#threadbear

[houki703]

[elb0wn00dle]

drawings i did while a little tipsy at a dnd meeting

i tried to draw kiva and wataru from memory didnt really go that well also my ponysona is there

[grizzlyofthesea]

I did it.

I'm thinking about inking and coloring them, too.

[osalotte]

Biological Sleep Aide! (Laios x reader)

aka the sub virgin laios blowjob fic that i have spent an atrocious amount of time on...

MINORS DNI

WC: 5.9k

CONTENTS: NSFW, laios being a d1 yapper, blowjobs, sub laios, inexperienced + virgin laios, a few moments of insecure laios, CANON COMPLIANT SOFT TUMMY LAIOS!!!, party member readr with an unspecified class, gn reader with experience, reader's genitalia not described, soft dom reader, sex with so so many feelings, soft intimacy, pining, lots of setup/plot, gratuitous foreplay, nipple play, visceral imagery of giving head, explicit consent, laios is so down bad it’s embarrassing, semi-ambiguous ending

if this gets enough attention i'll publish a sequel <3

You weren’t quite sure what woke you up; perhaps a sound from down the hall, or a change in the temperature of the air, or Senshi’s foghorn snoring. Either way, you fluttered your eyes awake, blinking at the crumbling gray stone of the dungeon’s ceiling.

You pulled yourself up from your bedroll, sighing but being careful to not make any noise. You let your eyes adjust to the low light and the faint glow of the magic fire Marcille had set up before you went to bed. Internally, you did a head count, and it seemed that everyone was deep in slumber. Senshi, Marcille, Chilchuck….

Your breath caught, eyes stopping at the sight of Laois’ empty bedroll. It was mussed, so he had definitely settled in earlier, but the man himself was nowhere in sight.

You cocked your head, leaning against your hand in thought. Should you be worried? No, he was probably just gone to use the bathroom. It’d be kind of weird if you walked in on him mid-piss. And if that did happen, you couldn’t decide whether Laios would be mortified beyond comprehension or concerningly underwhelmed.

The corners of your mouth quirked up as you thought about the group’s sweet—if not a bit odd—leader.

Okay. I’ll wait a few more minutes, and if he isn’t back, I’ll take a walk around, you decided. The last thing you’d want is to have Laios in some sort of trouble with no one to help out.

So, you sat there and waited, growing more awake by the minute. Still no Laios. 

After what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, you pulled yourself up from your bedroll and crept past your sleeping party members, careful to not disturb them. You peeked into a few of the empty rooms near where you’d set up camp—nothing. It wasn’t until you got to the cavern with the underground pond that you found him.

Laios’ back was to you, his form barely illuminated by the blue glow of the water. He was bereft of his heavy plated armor, clothed only in his threadbear linen sleepwear. You couldn’t see his face, but he was eerily still as he sat cross-legged on the edge of the pool, and you just knew he was staring into it with his mind a million miles away. For such a large man, when he was all curled up like that, he looked remarkably small.

“Couldn’t sleep, eh?”

He startled and whipped around at your words, but immediately relaxed upon seeing it was you. His eyes wandered back to the water, but he didn’t turn away from you. 

“Yeah. I guess you could say that,” he murmured.

You took a step forward. “Mind if I join you?”

“...Please.”

You eased yourself down to sit down right next to him as you now both faced the pond. Your eyes were on him, and his eyes were still on the water and far, far away. His irises were usually a pretty, soft honey yellow (which you definitely didn’t think about every time you made eye contact), but his pupils were blown wide with the low light, and the only color you could see was tinted turquoise by the underground pond’s light. 

You gently nudged his shoulder with your own, which seemed to pull him back to reality for a second. 

“How long have you been up?” You asked.

He tilted his head in thought. “Probably like… an hour? By now, at least.”

“An hour?” Your eyes widened and you shook your head. “Jeez, if Senshi finds out our fearless leader isn’t getting his proper rest, you’ll be the next meal.”

Laios snorted and cracked a smile, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

You leaned in even further to him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Promise.”

“Thanks.”

You sat there like that for a moment, in comfortable silence before you spoke up again: “What’s on your mind?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. A lot of stuff, I guess. Falin, mostly. But then there’s, y’know, everything else, what we’re gonna do moving forward….” He shook his head and curled in on himself. “I want to lead us to success, but sometimes it’s just…”

“A lot?” You finished his sentence where he trailed off, and he nodded. 

“Yeah. Pretty much.” 

“Well,” you leaned back, “I, for one, think you’re doing a wonderful job. We didn’t exactly get dealt a winning hand. You’re doing great with what you have.”

He seemed to genuinely smile at your words, and his eyes went soft. “Thanks. That…. Really does mean a lot. Coming from you, especially.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “Any fool could cast a few spells and throw a few knives. I’m nothing special.”

“That’s not true!” He blurted out. He seemed surprised by his own outburst, and reeled himself back in. “I mean, you’re, like, super cool. And powerful! You have all of these different skills combined into one, like… Like a basilisk! But, like, a nice one that doesn’t try to kill us.”

You snorted. “Wow, and here I thought I was at least manticore level.”

“That too! Really, any chimera-type monster could apply…,” he began rambling on about the different types of chimeras and how they mix their various abilities together, and you just sat and listened, smiling softly. After he had winded himself from his monster-talk, the two of you fell back into a comfortable silence.

“Feeling sleepy yet?” You asked.

Laios shrugged, laying his chin on his hands. “No more than I was an hour ago.”

You chewed your bottom lip, furrowing your brows in thought. Should you say this? “Well…,” you started. “Y’know what always helps me get to sleep after a stressful day?”

He perked up, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “What?”

“An orgasm.”

Laios blinked at you. Once. Twice. Then his face went beet red and he whipped his head around to avoid eye contact with you, choking on air. You barked out a laugh.

“What? I’m being serious,” you continued between giggles. “Orgasms are clinically proven to help you sleep better.”

You couldn’t see his face from him being turned away, but the tips of his ears were bright red. “Well, yeah, I guess that makes sense, but…”

“C’mon,” you crooned. “We’re both adults here, Laios. There’s no shame. Be honest, when was the last time you masturbated?”

He thought for a moment, scratching his head. He still wouldn’t look at you. “Um… Probably back I was on the surface…?”

“A whole week ago?” 

“No, before that,” he corrected. “The trip from three- no, four weeks ago. Or was it before that….”

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head. “Over a month?”

He shrugged sheepishly. At this point, he had at least turned back around to face you, but he still had trouble meeting your gaze. “Well, with everything going on I’ve been pretty busy. Any time I get a break, I’m just so tired or hungry it doesn’t even cross my mind. And it’s not like I can sneak away or anything.”

“You haven’t even tried?” You pressed. He shook his head. “Wow. You must be pretty pent up, then.”

He simply shrugged again, fidgeting with a pebble he’d picked up somewhere and looking anywhere but you. “I-I mean, it’s not really a big deal…”

“Y’know, masturbation is a form of self care,” you said. “It’s healthy. Helps maintain your hormones, bodily functions, and releases stress. For someone so big on keeping your body healthy, I’m surprised you’ve gone this long.”

“I guess,” he mumbled. He risked a glance at you before quickly dropping his eyes to his hands once more. “It’s…. actually pretty cool how knowledgeable you are about all of this.”

“Oh, trust me, I know my stuff.” You shot him a wink, and you could’ve sworn you heard him gulp. Before you could stop yourself, the words came out; “I could help you if you’d like.”

He froze, looking at you with wide, unblinking eyes. “...Huh?”

Welp, in for a penny, in for a pound. “You know, like, give you a hand,” you explained. “Or mouth. Whichever you’d prefer, really.”

He took a moment to process your words, but when he did, he went back to blushing cherry red. “Y-you mean, like….”

“Give you an orgasm,” you said. “I mean, only if you’d want to. If you don’t, just say the word, and we can forget I even asked.” 

You paused, waiting for him to follow up with a “no,” but he just sat in silence, eyes trained on the pond and ears practically steaming.

“Or,” you continued carefully, “you could say yes, in which case I’d be happy to help. More than, even.”

“Really?” He asked, and you nodded. 

“Once again, it’s all up to you,” you reassured. “Just thought I’d offer.”

Finally, he looked you in the eye, almost like he was searching for something. “Why?”

You opened your mouth to answer, then closed it again. Why were you offering?

“It’s like a favor from a friend,” you decided. “You need to get to sleep, I want to take your pants off… A win-win, really.”

He buried his face in his hands, shrinking in on himself like a hermit crab into its shell. He mumbled something, but you couldn’t understand it, so you asked him to repeat himself.

“....Y-yeah. I, um, want to,” he squeaked. “I-I mean, if you want to-”

“I literally just offered.”

He swallowed. “Right. Um. Yes.” He looked around the room, still determined to not make eye contact with you. It was silent for a moment. “Uh...How should we…?”

“Go into a different room, probably,” you said, standing up. “This one’s pretty echoey. A little too conspicuous.”

He stood up as well, and you could’ve sworn you saw a tremor in his legs. “Oh. Yeah. Probably.”

You tilted your head towards the door. “Here, come with me.”

You took him to one of the side rooms you’d poked in earlier. No windows, one door that locks…. Perfect. You took his hand, gently tugging him into the room and closing the door behind you. You muttered a quick incantation under your breath, and a few dimly glowing orbs of light appeared above you. Not enough to light up the room, but enough so that you could at least see your hand in front of your face.

Laios fidgeted where he stood. “Where should I….?”

“You could sit on that chest over there. Wait, actually I’d prefer you on the ground,”  you said. “Better for my knees. Too bad we don’t have pillows… But, you could probably lean against those burlap sacks in that corner there. ”

He nodded excitedly, but didn’t move. You tilted your head at him. He seemed to realize himself, and hurriedly trotted over to sit in the corner with the burlap sacks. You followed eagerly on his trail, chuckling under your breath.

“Sorry,” he fumbled, clearly trembling as he sat himself down. “I’ve, uh, never done this before.”

You snorted, sitting down in front of him. “What, never gotten a blowjob in a dungeon? I hear it’s all the rage these days.”

He offered a wobbly smile and a chuckle. “No, like, um… I haven’t done…” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, trailing off.

You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?”

“Like, anything like this.”

You blinked at him, confused by his words, but then froze as it clicked in your head.

“You’re a virgin?” You blurted out, much louder than you intended to and you smacked your hands over your mouth. Laios looked like a deer in headlights, unsure if he should be mortified or not. You quickly recovered. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it. Um, how old are you, again?”

“26,” he said. He tilted his head at you like a puppy, eyes big and innocent. “Why? Is that weird?”

“No, no, of course not,” you reassured. “Just, um… Do you still want to do this? You can back out. I won’t be offended.”

“I-I want to.” He sat up straight and responded so quickly he almost tripped on his words. “I do. If you’re still okay with it.”

You took a deep breath before giving him a soft smile. “Yes. I definitely am.”

“Oh, that’s good… I didn’t want it to be weird if- oomf!” You pushed him against the burlap sacks, caging him in with your body as you moved to straddle his lap. Your face got very close to his face very fast and Laios was not expecting it. Then again, he certainly wasn’t complaining. He looked up at you, eyes wide and cheeks red. 

“You ever kissed anyone before?” You asked, sultry voice just above a murmur, searching in his eyes. 

“Uh… Y-yeah,” he said. He kept making eye contact, then looking away. “Only, like, twice, though.”

Oh, so we were really starting from scratch, you thought to yourself, saying nothing. You saw him grow a little anxious at your lack of immediate response and quickly followed up, “That’s alright. I was just curious.”

“Y-yeah, it was like-” your hands slithered up his neck to tenderly cup his jaw, “-two years ago, or something-” you leaned in, lips just inches away from his, “-and, um….”

He trailed off with a shaky exhale of air that you felt against your lips, and you took that as your cue to go in.

You kissed him, and he immediately froze up, not knowing what to do. When your lips started moving, he was clumsy, painfully out of sync. He really hadn’t done this before. After a few seconds of testing the waters, you pulled away, but not too far. He leaned his head in a bit, as if trying to follow you.

He blinked slowly, eyes so blown out that his iris was little more than a thin ring around black pupils. “What are you doing…?”

“Kissing you,” you stated. “Y’know, like, foreplay.” He tilted his head and gave you a quizzical look, so you elaborated, “It’s kind of like a sex warm-up….? Y’know, to get you going so you don’t have to jump right in.”

“Oh. Yeah. I-I guess that makes sense….”

You grinned at him before diving in to steal another kiss. You made this one sensual, gratuitous, trying to guide his lips into a comfortable rhythm with yours. You felt his large body go slack against yours, melting into the kiss. You had one hand on the back of his head and the other on his big, warm chest, and it was painfully obvious he had no clue what to do with his arms.

“Here,” you giggled against his lips, and guided his hands to a comfortable spot. One on your side, just below your chest, and the other on your ass. “You can touch me.”

“O-okay,” he squeaked. 

You kissed him for a third time, this time with a little more fervor. You slipped your tongue in here and there, experimenting and seeing what he’d do with it. He gave your butt a tentative squeeze, and you grinned against his lips. With every movement, Laios seemed to loosen up; becoming more comfortable, even eager.

He pressed his mouth hard into you—a bit too hard, teeth clanking together—and you had to tug him back with your hands gripping tight at the hair on the back of his neck and he gasped. You didn’t let up, giving a few more soft kisses as an apology before pulling away once more.

“Wow,” he whispered, eyes half open and lips still parted, grinning in a stunned sort of bliss. “You’re really good at this.”

You shrugged. “Call it experience, I guess.”

“Mm….,” he hummed, only half-hearing your words. Laios’ eyes trailed down to your lips, beginning to lean in once more. You obliged and gave him a small peck on the lips before pulling away. He made a sound of confusion before you moved to the corner of his lips, then his cheek, then his jaw, then finally began kissing his neck.

“Oh. Oh wow,” he breathed shakily, big hands floating up to grip into your sides and hips as if to keep himself grounded. You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine his expression to be one of shocked, open-mouthed delight. 

You mouthed your way up to the spot below his ear, sucking what you hoped would end up to be dark purple hickeys the next morning. He tasted like sweat and skin and you relished in every bite.

“Hah….,” he moaned, more breath than actual voice, holding onto you for dear life. You nibbled at his earlobe and he tensed before a full-on shudder wracked his body. He instinctively pulled you in tight against him with his strong arms, like he wanted to be as close to you as physically possible. He was exceptionally sensitive—not necessarily surprising, given his inexperience, but either way it sent a little thrill of anticipation up your spine.

You’d been feeling his growing arousal under you, but at this point it was poking against your inner thigh from your position straddling him. You pressed into it slightly and he yelped, flinching into you.

“That’s-“ he gave a sharp inhale followed by a shaking moan as you bit down into the thick cord of muscle that leads to his shoulder, simultaneously grinding harder against the tent in his pants. He jolted in surprise, but it was followed closely by a shiver of pleasure as he squeezed his legs together. “-that feels—ngh—really good.”

You pulled away. He was panting fully now, just as hot and worked up as he got after an intense bout of combat. But unlike the heat of battle, this scene was softer, more gentle, malleable, intimate. He looked utterly blissed out, huffing and puffing with red cheeks and unfocused eyes, and you hadn’t taken off a single layer of clothing. You could see the twitching bulge in his pants, a small wet spot appearing at its peak. You fought back a grin. So excitable.

Your hands trailed along the collar of his linen shirt, fiddling with the strings. “Can we take this off?”

He blinked at you, taking a moment to process your words, but he snapped to attention once he realized what you meant.

“Oh- Oh! Um, yeah, of course. Let me just….” He reached up to untie his laces, and you scooted back on his legs to allow him room to pull his shirt up and over his head, leaving his upper half completely bare. 

You’d already had a pretty good idea of his physique given that his thin shirt did little to hide it, but he was a glorious sight to behold now. His large frame littered with scars, his huge muscles bulging out but not necessarily chiseled as they lay under a healthy layer of fat, the slight squish of his tummy that spilled a little over his waistband, and golden chest hair trailing all the way down into his pants.

You must’ve been staring a bit too long, because Laios shifted and moved to cross his arms over his chest, self-conscious.

“Uh, am I- Is this okay…?” He gulped. 

“Oh god, sorry, yes,” you rushed to get the words out. “It’s just- you’re, like, gorgeous. Got distracted.”

If he hadn’t been completely red in the face already, you were sure he would have blushed to infinity. He curled in on himself.

“I usually don’t care how I look that much, but…” he murmured. “It’s weird. I don’t know why I feel so…. shy.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” you said, reaching up to tenderly sweep his hair back before sliding down to cup his face. “You can put it back on, if you want. But I am certainly enjoying the view.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Thanks…. You’re- you also look really, um, good…”

“Here, I’ll join you,” you said. You made quick work of pulling your shirt over your head and you heard Laios gasp. 

“Wow,” he whispered as his eyes raked up and down your body in wonder.

“Could I have this?” You tugged at the shirt he still held in his hand, and he willingly gave it to you, still starstruck by your half-naked form. “Lean forward a bit here.”

Obedient as a dog, he followed your instructions and leaned into you, not thinking twice. His skin felt hot and a little damp against yours, his face pressed against your shoulder. You reached around him to fluff the shirt out flat a little bit before tucking it between his back and the burlap sacks as a makeshift blanket.

“Should be a little more comfortable,” you said, tucking in the edges so it wouldn’t slip too much. “Don’t wanna scratch up your back. Yet, at least.”

Completely oblivious to your innuendo, he was looking at you as if you’d hung all the stars in the sky. “You really know what you’re doing, huh?”

You shrugged. “Don’t think too much about it, ‘kay? I just want you to be comfortable.”

You pushed back on his shoulder slightly and, obedient as ever, he laid back down against the now-covered burlap sacks. His arms had slipped down to lay at his sides. He stared at you, eagerly awaiting your next instruction.

You ran your hands down his neck and across his chest, nails raking through the wiry hair and over his nipples, tenderly admiring his build. His muscles twitched with each brush of your fingers, hands creeping up to grip your thighs. 

You leaned forward, diving in to leave open-mouthed kisses on his neck and down his chest. He shivered and gripped your thighs tighter. You paused once you reached his sternum and looked up at him.

“Do you like having your nipples played with?” 

He froze at your question. “Um, I-I’m not really sure.”

Virgin. Right, you reminded yourself internally.

“Well,” you continued, “let me know if this feels good, okay? It’s not for everyone, but they have a lot of nerve endings, and can be big erogenous zones for some people.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of tha- eep!” He tensed up like he was struck with a live wire as you closed your mouth around his nipple. He bit back a groan as you swirled your tongue around, sucking softly. His cock jumped, and you could feel the wetness from his tip seeping through his pants as it brushed against your bare stomach.

“I—ah—didn’t even know you could do this,” he stuttered, hands having since moved their vice-grips to your upper back as you continued to lavish his chest in attention, moving to the other nipple. “I- I mean biologically it makes s—hah—sense since in mammals, the chest a-and specifically nipples are considered a secondary s—hn—sexual organ…”

“But does it feel good?” you asked, slightly muffled as you switched between speaking and sucking on his chest. 

“I- I think so—!“ His voice cut off with a sharp gasp as you suddenly sank in your teeth around his nipple before sucking hard and rolling the little bud in your mouth. “It’s- it’s kinda weird but—hah—kinda good….?”

You pulled off of his chest with a wet pop and grinned up at him devilishly. “Enjoying yourself, Laios?”

“Yeah,” he panted. His eyes were half-lidded, mouth parted as he caught his breath, flushed all the way to his ears. He somehow looked worked up to the point of combustion but soft and innocent at the same time. “This is….. Wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything.” You were sure you couldn’t hide how pleased you were with yourself, looking like the cat who got the cream. His eyes were so full of wonder, and you couldn’t help but pull yourself back up to kiss him silly, repositioning yourself so that one of your legs was slotted in between his.

You pressed your body hard into his, and his arms snaked around your waist, a single big hand going down to shyly squeeze your butt. You giggled and brought up your finger to trace tight little circles around his nipples, still slippery with saliva, and he shuddered and gasped against you. 

You pulled your thigh forward to press hard against his cock, twitching and leaky as it begged to be released from its confines. The tortured sound Laios let out against your lips made you want to devour him whole. 

“You’re doing so well, Laios,” you whispered in between kisses. He whined and his cock jumped excitedly. Interesting. “So, so good for me.” You pressed your thigh down harder-

“Wait—ngh!—wait stop-“ he yelped. You immediately halted your actions, pulling away, but Laios pulled you right back into him, refusing to let you move away.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You asked, gently stroking his arms, suddenly very concerned. 

He was shivering violently, and pressed even harder into you. “Nothing,” he gasped, struggling to form words. “I just- I thought I was gonna cum….”

You grinned devilishly, a new light in your eye. You pressed your thigh into his raging hard-on once again and he keened, burying his face into your neck.

“Wait! Be careful, I-I can feel it….,” his words tapered off into a broken cry, open-mouthed against your shoulder. Mercifully, you let up, and Laios let out a shaky sigh of relief. 

“Let’s move on to the main event, shall we?” You cooed, worming your way out of his hold so you could lower yourself onto the ground.

He looked confused for a moment, as if he’d forgotten you’d planned on sucking him off in the first place, but then his eyes widened and he choked on air. “Oh- Yeah. Yes.” He gulped “Please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you purred. You kissed your way down his torso, his curly chest hair tickling your nose as you went. You reached his pants, pressing a messy kiss on his tummy just above his waistband. He shuddered. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands—trembling as they were—awkwardly holding them above his lap. 

You looked up at him, his shivering form and nervous expression, droplets of sweat beading at his forehead despite the chill of the dungeon. He was so close already, and honestly, with how pent up he was, you were surprised he managed to hold back from creaming his pants. 

You unfortunately had to look away from his flushed face as you undid the laces of his trousers and pulled out his swollen cock. He was hard and hot and thick in your hands. In terms of penises you’d seen, he was uncut, untrimmed, and exceptionally average, yet you were salivating all the same. The flushed head was shiny smeared with its own precum, and it bobbed up under your gaze. 

Laios’ eyes squeezed shut and he tilted his head back with a choked groan, like just the sight of your face so close to his cock would make him cum. 

You wrapped your hand firm around the middle and gave him an experimental pump. You were mesmerized as you watched the foreskin bunch up over the head, a single bead of white pearling and dribbling out, before pulling and stretching back down to reveal his cock in all of its weeping glory.

You couldn’t help but dive right in.

You closed your warm mouth over the head of his cock, licking the creamy, salty pleasure from his tip and swallowing it hungrily. Laios yelped and his thighs squeezed around your head. You popped your mouth off of him to lick a long stripe from base to tip, flattening your tongue, before suckling on the tip once more.

“So…. warm….,” Laios mumbled. 

You let a fat glob of spit drip down from your mouth, using the tight ring of your hands to deftly spread it down his shaft. You pumped him once, twice, and Laios’ jaw dropped in a silent gasp. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” you murmured before pressing a sloppy kiss to his tip. Laios’ mouth tried to form words, but all that came out was a gasp followed by a throaty groan as he pitched forward. His hands found their way to your hair—not so much pushing you down as it was giving himself something to hold onto. 

You let go of his dick so that, with both hands, you could ease him back down, untense his muscles and loosen his hands from your hair.

“It’s alright, baby, I’ve got you,” you cooed. “It’s okay. Just relax. You’re doing so well.”

He whimpered but nodded, screwing his eyes shut. Once he’d relaxed again, your hand gently found its way back to his cock, soon followed by your mouth.

You were slow, careful not to overwhelm him, swallowing him halfway with a hand wrapped firm around his base before pulling back up, lapping at his tip. 

“Wow. Oh wow,” he whispered, letting out breathy little 'hah's. “This is…. Wow.”

Laios was whimpering, trying his best to stay still, but with every bob of your head his thighs twitched and his body tensed. 

“No wonder succubi—ngh—are so successful in—h-hah—in dungeons- ack—!” His voice broke as you swallowed around him. “This is—hn—really… r-really good. Lonely male adventurers w-would make the perfect prey—!” The last part of his sentence pitched up as you began swirling your tongue around the tip.

You took him deeper. You felt the hot, salty weight of him bump the back of your throat. He cried out, hips jumping up and hands scrambling to hold onto something. You didn’t let up, taking him deeper, swallowing around his length as you blinked and let the tears spill from your eyes. Your throat may have a bruise the next morning, but the sounds that Laios made would be well worth it. 

“Oh god. Oh—oh I’m close,” he moaned, desperate. “‘M gonna—hah—gonna cum…”

You simply sped up, sucking him with a newfound fervor, and he moaned so loud you could hear the echo bounce around the room. One of his hands kept brushing over yours, so you obliged, lacing your fingers with his own. He took it greedily, thankful to be holding your hand and squeezing tight as you swallowed him.

“Oh- oh! It’s— I’m cumming, oh fuck, I’m cumming—ngh—-!” His moans tapered off into a high-pitched whine as he came in your mouth, hot saltiness flooding all of your senses as you swallowed what you could. He was cumming a lot—bursting into your mouth like a broken pipe—so much so that it quickly overflowed and came dribbling out from the corners. You pulled off of him, cum dripping down your chin and spilling onto your hand. 

Meanwhile, Laios was still in the middle of a mind-blowing orgasm, jolts of pleasure shooting through him as he gasped and moaned. You stroked him, languid and slow, through the rest of it, squeezing his hand in assurance. By the time the cum had stopped seeping out of him, he was shaking like a leaf and had a white-knuckle grip on your hand. He began to whimper in pain at the overstimulation, so you let up, watching his softening cock lay itself down, twitching, into a splatter of cum on his thigh.

Laios was breathing hard. Eyes closed, he hadn’t let go of your hand. You just rested your cheek on his clean (as in, the one with less cum on it) thigh, looking up at him as he eased his way out of orgasmic daze. 

“So,” he murmured after a moment of silence, voice trembling. “That’s what I’ve been missing out on all this time.”

“Pretty much,” you hummed, drawing mindless circles on his hips with your thumb, never taking your eyes off of him.

“Wow.” He stared off into space for a second before blinking back into focus. “No wonder lust makes people crazy. It’s almost…. Cathartic?”

“Relaxing, too,” you said, pressing a feather light kiss into the softness of his thigh. “Feel better?”

He nodded. “Very. Honestly, I could fall asleep right now. I don’t even want to get up. Is that a normal post-coital reaction?”

You bit back a giggle. “Yes. But this in particular was pretty intense.” You began the process of slowly separating yourself from Laios, peeling your body off of the ground. “You came a lot. Is it usually this much? It’s not bad or anything, there’s just… so much.”

“Not usually, no,” he shrugged sheepishly, looking down at the mess on his legs. “Probably from being ‘pent-up,’ like you said.” 

“Guess this means you should take better care of your biological urges, hm?” You tenderly cupped his face and he hummed, leaning into your hand to press a kiss to your palm. You subtly wiped your other hand on your discarded shirt so that you could bring it up to run your fingers through his close-cropped hair.

“That was… amazing,” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut under your caress. “It felt so nice.” He swallowed, then hesitantly looked up to you, eyes big and round and adoring. “...Thank you.”

You couldn’t handle the way he was looking at you, so instead you kissed him. He was all but boneless against you, sweet and melting like ice cream on a hot summer’s day. 

You pulled away. It was a second before either of you spoke, eyes closed, foreheads pressed together, breathing in the other’s exhales. 

“We should probably get back,” you said after a moment, pressing one final, fleeting kiss to his lips before standing up.

“Y-yeah. Probably.” He looked down at the mess all over his thighs and stomach. “Um… what should I….?”

You muttered an incantation under your breath and with a flick of your wrist, the mess disappeared from him completely. You did the same for yourself. 

“Thank the gods for prestidigitation,” you chuckled. You began to redress yourself, Laios not far behind. 

Once you were both decent, you made your way to the door, unlocking it and expecting Laios to follow you. You glanced over your shoulder only to see that Laios was standing in the same spot, the laces of his shirt still untied. 

“So, are we lovers now?”

You froze, blood pumping as your heart leapt into your throat. Even for Laios, the question felt like it came out of left field. He had his head tilted at you like a curious dog, unashamed and eager and genuine.

“Like, in the books,” he explained. “This kind of thing is what lovers do, right?”

“Well- I….” You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t dreamt of being his partner—being giggly and enamored with each other. But cold fear gripped your heart when you thought about the possibility of something going wrong, of you messing it up and losing him completely. “...I guess….? Kind of? Do you…. Want to be?”

He walked up to you and grabbed your hand, eyes never leaving yours. “I want to be lovers.”

“How about….. friends…… that are also sometimes lovers?” you suggested, trying to not let your voice shake too badly. You cringed inwardly at your words, since you wanted nothing more than to scream ‘Yes!’ 

“Does that mean we can keep doing stuff like this?” He asked.

“Of course,” you said. You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. “How about we discuss this more tomorrow, yeah? You need to get some sleep.”

This answer seemed to satisfy him, as he grinned wide at you, tugging you out the door and towards camp where, hopefully, no one realized you were missing.

Meanwhile, back at camp....

Chilchuck was covering both of his ears with his pillow, silently seething. Bile rose in his throat with every other sound he could hear ever-so-faintly echo through the dungeon corridor. He did not expect to wake up to the sounds of stupid Laios in the thralls of pleasure—with you, no less!—and he was very much not happy about it.

"Fucking kids...," he muttered, grinding his teeth together as he tried to muffle the sounds as best he can. "Fucking half-foot hearing.... I hate it here."

~~~

tags: @hohoshiumi @this-gave-pidgeon-further-shock @smokycoco @eggsnasty @justformio234 @rosesandquartzz @zeniiis @childaintit @goddessofpoledancing @dark-space-between-the-stars

please comment + reblog so i have a justification for writing more laios fics instead of actual productive tasks <3

[separatist-apologist]

Something In The Orange

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

And no one can rule him out as a suspect

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

For @sjmromanceweek

Read On AO3

For the entirety of Arina’s life, she’d been destined to be the wife of a Vanserra. Lucien Vanserra to be specific. The ink on her marriage contract was dried before she herself was, likely still squalling in a midwife’s aching arms as her father lamented his poor fortune. Sons brought glory, daughters cost money. 

Arina might have been angry about her circumstances in a different life. In this one, though, Arina considered herself luckier than most other women she knew. Lucien was merely a year older than her—a seventh son, too, which meant he’d be sent off to some country estate, lord of the territory his father gave him. She would have no responsibility toward a vulnerable population nor would Arina ever be in danger of becoming queen.

After years of watching her father rule, a minor lord on the outskirts of the massive kingdom the Vanserra’s ruled, Arina thought that was a blessing. There was never enough gold to go around and what little money that could be scraped together, her father took in taxes. Arina felt shame every time she was paraded through the small city they lived in, dressed in finery while the people stared up, faces dirty, clothes threadbear. 

Beron Vanserra sent a chest of gold meant for Arina every year on her birthday. It was for her education and other frippery according to the notes—though in truth, Arina suspected it was a reminder that her father owed Beron. There was no backing out, no offering Arina up for better prospects.

There were no better prospects, to be fair. No one wanted the poor daughter of minor nobility nor did they want to inherit her fathers poor kingdom. Beron intended to subsume it into his own, allowing her family the rights to the land so long as they kissed the Vanserra ring. That was her fathers problem—not hers. Arina intended to waste her time drinking and dancing and whatever else the wives of Vanserras did.

Beron put the marriage off for a total three years past their original agreement. She should have married Lucien when she was eighteen—and yet Arina wasn’t officially called to the palace until the eve of her twenty-first birthday. Arina was instructed to come without a retinue. Only her father accompanied her, silent in the carriage as they rode. He didn’t need to speak to her in order for his will to be clear—if she did anything to mess this up, the consequences would be severe.

Deadly, even.

After all, Arina’s mother had not survived long enough to bring another child into her fathers world. No sons would save their family, leaving Arina to marry well and without complaint. She’d written to Lucien over the years and he’d written back. It was hardly some great love match but he seemed nice enough. Funny, when he wanted to be, and polite when he didn’t. Arina had decided long before now that she was satisfied with this man. 

Unlike her own home which seemed to be in a constant state of disrepair, the Vanserra palace was massive. Made of glittering gold and wild, old oak, the sprawling castle dripped with wealth. The city that surrounded it was just as opulent, though there was an aura of despair hanging in the air that tasted sickly sweet in Arina’s mouth. 

There was a clear and obvious divide between those with power and influence and those who did not. Arina had expected to see wealth equally which was perhaps naive. Beron had always seemed generous to her, sending gifts of gold and jewels on a whim. Why would his people fare any differently? 

That wasn’t her problem, she reminded herself. All Arina needed to do was fulfill her end of the contract, marry Lucien, and get on with things. Arina could simply turn her face from the fingerprint stained window and study the palace. It truly was beautiful, illuminated by warm shafts of spring light and framed just beyond by newly awakened trees crammed so tightly together it was impossible to tell where one ended and the next began. 

The palace itself was walled off, using both a gate that had to be opened for their carriage to pass through, and a bridge that caused the vehicle to lurch back and forth sickeningly. Beyond, Arina saw a white, ivory garden wall encircling at least the front of the palace, monitored by guards walking the length with sharp swords and a quiver of arrows against their backs. 

That didn’t keep people out—it merely kept them aware of the fate that would befall them should anyone decide to step out of line. As Arina disembarked, smoothing the wrinkles out of her rose pink skirts, her father was patted down for weapons. No one but the guards were allowed to be armed in the presence of the king, and Arina wondered if her father would get his sword back.

No one bothered to check her, which was lucky. They’d have found a small hunting knife tucked into her boot. 

Arina didn’t expect to need it—but it never hurt to be prepared. This was a new court with new men, and the ones back home were just handsy enough that Arina felt better with a knife. An old servant had taught her to use it—in exchange for a kiss she’d been all too happy to oblige him with—before her father sent him away. 

Arina was surprised by how busy the palace seemed to be. People moved around the drive, some making their way toward the front doors, open wide as butlers checked lists before allowing them through. Others, carrying heavy baskets covered in thin, white blankets, quickly walked around the palace toward some side door servants who were expected to enter and exit. There was an obvious and clear divide—neither groups looked at the other nor did they interact. It was as if neither was there.

A game of play-pretend, Arina supposed as she fell in step behind her father. Bowing her head ever so slightly, Arina clasped her hands in front of her body and began her own game of play-pretend. In this game, she was the obedient, demure daughter of her father and would become the obedient, demure wife of Lucien, too.

“This way, my lord,” a butler dressed in black with silver buttons, beckoned for her father to follow. What would her mother think of all this? Would she have been allowed to come, too? Arina barely remembered anything about the woman who had given her life—her mother had been sick more often than not, leaving Arina in the care of nurses and governesses. 

This was how her mother had been married, though. Back then their home had been worth something and her fathers name carried weight. He’d had the pick of the available ladies and had chosen her mother.

Arina had dared to ask him why, once. She was the most beautiful of the lot.

He’d said it so dismissively, like it ought to have been obvious to Arina. She knew she was too romantic—a dozen tutors had accused her of no less over the years. She knew her marriage was about practicality and not romance and still, over the years, she’d clung to those letters from Lucien and hoped that maybe there could be something between them. He seemed friendly enough. Nice, too, though of course she might have read too much into his careful, polite words.

Arina had been holding that hope for years, though. All of it was about to come to fruition as they stepped into a small study where Beron was waiting behind a glossy top wooden desk. Huge windows, framed with maroon, velvet curtains, allowed light to stream into the room.

Arina and her father bowed, though Arina found herself looking at the man leaned up against a bookcase with a sour expression on his face.

This wasn’t Lucien—she’d seen him a few times in her youth and what she remembered painted Lucien as a man with far darker skin similar to the shade of her own skin. His hair had always been long, his features softer. This man was fair skinned and tall, muscular like it was intentional versus the accidental effects of laborious work. His auburn hair was cut short, his eyes a cool, amber brown, his features sharp as though he’d been recently carved from marble. He was beautiful and cold in equal measure and Arina was grateful he wasn’t looking at her. 

“This is your daughter?” Beron asked, rising from his chair with gleaming brown eyes. There was no mistaking him and his son—they were so painfully related even if the other man’s features came from his mother, their expressions, their posture—that was all the same.

Cold men holding court. Arina took a small step backward without meaning to, instinctively looking for the door. This caught the younger man’s attention. His gaze flicked to her face, mouth sloping into a deep set frown. Why was he here? 

There was no escape. Arina’s father caught her wrist and thrust her forward like she was little more than a prized cow at auction. Beron looked her over dispassionately. 

“She looks just like her mother.”

Arina felt frozen right then, heart pounding in her chest. This wasn’t what she’d imagined. She’d pictured Lucien greeting her and spending the next month getting to know him outside the watchful eyes of their parents. Maybe she’d see the king once or twice as he arranged their little marriage and then sent them off. 

Not this. 

“Your letter said you wanted to discuss the terms of our original agreement?” her father said, taking the hand that had once been wrapped around her wrist to place it on her shoulder. At this, the younger man looked away again, his face unable to conceal his disgust. 

Beron sighed, turning his head toward the window for a moment. “My youngest son has been accused of compromising another lady of court.”

Oh no.

Beside Arina, her father became notably interested. His expression brightened, his posture just a little more rigid. This was good news, though for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why. Beron noticed it, too, if his own darkened gaze was any indication. Something in the original contract had stipulated for this and whatever it was, it clearly benefited her father.

“When we put the original agreement together, we accounted for this,” Beron began smoothly, picking up a neatly folded document to hand to her father. 

“We did,” her father agreed, taking that document without reading it. “I assume you’ve come to make an offer.”

“My eldest son,” Beron replied easily, gesturing to the man still leaning against the bookcase. “Eris and I have spoken and he’s agreed to fulfill his brothers place.”

Her fathers shoulders slumped ever so slightly as Eris finally righted himself, looking not at Arina but directly at her father. “It would be my pleasure,” he said in a voice that betrayed how little of a pleasure it truly was. 

It wasn’t what her father wanted, though whatever it was he’d been hoping to gain, Arina wasn’t going to find out. Beron, aware he had her father boxed in a corner, offered a slick smile.

“Why don’t we go over the terms together? I think you’ll find I’ve been more than generous.”

“You always have been good to our family,” her father gritted out through a syrupy smile. 

“Eris, show Arina her accommodations while her father and I talk,” Beron said, waving them both out of the room as though they didn’t matter. Eris had clearly been told of this ahead of time and Arina wished someone would have warned her. Nodding, Eris stepped from the room without looking at her, his shoulders tight beneath the brown of his jacket. She had no choice but to follow after him, fingers curled to fists.

Eris slammed the door behind them loud enough to rattle a nearby picture in its frame. So he was angry, too. She doubted he felt any solidarity with her—she could imagine he saw her as the enemy which was just fine, because he fared no better in her estimation, either. 

“You,” Eris barked at a passing servant, beckoning them closer. “Show the lady her room.”

“Your father said—”

“I heard what my father said,” Eris snapped, interrupting Arina before she could get the rest of her indignant words out. “Unless you think my staff can’t be trusted?”

Oh, fuck him, she thought. “Charming,” she replied, holding his gaze. Eris stared back, waiting for her to back down. Arina ought to have. If he’d been anyone else she might have looked away, but this was about to be her future husband and she’d be damned if she let him think she was scared. 

Though, she was. Arina was terrified of him.

Eris took a step back when it was clear Arina was prepared to face off with him, inclining his head to the side for a moment as though to study her. “You won’t survive a week in this engagement.”

And with that, he turned on his polished boots and left her to the nervous, near trembling servant. She wasn’t going to chase him down, nor was she going to beg him. He could be mad at her all he liked. It wasn’t until she was being shown a rather large apartment that Arina considered what it meant to marry Eris Vanserra.

Gone were her hopes of an easy, simple life. Suddenly Arina felt the weight of expectation, of a life she’d never been prepared for. She’d be the wife of a king, with all the stipulations that came with that. No matter how cruel Eris was to her, Arina would have to put on a brave face and manage it. She had to have children with that man. Arina tried to picture what it would be like before she forced the image from her mind entirely. Perhaps he’d be quick—she’d heard men were more often than not. She could grit her teeth and get through it and perhaps, if she gave him a son, he’d find himself a mistress and leave her be.

Exile her to a country estate, even, where she could run her own household and have her own life outside of him. It wasn’t the great love she’d been hoping for but it was better than nothing. Better than seven sons, like his own mother had given Beron Vanserra. Two seemed like enough. What Arina needed was a plan. 

Staring at the sitting room of the apartment she’d been given, Arina decided right then and there she would make the best of things. It wasn’t what she’d wanted, but it was still an escape from the misery of life with just her father. No more emboldened courtiers pawing at her, no more of her fathers advisors leering and touching when they thought he wasn’t looking. No more being screamed at—at least, by her father. Who knew what kind of tactics Eris might employ? 

Separate bedchambers. 

Separate lives. 

She’d smile and placate him, lulling him into a false sense of security and maybe he’d drop his attitude in favor of apathy. Starting with the dinner she was expected to attend. She’d show him right then and there he didn’t need to concern himself with her at all. Then she could try and make a friend at court who could show her around and help her acclimate herself. 

Arina was practically vibrating when she was summoned. She’d changed from pink to a robins egg blue that was entirely modest, from the high neckline to the long sleeves and she’d pinned her thick, long hair up off her face with little pearl pins that matched the ones dangling from her ears. 

She looked pretty and she knew it, just like Arina knew that men valued that above all else. When their own children asked Eris why he’d married her, he could tell them she’d been the prettiest woman he’d ever seen and it would be true enough. Maybe her children wouldn’t mind as much. 

Eris was waiting in the small dining room when Arina was shown in and to his credit, he rose from his chair the way a gentleman ought to. 

“Here,” he said, pushing out her chair with his foot. Arina forced herself to smile at him, smoothing her skirts beneath her as she sat. It was only once she was seated that Eris joined her, angled away as he fiddled with his glass of wine. Was he drunk? His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes bright but otherwise he had that same arrogant sneer on his face.

“You look nice,” Arina lied. He looked fine in the same jacket he’d been wearing when they met. 

Eris scoffed before downing the remnants of his cup.

“There’s no need to lie, lady.”

“Fine. You look miserable without the manners to even try and conceal it,” she heard herself saying, her good plan crumbling before her eyes. With raised brows, Eris looked over at her.

“Would you like to try that one again, my lady?”

“I was told I’d be marrying your brother,” she hissed, aware there were servants in the room and that gossip spread quickly. 

“A fate I’ve so graciously spared you from. Where is your gratitude?” Eris replied dryly. 

“Your brother seemed kind–”

“You would have been bored by the end of the month,” Eris snapped, clearly tired. “I thought all women dreamed of being princesses?”

Arina didn’t know what to say to that so she picked at the little beads on her dress if only to have something to do with her hands. 

“Well. Your father is certainly pleased,” Eris added seconds before the door opened. His goblet was refilled as her father, Beron, and a retinue of men she didn’t know or recognize strolled in. Their chatter was enough to drown out any remaining conversation between Eris and Arina which could only be a good thing. It was clearly too early to hope they might get along, and Arina needed to figure out a way to leash her temper before it got the better of her.

Again.

Arina was used to being treated as decoration. And as her father sat without acknowledging her—as Beron pulled Eris into a conversation with some of the other courtiers—Arina was left to sit there silently and eat politely. They were all covertly watching her, judging every movement, every whispered sigh, every scrape of her utensils. What would happen if they found her wanting?

She didn’t want to learn the answer to that question so Arina kept a pleasant smile pasted to her face just like she’d learned to do back home. With each new course, Arina made a delicate show of eating only a third of whatever was served to her which clearly pleased some of the older men at the table. She passed on wine in favor of water and whenever a compliment was paid to her, she made a show of dropping her gaze and thanking them demurely. 

Eris seemed to recognize her theatrics for what they were, smirking into his goblet each time she did it like there was nothing funnier to him. Arina had half a mind to kick him—and she might have, too—had something warm not begun crawling up her throat. 

She looked down at the bowl of potato soup in front of her, strangely fascinated as it warped from one porcelain bowl into two, to three, and back to a singular entity. The heat intensified, causing Arina to gasp for air. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she reached for Eris’s leg, digging her nails into the fabric of his trousers as she tried to get a grip on reality.

Something was wrong. 

She couldn’t breathe.

Arina blinked, intending to take a slow, controlled breath of air and then excuse herself. When she opened her eyes, however, she found herself laying on the floor staring upward into a pair of disinterested amber eyes. The commotion around her seemed to suggest someone was concerned—her father, maybe?

But right then, all Arina could see was the icy, bored expression of her soon-to-be husband.

And she was certain this was all his fault.

ERIS:

“What do you expect me to do about this?” Eris demanded furiously, staring at his father. He needed to get his temper in check before Beron punished him and yet Eris couldn’t help his aggrieved feelings. “If she’s so desperate to escape this marriage, let her.”

“And pay her bastard father to run his kingdom into the ground for another fifty years?”

“Why would you ever add that to a marriage contract?” Eris heard himself asking, furious that Lucien’s little dalliance with one of the Archeron’s had led him to this position. Arina was probably perfectly nice—she was certainly beautiful—and he didn’t want her. Didn’t want any wife his father picked out for him and had done a good job running them off. 

“I had seven worthless sons by then—all of whom would need wives. If not Lucien, someone else.”

“Then let Tanwen—”

“I’ll not hear another complaint from you,” Beron barked out, eyes flashing a warning. Eris forced himself to swallow his anger, to take a breath and let it go for the moment. It was clear his father wanted this to happen and his fathers will was an extension of his own. 

“She’s alive,” Beron continued, as if Eris cared about that. It was cruel, but when Eris had seen her convulsing on the ground all he’d felt was relief. She’d die and he’d be free of her, along with the entire marriage he didn’t want. “I want to know who's responsible for this and I want them punished. Quietly.”

“Consider it done.”

“Check in on your mother. She’d distraught,” Beron added by way of dismissal. 

Of course she would be. The mere words were enough to force some sympathy into Eris’s otherwise emotionless chest. Arina was merely a casualty in his fathers obsession with expansion. It should have been Lucien who arranged this deal, leaving Eris to ally with a princess who had, if nothing else, been born with the correct expectations. He’d been set on Nesta Archeron before Lucien went and mucked the whole thing up with the middle sister. Who knew Elain was her father’s favorite and he’d take it personally if a foreign born princess undressed his precious daughter?

Lucien had sworn he’d done nothing inappropriate but what was done was done. Lucien was getting a second born princess but nothing more—there would be no exchange of territory and a very loose agreement that constituted an alliance. 

And Eris was getting some rural, minor lords daughter that someone hated enough to want dead. Find out who it was, it could have been anyone. The arrangement was not popular at court and Eris considered it could be any number of lords who felt their daughters had been snubbed for Arina.

Would his father execute one of his favored courtiers? All for one woman they’d made a bad deal with? Her father must be delighted, Eris thought, to realize what had once been a decent marriage would now elevate him into the father-in-law to a king. He’d be given titles and wealth far beyond what he currently already possessed.

Eris felt his feelings harden toward Arina again. 

He found his mother in her private apartment, wringing her hands with tear stained cheeks. “Oh, Eris,” she breathed, wrongly assuming he must be upset over what he witnessed. Eris opened his arms to her all the same, pulling his crying mother against his chest. She cared, which made her far better than him in every measure that mattered. Too good for the Vanserra’s in general, though no one would dare say so. 

“Is she alright?” 

“I assume so,” Eris replied, earning himself a swat. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt nor was it malicious. His mother looked up at him with disappointment as Eris walled himself up to keep himself from internalizing her words.

“You haven’t gone to check?”

“I met her this afternoon and it didn’t go well,” he replied, following his mother to a little two seater couch facing the fireplace. “I think I can wait until tomorrow to offer my sympathies.”

“She seems like a nice girl,” his mother sniffed, dabbing her eyes on a handkerchief Eris had produced from his jacket pocket.

Nice wasn’t how he’d describe Arina. He had the sense she was more than the doe-eyed thing he’d witnessed at dinner, if her little snappish comments were anything to go on. 

“Did you know father would have to subsidize her fathers territory if she didn’t marry into our family?” Eris asked, already knowing the answer. Of course she didn’t—Beron didn’t tell his wife anything. 

“I know you’re upset about losing Nesta,” his mother began, misunderstanding what bothered Eris so much. Everyone kept assuming it was a love match between them rather than a practical understanding of the power they might wield together. Nesta had understood it, had even agreed right up until Lucien was caught with Elain. “But would it be so terrible to readjust your expectations, Eris?”

Yes, it would be. Without Nesta, Eris was still trapped under his fathers thumb and now responsible with keeping Arina from becoming trapped as well. There would be no money, no army, no powerful woman with a kingdom of her own to stand behind him should he fail. Just another powerless girl shoved at him and unlike the last one, Eris couldn’t send her back.

“Your projecting,” Eris replied. “You are nothing like her.”

“I remember how I felt when I was brought here. My own father was pretty quick to leave just as soon as our marriage license dried and I was on my own. You know how…busy…your father is. You could try to make her feel welcome.”

“You managed just fine,” Eris said, though as the words left his mouth he felt instant regret. His father was brutally cruel to his mother when the mood struck him, swinging between open devotion and clandestine violence seemingly on a whim. His mother had managed in spite of his father and he knew he’d just inadvertently told his mother none of it was a big deal. “I’ll talk to her.”

It was a compromise to wipe the look of hurt from his mothers face. She was the only woman Eris had ever loved and as far as he was concerned, the only woman he’d ever love. He wasn’t interested in caring for someone the way his father cared about his mother. It made him obsessive, controlling, and at times, violent. Eris didn’t want to lose himself that way and was terrified that it was in his nature to love someone that way. Not that he’d ever admit it—but it was useful information to know about himself.

Eris didn’t visit Arina until the next morning, busying himself at night with his favorite distraction: too much whiskey and Lady [whoever]. He wasn’t married yet, and Eris had never promised Arina anything, least of all his fidelity. Eris found her sitting in a window, knees hidden beneath a pale yellow dress. 

Eris had seen a lot of women in his life. More women than most men if he was being honest with himself. Since he’d come of age, women had thrown themselves at him and he’d allowed it, delighting in the attention and the ease with which he could get someone into his bed. And in the course of his dallying, he’d seen countless noble women with their hair unbound. 

And yet something happened when Arina turned her wan face to look at him. Her hair was long and thick, draped nearly to her waist as it fell in soft, brushed out waves. He might not have given it a second thought had she not turned her head just in that moment, allowing a rather bright beam of light illuminate the golden strands and warm her otherwise wan face.

Gods, but Arina was the most beautiful woman currently at court. Maybe in the world—Eris couldn’t remember seeing anyone more lovely even when they were as sad as she currently was. Eris found himself at a loss for words which Arina chose to interpret as mocking.

“Do you need something, prince?”

“I…” 

She turned her head away from him, rolling her eyes as she did. That was enough to remind Eris that she was merely a woman and not one he particularly cared about. Sexual attraction would help, if nothing else. “You’re well?” he asked, grateful to hear the sneer had returned to his words.

“No thanks to you.”

Eris pushed off the door frame he’d been leaned again, stepping into the airy, soft room she’d been given. It was fit for a princess and he wondered how it compared to her rooms back home. He’d heard stories that the estate was dilapidated, its staffing sparse. What it had was a good defensive position given its rocky landscape and the river that choked off other invasion points, forcing any army coming over land to take one specific path forward which made it easily picked off. 

Or, so his father said. Eris had never seen it, had never had any desire to. He’d been offered, but back then Arina was Lucien’s fiance and Eris had opted not to join in favor of remaining at home. What a waste given his current circumstances. Eris would have liked to have known exactly how to lord his wealth and power over his new wife, if only to keep her from snapping at him.

“Did you imagine me a physician?” Eris asked with some amusement. 

“I imagined you as someone with manners,” Arina shot back, drawing her knees closer to her chest. “Not the sort of coward who would delight in watching his betrothed die before his very eyes.”

“What did you say?” he asked, more taken aback than angry. No one had ever spoken to him that way. 

She didn’t even look at him. “I said you’re a coward and you were hoping I’d die. And I didn’t say this next part, but I don’t want to be married to you, either. I’ve heard stories about you.”

Eris’s heart thudded in his chest. “What kind of stories?”

“How you left a woman to die in your forest rather than marry her. That you’re capable of that kind of cruelty.”

Ah, Morrigan. How he’d never live that accusation down. Eris hadn’t bothered to try and had no intention of explaining the circumstances to Arina given what she was covertly accusing him of. She thought he’d tried to kill her?

Eris wanted to put that accusation to rest. “If I wanted you dead, princess, you’d be dead.”

He watched her press her lips together, saw how those mossy green eyes hardened with hatred. His mother was going to kill him the moment she got Arina alone and learned about this. 

“Then you should know if I wanted you dead, you would be dead.”

She shrugged her slim shoulders. “It sounds to me like you aren’t particularly skilled in that arena.”

“Are you daring me?” Eris asked incredulously. 

“Merely making an observation,” she replied, turning to look at him again. Eris found he preferred when she didn’t given how beautiful her face was and how stupid it made him. If she’d just pull her hair up, Eris could treat her like every other entitled noblewoman—just like he had yesterday.

Though, had he really looked at her? Eris had been drunk for most of the day. Maybe he simply hadn’t noticed what was now staring back at him. His wife was beautiful and the part of him that coveted such things liked that.

Not wife. Almost wife. 

“I came to see how you were doing,” Eris snapped, irritated with her and himself. 

“Your father came last night,” Arina replied, some of the spark leaving her eyes. 

“My father?” he asked, eyes scanning her form quickly. 

“To offer a sincere apology for the attack,” she said, hands twisting nervously in her lap. “And assure me you’d get to the bottom of it.”

“And I will,” Eris lied. For all he knew she’d merely had an allergic reaction to some new ingredient or the poison had been meant for him and not her. Eris very much doubted someone would be foolish enough to try again. 

“Yet here you are,” she dismissed, turning back to the window. Eris curled his fingers into fists to resist the urge to throttle her into obedience. His father had assured him Arina was the model of female piety, not the sharp-tongued creature he was currently looking at. 

“People clamor for my company at court, you know,” Eris said, unsure why he was bothering.

She smothered a smile. “Go bother them, then.”

“Maybe I will,” he bit back, annoyed.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

Arina merely waved him off, leaving Eris outraged as he stomped out of her room. He had half a mind to go complain to her father, if only to bring Arina into line. And then what, he wondered? Would she like him more or would it make her hate him more than she already did? Eris considered if he cared for just a moment.

And decided that he did care.

And he’d take her as she was.

[lyashinya]

Talkshow Chica and Threadbear!

[threadbearao3]

Love will tear us apart, again by Threadbear.

A snack modern romance ❤️‍🔥

Celebrating 30 chapters with a sexy record exec Snape pic.

[gtlurker]

Chapter five! Sorry for not updating in a but I've been busy, this ones kinda short, enjoy!

“Okay, so you need new clothes.” I say while loosely gesturing at Isabelle's threadbear dress that she's clearly had just a few years too long.

We got to the safe house about half an hour ago, and Isabelle has already had three panic attacks and even bit atlas once when he tried to pick her up. She looks down at her dress and then backs up at me, her expression clearly conveying that she doesn't think they make clothes in her size.

“Atlas over here makes doll clothes, I'm sure he has something in your size.” I gesture over to Atlas who is wasting a bandaid on the small bite mark that isn't even bleeding.

Atlas has told me that he plans to be a dressmaker once he gets out of college. He works with me since we make a lot of money in our line of work so he can save up to start his own business. He makes miniature versions of his designs for practice, which im sure would fit isa perfectly.

“I'll draw you a nice bath while atlas grabs those?” i suggest, and she just gave me a weird look. With a sigh I grab a small bowl from the cupboard and set in behind the old breadbox. Most of the kitchen appliances here are pretty old and the house is old despite the money we make.

We have to keep a low profile.

Besides, most of our money goes to buying weapons and extra cars so we can’t be traced. “You can go behind there for a bit of privacy, we won't look, promise.”

Atlas says, and I watch her carefully step behind the breadbox as I fill a cup up with warm water to fill the bowl with. I send atlas to go grab a bit of shampoo, conditioner and body wash in a bottle cap.

My hand Hesitates for a moment when Isabelle lets out a small sound of surprise while I was reaching my hand in to grab the bowl. “Not looking, just grabbing the bowl.” I reassure her.

She reminds me a bit of a squirrel. She jumps at the slightest movement, when we were eating early I saw her stuff a bit of food into her pockets, she's fast, and most notably her size.

Now that we aren't actively trying to escape the lab, I'm able to fully take in her size. She goes against everything I learned in school. Logicly, a person of her unique stature wouldn't be able to produce enough body heat to keep themselves alive and would need to be constantly moving and eating to keep themselves alive. Kinda like how hummingbirds drink sugar water and are constantly in a state of movement.

Yet, here she is. Defying math and logic itself by standing at a mere fourish inches tall and near starving to death via malnourishment and seemingly producing enough body heat to not freeze death.

Hopefully she'll answer my questions and explain what had happened to make her like this before her brother comes to collect her. I can't explain why, but the thought of her leaving makes my heart heavy.

With a sigh, I make sure she has everything she needs before I leave the kitchen to go find atlas. It doesn't take long because he's usually in either one of two places, his bedroom or the studio.

I do the same knock that anna did during ‘do you want to build a snowman’ on the studio door, and wait for his confirmation that i can come in.

“knock normally.” he calls back, i can tell that he's focused. A grin stretches across my face and I proceed to bang on his door, again to the tune of the famous kids song. He groans and I laugh, “come in.”

I enter the studio and am immediately hit with the scent of fabric glue invading my sense of smell, I cover my nose while opening the window closest to him. “What are you working on? And does it need that much glue?” I ask, and atlas doesn't even bother to look up.

“Pajamas, Isabelle needs something to sleep in doesn't she?” he replies dryly, a small sigh escapes his lips as he sets down his pin to look up at me.

“Am I in trouble for hitting you with the car?” i laugh at the question, “of course you are.” he deflates, and goes back to his work. “Unless. . .” I start with a smile in my voice, and he turns back and spins around in his chair immediately.

“Find out everything you can about isabelle.”

[danpuff-ao3]

@hprecfest 2/3: Days 11-20

Day 11: a dark fic

The Dreams We Forget (Are Those We Most Regret)

by Serpenscript. Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 4,738. Rape/non-con. Forced infidelity. Obliviation. Mindfuck. Angst. Fairytale. Angst. 

Once a month, Harry Potter is summoned to the Ministry for personal Auror training. Afterwords, he never remembers what he learned….but he dreams of empty eyes and black hair.

It’s sad, it’s dark, it’s fucky, I love it.

Day 12: a WIP you're following

The Afterlight

by perverse_idyll (@perverse-idyll). Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 45,661 (as of chapter 6). 

After surviving the Battle of Hogwarts, a long convalescence, and a short trial, Snape walks free and promptly vanishes from Wizarding society. Six years pass before he shows his face again. A lot can change in six years, and a romantically disillusioned and inebriated Harry hits Snape up for a friends-with-benefits arrangement. After all, they share an experience most people have never had: they both know what it’s like to be dead. Their liaison works surprisingly well until Harry’s reckless behaviour as an Auror leads to unethical practices and personal calamities, and things start to fall apart.

Listen, I don’t read many WIPs (I’ve been burned many times in the past), but PI???? I can’t stay away from a PI fic. I’m so obsessed already. I was SOOO hooked from the start. It’s AMAZING. Snarry done just how I like it!

Day 13: a fic over 100k

Nights of Gethsemane

by starcrossed. Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 363,198. Dark. Angst. Torture. Rape/non-con. 

Harry is a prisoner of the Dark Lord and Snape, his prison guard. Completely cut off from the outside world, Harry struggles to hold himself intact as he is forced to rely on Snape for everything. Yet Snape may not be all that he appears….

This is one of the fics I’ve read most over the years. I cannot start this fic and pause while reading it, despite the length. If I’m going to read this fic, I’m going to INHALE it. 

The link above is AO3, since most people will prefer it, but I originally read it on LJ and recommend reading it there instead (the AO3 version has some formatting issues in places. I don’t think it’s egregious, but worth note). 

It’s also worth noting how friggin’ COOL this is. One, I love how true to Harry’s POV this fic is and what a very thoughtful consideration for his voice, as a teenager in a dire situation. It’s interesting how the story is told from such a limited POV, to then move onto the companion piece (Invictus) which tells the same story from Severus’ perspective. Then to read both side by side and see where they misunderstood one another, or made assumptions, or how they each viewed a situation differently, etc. This concept is one I love and what inspired me to do similar with my fics Contempt and Devotion! 

Livejournal Links: Nights of Gethsemane, Invictus, Release of Sisyphus

Day 14: a favorite series

Needs Must

by silvereye5 (@silvereye5). Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 115,891 (incomplete). Works: 3. 

After Ginny Potter dies suddenly, Severus Snape is among those called in to help Potter juggle his new reality. As the other helpers fade away, a desperate and penniless Severus agrees to become the regular caregiver to Potter’s three young children. But Severus finds that the Potter household is not the sunshine and roses he’d imagined.

So many good ones out there, but it has to be this one! Deliciously angsty. A kidfic (which I’m a sucker for). Best of all is how imperfect Harry is in this story. So often I read about a soft and impossibly good Harry, so it’s good to see him as a bit of a mess and a workaholic, and his own flaws being showcased just as much as Severus’. I’m obsessed with it!

So it is

by Threadbear (@ogthreadbear). Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 8,291. Works: 4. Background Harry/Ginny.

Harry Potter was getting married tomorrow. He was thrilled.

This series has so much I love. The infidelity, the angst! The breeding kink. The intensity and passion and hurt of it all. The mess of it. It aches so beautifully and I love it.

Day 15: the most recent fic you bookmarked

For I Have Found Salvation

by lumosatnight (@lumosatnight). Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 7,117. Priest Severus. Muggle AU. Written for Snarry Auctoberfest 2023. 

Severus is a priest, and Harry is the parishioner who may just make him break his vows of celibacy.

Super spicy. Super sacrilegious. I’m still obsessed. Also seeing the gift notification on this one MADE MY DAY.

Day 16: a fic that made you laugh

Spy Glass

by suitesamba (@suitesamba). Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 18,135. Spying. Voyeurism. Humor.

England wants to insure star Seeker Harry Potter and his fabulous broom. Enter Severus Snape, wizarding investigator extraordinaire, ready to calculate risk and assess value. Tailing Harry Potter turns out to be the job of his dreams, though he wishes it could be done without the disguise. A tale of a man’s obsession, another man’s obsession, and a heartwarming ending where everyone ultimately gets what they want – or what they need.

This fic is such a good time.

Old Dogs and New Tricks

by youcantseeus. Draco/Sirius. Rated: T. Words: 14,099. Humor.

Draco isn’t gay, he just appreciates a good looking man when he sees one. Honest! And Sirius Black is a good looking man.

This is my favorite Drarius fic! It’s funny. Draco’s voice is great. 10/10. What a good time this is.

Day 17: a fic that made you cry

Loose Ends

by Arrisha (@arrisha-ao3). Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 9,865. Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings. Heavy angst. Dark. Trauma. Mystery. Psychological horror.

I love you, Severus wants to say. But the timing is never right. 

DAMN YOU, ARRISHA. (But also ily.) If you’re gonna let anyone wreck your heart and soul, let her do it.

Day 18: a fairy-tale inspired fic

Red as Blood

by Likelightinglass (@likelightinglass). Harry/Severus. Rated: M. Words: 9,942. Vampires. Fairytale retellings. True Love. Snow White.

Once upon a time there was a strange and magical land. One filled with ordinary villages and ordinary people, a dark and forbidding Forest, and a castle shrouded in mist. In the castle lived an Evil King, whose court of Death Eaters did his evil bidding. And there was a curse. There was a curse, and a magic mirror, and a boy as white as snow. But first, there was a Huntsman.

I'm such a sucker for fairytale fics, and this was the first one that jumped to mind. Such a lovely story! I remember one year I read it during a hurricane when our power was out. I was worried about my Kindle battery draining, but I couldn't put it down!

Day 19: fic with the hottest smut

Warm

by perverse_idyll (@perverse-idyll). Harry/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 11,323. 

Severus still suffers the after-effects of Nagini’s venom, especially in winter. Harry knows just how to warm him up.

This might be my favorite established relationship fic ever. Not to mention, like??? Bottom!Snape?? And rimming???? And just????? Everything???? Sorry, fic too hot, brain no work. OBSESSED.

Day 20: a fic rated G

Lilac

by emeraldlove (@givereadersahug). Harry/Severus. Rated: G. Words: 1,366. Humor. Crack. Curses. Love Confessions. 

“You’re cursed,” declared Hermione. She dropped several books onto the table, scattering the flowers lying about, and took a seat. There were petals on the table and on the floor — especially on, above, under, and surrounding Harry.

It’s funny. It’s cute. It’s got flowers. I love it!

[eroticcannibal]

I swear. I SWEAR. Me and me mum tore the house apart looking for them books yesterday.

Anyway mum found them today and was like "for fuck sake I ordered you threadbear for Christmas last night"

[givereadersahug]

💝 HP Rec Fest 2023 - Day 1

Dreamwidth Post

It's December and what a joyous time it is! I can't believe a year has passed by so fast. It seems like yesterday I was getting ready for the 2022 holidays.

I haven't read that many fics this year compared to previous years, and I definitely didn't read as many Harry Potter fics compared to other fandoms, but I'm excited to participate in @hprecfest!

I'll try to rec some fics for each prompt. Hopefully I'm able to participate each day. Writers and artists and podficcers and reccers and enthusiasts and then some make the fandom a fun place to be and I just want to give a little something back by highlighting some amazing works I've read this year. The stories are some I highly enjoyed and hopefully you enjoy them, too. <3

Let's get to it!

🐍 A Different Love Language - silver_drip Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Rated T, Word Count 4.1k

Ron and Hermione are convinced Snape is bullying the new DADA professor, Harry Potter.

🐝 Housekeeping - Threadbear Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/Severus Snape, Rated E, Word Count 4.6k

“Black, is there any chance your stupid friend Lupin likes to watch?” Wherein Remus Lupin likes to do more than watch.

🦋 tell them how the crowds went wild - aceofdiamonds Gen, Rated G, Word Count 1.8k

The team photo is a disaster. Harry doesn't know why everyone's so surprised -- the team photo is always a disaster.

🐞 Betrayal is a Thorny Crown (You Wear It Well) - Snegurochka Teddy Lupin/James Sirius Potter, Rated E, Word Count 8.8k *a tad over, please forgive me

Five years after taking his fifteen-year-old godbrother's virginity, Teddy has done everything he can to avoid James. He is definitely not supposed to look this good when Teddy finally runs into him again, but Teddy is pretty sure the kid will never forgive him for disappearing like that.

[elb0wn00dle]

this is an old drawing i did that is my work desktop background. i thought it was worth sharing to the public

[gaygay--astronaut]

rules: shuffle your repeat playlist and post the first ten tracks, then tag ten people

got tagged by @greenslime69 💚

1. Enemy - Imagine Dragons ft J.I.D (Arcane my beloved)

2. Dom Andra - KENT (btw if you wanna get into Swedish 00’s rock I fully recommend KENT and their album Vapen och Ammunition)

3. Decode - Paramore (throwback to my Twilight days in middle school lmao)

4. Diamond Heart - Lady Gaga (have a tattoo for this song I really liked it when it was released in 2016)

5. We Can’t Stop - Miley Cyrus

6. Stop and Stare - One Republic

7. Seven Nation Army - the White Stripes

8. Bloody Mary - Lady Gaga (not to be that bitch but I ~liked it before it was cool~ aka it’s been on my top 5 favorite Gaga songs since 2011)

9. The Tradition - Halsey (surprised at the lack of Halsey on this list according to my stats she’s my most listened to artist since I got Spotify in 2010)

10. Long Away - Queen

I tag: @vanilla-flavored-asteroid-trash (hi Ed!) @volumniafox @skywalkerangst @jeff-the-kills-you @godmodebeginswithlesbians @voidmother-threadbearer @queenangella @gendraflux @mccoppinscrapyard and @pianonoita

[fvriva]

Gimme Exordium and Anivi for that orange ask game, first question

ORANGE - Describe the world!

ANIMUS VITRUM: I didn't talk much about the world in this other ask, only the characters. The world name here is currently Tela (though I keep going back and forth on the names for this setting), and is largely intended to be a dark fantasy vaguely themed after pre-modernist Europe. Running rampant throughout it are a number of capricious gods and spirits; three notable ones include:

The Seelie Queen, Vesna Oberon (current), Midsomnir Titania (previous), Lady of the Endless Hunt

The Weaver of the Tapestry (the one that consists of the fabric of time and space), and their Threadbearer attendants

The Unseelie King (gender neutral term), Hel (current), Ozymandias (previous), Lord of the End

Humanity isekaied to Tela thousands of years ago and immediately found it difficult to survive after having been essentially reduced to the Stone Age. They quickly splintered into nomadic groups and began to adapt in genetically divergent ways (into something adjacent but not identical to stock fantasy races) to the many, many threats. Humanity as we'd know it is extinct on Tela.

EXORDIUM: This world I went into a bit in a different ask, but here's an overview! The world of Exordium doesn't have an overall name currently, but in it, day, night, and the celestial firmament (and the celestial mechanisms that help facilitate the movement of the heavens--like gears in an astrolabe). Overall, the world used to be a standard globe

The Day-Plane, Wickrath, is locked in permanent day. People survive in the shadows of the giants, ancient earth elementals that are as large as the mountains themselves, and move slowly enough for societies to either settle directly on their bodies or gather in their shadows. However, the giants are ancient, inexplicable in the movements, and seem to war with one another. Albeit at the timescale of a landslide.

Wickrath is also, consequently, in the Sun's domain, and has many practitioners of the Sun's magic of Oaths, contracts, and exchanges. Still working out a lot of the mechanics here, but it's pretty much just animism.

The Night-Plane, Musaphia, is locked in permanent night. They're able to get by with low-light plants and funguses, though there's several ancient structures with with highly-sought-after magical relics that can command the elements and help people survive.

Musaphia is also riddled with pockets of dream magic, the Moon's domain. Dream magic, unlike oath magic, is entirely mental and metaphysical. It can't create something from nothing the way that Oath magic can, but it's the most versatile form of magic available.

The Twiling-Plane, Eikas, is the heavenly firmament between the day and night planes. Many of the spirits had voluntarily retreated into Eikas at the end of the war, but in the centuries that have since elapsed, extended proximity and restrictions have caused tensions to rise. Many spirits, out of a sense of claustrophobia, have been agreeing to be reborn as angels purely for the opportunity to leave.

orange worldbuilding asks

[averysmolbear]

Keep Marching On

CW: this one has some angst to it. there's some mentions of violent nightmares, death, ptsd, and some violence towards some inanimate objects. Bucky's little sister is mentioned as well as a few made up family members for Bucky. (If I'm missing anything else, I'm so sorry and I will add to this if I remember anything else that could be triggering in this!)

A/N: this is set probably just before the Falcon & the Winter Soldier series, give or take. If there's any spelling mistakes or anything of the sort, that's all on me and I'll try to give this a once over down the line to maybe edit it and fix stuff like that.

Waking up, gasping, with his body covered in a cold sweat seemed to be the new normal for James Buchanan Barnes. Maybe the brainwashing of HYDRA had been wiped out - although that theory had yet to be fully tested, in his opinion - but the nightmares would never leave him. It was his penance for the deeds he had done as an assassin and it was a price that he seemed to have to pay nightly.

His best friend, Steve Rogers, loved to remind Bucky that he hadn’t been himself at the time but that didn’t seem to matter to the former assassin. It didn’t change the guilt that clung to Bucky like a second skin. The nightmares came no matter how much Steve tried to tell his friend that he wasn’t the villain. Some of those nightmares were worse than others but they had become oddly comforting in their own way. They were, after all, the one consistent thing he felt he had anymore.

Bolting up in bed, Bucky gasped as he tried to catch his breath. His head was swimming with so many visions but they seemed to start to fade a bit as he opened his eyes. His heart hammered in his chest as his hands - one made of flesh and one made of vibranium - clutched tightly to the threadbear blanket that his legs had become tangled in.

Outside of his apartment, thunder rolled, although Bucky had missed the lightning flash that had come before. His room was dark save for the faint pink light of the neon sign on the roof of the building next door to the one where he was staying. The sound of rain on the window muted the sounds of the city outside but if he strained his ears, he could still hear cars on the streets below as people went about their night.

New York City - the city that never sleeps, Bucky thought as his breathing evened out. How appropriate.

This was home or it had been once, a lifetime ago. Now it all felt a bit foreign to him. Nothing really looked like it had when he had been growing up and yet there were things about the city that seemed like they had never changed. The feeling of disorientation still stuck with Bucky more than he would have liked. It didn’t help that these days he didn’t see Steve, the only person in this world who could understand some of what he was going through. It left Bucky alone in the world while he tried desperately to get his head right.

Bucky had been grateful for his time in Wakanda, of course. They had worked hard there to untangle the mess left in his brain and it appeared to work for the most part. He had even found peace there for a time, content to live a life away from all of the things he had known. He had been an outsider but it had been something of a fresh start for Bucky. 

But all good things tended to come to an end.

War found him again and ever the soldier, he had willingly fought when Steve had come for him in Wakanda. The price, though, had been high. Bucky and others had disappeared for five years, lost in ‘the snap’ or whatever people had chosen to call it. Coming back had been easy enough for Bucky. It wasn’t that different from being woken up from cryo sleep again after all. Then Steve had made a bone-headed decision - something Bucky had fully expected, of course - and now he was lucky if he caught up with the old man once a month.

The return hadn’t been anything Bucky hadn’t experienced before though. He was used to losing chunks of time, used to the world moving forward while he was stuck behind. None of this was unusual for him, which just made the nightmares worse. It had been a reminder, something that woke up parts of Bucky’s brain that he had hoped to compartmentalize. The memories weren’t horrible all of the time but it didn’t make the nightmares every night any better.

A flash of lightning bathed the room in a bright light as Bucky let go of the blanket he had been holding in a death grip. Slowly he was coming back to reality, shaking as much of the pain that tonight’s dream had dredged up in his scrambled brain. His heartbeat had slowed, his breaths had evened out. He kicked his legs free from the mess of the blanket and sheet he had become tangled up in before shifting to sit on the edge of the bed.

It creaked with every move but Bucky hardly noticed the sound anymore. One glance at the digital clock to his right let him know that it was 3:05 AM. He didn’t bother with the lights as he moved toward the chair in the living room area of his studio apartment. It was a small space and in four long strides he had crossed the room. A heather gray t-shirt had been haphazardly tossed over the back of the chair and he grabbed it now.

Bucky was pulling it on as he shuffled toward the bathroom. His bare feet made nearly no noise as he walked. He moved through the apartment with a level of stealth that he had previously reserved for his missions. Now it was merely a holdover from that time, a hard habit for the former assassin to break.

The bathroom door was already open wide and Bucky reached in to flip on the light, blinking a couple of times as his eyes adjusted to the light. In the silence, he used the bathroom and moved to the sink to wash his hands. His hair, recently shorn short again, stuck up in several different directions. He eyed the reflection that stared back at him and he realized that he barely recognized the face he saw.

With a sigh, he splashed some of the warm water on his face. Sleep wasn’t likely to come to him so he knew that he might as well try washing away some of the sweat and the sleep. With another scoop of the water, Bucky was wetting down his hair, letting the water drip down the back of his neck. He quickly raked his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it a bit, although it didn’t do much good.

He sighed again, still staring at his reflection. There were dark circles under his eyes, evidence of his lack of sleep lately. The man who looked back at him from the mirror looked tired in every sense of the word; he looked broken and like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Flashes of memories soon filled his mind and he looked down, gripping the sink tightly. He closed his eyes, trying to will away the memory of another victim.

I’ll never be free.

As he heard the porcelain sink creak under his grip, Bucky quickly let it go. He didn’t want to have to fix it again. After the third time he had gone to the hardware store for a replacement sink, he vowed to not break another. The only problem was that this one - the fifth replacement - was clearly cracking. At least fixing it would give him something to do.

Bucky had already painted his small studio apartment twice. He had replaced the kitchen cabinets and then he had repainted them as well. He had made a point to buy furniture that he would have to put together himself (if only because he didn’t have the space to build any furniture himself) and he even helped his neighbors with a leaky kitchen sink and later with replacing their toilet.

As long as he kept busy, he kept the demons at bay so Bucky found ways to keep himself busy as often as possible.

He often felt like whatever had been done to unscramble his brain, had opened the floodgates instead. While he was grateful that he had been deprogrammed, it didn’t change the fact that he was remembering things that he didn’t always want to remember. Some days the flow of memories was easier to deal with than on other days though. He didn’t mind so much when it was childhood memories but that was rarely the case, especially when he slept.

Bucky couldn’t busy his mind with trivial things when he slept and his subconscious used that against him time and time again. Sometimes the nightmares were clear memories, reminding him of the monster that he had been. He might see a mission from start to finish, realizing by the morning that he had viewed it all with such a detached coldness. While that had been necessary for his survival, it wasn’t who Bucky wanted to be anymore.  

It was when his mind let the memories bleed together that Bucky had the hardest time. There were times when his childhood friends made appearances in his nightmares, his brain morphing what should be a happier time into some kind of personal hell for him to deal with come morning.

Tonight it had been that kind of a dream, half rooted in his life before he was made into a killing machine for HYDRA. It didn’t help that he was half-sure he recognized the person he had been sent to kill in his nightmare. There had been a moment when he had been so sure that he knew the person who he was choking the life out of but he just squeezed tighter, waking up a moment before the life faded from the person’s eyes.

Now that he was awake, Bucky couldn’t say what the victim had looked like nor did he seem sure why he recognized them. It could have been anyone from his life before whose face had bled into the hellscape that was his time with HYDRA. The more he tried to make sense of it, the less any of it made any sense at all.

For some reason this nightmare had done more to rattle him than any he had had in awhile. Most faded from his thoughts by the time his feet hit the floor. This one was lingering in its own way. If he tried hard enough, Bucky thought he might even be able to remember the face of his nightmare victim.

Something told him that it wasn’t a road that he would want to travel down though.

He shuffled to the kitchen, knowing that sleep wasn’t going to be an option, and he started a pot of coffee. He yawned as he added the water to the machine. Physically Bucky was awake or as awake as a person could be after only a few hours of sleep. Mentally he was exhausted.

That was a feeling he was growing accustomed to since it seemed to be one of the few things that he felt with any consistency these days.

He began to tidy up - if only to keep his hands and his mind busy - as the aroma of freshly brewing coffee filled his tiny apartment. He picked a notebook given to him by Steve and stared at it a moment. The pages inside were blank, waiting for Bucky to fill them. Steve told him to start jotting down his dreams and his memories but Bucky still didn’t know what good that would do. There were some things that he just didn’t think were worth holding on to where those things were concerned after all.

Bucky set it aside, shaking his head at himself. It couldn’t hurt. Stop being so stubborn.

He knew that every excuse he had to not do this could easily be put aside. Bucky knew the notebook and the words inside of it would be just for him. He had done it before when he was first trying to come to grips with his new reality. He kept those notebooks in a box in the closet, only bringing them out on very rare occasions. He debated pulling them out but Bucky didn’t know if he wanted to relive any of that right now. Tonight had been so odd that he wasn’t sure a trip down memory lane would be a good idea. Still even as he moved back to the kitchen, his mind wandered to the notebooks. 

He filled a mug and sat at the table, glancing down to see the empty notebook sitting there like it was waiting for him. Bucky would have laughed if he had been in a better mind set. He took a tentative sip from the plain white mug. He burned the tip of his tongue on the hot liquid but hardly seemed to notice. 

Bucky reached for a pen and opened the notebook to the first page. The blank, clean sheet of paper felt somehow intimidating to the former soldier. He took a deep breath, pen in hand, and decided to go for it. It couldn’t hurt to get what was floating around in his head down onto the pages of the notebook after all.

As soon as he started writing, he was surprised by how easily the words came to him. The face that tonight’s dream had been so oddly vivid which might have helped. He was surprised when he looked back at everything he had been able to write down. It had been jotted down so hastily that he didn’t remember writing most of it but as he reread it now, it felt like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest.

“Rebecca,” he softly said.

The name fell out of his mouth before he realized he had spoken it aloud. He hadn’t thought of any of his siblings in so long but he remembered with complete certainty that Rebecca had been his favorite. Just two years younger than him, she had idolized Bucky and she had been so broken-hearted when he told her that he was joining the Army. She had taken it harder than their mother, crying the day he had to deploy. It had broken his heart to see her that way and Bucky’s eyes teared up even thinking of it now.

It had been her face that he had been looking at in his nightmare. It had been Rebecca’s slender throat that his hand had been wrapped around. It had been her life that he had ended with such coldness. He hadn’t thought twice about the pleading look his sister had given him as he tightened his grip more and more until she took her last breath.

His chest felt tight and his breathing became sharper. It hadn’t been true but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Bucky closed his eyes as he pushed the nightmare from his vision. He tried to pluck out the gentler memories of his sister, working his way back from the last moment he recalled seeing her. He flitted from memory to memory, his pulse slowing as he did so.

The last image Bucky focused on was of Rebecca at sixteen. He had been bouncing around in the mess that was his brain before but this memory came to him clearly. It was a true and happy memory that he didn’t mind lingering on as he tried to settle his racing thoughts. Rebecca had been all done up for her first date. Bucky had done his damnedest to intimidate the boy taking her out and he could recall her voice in perfect clarity telling him to lay off the guy, something that had made both Steeve and Bucky laugh at the time.

With Steve as such a fixture in the Barnes household, it was a wonder to Bucky that Rebecca and Steve had never gone on a single date. Of course he guessed that the two had only seen each other as siblings. Still Bucky knew that the two of them together would have made sense in another lifetime. It wasn’t like he could ask either of them now. He wasn’t even sure where to find his sister and that was only if she was still alive.

Bucky closed the notebook, sliding it away. He worried that the words on the page might trigger another panic attack if he kept staring at them. He reached for his coffee, his hand steadier than Bucky had thought it might be given the way he felt. The mug was still warm to the touch and the coffee inside of it was of a drinkable temperature now. He took a long drink as he tried to decide what to do with his day, settling on fixing the bathroom sink and maybe trying to find out what happened to his sister.

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

Bucky had been surprised how asking the right people could get him quick answers. Less than 36 hours after inquiring about his family, Sam Wilson had shown up at Bucky’s apartment with several manilla folders filled with miscellaneous pieces of paperwork. Sam had offered to help but Bucky had made it clear that this was something he had to do himself. To his surprise, Sam had only nodded and told Bucky to call him if he needed anything.

Once he was alone he went through each paper meticulously, piecing together what had happened to his family after he had ‘died’. This had been a rabbit hole that he hadn’t wanted to go down but after the nightmare, Bucky knew that he had to know. It had been no surprise to him that most of his family had died in the years since he had left Brooklyn. Not that it made any of it hurt any less. He had been pleased to see that Rebecca had become a nurse and that she had married someone who had been in the Army.

“Rebecca Sheppard,” Bucky said, almost as if to test out the name his little sister had taken. Somehow it felt right when he said it aloud. He was proud to see that Rebecca had done something positive with her life after he was gone although he wished he could have told her that himself.

She and her husband had had three children. Two sons and a daughter. The daughter still lived in Brooklyn and had married, having two kids of her own, James and Rebecca. Rebecca’s husband had died at the age of 55 in a car accident. She had died at the age of 82 and she was buried in Cypress Hill Cemetery.

He knew that the least that he could do was go to visit her grave. He had been actively avoiding visiting the gravesites of the family that had long since died, leaving Bucky alone in the world. Connections were rare for him although some of that came from not wanting to get anyone mixed up in the mess that was his everything. His life was certainly not something that could easily be explained and his mind was still a bit of a mess on its own. Knowing where Rebecca was buried seemed to push Bucky into acting however. He hadn’t felt the need to visit the graves of his parents nearly as much as he did when thinking of the kid sister that he had left behind.

Thumbing through everything again, Bucky let out a soft sigh. He pulled out the photographs that he had been avoiding looking through. His heart ached as he saw the photos of his little sister and of the family that she had ultimately built in his absence. He could see how happy she was in the snapshots, moments in time when Rebecca had been able to build a future for herself.

She had only gotten prettier as she had gotten older and Bucky felt a stinging in his eyes as he looked at the photo of her holding one of her babies. He had missed so much more than he had even imagined. He had believed for a time that not knowing about any of this would somehow make starting over easier but Bucky knew that seeing what he had missed out on hurt but it also helped. At least he knew that everyone he had left behind - the most important people in his life - had been able to pick up the pieces after he had ‘died’. It didn’t dull the ache he felt when he realized he could have been there to watch Rebecca blossom and to see her children but knowing that she had been able to do those things made him feel at least a bit better.

There was one picture that Bucky lingered on. He looked over it, brows furrowed as he tried to place what it was he felt in that moment. It was Rebecca’s granddaughter who had also been named Rebecca by her parents as an apparent homage to his little sister. She looked so much like his sister although her eyes were a different color -- more green than blue -- but he felt a pain in his chest as he looked at the photo. He set it aside, reaching for his phone. He took a deep breath, letting out a soft sigh. Bucky knew if he didn’t do this, then he might not ever get the courage up to do it. He found the phone number among all of the papers he had been sorting through earlier. His brows were furrowed again as he dialed the number. He lifted the phone to his ear, barely able to hear the ringing over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He heard the click of someone picking up on the other end and a confused female voice saying hello. Bucky froze for the moment; even the sound of her voice was so much like his sister’s. He swallowed hard before clearing his throat, rasping out a hello. It took a moment for the person on the other end to respond, asking who it was and what they wanted. Bucky realized that the person sounded panicked and he took a deep breath before he drove into explaining everything. He spoke in a rushed tone, trying to get everything out before the person could hang up.

To Bucky’s surprise, Rebecca believed him. She even agreed to meet up with him later in the week. She would be in the area, running some errands, and promised that she could make a little time to meet him for coffee. Relieved, Bucky gave Rebecca a place, letting her set the time that they would meet. He hung up and he felt like a weight was lifted off of him.

This wasn’t the same thing as having his family back but it was a piece of that. It was a connection to his past that he hadn't had before and it was something that Bucky knew that he sorely needed.

[achilleanfemme]

Want to Save American Democracy? Build Civil Society and Popular Institutions.

Many do not know this, but in Fall 2020, I started a Masters in Political Science program and swiftly dropped out. There’s lots of reasons that this attempt at doing graduate-level political science failed, but a primary reason is that I am not interested in simply knowing about politics, a huge passion of mine is doing politics. Those who have attained (or tried to attain) any graduate degree in a social science field know that there’s not much time to do anything outside of your coursework, research, and teaching/TAing requirements. Once I experienced the sheer volume of time that completing such a degree would take, and better understood how abysmal the academic job market is in this country, I decided that I would rather do something else with my time and quit.

During my brief stint in an American Political Institutions class, I did learn that I am an institutionalist. I really love democracy and believe that robust popular democratic institutions, within and outside of the state, are vital to democratic flourishing. What is concerning about this is that, since the start of the neoliberal turn in American politics in the 1970s and 80s, there’s been a dramatic decline in popular participation in civil society (i.e. the part of society comprised of non-state institutions and organizations that bring residents of a particular polity together around common causes across lines of difference). From Labor unions to small-to-medium size parishes and houses of worship, from volunteer organizations and mutual aid societies to bowling clubs and knitting circles, US-Americans are far less likely to participate in civil organizations and institutions, like those I listed, in 2022 than they were in 1972. Even though the USA has always been a weak and limited liberal democracy, US civil society and civil institutions have historically been some of the most robust in the whole world, which has often made up for the lack of social provision and means of popular participation in formal liberal democratic governance. As neoliberal policies emerged, they undermined civil institutions like labor unions, which undermined social democratic policies, which further eroded civil institutions. What we are currently left with is a threadbear social order, mass oppression, immiseration, alienation, and inequality, and a liberal democracy on the brink of total collapse. 

I believe firmly that as socialists, we must build our own institutions of the Left (like the Democratic Socialists of America, Labor Notes, and Haymarket Books) but we must also support, build, and work to transform already existing civil institutions towards more liberatory and egalitarian ends. I am a proud Episcopalian. Not only does the Episcopal liturgy and social Witness really speak to my soul, but I am proud to be a part of a Mainline Protestant Christian denomination that has worked, and continues to work towards racial, gender, economic, and climate justice. We do all these things, with God’s help, through democratic participation at all levels of Church life. In this work, in this way, we are democratically transforming an old institution, that has historically been a safe-place for white US capitalists and aristocrats, into a justice-centered, democratic, popular institution for ordinary people. 

I am also a member of the Texas State Teachers Association, which is affiliated with the National Education Association, a large labor union representing teachers and education workers across the USA. I am genuinely proud to see my union dues come out of my account every month because I know, in my own small way, that I am contributing to the collective efforts of education workers across this country. Together we are organizing to protect our public schools, expand our public education system, and bring about education justice. When I attend a union organizing meeting, or share a meal with my co-workers and chat about what we could do if we had a more democratic, militant, robust union local, I am building on the work of union educators of the past who fought to build and protect our schools for kids like I was, a child who went to well-funded public school from Kindergarten through my Master’s degree (I have a Master’s of Education). 

Both of the examples of civil institutions that I gave, churches and labor unions, also control large amounts of money. Many of these institutions still have mechanisms for democratic oversight and management of these resources, even as the actual exercise of these democratic rights has fallen away. In my view, this creates a window for socialists to engage in these institutions so that we can democratically take control of their monies, buildings, durable assets, and clout and use them towards our project of building a new democratic socialist republic in North America. Moreover, If we are going to break out of our democratic malaise and transform our economy and society into one that democratically works for the popular majority, and not just a tiny, largely white-male affluent elite, then we need to build on the legacy of our movement foreparents who struggled daily in union halls and parish halls, who communed daily around kitchen tables and backyard fires, to build a social fabric that could endure sways in the whims of the ruling elite. 

As I have lived through wave after wave of social crises, political crises, ecological crises during my 26 years on this planet, it has become clear to me that the ruling class is not going to save us. They do not care if we live or die. Therefore we need to do what we can to build civil institutions that can support ordinary people like ourselves and those we love, that can endure for generations to come. Let our legacy be that we built a world where workers are cared for. Let future young radicals know what we know now, that socialists and freedom fighters of the past loved them so much that we fought for a society and a planet where they can live a delightful, free life.