and Bucky maybe should look away when his friend gets some midnight loving, lol.

Maureen had been enthused at the outset. Not that she cared that much for subversion, but she enjoyed the feeling of mischief that their new task carried with it. Camp had proven dull, worse in many ways than she had even expected. She had expected there to be work if not recreation, and while there was some, then the winter months came all too soon and nothing about their shelters or their clothing were suitable for sustaining outdoor productivity.

Which meant she -and the others, she supposed it was only right to admit the others were no better- she had been cooped up in here during a never ending snowstorm outside, watching Gale sand his little board in a room muggy with pungent sweat and stale breath. They were packed on top of each other in here and any attempt to get fresh air earned one a case of frostbite.

That bit of wood was going to become a radio, Gale had told her, and she believed him. With all her heart Maureen believed him. But there came a day when watching Gale fiddle with a safety pin stuck atop a board became unarguably boring. So much so she had begun to insist she be allowed to help Brady and Crank haul in the hot water and assist in what went for “cooking” in this place. Johnny didn’t let her near his precious concoctions after having ousted Benny from the same, but he did let her hand him bowls and generally act useful at mealtimes.

She kept him entertained with stories of picnics in exotic places, safari’s where they cooked out of the back of her father’s jeep. Brady had them eaten all his terse quips about her not knowing how to manage in straitened circumstances and instead asked her endlessly about rhinoceros habitats. It served to entertain her for awhile, too.

Bucky had recovered after a few weeks abed, his movements remained stilted and she could still carry more water than his ribs allowed -a point she made to him daily as he swatted at her from his bunk- but as he recovered he became preoccupied.

Ida had also recovered, though not as thoroughly, having gone well over a week without so much as drinking water in her insensible state. She was weak, feverish and upon at last being plied with nourishment, she puked it right up. It was little cause for concern considering her illness, but as she grew stronger and her stomach remained contrary, some unease began to grow. By Christmas her brother Johnny had taken over the cooking in an endeavor to make something palatable but the woman was hardly the sort to be picky over her victuals. Benny and Brady’s watery soups were alike and they both came up within fifteen minutes of being eaten.

So then, their little room smelled of sweat, breath and vomit. Her brother and Hambone made mention of Crosby, it provided levity for a few days and Maureen was fast to join in. Until Ida had her at a private moment, the men in the hall or else out with latrine duty, and then she asked Maureen if she’d had her menses.

Offended at the implication that Gale Cleven would allow her any more than a mouth or handful of himself, Maureen hotly insisted she had. Three of them in fact, since arriving. She had the bloody rags to prove it.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when there began to be a very segregated group of men hovering and debating amongst themselves that Maureen began to second guess such an inquiry as more than moralistic judgment. Their Red Cross packages arrived with canned goods and bland crackers. Bucky began to bargain for the latter with a gambler's gusto -before inevitably handing his loot to Ida. Ida herself began gambling fiercely, for smokes.

Ida had never smoked in her life.

And now the place smelled even stronger of one more cigarette, sweat, breath and vomit.

The smokes seemed to help her, or at least, Maureen noticed her puking less by New Years. The early part of the new year brought new misfortunes, the confiscation of Cleven’s prized radio and a rash of miscarriages amongst the women. A rash was perhaps an exaggeration -only three or four, by Maureen’s count, and between her’s and Ida’s and Cleven’s discreet insistence, such incidents were passed off to the wary guards as heavy menses.

Maureen realized then that those were pregnancies from their guards, a possibility that she had not considered as she had not had reason to worry about it. That is, until Ida Brady caught her again at a moment alone, and asked her in the closest thing to feminine fluster that Maureen had ever seen her in, if she’d ever had reason “in your expeditions, as it were…” to possibly “eliminate a -poor decision?”

Being quite puzzled by this inquiry, and only picking up on the vague aspects -something she admitted to Ida straight away- Maureen admitted she drank most of her poor decisions away, a strategy that hadn’t failed her yet and she wished was at her disposal in this frozen mud pit.

“I’m speaking of- romantic decisions. Poor ones.” Ida had tried again, yearning for understanding in her voice.

Maureen remained nonplussed.

“A child, Maureen a-a pregnancy have you ever?” Ida hissed out at last.

“Gosh no.” Maureen sputtered, “I’m not a full idiot. Why would you ask? I strike you as enough of a harlot?”

“I’m merely looking for -remedies.” Ida pinched at her nose, a motion Maureen was familiar with watching in Gale when he was overwhelmed.

“Who needs it?” Maureen scoffed, quite sure that the odds didn’t stand many more girls suffering from the same, the poor food and rough conditions having ensured it for them.

Ida took her hand away but closed her eyes, mouth folding to a straight line. “I do.”

“Oh fuck.” Maureen plopped down beside her on the bunk in disbelief, they both stared at the opposite wall and its identical beds with rumpled bedding and starlets pasted on the walls. “Fuck.”

“They’re getting very stupid about it.” Ida said at last.

“What do you mean? Who?”

“The boys.”

“You’ve told the boys?” Maureen cried out, infuriated.

“They guessed, already, for God’s sake must even this be about you, too, Kendeigh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

“It means while you’re bored and very vocal of it, some of us might die-“

“-we could all die in this shithole-“

“-or! Or worse,” Ida cut in fiercely, “have someone die for us by being idiots. Bucky is full of schemes of -of running off into the sunset. I suppose after he levitates us over the barbed wire with his magic carpet. I don’t know, but I- Maureen I know that if I go on much longer, it won’t just be me in danger. They’re either going to risk something terrible or get punished for not reporting me.”

“So what?” Maureen asked dully, having been excluded from an obvious inner circle regarding the issue and having now been accused of being trivial in her own sufferings, it smarted and she could not deny the flicker of unfairness she felt over it. “Want me to shove a coat hanger up you? The others too chicken?”

Ida visibly recoiled beside her, putting more space between them in the bunk. “I’m not going to- to kill it.”

“What kinda remedy doesn’t?” Maureen sassed, if they were to talk no longer in flippant pleasantries, she could do that.

“I’m just asking for help.” Ida’s jaw wobbled, her voice a wreck of desperation and Maureen could see with a small and ugly bit of satisfaction that the woman was truly close to losing her grip. It was satisfyingly human. As was her reaction to a remedy after asking for it.

“You come to me because you think I’m loose enough to know, and then you have the nerve to be appalled when I do.” Maureen pointed out, “That what all the smokes are for?”

“Yes.” Ida put her head back in her hands.

“Just won’t budge; huh?”

“No.” her voice sounded like she might be crying but there was no telling with those hands in the way.

“It would be stubborn.” Maureen muttured, thinking of the goddamn Brady family as she knew them. “Why won’t you get rid of it? You want to get rid of it-“

“-I don’t understand why it’s hanging on!” Ida’s wail came out garbled between her fingers.

“So let’s -unhang it.”

“I can’t. Kendeigh -I can’t.”

“I know it’s risky, but I know you’re not scared of dying.” Maureen muttered, attempting to understand.

“Candy I cant, I can’t murder it.” her voice had dipped into a sacrosanct whisper.

Maureen huffed in confusion, a substantial amount of pragmatism warring with what tiny bit of sympathy the threat left her, “It’s a German’s, at this size no more than a blo-“

“It’s a life!” Ida snarled back at her so viciously Maureen contemplated the likelihood of her having gone fully mad, “And it’s mine.” she rebutted, pointing to her chest fiercely.

“So you’ll let Bucky and Gale die for you, die trying to get you out of here but you won’t try to fix it yourself.” It was how Maureen saw it, and if she were to be accused of suggesting murder, she might as well have her side put out there, too.

“That’s how you see it?” Ida muttured, looking utterly defeated.

“If Gale dies over this, I’ll wring your neck myself. Keep smoking.” she advised with a shrug, “Maybe catch an elbow to the gut if you can.”

Ida pulled her hand away again to look at her, she’d definitely been crying then, red nosed and watery eyed, but she looked less aghast now than she had at the mention of the coat hanger. Maureen didn’t think she wanted condolences about it, or a pat on the back. Come to think of it, Ida was getting plenty of that sort of doting from the boys. No, Maureen didn’t feel like she needed that from her, and something sour and twisted in her heart made her loath to give it.

It worsened as the days went by, as Maureen observed their once innocuous routines with new eyes, noticing the boys' furtive plans, their hovering concern, their brought in provisions -offerings fit for a queen. It was understandable to show such care for her in her state, and ostensibly no one deserved it more than Ida Brady. But it left Maureen feeling adrift, like an afterthought, someone whose greatest challenge was their boredom. And ever looming were those great risks the boys bantered about like it were all a low stakes game of cards.

She plays thirty to forty sets of cards with Hambone, decimates Benny at chess, cleans the pans, even mops the goddamn floor. All to keep busy, perhaps even to spite Ida whose one assigned task is the floors. She cannot be accused of boredom or idleness if she has done all her own tasks and others’ besides.

In her spare time she would like to go with Bucky, to be of use in collecting things for Gale’s new little project, his precious crystal radio, but where women go -there go guards and attention and soon, the sheer mischief of the naughtiness of Gale’s construction wanes as she is left laying in her bunk watching him wiggle a clothespin around for the fifth day in a row. She had been so understanding for the first four. Even though she had contemplated a tiff with him over not informing her of Ida’s state as soon as he knew, she had been merciful and instead settled for holding the copper wire for him and brushing his cheek when he didn’t actively shy away in concentration.

He mumbles about needing to give it his full attention, about her needing to keep a lookout, about the danger of getting caught. She asks if it’s worth it then, anything that might get him killed is her enemy, even if it’s a little clothespin on a board. He looks at her like she’s from mars, unable to fathom why she wouldn’t understand its necessity. And he doesn’t come to bed until an ungodly hour of the night and immediately, upon settling in their bunk he is asleep, much to her chagrin.

She would have liked a kiss, a hand between her legs even more. She would have settled for those whispering little chats they’ve indulged in ever since Bucky laid atop Ida and all rules were broken -they’ve shared a bunk and as the winter gets worse, no one bats an eye. In fact, everyone’s stacked two for one, male and female alike. Brady and Hambone snicker and whisper in their bunk every bit as much as she and Gale do, Maureen is sure of it.

Instead Gale falls asleep. And he does it again and again, night after night. Bucky rummages on his own for supplies. Brady frets over Ida. Only so many people can play makeshift bat gammon in the hall. It does not pass the time. And Maureen grows ever more restless.

She feels expectantly happy when Gale’s work is finally complete, his finished product constructed and the moment of truth comes. They crowd around and wait with baited breath as his finger tunes it. And Maureen knows she is fully awful for her relieved feelings when it does not work. He can’t be killed for it if he scraps it. And he will come to bed at a reasonable hour now it is useless. The shake of his hand makes everyone else feel helpless in the face of his ever steady composure cracking, but while Maureen has no acceptable remedy for Ida’s plight, she does for Gale’s, and she waits for darkness with the relieved excitement of a child on Christmas Eve.

Gale does indeed come to bed, the radio not fully scrapped but heartily abandoned and hidden with its various parts in sundry places. And when he slips beside her, his nose is cold and he touches her like he has missed her. He pulls the covers to their chins, tucking them in with a small giggle, she is suffocated by it and yet he persists and this has gone on all winter until now it is their inside joke and he does it just to make her laugh, and when she laughs so does he, a honest little giggle of a thing, and she misses him worse than ever even as he pressed along the length of her.

It isn’t safe yet, not everyone is asleep but she bides her time with kissing him and he returns her caresses ardently, a thorough press of his lips and his tongue unreservedly sliding into place alongside her own, his hands warming up as they clasp her neck, turning her head upon their pillow. She wonders if they are loud even at this, but she was never the one to care, it’s Gale who objects and who hushes them, who makes them wait, who insists on being courteous even in hell, who only allows himself to lap at her when the place is abandoned or else full of the atmospheric noises of masculine snores.

Maureen does not mind waiting for him, or rather -she does, but he is implacable about it and when she attempts to persuade him otherwise she is oftentimes swatted and put in her place like a wayward child. Such correction holds a charm of its own when it is Gale Cleven administering it, but tonight she feels close to madness if she does not get her way so she allows him to kiss her as the quiet and steady breaths around them herald the unconsciousness of their brethren. She grows bolder, throws her leg over his hip and tugs at his buttons, hands rucking up his shirt and parting the heavy flaps of his coat. He is as burdened with layers as a Victorian maiden and Maureen enjoys the hunt for warm skin, the way he looks as ravished and expectant as any girl while she gropes at him, when she finally reaches him he always shudders, a full bodied thing that jerks even his neck.

Tonight she parts his layers feverishly and he mutters her name, again and again and his hands are clumsy at her shoulders and no progress is made on discarding her own clothing but she pays it no mind, she is direly hungry for him. Any touch of him, to make him shake and melt and pay tribute to her.

“Maureen.”

She finds the button of his trousers right at his heaving naval and she exults at the feel of the fine trail of hair beneath her fingertips.

“Maureen.” his voice grows urgent and she doesn’t heed it, he counts on her never heeding it.

She wiggles her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and skims the hairy plane of his pelvis before laying her hand on what she needs and -he is as limp as a dead mouse. She holds the chubby thing for a good long moment, very much like it were some useless rodent she had caught and must now dispose of, and she is filled with confusion.

“Maureen-“ he mutters again against her unmoving lips and she realizes with misery she mistook his pleading for a different sort.

It is not that she’s never felt him soft, on the contrary, there was a long time in the early days -when she wanted him and he wanted a promotion- that her hand would find its way between his legs, in a jeep or a bar, beneath the table while he helped her with her calculus. Once she felt him she became mildly obsessed, he was always tucked to the right and he was so substantially long and full beneath her palming, even in repose, that her determination to have him was only further cemented by it. Again and again her hand made it into his lap and again and again he would rebuff her, sometimes with startled propriety, occasionally with long suffering disbelief, more and more with almost parental disapproval.

Each reaction had been as satisfying to Maureen as if he were swelling into her palm. And soon enough, he was doing that, too. His hand growing a beat too slow before he grabbed her wrist, his mouth still twisted in dry reproof but his eyes began to burn. He was unbothered no longer and it was not much longer after that he was not even resistant.

Ever since, she could count on him to perk, to respond, to validate her own want of him with his own for her.

The fact it was in many ways a tortured surrender on his part only drove her madder, made her desire burn brighter, made the succumbing of the good, the right, the proud man all the more intoxicating. And again, as if they’d never shared all that, he was now as warm and floppy as a dead dormouse.

“Maureen.” he begged, half expecting tears again like her first night in the stalag, wincing as her hand squeezed him meanly, jerked at him a few impotent times in an effort to fluff him.

Her hand withdraws and he holds his breath, ready for a scene or a rebuke. His gut twists miserably, at fault twice over and yet -not really. But that never mattered with Maureen. He says her name again but she is still and deflated, and after a moment, she merley rolls over, giving him her back.

That is how he knows she is hurt, were she angry she would not have shrunk from being crueler than a few angry tugs. The silence is new and it makes Gale’s stomach swoop in an odd terror, like his next decision might rescue them both or plunge them off a cliff.

“Maureen.” He tries again, his hand on her shoulder, squeezing and trying to turn her back.

Her shoulder jolts up sharply to displace the gesture. “I’m not cold.” she informs him as she rolls further away towards the wall, and her tone is icier than the weather outside. He’s stunned, she’s never once ignored him, no it’s always ever been an escalation of her demands for his interest. Hell, even in Africa she had said she was cold and the presence of her head on his shoulder disrupted his tan, he got no end of grief from the boys about it.

Confused and mildly hurt himself, although he doesn’t know why, not beyond some tickling sense of unfairness about being blamed for being a bit out of sorts in the place, Gale takes his hand away and moves to lie on his back, to keep from crowding her. He thinks that in the morning he will explain to her how he is preoccupied with the radio, that his gut feels in constant free fall from the plans to escape, that everyone is riding on him for this thing to work and he just proved tonight he’s perfectly worthless at it. Nothing but buzz in his ear echoes around in his head and he replays the sound of that failure again and again, justifying her frustration with him. He thinks he’ll explain this all to her in the morning. And also-

-that he is cold.

He’s so damn cold from the anxiety and being still at his work at the table for so long his hands and legs go numb that he simply cannot imagine feeling bothered at this moment, cannot imagine it and it would seem that neither can the little guy. He doesn’t deserve a reward, not for fucking up at the one thing they’ve got going for them. He catches Bucky’s eyes when he rolls over, having taken up night shift over Ida due to insomniatic tendencies. He wonders strongly if Bucky would be as disappointed in him, if he is already. Just wait until next morning, Gale thinks, when I get to admit I’ve got no second plan. If it doesn’t work as is, no amount of fiddling is gonna make it better.

That settles heavy in his gut but does nothing for the swooping feeling, there is merely a loadstone in his belly, plunging downward in a perpetual free fall, and in his dreams the accompanying soundtrack is radio static.

There is a tiny sliver of freedom in the morning -and it does not come every morning- when Maureen has noticed there is still and quiet yet the morning routines are in place. Lazy and weak, the prisoners do not rise with the sun, although some stir and moan and try to meet the new day head on. The guards unlock the doors and yet many choose to lay abed. So many in fact that Johnny Brady ceased making breakfast at that hour as with so few ready to eat it, the ordeal became a waste. He does often fetch water for morning pit baths and teeth brushing, the occasional splash on the face to wash off the sleep.

Maureen has often contemplated these little slivers of time as a chance to break free. Not of the compound, that endeavor holds no fascination to her, but rather out of this combine and out from under the watchful eyes of people who know her all too well. Or think they do. They don’t, they very obviously don’t. And she’s losing all sense of who she is to be known by as the days go on.

She listens as Johnny gathers the buckets and milk pails, always gentle with the clanking metal, vestiges of the considerate boy his mama raised still clinging even in this place, and he hands an allotment to Hambone who is awake with him and less considerate.

Then there is the hushed flurry of beratings and the sleepy protests of trying one’s best.

They leave together, and they leave the door adjar as usual, to come back in quietly if needed. They’ll be gone for at least fifteen minutes, then they will come back and then Brady will leave again to run his two goddamn laps around the compound while that testicular looking bald headed doctor clocks his pace. Maureen doesn’t think Johnny likes running track or ever did it before, but he and Ida both took it up, the latter probably to get rid of the child and the former maybe to stay warm. The doctor didn’t care about the timing of Ida’s laps and soon she began to grow too large to risk attention by keeping Johnny company.

Now Johnny runs his timed laps alone and the only motivation Maureen can imagine for it, beyond the over-familiar assessment of his limbs by the doctor, is the chocolate he earns from it. Priceless sugar to keep up his specimen’s strength in this starving place.

Chocolate Johnny regularly gives to Ida. Though for Christmas he made them all a mashed chocolate pie on a tin plate and it had honestly been the kindest and loveliest Yuletide treat anyone had ever given any of them.

Maureen has considered running with him, trying her luck and seeing if she can win chocolate herself. Maybe that would make Gale smile. She doubts the doctor would care, he’s curiously uncaring regarding the existence of females in camp.

Maureen knows all these sounds of morning routine by heart, can track the progress of each stage of the routine while feigning sleep, motionlessly facing the wall.

Gale has no need to feign, it would seem. He is not snoring but he is whimpering and muttering in that annoying way of his that only occurs when he’s in deep. She used to think it cute, she now thinks it helpful to judge if he is able to catch her at her scheme.

-useless fucker with his useless radio and his useless cock, making her feel useless-

Careful as a cat, and with as much grace, Maureen rolls herself upright, and uses the slats of their upper bunk to balance her weight, keeping the mattress from giving a tell-tale dip. She swings from one slat to the next, carefully crouching when the movement jars the whole frame but Benny stays asleep below her and Gale makes no move to arrest her. It’s a feat to drop soundlessly to her feet after such a climb in a full overcoat, but she manages it. Her boots are under Benny’s bunk and she fetches them with no small amount of terror, but despite his shifts and erratic movements, he does not catch her.

She takes the boots into the hall, which is gratefully empty, and fastens them there. Taking her woolen cap from her coat pocket, she puts it atop her head while tucking in her hair, and fastens her scarf high over her nose, and knows that she is about as inconspicuous in form and feature as the next man. When Brady is bundled similarly his eyes appear as gentle as a woman’s and Maureen knows her own are no longer half so beguiling, not with their pale lashes and absence of cosmetic relief.

Perhaps she’s grown so wane and bland Gale has even lost the ability to pretend attraction. He always was fastidious about cleanliness and order, fussy and volatile when she took him unawares. In fact, when she had first managed to get so far as to undo his pants, to fondle his half hard length, to pull him from the slit of his drawers, to tug his shaft to orgasm, it had been beside the antiseptics. And that had some sort of parable in it, she thought now. Recalling how she’d had to talk him down off a panic as soon as he had shuddered and given her the sought after reward, hot and sticky and plentiful as only a virgin’s would be. He was not comforted until gauze and betadine was used copiously to clean her hand, and the nurse was later puzzled as to why when she entered only one had needed treatment, but both left stained with the orange stuff.

Back then a word, a flick of her eyes would have Gale in full pursuit, bodily if not mentally. She could wage a war with his ever so impeccable spirit and win it with the help of his own flesh. Now? Now he couldn’t even respond, not even pretend it. And he’d tried to warn her and she’d thought he’d been begging and she realized he wanted to stall her, keep it from her, one more thing.

These thoughts carried her dozens of rows down, combine after combine, lost in a flurry of snowflakes that were turning gradually pink as the sun rose. It was beautiful here before all the footprints ruined it.

At the far end of the sector, outside the last combine before the fence that separated them from the Brits, Maureen spotted a huddle of men gathered around a fire pit. She hadn’t known those were even allowed, not doubting that its proximity to the fence had some other subversive reason beyond warmth, and if she thought it then the guards must have. Yet here it was alright, jugs hung over it from a makeshift spit and crackers impaled and being toasted on the same. Maureen’s mouth watered, as much at the thought of genuinely smoke flavored food as she did at the heat. She was still undecided as to her course of action when a loud guffaw, followed by a familiar and harsh curse made her startle.

Polish airmen -or, at least by way of America. They would be sat out in the cold at dawn and they would toast their crackers. Maureen had frequently used her brief passes from Thorpe to terrorize other officer clubs, finding the joy of it a great distraction and some of the girls had joined her at it. She was usually greeted in such escapades with shock or even disgust but the men’s flailing helplessness in the face of a female serviceman always served as a full quota of contentment.

No one had terrorized her back as good as she gave until the Poles. And then they had bought her a drink, and lamented with her that she had not become a fighter pilot. Because Maureen still held a flame for the small craft, resentful that her decent piloting had been considered too poor for the clunky birds, for she knew she wasn't all bad, it was merely those awful forts and their terrible bulk. The Poles had agreed and bought her another drink, and tried to seduce her to their squadron. That had been a happy night and she’d come back to barracks so late as to break curfew, and chatted Gale’s ear off in drunken joy about her wonderful time and her new friends.

Maureen now eyed the fire in the snow and the group of foreign speaking men around it and tugged off her cap, allowing her hair free. And she sauntered up with calculated aimlessness, as if she were indeed only checking out their s’mores to ridicule them compared to her combine’s delicacies. It was effective, they defended their crackers vehemently and she remained derisive, this called for a demand that she try them and so she did and admitted they weren’t too bad but were too dry to be gotten down her throat. So they then passed her coffee and she had to squat to receive it and then she was given a seat to finish it and before long, she was one of the huddle and her feint at leaving them was argued against so heartily she knew she’d won, and so she stayed and played cards and told stories and drank hot water with boys who had been born over here but were in many cases educated not far from her house. And when afternoon came and went she stayed, and when evening fell and the guards became stricter with the perimeter and their fire, she snuck in with them into their combine and there played drinking games despite the violation of curfew.

For the Poles had liquor in this hell hole. And that, Maureen thought, was the true measure of a great nation, their capacity for ingenuity and irrepressible spirits.

Gale entered his own combine in the falling dark with the persistent press of a gun barrel at his lower back, right about at the kidneys, he figured. It was the only thing possible to persuade him to keep from looking, and the others were filing in right ahead of him, saving him a bullet their only motivation for abandoning the search. The guards locked the door after them, and Gale’s chest heaved in panic at the thought of her out there somewhere and locked out and him locked in.

“Fuckin’ Kendeigh.” Murph grumbled but without any heat,

taking himself to his barracks.

Bucky kept pacing up and down the hall with his hands in his hair, snapping at anyone who dared clog his promenade. “Jerries said it was time for bed -so get in your goddamn beds!”

“Why would she do this?” Gale begged him again and Bucky huffed again at it, furious for him.

“She give you grief last night?” Bucky asked wisely, the loyalty in his voice soothes Gale, as does the structure of his sentence, it suggested it wasn’t his fault. And Gale wanted to believe that and he just as strongly he knew it was wrong of him.

He had been in the wrong and he didn’t deserve Bucky’s sympathy for this or the damn radio. They’d been talking of repairs every spare minute of this day that hadn’t been taken up with trying to find Maureen. And while Bucky could remain as adamant as he wanted, that it wasn’t his fault that his radio didn’t work -it didn’t change the fact that his failure now meant Bucky was gonna try something awful instead, like climbing the fence with a pregnant woman on his shoulders. And it was all because Gale couldn’t fucking make a connection. Just as he couldn’t connect to his own body for Maureen and now she’d probably gone over the fence too, or got shot trying.

“So fuckin’ unless.” He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and mashed the tears away.

“She call ya that?” Egan barked, and Gale didn’t need to see his frown to know he was about to track down Kendeigh to punch her, not rescue her.

“No, don’t need a dame to tell me what’s what.”

He didn’t see it coming so he was reasonably startled when he found his hands dislodged from his eyes and his face suddenly collided into the weave of a musky sweater, Bucky’s hand gripping the nape of his neck like he were a child. That hand was so damn large Gale could imagine he was young again and his father was holding him. “Somethin’s gonna come to you,” this reassuring rumble was light years away from his father’s belittlements and he shuddered, “I’ll get you new wire or somethin’ but just- ain’t your fault, Buck, and that goddamn parakeet needs snow down her pants if she can’t see it too.”

No one pretended to sleep that night, even once the lights were out. Ida sat up in her bunk with her brother beside her, a telling lack of sympathy being expressed for Maureen’s self inflicted plight. Ida had spent her own time at the radio and while it hadn’t done much good, it had gone some way to reassure Gale she didn’t see anything amiss. It ought to work.

Small talk was kept carefully low in the bunks, and Bucky kept a firm position on Gale’s bunk, sitting upright with his legs slung over his friend’s boney knees, affectionately trapping him in a lying posture. Bucky had taken to entrapments here in camp, perhaps the barbed wire inspired him.

They had already given Benny his fair share of chiding for not going out with Maureen that the morning, although Brady’s report of her absence in the time he had fetched water plainly represented someone not wishing for accompaniment -or, as Brady so helpfully reminded of the obvious, her desire to obey Cleven’s long standing order on the matter.

It was probably close to 0100 when a great commotion sounded outside, followed by a crash bang of the combine’s main doors being thrown wide and the rhythmic tread of jackboots had everyone pouring out of their bunks and standing at the ready, -they weren’t sure for what, but it wasn’t something you wanted to be caught lying down for. Gale wrenched open the door, expectancy already perfectly in place on his face until he caught sight of Kendeigh, hauled like a child between the guards and one of their captains met his eye with unimpressed disdain.

“This we found in wrong sector.” he explained, gesticulating to Maureen with a gloved hand, “Sleeping under combine steps. I have told you, Major, I cannot guarantee safety of your females when they are alone, something happen to them, you blame me but I told you! Cannot guarantee.”

“Understood.” Cleven gave him his soberest nod, feeling ill and angry and watching warily for the next move, wondering when he could get his lost package back, yet not wanting to appear eager.

“Discipline, major, discipline!” The Captain insisted and Gale felt Bucky’s heat searing at his back as he pressed forward, taking the German’s eyes away from Gale’s, preventing something rash.

“Oh believe me, sir,” Bucky drawled as he pressed forward, the guards posture confidant and lax, “discipline will be met.” he took the brave step of gripping Kendeigh’s coat flap in his hand and tugging her forward, a movement that yanked her free of the gaurds’s grip.

“Met?” the officer was confused, anger and annoyance tinged his repetition.

Bucky shook Maureen meanly by her coat in emphasis of his statement, “Discipline!” he agreed, insistent.

“Well?” It appeared the officer intended to wait until it was meted out.

Bucky stalled and Gale caught Maureen’s panicked eyes even as her nose flared rebelliously with measured breaths, trying to get on top of it all. Gale felt himself pushed to the side abruptly, having to catch himself on the door as Ida Brady strode past him into the hall, the book she’d been perusing still clutched in her hand.

“Child.” she muttered loudly for the officer’s benefit before raising her book and striking Mauree square across the face, one cheek and then the other as the blow sent her staggering, sharp thwacks with the flat side of the volume.

Maureen took the reproof with good grace and a stunned whimper, Bucky’s still supportive clutch on her jacket keeping her from making a fully pathetic scene and melting to the floor.

“Go, in, get in bed.” Ida snapped her fingers, pointing to the door and when Maureen took a second too long to collect her spotted vision, Ida raised the book again and Maureen needed no more incentive, knowing if Ida did not deliver it the guards would.

She tumbled over the barracks threshold like a bedraggled orphan, hair snow drenched and cheeks throbbing, her jacket muddy and undone.

“Well done.” Johnny Brady greeted with montone venom and only Benny Demarco’s well placed foot tripped her and prevented her from clawing his face off in long suppressed spite.

She landed inelegantly on her face, elbows bent just enough to catch herself from a truly ugly splat, she was gathering herself for another spring when the troop of her officers sounded and the door closed and quiet fell over the place, lethal and accusing.

So the Germans had let her off easy then. Maureen drug herself up to her knees and suddenly wished she hadn’t, it felt too close to contrition.

She staggered upright, ignoring the indignity of having to push up on Brady’s knee to do so. Once on her own two feet she raked muddy fingers through her hair and smiled at her superiors, tired but dandy. They looked pissed and that was to be expected.

“The hell did you go?” The others seemed to acknowledge Gale had some right -or maybe it was responsibility- to address her first and it was leveled at her even more scathingly than she had braced for.

“For fresh air.” she chimed, leaning against a bunk brace, arms crossed easily.

“Sleepin’ out? Sneakin’ out?” Gale stormed on and Ida actually took pains to bypass him and climb into her own bunk, her merciful discipline administered she seemed to wash her hands of the business, “Flagrantly disobeying my expressed orders! Answer me! The hell were you thinking?”

“I wanted to get out,” she leveled back at him, her smirk grown sharp and practiced and debutant-worthy, “I wanted to be somewhere else besides in this stinking, miserable cabin with its miserable, stinking occupants. Nothing but a bunch of self righteous, maniacally focused dreamers who can’t have fun for shit.”

As soon as she said it, no regret came, only a feeling of utter validation. Indeed, what had changed since she had been gone? Ida was still sick and pregnant, Johnny was still fussy, Benny was still playing at cards, Bucky was still pushing Gale harder than any over the radio and her Cleven was cleaving to the damn thing like it were his god.

“I mean, tell me if I missed something essential!” She scoffed, “Some great development occur? Or was I needed for some great task you all missed me so desperately during? No? Didn’t think so. Because we don’t go anything in here except talk about getting out like it’s actually plausible and I’m sick as fuck of it and I-“ she pointed to herself, voice growing in volume as Gale’s own fury seemed to wane into something shocked and scared, “I have spent my day with men who have ingenuity and good humor and liquor, because they aren’t hopeless fucks like us. The Brit’s have a tunnel started, the Polish have one too along with a bathtub of potato peel vodka, and we have a pregnant colonel! Sto lat!”

It was terribly quiet for a moment, half the cabin's occupants intent on appearing discrete and the other half stunned into a sort of mortified offense.

“You gonna thrash her or am I?” Egan finally broke the tension, his head turning lazily to look at Gale, his mouth was grinning like he was eager and it made Maureen’s bruised cheeks flame. It seemed to be some private joke, Maureen could only tell by the way Cleven’s eyes widened in warning protest at his friend before biting his lip and sniffing harshly. Then the lights cut again and the place was plunged in darkness, it brought Maureen both relief at the obscurity and a strange feeling of terror at the pitch black surroundings. She still hated the dark, ever since those Gestapo cells.

“Take that filthy shit off and get in your bunk.” Gale’s voice so near and so sudden startled her, and it wasn’t rebellion that made her lag in response but he seemed to take it that way, the snap of his finger seeming dangerously close to her nose, and she felt his fingers pluck at her muddy coat, “Now, don’t test me, get in, now.”

She peeled it off and let it flop heavily to the floor before kicking off her boots with the same carelessness, and then taking a step up, digging her frozen toes into Benny’s mattress and hauling herself up to the next level, laying down with a shiver in the cold sheets. The quiet sounds of rustling and bedding filled the place, the others putting themselves away for the night too, but to her relief no one seemed to be murmuring about her. Then the bunk creaked again and the unmistakable feel of someone climbing in beside her made her gasp.

Gale, of course it was Gale, laid himself out atop her, like he planned to keep her there by his weight alone like Bucky had with Ida, and an odd feeling suddenly took possession of Maureen’s chest, one she hadn’t felt all day: she felt undeserving. His head was hard and awkward against her clavicle but she didn’t want to budge him, secretly and utterly grateful he was being kind, that he was not ignoring her. Maybe Ida was right and she was childish but if that were the case, what was to be done about it? She was as she was and she needed him, so tentatively after a few minutes, she withdrew her legs out from under his own and wrapped them around his hips, pulling him close all along her like they were mating, she meant it as a hug and she felt him limp and heavy between her thighs but she did not withdraw.

Gale waited patiently until the snores began, wind whistling outside so loudly it would cover their whispers, and she shuddered to think of herself being petty enough to try to sleep in that icebox. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong.” he rasped at last, raising his head a little and trying to get a read on her in the semi dark. “Maureen, you can’t worry me like that, please.”

“I’m tired.” her voice was weak from the effort to hold back an ugly sob.

“You've been tired before.” he soothed, “What about today? What about last night? What’s all this? C’mon, you can tell me, I need ya to tell me.”

Maureen sighed raggedly, always a sucker for his cajoling voice, more so when she knew she deserved and expected the thrashing. “You don’t need me that way. You don’t need me at all.”

Gale dropped his head a little, his hand reaching up to pinch his nose, humiliation and impotence warring with need to assure her. “I'm sorry about that.” he settled for, “I’m too fucked right now, I admit it. It’s all just, it’s a lot, we’ve all got a lot goin’ on. You too, I know, I’m just not right up there, Maureen. Doesn’t mean I don’t need you.”

“You don’t need me during the day and you don’t need me at night.” she had tried to dissuade herself of this painful reality, truly! -but those were the facts as she saw them and it hurt her worse than him.

“I’m doing this for you!” he begged, his large hand cupping the side of her throat and she would love to think it a caress but he was only trying to make a point, one she contested vehemently in her heart. “I won’t be okay until you’re safe, baby.”

Maureen scoffed, thick and bitter, she had no child, she had no threat, she didn’t need to get out. “I don’t have any reason to get out!” She seethed back, “What’s in it for me? Besides you dead and me too, maybe I’ll get sent back to the Gestapo. That’ll be lark. I don’t need to get out, Major, I need-“

Gale was panting in her face, hot and hurried as her own ire rose with each word, “What do you need?” he goaded, and she could hear him lick his lips.

“I need you to pay attention to me.” she said it.

And to anyone else it would have sounded the most petty thing of all, but to Gale Cleven it was something he already knew deep down when he wasn’t so caught up in the imminent might-be’s of their situation, when he wasn’t needing to save Bucky from himself, or Ida from being put down or Johnny from whatever Greek hell that doctor had enlisted him in. He knew Maureen needed him, not his brains or what he could give, not really, she just wanted his flesh, and he had never bartered in that currency before her, having always assumed it was cheap if not with love. He was not sure he was loved but he knew it was not cheap, whatever it was they shared. And he knew she needed him. Just as he needed her, even though he could not manifest it as he wished.

He could kiss her, though. That he could do.

She did not expect the plush press of his lips when she saw him duck his head against the halo of window light. He kisses with intent and with reproof and the part of her that enjoys his anger begins to thrum to life as mercy and justice both battle in his kiss, his tongue all forgiveness and his teeth implacable rightness.

“Why?” she whines at him, feeling herself need and yet he lays between her legs useless as a girl, “why’re you when you can’t-“ she has insulted him enough today, she trails off with surprising tact.

“Don’t mean I don’t need you.” his voice has gone gruff like it does when he holds her head firmly and grinds his once hard cock down her throat, “Don’t mean your boy don’t want you.”

And that’s all she needed, really.

Along with the feeling of his fingertips walking down her bare stomach, his hand somehow sneaking its way through her layers undetected until now. It awakes a trail of fire down to her core, her core that is already ablaze by his kissing, his neglect, his language.

“My baby.” she moans in ascent, loudly and exultant and a little mournful.

“I gotchue, I got you.” he swears into her mouth and his hand wastes no time in slithering between her legs, elegant fingers cupping her and smearing her arousal around beneath his fingertips.

“Fuck them into me.” she begs, his hand swiping and rubbing at her heat until her hole clenches in desperation, wanting the burn of a stretch.

He is used to her instructions, they’d have accomplished nothing these last months without them, he is able to obey without ceding one bit of control in the kiss and the dichotomy of it, of him, makes her spiral as long fingers plunge, three at a time into her like he’s mad at her, and she cums from it alone with a hoarse cry of shock. He leans up and over her, hair aglow in the dim light and his hand beginning to slam again and again between her legs, forearm hard at work before he brings his wrist to her mouth.

“Bite.” he tells her, an offer and an order and she does, repaying him the vicious assault below her waist where she is tugged apart and jammed at with all too much finesse, his thumb swiping at the apex of her slit everytime he plunges knuckle deep. Gale knows by now the signs of her peak but he pushes beyond it, adds his pinky until all four digits wreak havoc and makes her go again. She uses his wrist out of necessity not to wake the whole place. The sounds of her squelching may have done it for her.

He pets her after, his palm warmed up by his work and it cups and soothes her as she jerks and jolts and settles, and his nose nuzzles her own sweetly, murmuring her name again and again just how she likes it.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” he begs between smooches and Maureen feels entirely too weak to deny him.

“Ok.”

“Promise?” his tone and his hand grow firm again.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” he sighs beside her and she thinks she could fall asleep now he’s wrung her out. He pets her a few moments longer, as if loathe to pull his hand free. He cups her one more time, collecting her wetness in the crook of his fingers before at last he does, carefully bringing his hand up and out of her waistband. He holds it in front of himself for a brief moment as if debating how to enact his thoughts, and she watches him curiously because he does not lick his digits clean like usual, perhaps she is too soiled tonight, even for his devotion.

Instead she watches him roll onto his back, hand still aloft and glittery with an obscene amount of sticky pleasure and his other hand trails to his own fly, popping the button deftly with his left hand and tugging down the fastening. Her breath catches in her throat, suspense and arousal at the familiar motion making her perk once more. Gale shimmies his clothing down his thighs until she can see him just barely, lying fat and peaceful against his thigh. He deserves a little peace, she thinks, now that she is not so cross with him.

She holds his gaze in startled suspense as he locks eyes with her, wanting her to stare when he moves his wet hand down and wraps it around himself, smearing her juices all over his soft member, clear and creamy swirls rubbed into the pink meat of him, down to his very balls.

“There,” he manages between her kisses as she assails him anew with desperate appreciation, “you’ve still got me. I’m still yours.”

She drags her hand down there to feel the sticky evidence of his promise, to rub and fondle him as he lays dormant in her palm. She has often snickered to him that he is too tidy to ever fully have sex, he has had qualms over even what they do with their hands, their mouths as well. He was pleased she could swallow only for the mess it prevented. She’s often told him he’ll find coupling a filthy business and he oughta brace himself. This tacky feeling under her palm is the closest they’ve ever gotten to the act, her fluids touching him there, drying on him. She appreciates the gesture, more than here heart can bear to ponder: she also knows he’ll regret it.

“I’ve got some amends to make.” she acknowledges after giving him one last kiss and checking that the coast is clear. Egan is doubtless still awake as usual and perhaps Brady, but it can’t be helped and she doesn’t give a damn. “Try to be quiet -don’t think too hard on it, it’s fine if this is all it is.” she preemptively cautions before he can realize what she intends.

She slinks down the length of him, careful not to jar the whole bunk, careful to keep a low profile to the blankets before dipping her head in the little nest of covers shoved around his thighs. Despite her assurances Gale makes a keening noise of confusion when her tongue darts out without preamble and licks up the seam of his balls.

“Maureen.” he sounds half strangled but his hand flies out, not to prevent her, but to pet her lustrous hair. She feels utterly content in that moment and continues her quest to tidy him up.

“You hate being sticky.” she reminds in a whisper before gently sucking on his soft tip, she can feel his belly heaving in relaxed sighs, the connection not fully alive and yet, potent all the same, he pets her hair more firmly and even pushes her head down further and she gets the hint, abandoning his soft cock head for the chubby vein beneath, licking stripes of herself off him.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” she whispers to the inanimate little thing, remembering how meanly she squeezed it the night before. “I swear we’re still friends.”

Gale vaguely registers her apology to his bits and bobs but he is genuinely more distracted by two glinting shards across the room that have to be Bucky’s blazing eyes. Trained right on him. Holy hell, he feels himself shake and the closest thing to a twitch animates between his legs before he throws his hand over his eyes and pretends he is very alone. He pets her head more purposefully, long, feminine strands slipping through his fingers.

John Egan once put a bet on how long it would take these idiots to learn they were in love. It was once all a bit funny. And now, seeing in a dim haze what appears to be the ritual of making up, it’s not so funny any more. Today could have gone far worse, any attention to the women was bad attention and having Ida have to make a scene while hiding a belly like that was nearly criminal in Bucky’s mind.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t glad for Gale. No, he was so glad he was half jealous watching, imagining more than even seeing. He wondered if Maureen knew how much she loved him, he wondered how it compared to his own, and he ached like hell.

Next morning Gale woke up with a sore spot on his chest from the weight of her head lying there all night, and to the tinkering sounds of the metal water jugs being jostled. There was a laugh and a responding “shh” and another stifled laugh following. He rolled his head on the pillow and blearily cracked an eye open, taking in Brady and Maureen over their task. Or at least, Johnny was trying while fighting some whispered bit of comedy that Maureen continued despite Johnny’s wheezing protests and incompetent fumbling with his handles.

“You ain’t bein’ quiet, if ya think you are.” Benny’s grumble from the bunk below said what Gale was thinking, but he was too relieved to see Maureen awake, cheerful and integrated again to complain.

“I’m telling him about a Romanian girl in the other sector, met her yesterday.” Maureen stage whispered and Brady began to lose it again, muffling his whole face into his sleeve, milk pail abandoned on the floor so he could laugh. “There’s a fence between and she’s a fighter pilot but she’s seen him at his laps and she wants him.”

Benny stayed quiet a minute before his own laugh started and Gale could feel the vibrations of it from a whole bunk below. “She put in an order or somethin’?”

“Practically.” Maureen drawled, “She was so relieved to meet an American so arrangements can be made for my fellow. She has cows back home Johnny, she’d trade ten for you. Those big Eastern European cows, straight from a storybook, it’s worth consideration.”

“Grab your jug.” Johnny insisted instead in a small wheeze as he collected his own and strode out, looking behind to ensure she was following and beginning to laugh at eye contact. Maureen threw her head back and guffawed that ugly little cackle of hers as she went out.

“I think we missed part of the first act.” Benny observed about the joke from below, Gale didn’t know what talent it was but his co-pilot always seemed to sense when he was awake, no checking needed.

“Yup.” Gale puffed into his pillow, not giving a damn about the content of her material only that some material was back.

Someone else who was shit at playing asleep was John Egan. Gale slunk out of his bed quietly to not awake everyone else and went over to the sprawled out form of his friend, Ida tucked behind his back and the wall, genuinely asleep despite the nicotine she had coursing through her. Gale reached out and flicked at an overgrown curl dangling over his friend's face, the return momentum of it tickled his nose and he sneezed on compulsion.

“Sleep well?” Gale asked as Bucky stared up at him, betrayed and crinkly faced.

“Was.” he accused.

“Talk?” Buck proposed in a monosyllable and he watched Egan’s raw morning eyes shutter closed into something as readable as millponds.

“Yeah, sure.” There was a series of grunts and heaves of effort as Bucky righted himself and finally pushed out of the bunk, “Hall?” he asked while contemplating just how little he wanted to don boots right now.

“Hall’s fine.”

They went out together, it was quiet in the hall despite the awakening rustle in the various rooms off it. It stayed quiet once they’d both taken a wall to lean against because Gale Cleven wasn’t good at broaching topics despite his bravery to initiate their surroundings. Egan had a sense what this was about, but then, things usually weren’t about the thing they were about, they were about another thing reflected in the thing and that’s where he got lost. But watching Gale Cleven take in a breath five times only to exhale and chew his lip got a little tedious, even by his standards for how much he enjoyed watching his Buck at anything.

If this was about being observed last night, Egan sure as fuck wasn’t gonna take the blame for seeing shit in a packed dormitory. Or, combine, barracks, whatever. So, a sentence like -sorry I watched you get licked at like a bowl of milk last night- didn’t reflect his sentiments at all. And he’d never lied to Buck, not once, except maybe about not social engineering his way onto planes during rough missions. So instead he went with an easy going, “Must be nice to almost get everyone killed then get rewarded for it.”

Gale’s eyes sharpened instantly but the harsh retort Egan panted for didn’t come, instead something tired took over and Gale pinched his nose. “We’re all goin’ a little looney in here.”

“Are we?” Bucky hummed combatively, “How you crackin’ up these days?” it wasn't fair his Buck had all this weight on him and a fussy woman besides.

“I’m havin’ an affair with a fellow officer.” Gale recited in a devastated montone, and Egan hadn’t expected such transparency. Not in criminal language.

“Well,” he ceded, “there is that.”

“And occurrences like last night are gonna need to keep happenin.” Gale was informing him and Bucky didn’t know what to do with that, his tone was that of an officer but his soft blue eyes flicked with a plea to be understood. “To keep her -tame. Some sorta sane. She’s like you, she wasn’t meant for this place.”

“Just last week you told me nobody was.” Egan pointed out just to be contrary but he couldn’t help his grin and Buck caught sight of it before he could suppress it, knowing the banter and its innate kinship was back.

“I need you to promise me somethin’.” Gale went on, a nervous hand rubbing at the back of his neck and Bucky perked at the sight of that tick.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to promise to wait a week before you try anythin’.” Gale said, “You said I’d come up with somethin’ and I will, but I need a week Bucky. Give me that, can’t let you leave here without any direction of where to head toward. Wait on that radio, don’t you go off gettin’ yourself shot and Ida, too.”

A week in this place felt like a year, a week with an ever swelling woman felt like an eternity of valuable, crucial time. Bucky ran his bare toes over the splintering wood and tried to focus on the way the wood shards pricked at his frozen toes. “Alright.” he agreed, couldn’t help himself when Buck was looking at him like that and telling him he didn’t want him to die. “Alright.” He repeated more forcefully just to see Gale’s face clear and some old expression of peaceful relief smooth out his worry lines, not as much as Maureen’s tongue could do, Bucky wagered, but it was a little relief of his own he could give. “But you make a poor incentive for obeying you.” he pointed out cheekily, shoving off his wall to advance on Gale and shove a finger in those still full cheeks, “You gonna reward me if I disobey an’climb over on day six?”

Gale rolled his eyes, an expression all too pretty with his cheek distorted by Egan’s rough fingers, his eyes wary and loving all at once, Bucky had missed that look, it was coy as hell and one of his favorites on his friend. “Don’t count on it.”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[sleepiestwizard]

okay im gonna put all my thoughts about the hotguy zinethology on here based on the incoherent ramblings my friends received while i was reading it

(obviously spoilers below the cut)

okay so first of all the first part was SO fucking funny i cried laughing multiple times

the first time i saw cute guy i SCREAMED

HOTGUY TRYING TO GET CUTEGUY TO JOIN HIS UNION AND GRIAN JUST GOING. NAH. WAS SO FUNNY

@cornpapers draws scar SO pretty

mumblr is SUCH a funny name 10/10

the "dont you think cuteguy and hotguy having matching names and outfits is queerbaiting" post is SO FUNNY

THE GRIANVERSE

SHE'S HERE !!!!!!! ARIANA GRIANDE !!!!!!!!!!

THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY. GRIAN LOOKS LIKE THE SAD HAMSTER

REALLY GOOD PANEL

this whole comic was so funny i loved it loved the cub

THE EMAILS PART WAS ALSO SO FUNNY

this is such an interesting and fun way to tell a story i loved the email part

in general the posts and stuff were SO funny and very realistic for the internet 😭

yeah

grian desperately trying to not let scar reveal his identity 😭😭 girl (this also hits so different now after reading the whole thing btw.)

the comparison to a wild horse in this first fic also killed me

i can't really put a lot of images but there were some really classic superhero comic looking panel that i thoroughly enjoyed

scar tangled in his own grappling hook. classic. very funny

I LOVED THIS FIC SO MUCH. scar voice this is gonna ruin the tour. grian voice what tour. scar voice the world tour.

scar saying he's playing volleyball. haikyuu reference!?!?!?

just putting this here

LOVEDDDD THIS GEM DESIGN

moon mask i immediately called pearl yes pf course

GRIAN REFUSING TO SHOW EACHOTHER THEIR IDENTITIES AGRHRGRHRVH

"you and your cuteguy" arggrgrhsggrgrhgr

murder camel REAL !!

I DIDN'T TRUST THIS FOR A SECOND. PEARL AND HER SOUP I DONT BUY IT

"i cant believe you guys fucking killed jimmy solidarity" <- actual message i sent to mochi

SCOUR KNOWING SCARS NAME. AGRHSGRHRGRHV

i literally had to Go Take A Walk after this fic

i really like how the pearl thing was resolved in this it felt like such a good act 2 reoccurring villain exit. very superhero comic/movie like or even dnd like

'vincent berger' made me laugh

ZEDDIT

MOCHI FIC !!!!

first off every single fic has SUCH a cool cover i love them all

poor grian has ptsd :((

i LOVEEE how mochi writes angst always they're so good at it

the fact that he never found jimmys body immediately made me call the fact that he wasn't really dead and would come back btw

gem would lovee to drive grian slowly crazy tbh

"IVE COME TO PICK UP MY BIRD" AGRHRGRHGRHRVRBTBJRG

JUST LOOK AT THAT GREAT BIG BEAUTIFUL TOMORROW !!!!!!!

i was going insane at this point

this whole zine had me feeling like that meme thats like first i laughed.. then i serioused (the first part was SO funny and then golden era was psychic damage /pos)

IMPULSE :D

GEMPEARL <33 they are so everything to me

SCAR WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE SUSPICIOUS POSSIBLY EVIL FOREIGN TECHNOLOGY ON YOUR BODY. SIR.

NOT THE DESTIEL MEME

they look SO fucking cute

both scar and grian look sooooo scrumptious in this comic argh

THE MIND CONTROL. THE. RHE MIND CONFNTOL.

THESE 2 FULL PAGES ARE ABSOLUTELY SO INSANE. I WAS AND STILL AM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

THIS IS SO. GOD THIS

THE WAY GRIAN JUMPED AND SCAR JUMPED AFTER HIM. THEYRE CRAZY !!!!!!!

THE WIPING THE BLOODY NOSE AND THEN SMILING LITERALLY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU !!!!!!!!!!!!!

HE TOOK THE MASK OFF

mumbo <3

THE HUG. ☹️☹️☹️

great big beautiful tomorrow :((( the parallels :((

GRIAN BEING TOO FLUSTERED BY SCAR KINDA FLIRTING THAT HE DIDN'T REALISE HE WAS DROPPING HINTS ABT HIS IDENTITY WAS SO FUNNY

cutiebird..

scar playing w his hair when cuteguy was hurt :(( so cute

REALLY FUNNY

THEY'RE HOLDING HANDS ☹️☹️

the tcg voice: theyre holding hands.. i want them dead

SKIZZ !!!!

ETHO !!!!!!!!!!

awhh skizzly :((((

THIS IS SO UPSETTING

"It's our Impulse, Gem" IM SO UPSET SHUT UP

god the way she puts on the mask and immediately is emotionless im gonna throw up

OBSESSED. THEY'RE EVERYTHING TO ME

im so obsessed w this cuteguy i love him

grian voice omg im the only bitch serving cunt in this place im so embarasseddddd

they are serving SO much in this comic

ETHO EYHO ETHO ETHEO

SCAR APPOINTING GRIAN AS LEADER. EARURGRHVRH THEY'RE EVERYTHING

READING THIS WAS SO CRAZY IT LITERALLY FELT LIKE WATCHING ENDGAME

JIMMY SOLIDARITY !!!

MUMBO JUMBO !!!!!

impulse thinking about skizz as he's dying :(((((

HE DID IT ALL FOR SKIZZ :(((((((((

i was so upset this made me sob like a baby

SOUP GROUP :(((

SKIZZLY!!! :(((

warden :/

SCAR PEARL INTERVIEW :( HOTGUY RETIRING :( I LOVE THEM

THE CHEMICAL MUTATING PEOPLE IS JUST ESTROGEN BEING A GIRL JUST DOES THAT TO YOU

grian and scar playing volleyball is that a haikyuu reference....

OH THIS PEARL IN THIS COMIC IS REALLY GOOD

cuteguy is so spiderman coded

GREAT BIG BEAUTIFUL TOMORROW !!!!!! WE'VE COME FULL CIRCLE !!! SOBBING !!!!

god all in all this was so crazy. it was such an obvious labour of love and everyone who was involved with it did such a good job and obviously put so much love into it AND IT WAS WORTH IT !!!! insanely good work thank you to everyone for doing this and sharing it for free?? @hotguycomiczine y'all are crazy. incredible work <333

[matchalovertrait]

The entree round begins! Who will cook the best dish? Who will cook the better soup? Find out... not in the next segment.

Previous / Next (Transcript under the cut)

(1.) [Mia] Somebody here did not fully follow the rules of Diced Junior.

(2.) [Carlo] And that would still be Lewis! A producer pointed out to us that Lewis here did not use the vegetables that were in the flatbread. We didn't even notice since the flatbread was so burnt.

(3.) [Lewis] Oh, I was supposed to use EVERYTHING from each basket ingredient? Anyway, thank you for the opportunity, judges.

(4.) [Mia] Thank you, Lewis. Please audition for Diced once you're older. We'd love to see you compete again.

(5.) [Lewis] Well, I already came to terms with being eliminated before they announced it. Maybe I will try Diced someday.

(6.) [Dulce] Bye, Lewis!!

[Alex] You did good, man.

[Rubiya] We'll miss you.

[Lewis] Bye, everyone. Good luck.

(7.) N/A

(8.) N/A

(9.) [Andrea] Chefs, please report back to your stations. Your baskets for the entree round have been placed.

(10.) [Dulce] Wow, they move fast here.

(11.) [Andrea] Inside your baskets, you'll find jicama, hatch green chiles...

(12.) [Andrea] ...goat chops, and chana masala.

(13.) [Rubiya] I'm pleasantly surprised with these ingredients! They won't be hard to combine. However, the real challenge here will be the time limit while using these complex items.

(14.) [Dulce] Yes! My mom is Mexican, so I am very familiar with jicama and chiles. Also, my mom's friend taught me how to cook some Indian dishes, so I know how to work with masalas. I haven't cooked goat yet, but I should be able to figure it out.

(15.) [Alex] I'm happy with the ingredients, just a lil worried about the chiles. Good thing I've cooked goat lotsa times by now.

(16.) [Andrea] Chefs, the 30-minute timer starts now!

(17.) [Rubiya] I'm making chana masala goat tacos with a green chile salsa and jicama dip.

(18.) [Rubiya] Tacos aren't necessarily easy to make, but with my thirty-minute time limit and these beautiful ingredients, this is the way to go! I'll incorporate the ingredients well. If only I could make the tortillas from scratch, but it is what it is.

(19.) [Dulce] I'm making a tomato soup with goat, jicama, chana masala, and hatch green chiles. I'll add sweet potatoes, onion, kidney beans, and green bell peppers.

(20.) [Dulce] There's a lot of things to dice and chop while also making sure the goat and sweet potatoes are thoroughly cooked, but I want to push myself. Also, the judges seemed to really like how I play with many different ingredients, so I want to do that again.

(21.) [Alex] I'm making an egusi soup with cubed goat meat, hatch green chiles, spiralized jicama, and chana masala. My other ingredients are tomatoes, onions, and spinach.

(22.) [Alex] Well, there aren't any egusi seeds here, so I have to use pumpkin seeds instead. I'll keep the name though, it sounds fancier that way.

(23.) N/A

(24.) [Andrea] Judges, any thoughts and opinions so far?

(25.) [Sofia] We love how confident these young contestants are.

[Mia] However, we also noticed how Alex and Dulce are both making soups. Unfortunately, that will make our judging harsher because we are going to have to compare the two.

(26.) [Carlo] Tsk, tsk. They should have thought more outside the box. Also, Dulce really has to watch the time. Andrea, please check on the contestants.

[Andrea] Will do, Carlo!

[mellowseulogy]

SAUDADE

IN WHICH: You get isekaied into the world of Attack On Titan and although you're scared, they remind of all of the reasons why you loved them in the first place.

tags: black reader, fluff and angst, canon typical violence, isekai, found family, 'kinda' reverse harem, swearing,

AN: I originally posted this on Wattpad but I figured crossposting wouldn't be too bad! This is also inspired by the wonderful curlycho's 'Sucked In' on Wattpad and AO3!

1.

Your eyes blinked open and a heavy whiplash overcame you. Instinctively, you groped around your bed to try to stabilise yourself. But when you pulled the covers up to your nose, the sheet was thin, caked with dust, and smelled terrible. Through a brief coughing fit, you rubbed your gunk-crusted eyes clean and leaned forward.

This was not your bedroom.

"She's awake!" A voice cried out. You couldn't see where the person was so you assumed it was from a bit away from you.

On the back of your forearms, you pushed yourself onto your butt and like a tidal wave, the expanse of greenery swarmed you.

In front of you was a large oak tree scratched with a chunk that seemed to be... bitten off. Its bark stretched high into the sky - pretty leaves fanned out over you and through the small gaps in them, an auburn sky waning navy from the coming night. Underneath you was a bed of blue flowers hidden in thick grass. It almost reminded you of something you saw on the... Your mind went blank.

That didn't explain how you were here though...

"Helloo~." There were hands on your shoulders and you jerked back in sudden shock. Grabbing your sheets, you crawled away from your current resting point and backed yourself uselessly against the tree.

"Woah, you're fast...uh sorry to scare you, sorry! Just was happy to see you weren't ya know... dead is all." The girl who had scared you half to death had an extremely apologetic look on her face and she had her head bowed. By the looks of it, she seemed to be the same age as you but she was wearing a uniform of some kind. An emblem of swords on her blazer's chest.

In her remorseful spiral, a boy began to walk up behind her - there was a bowl in his hands. "Sasha, what did we say about sneaking up behind people? You don't just jump on someone when they've just come out of unconsciousness, she could've died of a heart attack."

He crouched beside her and stared at her, she stared back, then he switched the bowl into his left hand and flicked her square on the forehead. The girl (Sasha) recoiled backward in pain and rolled in the grass, clutching at her head. This whole moment could've been very funny to you emitting one little thing... you still had no clue where the hell you were.

Shoveling down your nerves, you pulled the sheet down from your knees and coughed to get the pair's attention. "W-where am I?" You tried to look assertive but you're sure that your voice gave you away.

There was a ninety-nine percent chance these thoroughly unserious people weren't kidnappers. So you weren't terrified but it still bothered you. However, there was still that one percent...you think you read a book about it once.

The boy with the bowl in his hands shuffled a little closer to you, you shuffled back wary of the steam that bellowed out of it. It smelled really nice though. "Hey, sorry about Sasha she's a bit there." Sasha mouthed another sorry. "My name is Jean and my squad found you on the edge of a cliff."

"Well actually, me and Eren did." Another boy had started to walk over with a towel and bundle of something in his hands - his hair was shaven. "Jeanboy was too much of a wuss to grab you."

"Shut up, Connie and let me finish." He ended with a frustrated grunt. Then, he looked up at you and smiled. "So, we brought you back to our camp so we can fix you up before we start our expedition back to the barracks."

He brought the bowl to your hands. "It's soup, regain your strength and then we can talk. Who knows how long you were out there for." He rummaged in his pockets and gave you a spoon. You just stared.

"Or, do you want me to...feed you?" Jean said.

"No, thanks." You took the spoon from his hands.

He nodded, understandingly but with the way the bald boy smirked maybe he wasn't as pleased.

Inside the bowl was a clutter of all kinds of vegetables, swirling around in a dark brown soup. It looked alright, but poisoning was still very much a possibility. These people didn't seem too hostile in any capacity, with the way they were goofing around a meagre fire. Swirling the contents of the meal in contemplation, you tried to hone in on what happened before all of this - when you tried...your mind drew blank.

Like an incomplete storyboard with no beginning or end, you were plastered in the middle of it all. Thinking hurt because there was nothing to think back to - you didn't like it.

But right now you were in the middle of nowhere and a horrific grumble started to settle in your stomach. Gingerly shoveling a spoonful of soup into your mouth, you were honestly surprised. It didn't taste half as bad as you thought it would. Wonder why. After finishing the remaining potatoes and carrots, you licked your lips with relish. You hadn't truly realised the full extent of your hunger.

"You tore that up." The boy with a shaved head said next to you - you hadn't even noticed he was there. He was the one holding all those herbs and towels. Staring for a moment he broke out into a snicker. "You can talk, you know. I'm not gonna eat you." That's when you noticed that you were staring again like an idiot.

He sat down on the grass next to you and placed his tools on a box. "Just here to fix you up, laying on a cliffside doesn't sound healthy." He dipped the towel into the bowl a damp towel and wrung it into the dirt. In the midst of all of this, you finally realise how quiet you've been, they probably think you're some poor abandoned teen.

"What's your name?" You asked.

He looked up from crushing down purplish liquid into some blue flowers. "Connie Springer. Yours?"

You thought hard, for something that should've been as easy as breathing, your mind wrapped into coils in trying to think.

"You look like you're about to take a shit." He smiled, "S'alright you're probably still a bit hazy, don't worry about it."

He finishes up with a small bowl of something orange and says, "Alright, gonna dab this on your face while it's still warm, let me know if it's okay."

First, he tried to push your hair behind your ears but a curl kept sticking out. It was kind of cute seeing his tenacity.

When he finally moved your hair out of the way, he patted the towel gently around your face. You didn't know if this had any sort of special remedy but it unwinded your very rigged mind. You let out a long deep breath and you let yourself relax into the touch, eyes flitting closed.

"Open your mouth for me." And you did it with minimal resistance. He tipped the contents of a metal cup into your mouth - you promptly wrinkled your eyebrows.

"Gross." You muttered, it was nasty. Ucky. Vile.

Connie chuckled, "I know, it's terrible, isn't it? But it's just a drinkable antiseptic. Not a permanent solution but will fight anything nasty."

"Hah! See I remember, Jean. Practical medicine's pretty easy when you're besties with Armin."

"Armin."

"Oh, you'll see him in a minute - he's like super smart."

Armin. You played with the name on your tongue whilst trying to shake off the nasty aftertaste of that medicine. It sounded familiar, you focused intently on your memories to try and piece something together...

...all you could remember was the pressure of drowning.

"Hey! When do the others get back? I don't think we have enough firewood to cook all of our dinners!" Sasha yelled.

Connie smirked, focused on patching up a deep cut on your forearm. "You sure you didn't eat all of it?"

"Nuh-uh, I've been focusing on my hunger on this expedition," Sasha said. "Besides, I think you'd all kill me if I did."

The sky was losing its evening haze and turning a deep blue.

"Well, they better hurry up." Jean said, lounging on a log.

A rustle in the bushes set you on edge, you figured it was the rest of their squad but you could never be too sure.

Pushing the leaves aside, a brown bear thudded on the forest floor. Before you could comprehend, you screamed, scrambling up onto your feet.

"Get behind the tree!" Connie whisper-yelled to you.

Jean, Sasha and Connie had quickly pulled out long swords from behind a severed tree. Coordinated at each other's sides, ready to attack.

Another rustle in the bushes and out came a pair of legs, stepping over the bear.

"Sorry for scaring you, guys." An extremely tall boy raised his hands in mock defeat.

Sasha gasped, "Bertolt?!" Her eyes flitted down to the bear. To which now she realised was very much dead.

Jean placed both his, Sasha and Connie's swords behind the stump and ushered you from behind the tree.

Bertolt and another person had carried the bear to the middle of the camp. She had long dark hair in a ponytail and looked strangely absent from the whole situation.

Two others followed from behind carrying firewood. But a headache had blossomed shortly after your adrenaline had simmered, so you sat down.

These other people seemed to be the rest of the squad Jean was talking about. It seemed like they had killed the bear for food.

Its dead, glassy eyes peering holes into your own. You ceased eye contact and settled on finding out who these new people were.

"Oh yeah, Eren, she woke up," Connie said nonchalantly whilst placing new firewood to rekindle its might. But to Eren, this seemed to be the most astonishing news ever.

Like you hadn't had enough, he rushed over to your resting place and took your hands in his own.

Almost immediately, pain bloomed in the back of your head. Your ears rang loudly and you tried to blink away a steady stream of tears wetting your cheeks. Your stomach turned.

"H-how are you feeling?" Eren asked, concerned. But it only came through muffled ears.

Oh.

"A-alright, just a bit of a headache."

There was an awkward pause when Eren was simply focused on scanning your face.

When the pain subsided, the world felt slightly clearer. Only slightly.

Armin came up from behind Eren. "Uh, Eren. I'm pretty sure she should rest." He nodded, moved back on his heels and stood up.

"Y-yeah, sorry. I'm just glad, that's all." He walked over to the campfire to help Connie fry some leftover meat.

Armin. Looked over to you and smiled, but you were too disgruntled to smile back.

The dark-haired girl was busy gutting the bear with Jean. But her gaze had flicked over to you with a note of blankness behind her eyes. You only looked back, stupefied

Mikasa.

.

Attack on Titan?

.

Oh god...

.

.

.

[hervey-gervey-chip]

DIY AGE-OF-SAIL INSPIRED FOULIES

part IV: the test

y’all i fucking did it!i’m making an update! first off, let’s go through the weather of the day. it was cloudy with a light but consistent drizzle, slightly chilly, and it had rained enough by the time i was climbing around that the rig was thoroughly wet. (said rig is pictured below with the day’s conditions)

initial reaction when putting them on:

relatively stiff! very similar level of stiffness to my other pair of bibs that I have from 2020; they are just the most basic west marine ones you can buy.

it was sprinkling a bit outside already, and water was beading nicely on the cloth

the ass reinforcement i did began slightly lower than i would have liked, but i guess that’s what you get when you don’t measure anything on your actual physical form before you start sewing lol

i wore them over top of my denim work pants and i didn’t feel congested in there at all

sail prep:

the harness cinched over them just fine and they were super easy to climb in!

we reefed tops’ls and i went out to the yardarm to do the earring lashing, and therefore had full body contact with a wet yard and sail for the duration of the lashing (diagram below), and then stood on the footropes regular-style for a bit to finish up reef nettles. i got back to deck and was not a bit damper than i was before i went aloft. *though everything i was wearing was just ~ambiently damp~ just because that’s how humidity works. if you’ve ever put on an item of clothing that’s been living in under-bunk storage for a month, that’s what the vibe was.

water was no longer beading, but rather a thin film of wet on the top layer of fibers.

sail time!

plenty of time on a knee or sitting on wet hatches i think is what did it. i was still fairly dry; however, by the end of the day i felt a little wetness seeping through at the knees, and more on the butt. that said, the reinforcement was /just/ high enough to cover the part that made contact when sitting.

overall, they fared about as well as those westmarine bibs do currently: definitely works, but not the ideal for a downpour or long watches in the rain.

what i learned:

i’m definitely doing this again and maybe my shipmates and i will have a oilskin-making party, though next time i will be changing the recipe

when i got back to the shop that monday, i found my sample piece of fabric that i put raw tung oil on to see how it cured by itself. it was surprisingly malleable and didn’t crack when i bent it around a bit. i had been pondering using just a quarter of the wax in the next mix just to keep it a bit more flexible so the paint and oil won’t crack as the bibs are exposed to the elements. now that i know what i do, i may even reduce the wax to a few heaping tablespoons just so that whatever wax i use to maintain them will stick better to the cloth. i think the issue here that caused the present pair to wet out was penetration (i’m so sorry i couldn’t think of a better word).

i also waxed the reinforcements after they were attached, and next time i’ll definitely oil the fabric separate from the bibs themselves for an extra layer of protection.

conclusion:

i’m honestly not disappointed and am, in fact, slightly impressed that my amateur soup-soaked overalls are comparable to the state of a (used) pair of mass-manufactured foul weather bibs.

[buckera]

I think your takes about 9-1–1 have been very nuanced and speak to your love for the show so I while I might have some differences in opinion, I really look forward to your thoughts and thank you for sharing with us your joy and passion.

I have really grown to love all the characters and their stories throughout the years. I have no idea where the plot is going but I have thoroughly enjoyed seeing how much love people have for this show, the characters and the cast.

I know it can be really messy at times but I’m excited for where the show is going.

I was curious about your thoughts on how the show handles growth and flaws because I really like how complex each of the characters are and that’s one of the main selling points for me to continue watching so I would love to hear what you think :)

also if you have any recommendations for other shows to watch I would love to hear those as well :)

okay, first of all you are so so kind, it made my chin wobble a little bit 🥹

and I love your attitude, because yeah, we don't have to have the same opinions on anything, especially not in fandom, but you know, having fun and throwing stuff at the wall without trying to spit into each other's soup? that's what it's all about.

I'm gonna cut this in half because I went into ramble mode oops

when it comes to growth and being flawed. GOD YES. this is the reason I love this show, possibly more than I have ever loved any other.

for one, it doesn't tone it down, it doesn't leave a grey area of "was that really abuse?" "was that really neglect?" "was that invasive?" "was that really cheating?" because it was. the mistake and the flaw is always clear from the get go.

Hen cheating on Karen, Chimney lying to Tatiana, Maddie stalking that woman, Buck cheating on Taylor, Bobby being an addict, Athena killing people, Eddie enlisting, Shannon leaving to care for her mother, the Buckley parents lying to Buck and neglecting their children. all of that and more.

I was kind of surprised when I first started watching it that we had people cheating and leaving their children and killing people. that was just not the general vibe I was expecting after coming into it, thinking it'd be just some dramedy type firefighter procedural lmao

instead, I was hit with all the main characters lying, cheating, abusing their positions, being addicts and so on and then we got to see them for who they all were beyond that; heroes, people who risk their lives every day to help others.

the way the show portrays characters in such a human way, instead of saying "this character is bad" or "this character is good"; they are all just people trying their best and often times failing miserably.

I don't wanna make this too long, but the theme of cheating and parents abandoning their children (either physically or emotionally) is very rampant on the show — and so is forgivness. so far no character has cheated without being caught out for it and also being forgiven, and no parent has lost the right for redemption.

sure, I am less than pleased about Chim's dad and the Buckley parents... but if their kids are willing to let them be part of their lives and allow them room to grow and repent? then that's actually part of their growth as well.

Eddie and Shannon and Maddie, they have all left their kids out of fear of doing wrong by them or out of duty for another family member in Shannon's case; they all came back and worked hard every day to be the parents their kids deserved.

this is not something you see on other TV shows. if a parent leaves and comes back, there is a flare up of emotions and then a reconciliation in the same episode and then we move on, not to mention these are usually all adult children of the parents and there is no significant other in the picture complicating things further.

my point is; they are all so, so messy and flawed and they are all trying to do better (most of them anyway) and this is the human condition and it gets rough and ugly sometimes, but I think this show captures that better than any other, while also giving us the whole spectrum of emotions.

and while they all get a chance (or more) to better themselves and earn forgivness from the people they hurt; we see the hurt live on. Karen is still insecure about Hen cheating years ago, Bobby still struggles not to have a drink to this day, Eddie forgave Shannon the best he could but he never got closure and he never learned to trust that he's enough and Amir doesn't want revenge, but can't quite forgive Bobby either. the hurt never goes away no matter what and the work on themselves continues.

I could really go on forever, so I'm just gonna stop here lmao

on recommendations though; I don't watch too many new things cuz I either get sucked in or totally bored BUT following the theme of being flawed and growing, my absolute main recommendations would be Scrubs and Daredevil the netflix series (though mind you, neither of these have an active fandom atm)

and then if you like that sort of thing It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia; but that one is about flawed people who will never get better and are doomed to be trash and toxic and codependent for the rest of their lives — and it covers some real problematic topics, not always in the best way though (that being said, the actors/writers are pretty socially sensitive and everything problematic is in there because it is problematic)

thank you for this ask, it made my day, truly 💛✨

[archandshri]

23rd Feb '24 - [arch] OH RISO my beloved!!!!!! ft. cyberpunk hermitcraft soup group

A cliffhanger!!!! And now I have to wait a month for you to upload the second half?? How will I cope :’’0

For real, it’s so awesome to see your process and the sheer amount of inspiration you take! In particular, I thought ‘Sit on Two Chairs’ and ‘This Was Our Pact’ were particularly yummy. 

I think book covers are really hard. You have to sum up a book’s energy in one image, make it stand out and show just enough so people want more. Exploring the narrative through those full pages is really interesting - though this is something you did for fun, it could be a really useful technique for getting to know a narrative. When I’m designing my comic covers, I always do it last - that way I’ve had practice with the visual style and I’m thoroughly familiar with the themes, so I guess spending a bit of time with the characters and narrative in this way helps for standalone book covers too. Of course, it helps if you have the time for that XD

Okay!! Onto what I've been up to!!! [warning this is a beefy post I'm sorry for your poor reading brain]

The past two weeks have been really enjoyable! I’ve been playing a lot with slow world-building, in sketchbooks, google documents, and voice notes to friends. Letting myself really sit with concepts, think about the characters, let them play in my head with no expectations. With this relaxation and lack of pressure, some beautiful narratives and interactions have been developing. I’m starting to need a name for a world/ the story. I’m not quite ready to give them a full introduction to the internet - I know it doesn’t but it feels like there’s some accountability to *produce something* and this slow development is really important for the quality and my skill building. It’s really hard to take on, but we actually don’t have to make the perfect thing now! In fact, it’s impossible. Pressure on ourselves makes it so hard to make something good if we’re always grasping at the final result.  In the meantime, while those characters develop, I have been working hard on my basic skills. I wrote about characterization last post, but this week I focused on setting and colour. I was inspired (once again) by Hermitcraft. I’ve seen some really incredible illustrations of Minecraft builds in the fandom, and it seems like a great exercise.

Bdouble0's Season 10 Base illustrated by @applestruda [source] and The Red Zone, built and illustrated by Bdouble0 [source]

One of the creators on Hermitcraft, ImpulseSV, created this build in a recent episode. It takes inspiration from the last season of Hermitcraft, where he was part of the ‘soup group’ with two other players, and his current base concept - a cyberpunk city.  I also LOVE his new character design, so I wanted to place him in the scene.

Screenshot from Impulse's video and new impulse design by @maxx-doodles

Here are some initial thumbnails I did, trying to figure out the composition. I wasn’t sure of the vibe yet, so I tried some rough thumbnailing, and drawing on an isometric grid and other perspective techniques. I’m going a bit mad for characters at the mo, so I wanted to place some in the scene. I found the angle of the isometric grid steep to place characters comfortably, so decided against that.

Looking back at it, I love the second! But I believe I was struggling with the perspective. I decided on the last one eventually.

Now, I absolutely adore all of the players in the Soup Group, and I am BIG fan of redesigning their notable characteristics to suit different settings. So yes, I decided to put all of the soup group in the image.

PearlescentMoon (left) from my comic and GeminiTay's Hermitcraft Season 10 design [from this thumbnail] (right)

Here's the sketch of the final image. I really enjoyed coming up with cyberpunk versions of them all. I used the impulse design almost exactly, with a few extra interesting details since he's mostly viewed from the back. For PearlescentMoon (middle) I kept her fringe, dark hair and gave her a glowing moon symbol on her top. For GeminiTay, I kept her long ginger hair, antlers (but glowing!) and took inspiration from her new season 10 design - a dark blue jumpsuit to match her dark blue clothes in her new design, and the braids she is often drawn with. I also gave them edgy new hairstyles. And a robot arm. I don't have lore for that.

As usual, I filled each flat colour-to-be with black and lowered the opacity to play with the values. Then I added colours one at a time, aware might be riso printing it. Originally I stuck to trying to make it printable (making the colours out of ones I could make my layering 2-3 colours at different opacities), but as I went on, I decided to drop that and focus on the quality of the image in a digital format alone. I did keep the grayscale version above with all the separate layers in case I needed that if/when I came to riso printing it. Below are the main two digital colour schemes I tried out.

I settled on the one on the left, with the blue tones - the foreground characters really pop. I put a few details in Gem's hair, colour variations etc, and cropped it for Instagram. I actually much prefer the cropped version - it sits better in a rule of thirds.

Now the moment we've all been waiting for :'')

RISO!!!!!!!!!!!

I returned to Cardiff after a couple of months away and was delighted to spend my first day back at The Printhaus, an awesome shared print studio where I have basically made my home. A few of my awesome friends happened to be there, so I spent the day playing around with this image with their help! (please check them out they're very cool - Gavin helped me a lot (we hung out at Thought Bubble, remember? and Rhi gave good crits too!!)

For those who don't know, risograph is basically a shitty photocopier that can only print one colour at a time. However, you can play with gradients and opacities, and layer colours really nicely to combine. I've done a lot of single-colour tonal work with riso but this is my first go really layering.

First, Gavin showed me how to separate the channels in Photoshop, using the flat image uploaded to the 'gram. We copied and pasted these layers in grayscale and added blending modes to each layer to replicate what they might look like when printed.

With blending modes, the digital mockup looked like this!!

This bit goes into technical details for replicating what the print might look like for those who might want it - feel free to skip :)))

I copied and pasted the Cyan, Black and Magenta layers as greyscale (as you can see above)

I made all of the greyscale layers multiply layers since risograph ink is transparent and we wanted to see how it layers. The ink usually comes out a bit lighter than you think, so it's good to bear that in mind. I used a clipping mask over each greyscale layer and a blending mode. WHEN YOU PRINT, PRINT IN GREYSCALE, NOT COLOUR.

Here's how I split the colours from CMYK to the riso colours, their hex codes and the blending mode I used to replicate the colours:

Cyan - Mint [HEX#82D8D5] Screen Magenta - Fluorescent Pink [HEX#FF48B0] Screen Black - Blue [HEX#0078BF] Overlay Yellow - scrapped for colour scheme purposes

Blue, Mint and Florencent Pink layers in greyscale in Procreate.

Riso printed Mint and Florescent Pink layers on separate paper, followed by the two layered together.

We always start with the lighter colour inks first, because sometimes the rollers can pick up the ink and cause extra marks where you don't want them. The first two colours came out great!

The first time we printed the blue, it came out very dark (left, first image). I have had this issue before - my last book, Winter Wellbeing, came out much darker than I wanted. Now I realise that the blue ink is super sensitive. All the 'white space' that is covered by a low-opacity blue on the left is only 2%, and yet it has come out pretty strong. We tried printing it on one of the misaligned images just to see, but it took all of the brightness out of the neon soup sign at the top of the image (second image). So I changed the values and pushed them way lighter, so it just pushed the values of the darker bits slightly, and brightened some of the lineart (right, first image)

And this is the final riso printed version!! I'm so so happy with how this came out. It's so different from the original digital version, and I actually love that.

I didn't create new colours in the way that I intended to - I wanted to play with overlaying purposefully to create specific colours eg. orange for the hair etc. But!!! I'm really happy with how it came out. That will have to be a project for next time.

Also, many copies are slightly misaligned, so in future I think I'd do flat layers for the colours a more blobby style with the linework on one layer only so there's less of a chance for obvious misalignment. design for the riso, rather than riso the design.

Overall though, this feels like a super cool step up and a milestone for me. Super happy with how it came out!! And I'm excited to play with colour some more. Can't wait to see the rest of the Lionheart brothers! Enjoy your weekend :)))

Archie 🕺🕺🕺🕺🕺🕺🕺🕺🕺🕺🕺🕺 <3

[macfrog]

Hello I’m back for the ask game 💖👀

(I’m also a shy person, so this is my way of getting to know you….until I grow actual balls and do it for real👀👀👀)

Anyway : 5, 14, 25, 27

💖💖💖

shy people rule the world ‼️ i am gonna send you a dm first thing tomorrow mina, we are about to become besties.

5. what made you start your blog?

just putting my love of writing hand in hand with my love for joel miller, honestly. i used to have a writing blog years ago and it brought me so much joy, so i thought it’d be fun to play again.

14. what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

skydiving! omg so so SO badly. i know i would fucking love it — but i also know i would not be able to leave that plane. really grinds my gears! i’ll work myself up to it.

25. fave season and why?

god i can’t even tell you how much of an autumn kid i am. the trees are all rusted and everything is dark and gloomy. sweater season scarf season soup season. having someone cup my hands and breathe hot air over them. hot chocolate and blankets and reading in front of the fire. all i do is listen to rosyln in my car and weep. HALLOWEEN oh my god halloween. scary movies and flickering candles and motherfucking TWILIGHT i can hear the whoa whoa whoaaas over the horizon it’s COMING, PEOPLE

27. any nicknames?

i am always thoroughly impressed by how creative people get when deciding which nickname to christen me with. the two i hear/answer to the most are: my lovely mama calls me nel (HEY where have we heard that one!), and my best friend loves to just yell my surname at me like we’re in a college locker room.

[bluesidez]

8, 12, and 13 (soft questions)!

8. tag someone (or multiple people) who make you feel good.

There's so many people! I'll try to keep it brief....

@slushycoookie - you're always listening to my yapping! which I greatly appreciate because sometimes, I feel like I'm blowing up your phone 😭

@miguelhugger2099 - EVIL TWIN, EVIL TWIN! AAAH! TWINNEM! your texts make me laugh a lot. and I think the word game we have going on rn is pretty funny

@monarchberrysblog - you're so sweet!!! you give me really sweet advice and bounce off great ideas! I always look forward to your texts! plus your blog is so cute!!!

@opaloharas - you're also oh so sweet!!! I love our bond of that one white man gif (😔) and when I can make you laugh! as leaders of the anti [REDACTED] brigade, we must remain strong and true.

@lazyjellyfish300 - your comments are so so nice and thoughtful! i always get excited when your on my tl!! (when tumblr isn't plotting against me and I can actually see your posts) I am also thoroughly enjoying your recent Nanami work!!!

I hope everyone here has a great day!!! (also I wanted to @ more people but either idk you guys' tumblr accounts or I was scared to blow up your phone. 😭 BUT KNOW THAT ILY TOO!!! MIGUEL SERVER MWAH MWAH MWAH! LEMON! SOUP! TAZ! CUPCAKE! ADQUI! MOMO! MAMA! BELLA! JIN! EVERYBODY!)

(ALSO NEW MOOTS!! I HOPE TO GET TO KNOW YOU GUYS SOME MORE SOON!! ESPECIALLY MY SIM MOOTS!!)

12. how are you?

I'm pretty good right now! Sort of feeling the freedom of the summer (not really, I have a job lol). I'm chilling before the fall semester smacks me in the face.

13. what's your comfort food?

This is such a booty answer boy Maruchan's Soy Sauce flavored noodles! (idk why it was under the racist name before...). It's the one in the blue package that for some reason they don't sell at my Walmart.

If not that....anything southern! Especially yams! My grandma's potato salad!

OH! French fried onion chicken tenders, mac & cheese, and green beans....specifically French cut. (the French are winning today ig girl)

THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTIONS ANONNIE!!! 🩵

[tammyhybrid21]

ALRIGHT!

Who wants some random/dumb headcanon thoughts on iterators?!

Also yes I do view the generations a bit in opposite solution to what MOST of what I’ve seen others do. Instead of each gen been dedicated more to the problem it got less central... which then leads to gen 3 iterators been the generation that took the loss of the ancients the worst.

“None of us miss them” the loss of half of their original purpose. Any wonder they have bad copes.

To be honest most of this is just going to be me noting stuff down for self-reference, but hey-- you folks can take this information for your own use as well. Also notice, this isn’t the specific order I drew things in and you can get the vibes as it goes how I got more solid view over the course of doodling.

But the generations and their purpose, no. These are pretty set in my head.

Bunching these thoughts together, mostly because they’re all on the same/similar topics. Time to talk about the puppets. Because they are what we see the most in the game. Also yes, I am outing myself as an “Off the String is Possible” believer. But I also will thoroughly admit I am a lover of the Iterators are hiveminds headcanon as well... although I view it more like it’s a whole symbiotic ecosystem...

Anycase, notes that didn’t quite make it into any of these pictures because I didn’t know how to draw/explain like that-- the synthetic “skin” of an iterator is either very, very short grass or a kind of moss/lichen covering. The colour variation is kind of random as a result and yes this does mean theoretically an iterator could change colours if ever they felt the need to.

The internal “flesh” parts of an iterator are I imagine similar in consistency to mushroom fibre/flesh. Squishy... Yet still firm enough to keep its shape beneath the jelly like membrane that carries coolant/blood throughout.

I have more thoughts on puppets and eating but drew it more like as a joke page.

These are all possible because an iterator puppet’s moss/grass skin is basically able to absorb what’s around it at any time. Well, as long as it’s willed. So iterators got options from the traditional “smoosh” food into your face to just having the “soup backpack”...

Sunshine is also “yummy”... but I do sidenote that it’s not as effective as a source of power/energy and more like a quick pick me up, the equivalent of eating a single banana and calling it your entire meal for the day.

Also an iterators stomach/filtration system internally is actually biological as well, but that didn’t exactly get drawn here. Mostly because how does that translate to pictures, I’m not good at this stuff.

Side note, don’t know if you folks looked at the page, but with the intake pipe, imagine if that were a map in Rain World... you just saw this pipe sucking in water and hey that’s curious-- only whoops it’s your death, you are food.

Not pictured how the processing strata is the iterator structure equivalent of a mycorrhizal network. Seriously though how would you even draw that?

Anycase this is where the symbiotic hive mind side of things come into play. Without the puppet it’s not like the structure would just-- stop. It would just be a lot more mindless. Working away continuing to go about the same processes just without purpose. It’s an extension, extras on top. Neuron flies been one of the few exceptions but even they can be worked around it’s just... very much a loss.

Also yes this is my headcanon reason why Pebbles is still barely conscious in Saint’s timeline. He’s just also half frozen and plants do not cold well. Or actually they do incredibly well in cold it’s just, he’s half in dormancy.

I should have spoken more about the mechanics of the structure and all, but honestly... It’s all the signals sent out.

Also void stuff... I don’t know if I’ll return on any of these things but eyo...

[cuddlepilefics]

SKZ Season Greetings - 12

Why so mean?

Jeongin’s chills had finally subsided when he climbed out of the tub and he felt more alive now that he had freshened up. As promised, Hyunjin sat on his bed, a steaming pot of tea on the nightstand as well as some fruit. “So, how do you feel now”, the dancer smiled, looking up from his phone. Rolling his shoulders, Jeongin stretched and smiled: “More like myself, finally. Think the steam helped a good deal. ‘m still coughing a lot but it doesn’t hurt as much and it doesn’t feel so stuck anymore.” – “That’s good”, Hyunjin hummed with a smile, “What do you want to watch?”

Jisung sniffled pitifully when Felix returned with two bowls of soup. He didn’t have an appetite but the promise of medicine was enough to convince him to eat at least a little, besides, Felix had gone out of his way to get him something, so it didn’t feel right to refuse. “You look awful, y’know”, Felix hummed hoarsely as he handed the rapper his soup. Lightly blowing over the steamy bowl, Jisung rasped: “Feel it too but it doesn’t make any sense. I woke up fine, so I shouldn’t feel like this again.” - “Hm, you said your fever was gone this morning”, the Aussie muttered, “Was there anything you did that might’ve brought it back? Like, I don’t know, did you take a hot shower or anything of that sort?” Pathetically shaking his head, Jisung eventually breathed: “Changbin-hyung’s laptop was set up on the dining table, so I continued working on some songs. That wasn’t physically straining at all though. Only the screen made my head hurt.” – “You weren’t supposed to work”, Felix frowned, “You were supposed to be resting.” – “But I was fine”, the rapper argued. “You aren’t fine now”, Felix pointed out. Shrugging, Jisung noted: “I’m also not working now.”

The door opened with a soft creaking sound and Changbin hesitantly poked his head in to check on his dongsaengs. He had expected them to be asleep, so it was a little awkward when both curiously looked up from their meal. “Hey, just wanted to see how the two of you are doing”, Changbin hummed, stepping in fully before closing the door behind himself. Lowering his spoon, Felix hummed: “I’m okay, chest’s still really congested and my back aches but it’s bearable. Jiji here, was apparently fine this morning but insisted he had to work and is now faring quite a bit worse.” – “Gosh, you’re almost like Chan-hyung”, the older scolded, giving Jisung a stern look, “Baby bread told me that Chan fainted earlier when he tried to get himself a drink.” Seeing the horrified look on his dongsaengs’ faces, Changbin laughed lightly and added: “He’s okay though. Minho scolded him thoroughly for the scare he has given him and is now cuddling him to make sure he won’t get up unsupervised again.”

“You sound like you’re feeling better”, Felix remarked as Changbin turned to leave again. Nodding, the older smiled: “I actually am. My fever went down and although it’s not entirely gone, I feel more like myself. Took Innie’s advice and showered, so yeah, I’m feeling a lot better and so is baby bread. If the two of us are already over the worst of it, the rest of you should be improving soon too, so just hang in there. Text me if you need anything.” With that, Changbin headed back to the living room and smiled when he saw Seungmin shuffling out of his room. “Hey, how was your nap? Think we’ll have to rewatch the drama with how much you missed”, the rapper chuckled, opening his arms for his dongsaeng. Resting his forehead on his hyung’s shoulder, Seungmin sniffled: “I feel even more exhausted now and my throat hurts. Well, it doesn’t hurt significantly worse than the rest of my body but it’s the most annoying.” Fighting a giggle because while a whiny Seungmin was adorable, he was just as dangerous, Changbin walked the vocalist to the kitchen and started preparing some tea.

“Why you gotta be all touchy-touchy?”, Jeongin complained, picking up his pace, rushing to the living room and throwing himself on the couch. Hyunjin rested his hand on his chest in offense and rasped: “ You wanted my cuddles these past few days and now that I need them, you push me away.” – “Sounds like Innie is feeling better”, Seungmin chuckled, lowering his cup. Changbin and him had overheard their friends’ bickering and were highly entertained, if only Hyunjin wasn’t still running a fever, getting emotional quickly. The dancer looked about ready to cry at the rejection when Changbin and Seungmin joined them in the living room, so Seungmin whispered: “Come here, hyung. I’ll give you cuddles. ‘m a little chilled anyway, so lets share some warmth.” – “See that?”, Hyunjin pouted at Jeongin, “I got a new favorite dongsaeng now.” He stuck his tongue out at the maknae, making the others laugh.

“We all know that Felix is your favorite dongsaeng but I’m glad you’re getting some affection, so you can stop bothering me”, Jeongin reminded as he got comfortable. Burying his face in Seungmin’s shirt, Hyunjin whined, “Why you gotta be so mean to me? I’m sick, you gotta be nice. Especially because you were the one who got me sick.” – “Oh, right. I remember it now. I kicked you out and forced you to build a snowman with Felix. Right, I’m sorry”, the youngest hummed ironically but got back up. Though he was already on his way to the kitchen, he could still hear Hyunjin’s offended whine and Changbin and Seungmin’s laughter.

When Jeongin returned to the living room, he set down two steaming cups of tea. Hyunjin still had his face hidden but Seungmin returned his dongsaeng’s smile when the youngest teased: “Here, I’m nice. Got the both of you tea with lots of honey, so while I doubt you’ll stop whining anytime soon, it hopefully won’t sound as pathetic anymore, Hyunjin-hyung.” – “Binnie-hyung, baby bread is being mean to me”, Hyunjin complained but sat up to have some tea. Defensively raising his hands, Changbin chuckled: “What am I supposed to do about that? Since when does the maknae on top listen to me? Just kidding, you’re a good boy, Innie.” The dancer’s jaw dropped, while a wide smile spread on Jeongin’s face. Seungmin held back a laugh, glad that his only dongsaeng was finally well enough for their usual bickering again.

Since they were slowly growing tired of only soup and rice for meals, Changbin and Jeongin teamed up to cook for the group. “Try to wait with teasing Jinnie for another couple of days”, the rapper advised softly, when he was sure the others wouldn’t hear him, “He’s still feverish and emotional, so you can’t predict how he might take your words. Wouldn’t want him to get overly hurt and upset about something you intended as a joke.” Jeongin hummed in agreement, suddenly feeling guilty. Heading back to the living room. The maknae surprised Hyunjin with a tight hug and muttered: “’m sorry, I got you sick and sorry for not returning the favor of cuddles but I hate skinship and it’s nothing personal.” It had come out in such a rush that for a moment, Hyunjin only blinked in confusion before the words started to make sense to him. “It’s okay”, the dancer rasped with a faint smile, “Just glad, you’re acting more like yourself again. You had us worried.”

“Group hangout?”, Felix wondered as he guided Jisung to one of the bean bags. The rapper groaned as he dizzily collapsed onto the bean bag. The medicine he had taken a couple of minutes ago wasn’t working yet and the short walk had left him winded. Felix too needed a moment to catch his breath and crouched next to his twin, gently messing with the other’s hair as he whispered: “You okay? Want me to get you some water?” Giving a pitiful sniffle, Jisung shook his head. He’d be fine, just needed a moment for the dark spots to disappear. Changbin had overheard them and brought the younger a glass of water anyway. “Where are Chan and Minho?”, Felix asked confused when he realized that the entire group was gathered except for their two eldest. Growing more serious, Jeongin hummed: “They should be in Minho-hyung’s room. Chan-hyung fainted earlier, so when he came to again, we had him lay down there. He was really upset, insisting that it was his job to take care of the rest of us, and he beat himself up over needing help.”

Felix lips formed a small pout and he mumbled: “Sorry, but I gotta go. Take good care of Hannie for me.” – “No, I was s’posed to look after you”, Jisung whined when the other hurried off to Minho’s room. “I think you should look after Hyunjin-hyung”, Jeongin advised carefully, “Bet he needs it most right now.” That was how Hyunjin and Jisung ended up snuggling against each other, which Seungmin got the space to position his sore body in a way that wouldn’t hurt too much. Changbin tucked two blankets around the vocalist to ease his chills before him and Jeongin resumed their cooking.

“Hyung?”, Felix whispered from the hallway, earning a tired hum from Minho, “How are you two? Innie said Chan fainted.” – “We’re okay”, the older breathed, “Yeah, he did but he’s sleeping now. How’s your back? If you aren’t as restless as before, you’re welcome to join us for some cuddles.” Felix could hear the implication. He’d be welcome as long as his squirming wouldn’t risk waking Chan. Crawling onto Minho’s legs, and curling up on his lap, the younger mumbled: “My back’s better. Just had another dose of painkillers, so it should be alright for a few hours.” – “That’s good to hear”, Minho smiled, stroking his dongsaeng’s hair, “You had me worried. Comfy?” Felix nodded and closed his eyes, eager to be indulged with headpats.

[lemurzsquad]

I am collecting recipes, do you have one you would like to share? Something that comforts you, be it a drink or a snack...

I had to think about this a lot! Some of my favorite comfort foods are things I don't know how to make, but there is one thing I haven't made in a while that I enjoy, which is piirakka with egg butter!! I don't even like eggs and the butter still completes it. It's a sort of pastry with the outside made of a rye dough and a milk rice filling

I learned how to make it from my Finnish grandmother, but here's a recipe I found online that looks pretty similar to how we made it

I hope you enjoy!! Let me know how it turns out if you ever make it!

(You can always reheat it by putting it in the toaster for a little while)

(I also didn't check the recipe too thoroughly, so there are probably better ones out there if this one isn't detailed or accurate enough)