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[mostlysignssomeportents]

The long, bloody lineage of private equity's looting

Tomorrow (June 3) at 1:30PM, I’m in Edinburgh for the Cymera Festival on a panel with Nina Allen and Ian McDonald.

Monday (June 5) at 7:15PM, I’m in London at the British Library with my novel Red Team Blues, hosted by Baroness Martha Lane Fox.

Fans of the Sopranos will remember the “bust out” as a mob tactic in which a business is taken over, loaded up with debt, and driven into the ground, wrecking the lives of the business’s workers, customers and suppliers. When the mafia does this, we call it a bust out; when Wall Street does it, we call it “private equity.”

It used to be that we rarely heard about private equity, but then, as national chains and iconic companies started to vanish, this mysterious financial arrangement popped up with increasing frequency. When a finance bro’s presentation on why Olive Garden needed to be re-orged when viral, there was a lot off snickering about the decline of a tacky business whose value prop was unlimited carbs. But the bro was working for Starboard Value, a hedge fund that specialized in buhying out and killing off companies, pocketing billions while destroying profitable businesses.

https://www.salon.com/2014/09/17/the_real_olive_garden_scandal_why_greedy_hedge_funders_suddenly_care_so_much_about_breadsticks/

Starboard Value’s game was straightforward: buy a business, load it with debt, sell off its physical plant — the buildings it did business out of — pay itself, and then have the business lease back the buildings, bleeding out money until it collapsed. They pulled it with Red Lobster,and the point of the viral Olive Garden dis track was to soften up the company for its own bust out.

The bust out tactic wasn’t limited to mocking middlebrow family restaurants. For years, the crooks who ran these ops did a brisk trade in blaming the internet. Why did Sears tank? Everyone knows that the 19th century business was an antique, incapable of mounting a challenge in the age of e-commerce. That was a great smokescreen for an old-fashioned bust out that saw corporate looters make off with hundreds of millions, leaving behind empty storefronts and emptier pension accounts for the workers who built the wealth the looters stole:

https://prospect.org/economy/vulture-capitalism-killed-sears/

Same goes for Toys R Us: it wasn’t Amazon that killed the iconic toy retailer — it was the PE bosses who extracted $200m from the chain, then walked away, hands in pockets and whistling, while the businesses collapsed and the workers got zero severance:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/business/wp/2018/06/01/how-can-they-walk-away-with-millions-and-leave-workers-with-zero-toys-r-us-workers-say-they-deserve-severance/

It’s a good racket — for the racketeers. Private equity has grown from a finance sideshow to Wall Street’s apex predator, and it’s devouring the real economy through a string of audactious bust outs, each more consequential and depraved than the last.

As PE shows that it can turn profitable businesses gigantic windfalls, sticking the rest of us with the job of sorting out the smoking craters they leave behind, more and more investors are piling in. Today, the PE sector loves a rollup, which is when they buy several related businesses and merge them into one firm. The nominal business-case for a rollup is that the new, bigger firm is more “efficient.” In reality, a rollup’s strength is in eliminating competition. When all the pet groomers, or funeral homes, or urgent care clinics for ten miles share the same owner, they can raise prices, lower wages, and fuck over suppliers.

They can also borrow. A quirk of the credit markets is that a standalone small business is valued at about 3–5x its annual revenues. But if that business is part of a large firm, it is valued at 10–20x annual turnover. That means that when a private equity company rolls up a comedy club, ad agency or water bottler (all businesses presently experiencing PE rollup), with $1m in annual revenues, it shows up on the PE company’s balance sheet as an asset worth $10–20m. That’s $10–20m worth of collateral the PE fund can stake for loans that let it buy and roll up more small businesses.

2.9 million Boomer-owned businesses, employing 32m people, are expected to sell in the next couple years as their owners retire. Most of these businesses will sell to PE firms, who can afford to pay more for them as a prelude to a bust out than anyone intending to operate them as a productive business could ever pay:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

PE’s most ghastly impact is felt in the health care sector. Whole towns’ worth of emergency rooms, family practices, labs and other health firms have been scooped up by PE, which has spent more than $1t since 2012 on health acquisitions:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/17/the-doctor-will-fleece-you-now/#pe-in-full-effect

Once a health care company is owned by PE, it is significantly more likely to commit medicare fraud. It also cuts wages and staffing for doctors and nurses. PE-owned facilities do more unnecessary and often dangerous procedures. Appointments get shorter. The companies get embroiled in kickback scandals. PE-backed dentists hack away at children’s mouths, filling them full of root-canals.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/17/the-doctor-will-fleece-you-now/#pe-in-full-effect

The Healthcare Private Equity Association boasts that its members are poised to spend more than $3t to create “the future of healthcare.”

https://hcpea.org/#!event-list

As bad as PE is for healthcare, it’s worse for long-term care. PE-owned nursing homes are charnel houses, and there’s a particularly nasty PE scam where elderly patients are tricked into signing up for palliative care, which is never delivered (and isn’t needed, because the patients aren’t dying!). These fake “hospices” get huge payouts from medicare — and the patient is made permanently ineligible for future medicare, because they are recorded being in their final decline:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

Every part of the health care sector is being busted out by PE. Another ugly PE trick, the “club deal,” is devouring the medical supply business. Club deals were huge in the 2000s, destroying rent-controlled housing, energy companies, Mervyn’s department stores, Harrah’s, and Old Country Joe. Now it’s doing the same to medical supplies:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

Private equity is behind the mass rollup of single-family homes across America. Wall Street landlords are the worst landlords in America, who load up your rent with junk fees, leave your home in a state of dangerous disrepair, and evict you at the drop of a hat:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/16/die-miete-ist-zu-hoch/#assets-v-human-rights

As these houses decay through neglect, private equity makes a bundle from tenants and even more borrowing against the houses. In a few short years, much of America’s desperately undersupplied housing stock will be beyond repair. It’s a bust out.

You know all those exploding trains filled with dangerous chemicals that poison entire towns? Private equity bust outs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/04/up-your-nose/#rail-barons

Where did PE come from? How can these people look themselves in the mirror? Why do we let them get away with it? How do we stop them?

Today in The American Prospect, Maureen Tkacik reviews two new books that try to answer all four of these questions, but really only manage to answer the first three:

https://prospect.org/culture/books/2023-06-02-days-of-plunder-morgenson-rosner-ballou-review/

The first of these books is These Are the Plunderers: How Private Equity Runs — and Wrecks — America by Gretchen Morgenson and Joshua Rosner:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/These-Are-the-Plunderers/Gretchen-Morgenson/9781982191283

The second is Plunder: Private Equity’s Plan to Pillage America, by Brendan Ballou:

https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/brendan-ballou/plunder/9781541702103/

Both books describe the bust out from the inside. For example, PetSmart — looted for $30 billion by RaymondSvider and his PE fund BC Partners — is a slaughterhouse for animals. The company systematically neglects animals — failing to pay workers to come in and feed them, say, or refusing to provide backup power to run during power outages, letting animals freeze or roast to death. Though PetSmart has its own vet clinics, the company doesn’t want to pay its vets to nurse the animals it damages, so it denies them care. But the company is also too cheap to euthanize those animals, so it lets them starve to death. PetSmart is also too cheap to cremate the animals, so its traumatized staff are ordered to smuggle the dead, rotting animals into random dumpsters.

All this happened while PetSmart’s sales increased by 60%, matched by growth in the company’s gross margins. All that money went to the bust out.

https://www.forbes.com/sites/antoinegara/2021/09/27/the-30-billion-kitty-meet-the-investor-who-made-a-fortune-on-pet-food/

Tkacik says these books show that we’re finally getting wise to PE. Back in the Clinton years, the PE critique painted the perps as sharp operators who reduced quality and jacked up prices. Today, books like these paint these “investors” as the monsters they are — crooks whose bust ups are crimes, not clever finance hacks.

Take the Carlyle Group, which pioneered nursing home rollups. As Carlyle slashed wages, its workers suffered — but its elderly patients suffered more. Thousands of Carlyle “customers” died of “dehydration, gangrenous bedsores, and preventable falls” in the pre-covid years.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/opioid-overdoses-bedsores-and-broken-bones-what-happened-when-a-private-equity-firm-sought-profits-in-caring-for-societys-most-vulnerable/2018/11/25/09089a4a-ed14-11e8-baac-2a674e91502b_story.html

KKR, another PE monster, bought a second-hand chain of homes for mentally disabled adults from another PE company, then squeezed it for the last drops of blood left in the corpse. KKR cut wages to $8/hour and increased shifts to 36 hours, then threatened to have workers who went home early arrested and charged with “patient abandonment.” Many of these homes were often left with no staff at all, with patients left to starve and stew in their own waste.

PE loves to pick on people who can’t fight back: kids, sick people, disabled people, old people. No surprise, then, that PE loves prisons — the ultimate captive audience. HIG Capital is a $55b fund that owns TKC Holdings, who got the contract to feed the prisoners at 400 institutions. They got the contract after the prisons fired Aramark, owned by PE giant Warburg Pincus, whose food was so inedible that it provoked riots. TKC got a million bucks extra to take over the food at Michigan’s Kinross Correctional Facility, then, incredibly, made the food worse. A chef who refused to serve 100 bags of rotten potatoes (“the most disgusting thing I’ve seen in my life”) was fired:

https://www.wzzm13.com/article/news/local/michigan/prison-food-worker-i-was-fired-for-refusing-to-serve-rotten-potatoes/69-467297770

TKC doesn’t just operate prison kitchens — it operates prison commissaries, where it gouges prisoners on junk food to replace the inedible slop it serves in the cafeteria. The prisoners buy this food with money they make working in the prison workshops, for $0.10–0.25/hour. Those workshops are also run by TKC.

Tkacic traces private equity back to the “corporate raiders” of the 1950s and 1960s, who “stealthily borrowed money to buy up enough shares in a small or midsized company to control its biggest bloc of votes, then force a stock swap and install himself as CEO.”

The most famous of these raiders was Eli Black, who took over United Fruit with this gambit — a company that had a long association with the CIA, who had obligingly toppled democratically elected governments and installed dictators friendly to United’s interests (this is where the term “banana republic” comes from).

Eli Black’s son is Leon Black, a notorious PE predator. Leon Black got his start working for the junk-bonds kingpin Michael Milken, optimizing Milken’s operation, which was the most terrifying bust out machine of its day, buying, debt-loading and wrecking a string of beloved American businesses. Milken bought 2,000 companies and put 200 of them through bankruptcy, leaving the survivors in a brittle, weakened state.

It got so bad that the Business Roundtable complained about the practice to Congress, calling Milken, Black, et al, “a small group is systematically extracting the equity from corporations and replacing it with debt, and incidentally accumulating major wealth.”

Black stabbed Milken in the back and tanked his business, then set out on his own. Among the businesses he destroyed was Samsonite, “a bankrupt-but-healthy company he subjected to 12 humiliating years of repeated fee extractions, debt-funded dividend payments, brutal plant closings, and hideous schemes to induce employees to buy its worthless stock.”

The money to buy Samsonite — and many other businesses — came through a shadowy deal between Black and John Garamendi, then a California insurance commissioner, now a California congressman. Garamendi helped Black buy a $6b portfolio of junk bonds from an insurance company in a wildly shady deal. Garamendi wrote down the bonds by $3.9b, stealing money “from innocent people who needed the money to pay for loved ones’ funerals, irreparable injuries, etc.”

Black ended up getting all kinds of favors from powerful politicians — including former Connecticut governor John Rowland and Donald Trump. He also wired $188m to Jeffrey Epstein for reasons that remain opaque.

Black’s shady deals are a marked contrast with the exalted political circles he travels in. Despite private equity’s obviously shady conduct, it is the preferred partner for cities and states, who buy everything from ambulance services to infrastructure from PE-owned companies, with disastrous results. Federal agencies turn a blind eye to their ripoffs, or even abet them. 38 state houses passed legislation immunizing nursing homes from liability during the start of the covid crisis.

PE barons are shameless about presenting themselves as upstanding cits, unfairly maligned. When Obama made an empty promise to tax billionaires in 2010, Blackstone founder SteveS chwarzman declared, “It’s a war. It’s like when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939.”

Since we’re on the subject of Hitler, this is a good spot to bring up Monowitz, a private-sector satellite of Auschwitz operated by IG Farben as a slave labor camp to make rubber and other materiel it supplied at a substantial markup to the wermacht. I’d never heard of Monowitz, but Tkacik’s description of the camp is chilling, even in comparison to Auschwitz itself.

Farben used slave laborers from Auschwitz to work at its rubber plant, but was frustrated by the logistics of moving those slaves down the 4.5m stretch of road to the facility. So the company bought 25,000 slaves — preferring children, who were cheaper — and installed them in a co-located death-camp called Monowitz:

https://www.commentary.org/articles/r-tannenbaum/the-devils-chemists-by-josiah-e-dubois-jr/

Monowitz was — incredibly — worse than Auschwitz. It was so bad, the SS guards who worked at it complained to Berlin about the conditions. The SS demanded more hospitals for the workers who dropped from beatings and overwork — Farben refused, citing the cost. The factory never produced a steady supply of rubber, but thanks to its gouging and the brutal treatment of its slaves, the camp was still profitable and returned large dividends to Farben’s investors.

Apologists for slavery sometimes claim that slavers are at least incentivized to maintain the health of their captive workforce. This was definitely not true of Farben. Monowitz slaves died on average after three months in the camp. And Farben’s subsidiary, Degesch, made the special Zyklon B formulation used in Auschwitz’s gas chambers.

Tkacik’s point is that the Nazis killed for ideology and were unimaginably cruel. Farben killed for money — and they were even worse. The banality of evil gets even more banal when it’s done in service to maximizing shareholder value.

As Farben historian Joseph Borkin wrote, the company “reduced slave labor to a consumable raw material, a human ore from which the mineral of life was systematically extracted”:

https://www.scribd.com/document/517797736/The-Crime-and-Punishment-of-I-G-Farben

Farben’s connection to the Nazis was a the subject of Germany’s Master Plan: The Story of Industrial Offensive, a 1943 bestseller by Borkin, who was also an antitrust lawyer. It described how Farben had manipulated global commodities markets in order to create shortages that “guaranteed Hitler’s early victories.”

Master Plan became a rallying point in the movement to shatter corporate power. But large US firms like Dow Chemical and Standard Oil waged war on the book, demanding that it be retracted. Borkin was forced into resignation and obscurity in 1945.

Meanwhile, in Nuremberg, 24 Farben executives were tried for their war crimes, and they cited their obligations to their shareholders in their defense. All but five were acquitted on this basis.

Seen in that light, the plunderers of today’s PE firms are part of a long and dishonorable tradition, one that puts profit ahead of every other priority or consideration. It’s a defense that wowed the judges at Nuremberg, so should we be surprised that it still plays in 2023?

Tkacik is frustrated that neither of these books have much to offer by way of solutions, but she understands why that would be. After all, if we can’t even close the carried interest tax loophole, how can we hope to do anything meaningful?

“Carried interest” comes up in every election cycle. Most of us assume it has something to do with “interest payments,” but that’s not true. The carried interest loophole relates to the “interest” that 16th-century sea captains had in their cargo. It’s a 600-year-old tax loophole that private equity bosses use to pay little or no tax on their billions. The fact that it’s still on the books tells you everything you need to know about whether our political class wants to do anything about PE’s plundering.

Notwithstanding Tkacik’s (entirely justified) skepticism of the weaksauce remedies proposed in these books, there is some hope of meaningful action. Private equity’s rollups are only possible because they skate under the $101m threshold for merger scrutiny. However, there is good — but unenforced — law that allows antitrust enforcers to block these mergers. This is the “incipiency standard” — Sec 7 of the Clayton Act — the idea that a relatively small merger might not be big enough to trigger enforcement action on its own, but regulators can still act to block it if it creates an incipient monopoly.

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

The US has a new crop of aggressive — fearless — top antitrust enforcers and they’ve been systematically reviving these old laws to go after monopolies.

That’s long overdue. Markets are machines for eroding our moral values: “In comparison to non-market decisions, moral standards are significantly lower if people participate in markets.”

https://web.archive.org/web/20130607154129/https://www.uni-bonn.de/Press-releases/markets-erode-moral-values

The crimes that monsters commit in the name of ideology pale in comparison to the crimes the wealthy commit for money.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Edinburgh, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farbenizers

[Image ID: An overgrown graveyard, rendered in silver nitrate monochrome. A green-tinted businessman  with a moneybag in place of a head looms up from behind a gravestone. The right side of the image is spattered in blood.]

[gor3-hound]

sunflower

ft. chris redfield x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, fluff, ddlg, use of princess parts(sorry) oral(f!recieving), mating press, really sweet chris tbh, pacifier usage, non-sexual intimacy also included, hand holding during sex, p in v, creampie, squirting, multiple orgasms(reader)

a/n: more ddlg w chris... he's so perfect for it sorry... same universe as 'sweet girl' but a complete standalone. ddlg always scares me to write sksjsksjs but hope you all like it <3 feedback appreciated as always :3

word count: 1.6k words

Chris can feel the stress radiating from your body as soon as you walk into the home. He hears you drop the car keys haphazardly on the table. He walks out of his office just as you're hanging your coat up, brows furrowed in frustration with your jaw clenched.

You always got like this after visiting your dad. Chris isn't even allowed to come with you anymore after the last time. He came close to breaking the asshole's nose after he made you cry. He didn't even know why you still put up with him after everything he's done to you, but you always tell Chris ‘family is family’, and he doesn't want to push you.

He'd always be there for you when you got back, anyway. He walks up to you slowly, pulling you into his arms. He can feel the tension in your body, and it makes him frown. He tilts your head up to look at him, his thumb gently rubbing at the crease between your brows until it softens and you're looking up at him with those bright eyes he loves so much.

“There's my baby.” He coos, leaning down to plant kisses all over your face with a smile. He combs his fingers through your hair, carefully untangling a few knots that formed. He finds himself smiling even wider when you finally start to relax in his arms, rubbing your cheek against his chest sweetly.

“Daddy…” You breathe out, hugging him tight. His large hand runs down your back, stopping before rubbing small circles right above your ass. He hums softly, kissing the crown of your head. He knew you needed this when you got like this. Needed him.

“It's okay, baby. Daddy's got you. Let me take care of you, yeah?” He whispers, his breath tickling your hairline as he leans down slightly to be more on your level.

He runs a bath for you, peeling the clothes off of your body slowly. He even puts in your favourite glittery pink bath bomb, despite it being a pain in the ass to clean up. He'd be scrubbing the discolouration off the tub for weeks, and by then, you'd have used it again. An endless cycle, but one he'd endure for as long as he lived if it was for you. He picks you up and sets you in, massaging soap into your body as you sit in the warm water. You melt under his touches, practically purring like a little kitten.

He's careful not to get your hair wet as he washes you, being as gentle as he can. He dries you off with the fluffiest towel in the cabinet and slips you into the comfiest pyjamas you own.  He ends up setting you between his legs in the bedroom with your pacifier in your mouth and hair supplies in his hand, the TV playing Tangled for the fourth time this week. 

It's Wednesday.

He genuinely thinks he might have to get a lobotomy if he hopes to ever get ‘I Have A Dream’ out of his head. He's more than ashamed to admit he's been humming it between sets at the gym. Oh, well. A small price to pay for your happiness.

He cares for your hair as you focus on the movie, detangling any knots gently, just as you’ve taught him to do before. He tries his best to part your hair into two sections, but it ends up being a little messy. At least he learned how to braid. He was quite proud of himself for that one. It only took a dozen YouTube tutorials to figure it out. He carefully twists your hair into two plaits, kissing the nape of your neck once he's done.

“You're so cute, princess.” He coos, his big hands coming to rest on your waist so he can tug you into his lap. He runs his hands under your shirt, gently caressing the skin of your stomach. “I could just eat you up.”

He runs his stubble against your neck, feeling warmth flood his chest as you start to squirm and giggle, teeth clinging onto your pacifier to keep it in place. He laughs softly at the sight, nipping the side of your neck playfully before picking you up, lying you down on your back in the bed. He raises your shirt up, dipping his head down to your stomach.

“Maybe I should. You look so sweet.” He teases, planting kisses all over your soft stomach as you wriggle underneath him. Your paci slips from your mouth as you laugh, your hands coming down to try and push him away by his head. 

“Daddy, you can't eat me!” You say between giggles, kicking your feet out slightly. He doesn't relent, blowing raspberries against your tummy, making you squeal. “You're so silly.”

“Oh, but I can.” He says, grinning against your soft skin. His head trails lower, nudging your clit through the fabric of your pyjama shorts, peeking up at your face as he hears a soft gasp coming from you. “In fact, I thought you liked when daddy did that.”

You don't really get a chance to reply, ‘cause he's grabbing your discarded pacifier and slotting it into your mouth, tapping your hips twice in a gesture that you've come to understand means up.

He slips your shorts and panties off in one motion, his eyes locked onto the sticky string of arousal that connects the gusset of your panties to your pretty cunt as he peels them off. He shudders as he chucks then to the side, his big hands grabbing the fat of your thighs to spread your legs. He dives in, pressing a kiss to the hood of your clit. He chuckles as you whine, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

“You like it when daddy kisses your princess parts, baby?” His tone is sickly sweet as he speaks just before diving in, tonguing into your entrance to gather up the slick pooling there. All you can do is nod dumbly, biting down on the pacifier in your mouth as you moan around it, your noises muffled by the plastic.

He only ever pauses in fucking you with his tongue to shower you with kisses and praise, talking about how pretty you are as he presses his lips against your tummy and the inside of your thighs. He coos at you and squeezes your hips in his hands, making sure to show you how much he loves you.

He laps eagerly at your release when you finally tense up and come, relishing in the sweet taste that coats his tongue, lips and stubble. He just pulls back and grins, wiping it off with the bottom of his shirt before tugging it up entirely.

Your gaze is locked onto him as he strips, the pacifier in your mouth bobbing as you suck on it. You wriggle slightly on the bed, propping yourself up against the plush pillows so you can watch as he prods at you before slowly sinking into you with a groan.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He says through gritted teeth, doing his best to stay still as your tight heat envelops him. “Not too sensitive?”

“M'good, daddy.” You slur around your paci, your brows furrowed slightly from the stretch of his fat cock. Your thighs are shaking slightly, but he trusts you're telling the truth. His little princess knows better than to lie to daddy.

“Good… good girl.” He hums, running a hand up your side, gripping your waist before he starts to move his hips, slowly fucking into you.  He moves his hands to the back of your knees, pulling your ass flush against his thighs before folding you in half, pressing your knees to your chest by leaning his weight down on you, your legs thrown over his shoulders.

“Fuuuuck.” He hisses, kissing the tip of your nose before pressing his forehead against yours, fucking deep into you with every thrust. He gets so deep like this - filling every inch of you up in a way that has you gasping and whining.

Your pacifier slips from your mouth and drops onto the bed again, one of your hands opening and closing in a grabbing motion. “Hand, daddy.”

His hand finds yours, locking your fingers together and giving it a little squeeze. He smiles softly, his thick length rutting into you as he presses you further into the mattress. He grunts as he feels your walls starting to clamp down on him, his breaths coming out in short pants.

“That's it, cutie. Cum for me.”

“Daddy!” You moan, back arching as your orgasm hits. You squirt all over him, bursts of sticky fluid covering his lower abdomen. It drips down his cock and coats his balls, soaking the sheets underneath you.

“Such a messy baby, huh?” He breathes out, his hips stuttering as you flutter around him, his grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. “Your pretty sheets are all ruined.”

He drops his head into the crook of your shoulder, panting as he bottoms out, shooting thick ropes of cum deep into your pussy. He can't bring himself to pull out, so he pulls you against his body and manoeuvres you so you're lying on top of him without ever leaving you.

“There we go. Such a good girl. My precious angel.” He whispers breathlessly, his chest heaving slightly from the intensity of the orgasm. He runs his hand up and down your back, petting you gently.

“I love you, princess.” He murmurs against the shell of your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Love you more, daddy.”

[acozysoulwrites]

Gentle touches and soft whispers | Astarion

Description: Tav washes Astarion’s hair by the river

| fluff, fem!tav, soft Astarion, gentle tav |

It was a cool summer morning. The sun had only begun to climb its way into the sky, bidding the moon farewell as it rose. Birds sang, soft snores could be heard from tents around camp. They’d be sleeping well into the morning after the battle they’d had yesterday.

Tav and Astarion were by the river. The rising golden light gleamed off the water and reflected onto their faces. Astarion soaked in it’s warmth, letting it course through his body entirely, every inch of him craving the sun’s kiss.

Tav sat behind him with a small bottle of shampoo in her hand. She gently cupped some water from her bucket onto Astarion’s head. It streamed down his neck and onto his bare back.

“I hope it isn’t too cold” She hums, squeezing a few drops of shampoo into her palm, she reaches up and begins to massage it into his hair.

Astarion shakes his head, words found it hard to escape him as he sat beneath her, eyes focused on the rippling lake before them. His mind raced, but his heartbeat calmed. Her touch was gentle and electric all at once, stirring a feeling of sadness and comfort inside his chest.

“No It’s... It’s perfect, my sweet” He says quietly, the usual spunk in his voice absent.

Tav continues to lather the soap into his tangly curls, which now hang just above his eyes, damp and heavy. “Talk to me, Star”

He thought for a second, wondering what the matter was. He didn’t truly know, just that he felt a sadness.

“No one’s ever done something like this for me before” He chuckles, realizing how pathetic and inexperienced he must sound. “A soft touch; one full of love and adoration... has never come to me willingly… not without a price” He looks down.

Tav’s eyes soften, she reaches down and dunks the bowl into the bucket. “Chin up” She whispers, her finger falls under his chin gently and Astarion obeys.

“You know…” Tav pauses for a moment, her hand still cupping his chin. She leans around and their eyes meet. Soft sadness mingles with gentle comfort. Astarion’s face looked even more beautiful when his hair was wet and out of the way, she thinks. She presses her lips into his temple, planting a soft kiss from there, to his cheek.

“I wash your hair, I hold your hand, I kiss you...” She holds his face, her thumb gently brushing over his cheekbone. “Simply for the fact that I want to. Not because I expect anything in return” She soothes, leaning back, she pours the water over his head, rinsing the shampoo.

Astarion parts his lips, but no words come out. He thinks that if he hadn’t already cried every tear out of his body a century ago, that some would form right about now.

“Thank you...” He says finally, a softness lacing his voice. “I... I don’t know what to say”

“You don’t need to say anything” Tav says, “Just sit there and be you” She smiles. “It’s all rinsed by the way” She ruffles his wet hair.

Astarion isn’t sure how he got so lucky. He hates to think, had they met in other circumstances, Tav would have been an easy victim to lead to Cazador. He wouldn’t have blinked an eye while handing her over. Yet in this reality, the very thought sickens him. The thought of how terribly Cazador would treat his sweet Tav, how easy her kindness and softness would get her eternally punished. It sent a shudder through him.

“You’re too nice, darling” He turns to face her, their knees touch and he grabs her hands into his. “It will be the death of me”.

Tav smiles, then she shakes her head. “I disagree”

“Why is that, love?”

“Well, when we first met you weren’t exactly... nice to me” She chuckles.

“But with my outstanding persistence and shrouds of kindness… Well, you’ve gotten pretty soft, Astarion” She winks and watches his face contort into a disgusted expression and she laughs. “You know it’s true”

Astarion rolls his eyes, “I’m hardly soft, pet” Astarion tuts, “It’s only for you” He smirks.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way” Tav smiles.

[littlewigglers]

Okay I’ve never asked on tumblr but I just found your page and I’m OBSESSED!!! I want to get/make a Vivarium/bioterrarium for millipedes and isopods and I can’t WAIT!! Please please if you have any advice at all, I’d love to hear it! Where to get supplies, the buggies themselves, how to handle them, what do you do if they get sick, how much space to they need for how many there are, etc? Your buggy babies are so cute!!

First off thank you! I love all my little guys as well <3

I ramble kinda a lot so I'll put this under a read more.

For advice I'm still very much a novice when it comes to keeping but I'll tell you what I can!

For tanks I got my glass ones second hand or ones made my the store I buy used to buy my millipedes from, you'd be surprised how cheap you can get a nice big one! For Acrylic THESE are the ones I've had the best luck with not warping BUT they sometimes have kinda blurry parts on the plastic, but still I'd say good for the price if you can't afford glass. I tape up some of the ventilation holes to keep more moisture in.

For soil that ISN'T bought from a specialist stores(Sometimes I can't afford it) I use Peat free compost, paired with leaves and rot wood I buy off ebay stores that sell bug/reptile products, I mix them together with some water and leave them in a tub for 1 week to soften up the leaves. Some people go out and get their own leaves and wood but I'm not really in an area to do that so I can't give advice on that. It's important to keep it moist BUT NOT WET!

Heat mat! You want one to put on the SIDE of the tank and not under it, just one would be enough. I have a timer plug for mine so they're on a few hours a day on and off all day. If you REALLY wanna spoil them then I've seen a few people use reptile headlamps.

For moss and plants I again just buy it off ebay in sheets and give it a cheap over to make sure there are no hitchhikers on it before I put it in the tank. It needs watered and looked after for a while for it to take to the tank. Carpet moss is mostly for looks while sphagnum moss is used to keep moisture in areas and should be water/sprayed often. I have a little fern plant in my tank rn they seem to leave alone. I know a lot of people use fake plants as well for decor!

You should make a point to put a little temp and humidity monitor in your set-ups as well. The special reptile ones can be expensive so I just but the little ones you put in rooms and have had no issues with them.

Don't forget to give them hides! Cork wood/bark or coconut shells are nice and cheap. You can also use man made items just make sure they can handle the moisture and aren't made of anything toxic to your new friends. Also give them little sticks and things to climb up on. Just make sure the lid is secured so they can't escape.

For food I just use kitchen scraps like carrot peel, cucumber, apples and melon, give them a cuttlefish bone and some dried tiny shrimps in small amounts once a week or so, but you can also use fish flacks instead. But remember! Leaf litter and rot wood is meant to be their main diet for most species.

For the millipedes I would recommend Ivory millipedes as a good starter one, they're lovely in colour and are often up top, hardy as well, and usually you can get them captive bred which I've had much higher survival rates with vs wild caught. For each species you'll have to look up their needs yourself though, there isn't a 100% catch all set up for all species. Woodlice/isopods I'd suggest dairy cows as they're lovely and also very easy to get a hold of. I will say species of Armadillidium(roly poly/pill bugs) are my fave and I'm very biased and want 500 of them.

For handling just be gentle! I wear gloves in a lot of my videos but that because I've incredibly sensitive skin and can't stand soil under my nails. The worse they can do to you is them staining your skin(not all species), or give you a little nibble. Make sure if you're handling to wash your hands off BUT be careful what hand soaps you use! Wash hands after as well some can be toxic to bugs from what I've heard.

For tank size hmm that's hard, usually you want soil as deep as their body but that can be hard, 10-15cm is what I aim for my BIG boys and 7-10cm for my others, deeper is better but sometimes you'll also just never see them again! You'll want a tank at least a few times longer than your pets body or at least big enough for them to filly stretch out in if you get really big millipedes like giants and a 120cm tank is just kinda unrealistic haha.

I do not have a lot of advice for if they get sick sadly, it's kinda of hard to tell honestly and usually when you can it's too late. I would just say don't beat yourself up too much if some pass away sometimes bugs just do that especially if you don't know their history.

Where to get them depends on where you're from and what you want. A ton of reptile/specialist stores will have wild caught which isn't great but they will have the largest range of species and usually also sell all the stuff you need to tank care of them. Ebay is where I've gotten most of my captive bred and I just message people if I've questions about their bugs there.

I think that's everything I can think of,

Again I'm a big novice when it comes to bugs, @onenicebugperday and @crevicedwelling likely know way more than me, though idk if they're open to questions but they likely already have a lot of info on their blogs.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: this is our place (we make the rules)

Chapter 2 - Probably should read ch1 first Gun has a new neighbour. Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Epilogue

Good manners cost nothing.

Certaining when you barely had a few wons to your name, that was all you could afford. And your pride.

So just because your neighbour essentially said ‘leave me alone, have a nice life’, he still did you a favour. 

That you owe him for.

Love thy neighbour and all that.

.

.

Gun Park’s home is not homely by any stretch of the imagination.

All black and white and grey, nearly industrial in taste with wooden accents. Straight lines and sharp edges softened by nature’s hues.

Very few furnishings adorn his apartment, minimal and just shy of clinical. Anything that has a place is the best of the best, luxurious and with an exorbitant price tag to match.

Handcrafted bed from Sweden, which apart from Gun’s, has not experienced the same body twice.  

Imported italian coffee machine, used only with beans from Kenya. Drink of choice: 2 shots of espresso, taken as is. 

Never-used cooking appliances, still brand new and silver and top of the range. 

L-shaped sectional sofa from one of the hottest designers in South Korea, selected and praised by HNH’s own Interior Designer with words that held no interest to Gun.

An obscenely huge bathtub in the corner of a spacious bathroom and facing a breathtaking view. A shower with a rainfall head amongst other sprays and nozzles. Both having washed away a lifetime (and then some)of dirt and grime and blood.

Enough space for a personal home gym in one room (even if the building does include a gym and pool for communal use), and a walk-in wardrobe the size of most other pads in Gangnam.

He’s not much for sentiment, just a couple of more meaningful trinkets here or there. Reminders of Japan and souvenirs from his victims. 

Most surprising of all, in a lone forgotten corner, outlined against the impressive, sprawling cityscape and where the best sun spot should be, sits a plant.

Given to him by Goo Kim as a joke for housewarming, “Let’s see how well you can keep something alive”.

Gun’s first urge was to throw it back in his face. Though. The idea of keeping something living intrigued him. A little challenge.

Healthy and vibrant and green with long spiky leaves when it was thrusted into Gun’s hands. 

It didn’t hold his attention for long.

Kept alive in the early days by the cleaner, before Gun realised he hated the idea of someone touching his things and being in his space. 

Now a sad, neglected eyesore. Shrivelled and brown and hanging on for dear life. Lucky to get a few squirts of water once a month; momentary rejuvenation until it is left to wither again.

And lastly.

Hidden in the cabinet below the huge TV, regularly rotated out for the latest model, lives a few gaming consoles.

...Because Gun is still a young bachelor after all. He isn’t completely immune from the psychological thrills of video games.

.

.

Minimal as it is, and busy as Gun is - it’s still his home.

A sanctuary full of things he has collated and deemed worthy enough to be in his life that he makes sure to regularly return to. 

Today, he’s ready for a weekend of nothing. No doubt his leg will bounce and get twitchy after a few hours, but the last few weeks of being on the go with the Four Crews has taken a toll.

Not to mention the hijinks with his neighbour yesterday. Someone that looks like they don’t belong in this district, nevermind in the building.

Yet you knocked on his door. 

On Shiro Oni’s door. 

Exuding a quiet confidence even as your body betrayed your nerves. Even as two spots of pink appeared on your cheeks once you took in the full view of Gun Park.

Most fascinating of all is that you saw his eyes, treated it as an everyday occurrence, and did not hesitate or flinch.

Huh.

.

.

You ring the doorbell again.

At first, you thought this was an excellent idea. 

But now, as you wait (seriously, what is Gun doing in there), you’re feeling more and more foolish.

Tupperwares of homemade kimchi stew, and kimchi sits in the crook of your elbow. 

Because when someone has enough money to drown in, and obviously someone living in this building should have, then there’s nothing like a homemade touch.

Here he comes. 

The footsteps don’t sound irritable today. Thank the heavens. Maybe antsy, a little too quick footed to be relaxed.

The door is flung open, and your neighbour greets you. 

Ok, his footsteps didn’t sound irritable but his face certainly is.

And how does this guy have this effect on you? 

Your throat dries up as you notice his hair flopping over one eye, no longer messy after a full day of what must be work, instead likely just leftover from his bedhead. 

(Bed. Head. your horrid nasty brain repeats as you think about his BED.)

The linen shirt and pants. Chest bared, pretty collar bones on show and teasing the outline of hard pecs. 

Relaxed mode, weekend mode.

Sleeves again rolled up and highlighting the tattoos and faint veins protruding on his forearms.

Seriously, did this guy choose the tattoo placement just to highlight his muscular forearms? Fuck him, it absolutely works. 

Gun crosses them, leaning against his open door and observing you. His face, previously not bothering to hide his annoyance at being interrupted by you once again, only shows amusement. Amused to see how hard you are ogling him. It’s not new, though many don’t make it this blatantly obvious.

“Morning,” You hear your voice cracking and clear your throat. “Here.”

You hold out your tupperware boxes.

No hands receive them. They just hang there, in the air between you both.

Gun doesn’t move, continuing to look at you with a hint of a smile and an arched brow.

“It’s thanks. For yesterday.” You give the boxes a little shake. Why the hell can’t this guy just take it. 

“No.” is all he gives, retreating back and closing the door.

Your foot darts out, jamming itself into the gap just before it shuts.

“Just take it,” you try to shoulder your way in a little, "it’s for you.”

“I’ve broken people’s necks for less. Move your foot.”

“Just take it,” you repeat again, “then I don’t owe you anything. We’re even.”

Gun considers this. 

He didn’t think you owed him anything for yesterday, but you obviously did. It was a quick job in exchange for a peaceful evening, not out of the goodness of his heart.

If this right now is what it takes to get you out of his hair-

“I promise I’ll leave you alone,” comes your voice.

And out of his life forever. Fine.

Gun relents, stepping back as you stagger forward and into his domain.

You hold out the boxes, avoiding his gaze, face bright red at how much of an idiot you feel and what a fuss this has turned out to be.

He finally takes them, once again fingers grazing yours. “Thanks.”

Your eyes meet his as that singular word catches you off balance. You didn’t think it existed in his vocabulary.

“Now get out.”

Ah, that’s more like it.

[sofasoap]

Lastochka - Espionage

Pairing : Nikolai x F!Reader ( OC/Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Your first covert assignment after you return to duty. Prequel to A quiet moment - Lastochka

Part I , Part II, Interlude,Part III,Part IV,Part V,Epilogue, Night,

TRIGGER WARNING: explicit scene. talk of PTSD, non-consensual touching. Smut. Slight Jealous! possessive and Dom! Nikolai.

Thanks to @homicidal-slvt for planting ideas into my brain. this whole series is all for you :)

My usual thanking @saltofmercury, mother of Mini, for lending me the character :) Please go and check out her fics!

“masterlist” for Mini MacTavish expanded verse

“I said NO.” Nikolai threw the files back into Price and Laswell’s face, not even trying to contain his fury. “Nik….” Tugging on your husband’s arm, trying to placid him to sit. 

Shrugging off your hand and ignoring your plea he stepped closer to the desk, snarking at the two commanders. “Have you two forgotten what happened last time when she went into the mission ALL BY HERSELF???”  he roared. There is no way Nikolai is going to see you, his precious wife going through hell again.

You wrap your arm around yourself, biting your lip. Not a memory you want to revisit . Slashed. Kept up for days straight, exhaustion. Only a piece of bread and sip of water for you to sustain on for weeks. Darkness of the chamber, contrasting with the bright light shining right into your face, demanding information. The animalistic look when the soldiers try to tie you up and……

Soap was the first one noticing you stumbling back into the chair, hyperventilating. He dashed forward, steadying you. The unfocused eyes and lack of response when he calls out to you, head rolling back and mumbles incoherent words, he knows you are suffering from another episode. Putting his arm around your shoulder, he whispered words in Scottish, calling out your full name, trying to guide you back into the present. While Gaz and Ghost standing on each side, ready to assist.

Argument stopped as Laswell held her hand up, stopping him from talking, he was about to protest, when she went around the desk with a motherly concern on her face.  Nikolai turned around and realised what had happened to you. “... Remember when Da and Ma were angry with both of us when I let you roll in the peat? Da had to hose both of us down… and your first time making scones but nearly burnt down the kitchen…..” Soap’s gentle and soft tones as he tries to recall childhood stories of both of your mischiefs, luring you out from the unwanted traumatic memory of time in captivity. Slowly blinking, you slowly came to.The warmth of your brother’s arm around your shoulder, as your eyes came back into focus. Nikolai was kneeling in front of you, his big hand enveloped yours, thumb slowly caressing your hand, grounding you back into reality. Eyes full of worry and guilt. One by one, the muscles of your body relax again as you realise you are not back in that horrible prison. You are safe, and sound. With your team family around you. The room was quiet, apart from the sound of your brother guiding you to slow down your breathing as he sees you coming out from the flash back, and your still uneven breathing. “I am sorry.” You choked out after a long while. You feel guilty as the centre of attention, having the team worry about you. The feeling of incompetence, that fear again of getting kicked out of the team again comes careen down the hill. 

Tightening the grip of Nikolai’s hand, he notices your distress coming back again. He stood up, guiding you to stand up and pull you into embrace. “Meeting over.” Nikolai’s curt tone leaves no room for argument. “Nik.” Price growled. “We need an answer soon as possible.”

“Give us a few minutes.” You interjected with a whisper.. Price’s softened gaze lands on you. Running a hand down his face, he nodded. He cares about you like his own daughter, but he knows the urgency of this mission will require him to get all the final details sorted as soon as possible. 

Closing the door as you tow your husband out of the office before he can say anything , two of you walk down the corridor a few metres away from Price’s office, it’s late at night, no one else is around apart from people on night shift and patrol duty. Stopping around the corner of the corridor and out of everyone’s earshot, Nikolai turned around, voicing his opinion on the matter again.

“I am sorry I shouldn’t have mentioned .. The Incident. “ He apologised, choosing his last few words carefully.  “But I am not letting you into danger again. You are NOT going.”

“Nik.” Closing your eyes, trying not to let your mind astray again, “Love. At least let see what they have to say about this mission. And we can decide how we can help out?” You suggested meekly. 

A scowling expression appeared on his face. You wonder between Price and Nikolai, these two can have competition to see who has the most variations of unimpressed or displeased expression on their face. You snorted at the thought. “You are a stubborn one aren’t you. .. Why are you laughing?” “And you love me for it.” dismissing him lightly, tip toeing up to give him a kiss on the cheek, “Come on. Let’s get back to the office.” Walking back to the office after the reluctant discussion with Nikolai, everyone was relieved  you have decided to rejoin the briefing. “Shall we?” Laswell gave you and Nikolai a look, asking permission to proceed with the details of the mission. You gave her a nod, allowing her to continue. 

Flipping open the folder, Laswell and Price started the briefing.  Typical international criminal rings trying to stir up war and have a dab in money laundering and  illegal weapon sales. Nothing new, you thought to yourself. Their latest stint was trying to dab into investment into businesses. Whisky business. To be precise. 

That had you and Soap’s full attention. 

The MacTavish family had been around the highland area for generations. Started off as humble crofters all the years ago, and by luck, manage to own the piece of land they have farmers on for centuries, trying their luck in the whisky operation ( illegally, you remember your grandpa’s words as he winked at you.). They built their empire from the ground, bit by bit, and now the reputation of the MacTavish whisky is well known in the business circle and around the world for top quality but wide varieties and ranges of drink. Gaz joked once when you mentioned the family business. He whistled, even though someone like him isn’t totally into whisky, he knew about the reputation of quality of MacTavish whisky. “So you two are posh rich kids? I always thought it was just coincidental that you two share the same surname with the famous whisky company.”  You laughed. Even though two of you were sent to the best private school and had anything you could have wanted when young, your Ma and Da made sure you and Johnny knew money is not grown from trees and two of you always had to prove your weights around the farm to earn pocket money.

“We were used as free labourers during school breaks.” you rolled your eyes. “Johnny had to help the crofters cut up the peats and put them out to dry. While I get the other dirty job, look after the farm animals and clean their poops.” 

(You did see Price’s eyes glint when you mentioned the cellars you and Johnny used to explore as children. Even Ghost, who is partial towards bourbon, his eyes drifted towards you, as he pretends not to be interested at all in the topic of conversation. You made sure every Christmas you asked your parents to send some vintages for the team as presents). 

“I have a feeling this will be about Johnny and me. So what is the catch?’ You sighed as you lean back in the chair, crossing your arms. "We need someone who is Scottish, obviously,” everyone’s eyes zoomed in on both of you and Soap,  “In the Whisky business….”

“Send Soap.” Nikolai frowned and cut in. Price eyed his friend, shaking his head. “ I will send him if our target is interested in male.” That leaves you. 

Pressing your lip together, tapping your foot. Do you really want to do this? Grabbing your dog tag, you pull on the chain. Agitation setting in. There is really no point of sending Johnny in anyway, you thought. He hardly dabbed in your parent’s business, as he joined the military straight out of school, while you hanged around home more than him, during semester breaks, even attended a few business events and meetings here and there when your parents decided there are more hope for you to take over the family business than Johnny. You knew how the distillery runs, how the farm functions. It makes more sense for you to attend the mission. 

“Let me see the file.” You extended your hand, as you sigh in resignation. Your eyes open wide with slight shock as you flip through the target info. Leaning back to show the photo of the target to Soap, 

“Didn’t you go to school with him? Or was he a few years above you…” The name and the face were vaguely familiar. You search through your brain where exactly you have met him. But you were pretty sure he was at the same boarding school as Johnny. Soap let out an amused hum, “Oh the Witherington boy? Spoilt brat he was. Always try to boast about his achievement. So now he is in the illegal business aye?” Tapping the photo, “He tried to flirt with you once, at the family day. Da wasn’t impressed.” Ah. Now you remembered, it still sends chills down your back at the disgust. That boy wasn’t subtle with his advancement, and you nearly punched him if it wasn’t for Da and Johnny trying to pull you back. “You are still not going.” Nikolai said in a clipped tone. “And this is why You are going with her.” Laswell replied with a conspired tone. Both you and Nikolai stared at her, confused.

Taking a deep breath, you look at yourself in the mirror. Hoping you have everything all done up right.

Thistle shaped floral hair accessories, secured and staying in. Make up, seductive but not over the top.Perfect for an evening function. Earrings, necklace, bracelets,all in place. Laswell’s wife helped you to choose the evening dresses and accessories. Armed with the card Laswell handed over to her,she dragged you out shopping. “No need to worry about the cost. Let’s go all out!! Leave it to me to turn you into a seductress, making sure that husband of yours will fall head over heels for you again.”  She smiled at you. 

Laswell gave her wife a concerned look, you laughed nervously, promising her you would try your best and make sure the two of you don’t overspend. She found a perfect dress for you at a high street shop, something elegant, suitable for a cocktail party, but still shows enough skin to seduce the target. A beautiful cabernet colour sweep train dress with a V-neck design at the front, showing a bit of cleavage but leaving enough just for imagination, and thin cross straps around the back holding up the top part of your dress. Split on one side of your dress, stop up to the top of the right thigh, well, that will make escape more easily, you thought, also means it is harder for you to hide anything underneath. Best of all, the dress hugs your figures perfectly. She certainly had good eyes for fashion.

Growing up with Johnny and no other female siblings, you two were labelled the wild children of highland by the neighbours for all the daredevil stuff he dragged you around to participate. You were never good at the so-called “girly stuff”.   Everytime there is a special outing it’s always your Ma or your other friends that help you to get dolled up. You haven’t done this for a while. There was no need for dressing up and playing the part of socialite since you have joined the military. The only piece of jewellery you own nowaday was the simple wedding band you and Nikolai gave to each other when you exchanged the vow in secrecy.  You reach automatically around your neck where you usually have the dog tag and the wedding band around, a habit you developed when you are deep in thought or in need of comfort when Nikolai isn’t around with you. 

You know you are not bad looking, but you didn’t think you are stunningly beautiful in comparison to your friends. “Plain looking???” Johnny Scoffed. “Do you know how many boys and girls I had to fend off for you?” You were oblivious to the fact how many people were trying to chase after you until your overprotective brother complained to you once over a glass of whisky. 

I CAN DO THIS. You assure yourself. Everyone is here to back you up. It won’t be like last time.

Opening the door of the rented hotel apartment, you stride towards the living area, where everyone was waiting. Your breath hitched when you saw Nikolai, dressed to the nine with a dark tailored suit, sitting on an armchair, with a glass of whisky in one hand, rolling an unlit cigar in another, deep in thought. Oh lord have mercy. You thought while feeling that familiar pool of heat in your core. You still don’t know how this charismatic and handsome man is your husband. You recite in your brain the whole Lord’s prayer in your mind three times, trying to dispel your unholy thought (Never expected your religious study at Catholic boarding school was useful until now), Concentrate on the mission Mini, don’t be such a horny teenager. You can have your husband anytime he wouldn’t run away. You chastised yourself. “And this is why You are going with her.” Laswell replied with a conspired tone. 

“ME?” Nikolai wasn’t sure if he heard her right. Pushing the details of the operation towards the front  of the desk, both you and Nikolai leaned forward to have a good look.

“Well, this role suits you well.” you smirked. “Russian businessman slash possible mafia boss. Looking for possible new investment to expand his territory.” 

Nikolai hummed. Not a bad idea. He has a valid excuse to be by your side. 

“And our little spoilt brat will be eager to try and impress you to try to beat whatever offer you,” pointing at Nikolai, “had on the table.”

“Wait, so this isn’t as straight ‘go-in-and-steal-whatever -I-have-to-grab-and-exfil ‘ kind of mission I used to do?” you pointed out.

“No.” Price tipped his chin down, “ It’s more of a lure and capture mission. We are going to try and see what our pretty rich boy knows about this illegal weapon ring.”

Now you feel like a bond lady. This will be an interesting challenge. You cleared your throat, getting everyone’s attention. Heads turned, and Gaz whistled. Nikolai lifted his head up, you saw a flash of surprise,clenching of his jaw, nearly dropping his cigar that he was twirling in his hand. Quickly regaining his composure, he set down his drink on the side table as you walked up to him, swaying your hip slightly. Extending out your hand, he grasps it lightly as he stands, keeping his eyes on you all the time as he brushes his lip against your knuckle. You can feel his hand warmer than usual, and he is already a furnace, and with his dark and lustful look,  you are certain you have successfully turned him on. Side mission completed. You smirked. Now just hoping the main mission will be just as successful. “You certainly polished up well Mini.” Soap chimed in. You rolled your eyes. Trust your brother to break the moment. “Well thank you for saying I am not ugly my dear sibling.” Turning to face him as making a face, you feel Nikolai’s hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Final check. We will be stationed just outside the venue until you two give us the go ahead when you lure the target into the designated area. You got the sedative?” holding up your wallet, waving it around a bit indicating to Gaz everything is in there. “Good. All the communication equipment is on Nikolai. Sorry Mini, there is just not enough coverage on you to fit you with an earpiece or microphone discreetly. “ He looks at you apologetically. You shrugged, “Well, Nik is going to be sticking by my side most of the time anyway. I am not too worried. At least there is a tracker in my wallet.” 

“Alright. Let’s roll.” 

Nikolai couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

When you walked out of the room, he just barely held back a groan that was threatening to escape from his throat. 

You look absolutely stunning in your dress. His Goddess. His beautiful Lastochka. 

Half of his mind wants to abandon this mission straight away, kick everyone out of the room and devour you right on the spot.  

The knowing smirk on your face shows you knew exactly what he is desiring and the deliberate sway of your hip and the stride you made showing most of your skin off your right thigh and leg? Blood was rushing down towards where it shouldn’t be. For once he was glad for Soap’s distraction. While you and Soap had a little back and forth sibling banter, he pulls you in by the waist. Trying to get you close as possible, to touch you,to breathe in your scent. The beautiful bright citrus smell mixes with jasmine and orange blossom, yet there’s the mysterious calming sweet patchouli and amber scent. How can a perfume describe your personality so perfectly? Nikolai thought. Bright and passionate , and yet,you can also be so intense and fearless. 

He is falling in love with you all over again. 

He wasn’t even listening to the last check over Gaz was conducting, all his focus was on you. Until you gave him a little tug, he noticed the team was piling out of the room. “You alright Nik? Your mind seems to be somewhere else.” 

Shaking his head. Carefully not to ruin your make up,he pressed a light kiss on your temple. “Sorry, your beauty distracted me so much I was floating away.”

Ducking your head, face heating up, embarrassed by his compliment. You gave him a little poke for his flirtatious words, “ Well that makes two of us. You look very dapper tonight.” 

Pausing for a second, you lean into his chest, speaking in a soft and vulnerable voice, “Thank you for coming with me to the mission.” 

Running his hand down your bare shoulder, “I want to be there to protect you, my Ненаглядная ( precious ). I can’t let you plummeting into danger again. I nearly lost you once. Never again I am going to let that happen.” Tightening his grip on your shoulder as he tries not to think what will happen if the mission fails tonight. “Come on, let’s head out. We are going to be late.” 

Grabbing the long coat, he draped it over your shoulder, making sure you are all tucked in nicely before putting his own overcoat on. You murmured a word of thanks before looping your arm around his, searching for that bit of comfort to ease your nervousness. Time to get some work done. Quicker the better. To have you away from the danger, and he can have you all by himself. 

Sipping on your champagne while scanning the room, trying to spot the target. So far, no sign of him…  yet. “Any luck?” Nik appeared behind you, enquired in a low voice. His hand slowly glides down the spine, coming to rest at the small of your back, drawing circles. You swear he is doing it deliberately, to see your reaction. This man was here to distract you more than keeping a close eye on you or potential enemy. You decided to pull a surprise on him. 

“Nikolai,if you don’t want me to jump on you right here and now, you better behave and concentrate on the task ahead.” you murmured as you pretend to take another sip of your drink. 

He was taken aback. Not by the context or the tone of your voice. 

You were talking to him in near-perfect Russian.

You felt his finger halt his movement, before dipping his head down, looking at you with raised brows. You tilt your head up meeting his eyes, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

“Had too much time on my hands while recovering at my parent’s. So I thought I picked up a new skill.” 

“We need to talk about what else you've been hiding from me later on.” Oh, he is definitely getting turned on with the way he is eyeing you, his low voice thick with lust. “Oh my love, I have a lot of hidden talents waiting for you to explore at any time.” You purred.

Before he could reply, both of you heard a boisterous greeting with a heavy Scottish accent from a short distance away. 

“Well! Isn’t this Miss MacTavish?? Look at you all grown up!” You and Nikolai parted slightly and before turning around, put on a well schooled smile on your face and greeted the man with an overly cheerful voice. 

“Ah, Mr MaCleans, what a pleasant surprise!” you extended your hands and leaned forward to give the older man a light embrace. You half expected to run into some of your parent’s associates and connections, but you are genuinely surprised to see this person here. 

“I see you haven’t retired yet?” You asked half jokingly. This man was already quite old when you were growing up, and you remember him as a very energetic man, always travelling around, never seeming to stop for a second. 

Letting out a laugh, “I will only retire the day I die! Now, what are you doing here? Where are your Da and Ma? And that daredevil brother of yours?” You let out a real chuckle, “Ma and Da are on holiday overseas at the moment, that is why they send me in for the event instead. And my brother?” waving your hand around, “off on an adventure, somewhere. He’s always floating around. I am not sure.” Trying to make an excuse. No one really knows you and Soap both joined the military and in the special forces. Your parents always use the excuse of you being sent around studying and Johnny off somewhere travelling like a nomad. 

“Your parents did talk about making you take over the family business a long while ago.. Ah, where are my manners and ignoring your companion, so who is this fine young man here.”

You manage to hold back an unladylike snort as Mr Mcleans called your husband a young man. You suppose anyone else is relatively young in comparison to him. “This is Nikolai…..” “ Oh! Your husband?” Mr MaCleans interjected with a glimmer in his eyes.

Your smile falters slightly but you quickly cover up by a fake giggle.  “Oh, no, Mr Belinski is Ma and Da’s .. um, new friend and possible new investors. They ask me to show him around to get more connections.” it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth not being able to call him your husband openly. 

Nikolai introduces himself, as the two men engage in conversations about business and serves as a good distraction as you make an excuse to grab more drinks from the bar and to search for the target again.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw a younger man approaching. 

Bingo.  

As you considered your next move, you saw him walking up towards Mr Mcleans. Taking a quick glance at Nikolai, you notice the subtle change of his body language, aware that the target is approaching towards the group.

“There you are, young lad, where have you been? Let me introduce you to my old associate’s daughter and her companion.” Hearing Mr Mcleans' comment, you quickly thanked the bartender as you grabbed your drink, returning to the group.

You feign surprise as the target holds his hand out and introduces himself to you and Nikolai, grasping and feeling your hand a tad bit longer for your liking. You pull your hand back, trying not to show your disgust.

“Benjamin Witherington?”  

He raised an eyebrow, confused how you know him.

“You know him?” Mr Macleans asked, curious.

“He went to the same school as John. But I don’t believe they were in the same social circle.” You turned around to face Ben again, putting on your most flirtatious smile as you introduced yourself with your full name. 

You can see a sudden recognition in his eyes as he heard your surname.

“MacTavish? Ah, you are Johnny MacTavish’s sister? I remember we met once during the family opening day.” You are half impressed with his memory, since it has been some years ago when that happened. The day you wanted to punch the hell out of this man for being inappropriate to you. Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to suppress the anger from the memory.

“Look at you, all grown up and beautiful.” and you are still as slimy and frivolous as ever, you thought. 

Letting out a little giggle, pretending to be bashful with the comment, “Well thank you, my mother will be pleased someone finally has something nice to say about my appearances.”

“Well I mean look at you…” Eying you up and down before landing his eyes on your tits, you strategically turned slightly to pick up your drink from the side table, covering yourself and changing the subject. “So, what are you doing here? Seems like you and Mr Macleans came together.”

He puffed, “My father wanted me to attend the function with him and try to gain some business connections and learn some social manners,” he rolled his eyes and puffed, your lip twitched slightly at the new information. Hum, this could prove interesting, there might be bigger fish to catch than him here. The young naive Witherington boy might be a tool for his father, but you doubt he will be all innocent like he is trying to present himself.

You lean forward, fingers on your chin, pretend to be empathise with him,

“Well we are in a similar boat then. Ma and Da are overseas at the moment, so couldn't attend the event.. And Johnny being Johnny, we have no idea where that nomad is, floating around the world with no care so, here I am,” sighing dramatically as you point to Nikolai, who standing on the side, pretend to listen to conversation Mr Macleans and few other gentlemen he had introduced him to, “babysitting duty for one of their new friend.” 

Lowering your voice as if you were telling a great secret into his ears, “I heard through the grapevine he is very rich back in Russia though, and possible association to the Russian mob. But that is just rumours.” you lean back. “He did shower me with gifts when he first arrived. So who knows? I might keep him as a sugar daddy.” 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Nikolai’s hand twitching as he heard the last bit of the comment. Have you gone a bit too far?

“Well, let’s forget about these old men, boy, is it a bit hot in here?” you pretend to fan yourself, trying to dissipate the heat. 

“Let’s go somewhere with less people“ Ben eagerly offer to escort you out of the main ballroom, “ I think there is rooms down the hallway with a balcony, Maybe we can talk more there.” he tries to loop his arm around your waist, you back away slightly, making excuse you have to let Nikolai know where you are heading to.

Shuffling yourself towards your husband, turning as he immediately notices you approach.

“Mr Belinski, Mr Macleans, sorry to interrupt your gentlemen’s conversation, but Ben and I are going to retreat somewhere with a balcony to get more fresh air.” You look at Nikolai right in the eyes.  Target moving, ready to extract

“Ah, balcony. That is a good idea.” he repeated your location, relying onto the team through the concealed microphone. You can see his jaws clenching. This is the part he is worried about. You will have to be out of his sight, alone again. 

“We will be back in five minutes!” send in the team through my tracker location in five minutes.

Out of the ballroom as you walk down the corridor, you grab tight onto your clutch wallet, hoping the tracker in there is working correctly. You try to calm yourself down, half listening to some outlandish stories Ben is currently rambling on about, trying to impress you. 

Stopping in front of a room, you pushed it open. The room was dark and musty, the only source of illumination was the balcony and street light from outside the window.

As soon as you walk in, you feel Ben grabbing you from behind, trying to force a kiss on you.

“What…?!! Get off me Ben!!!” You try to push him off you, elbowing him.

“You slut!!! I thought you wanted this!!!” 

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, you lavvy-heided wankstain.''You sneered. Pulling out your sedation needle from your wallet, you jabbed right into his neck,  “I would prefer Nikolai over you ANY DAY. Sweet dreams.” And with that insult thrown at him, he dropped to the ground in an instant, passed out as the drug took effect. You threw the needle onto the ground, as if it burnt you and stumbled back until your leg hit a couch.

A minute later, Nikolai and the team bursted in, ready for a confrontation. They immediately relaxed as they saw the target on the ground, snoring away and you safe and sound. Nikolai strided towards you, currently collapsed on the couch, looking dazed and out of breath, he immediately gathered up into his arm, murmuring words of assurances.

“I am fine Nik… I just need a minute to catch up on my breath.” you let out a big breath as you lean into his chest. Soap came up towards the two of you, with a small smile on his face. “Thanks Mini. Couldn’t do it without you.” Giving him a weak smile, you held out your hand to give him a hi-five. 

“Now you two love birds go back to the hotel, I’ll get Gaz to drive you two back. Rest of us will clean up the scene and cover the rest.” You peek over Nikolai’s shoulder, seeing Ghost hauling the unresponsive body of Ben over his shoulder without any care,  you begin to wonder how strong the drug is to knock him out instantly. It’s probably one of those answers you don’t want to know. Gaz gave you a wave, indicating he is ready to move. Nikolai helped you to stand, wrapping you up in the overcoat before leading you outside to the van waiting. Passing by Price, you gave him a salute, he returned with a warm smile, happy to know the mission has completed without much harm being done to you.

Now you just have to face your husband. You were certain he would be fussing over you once the two of you are alone. Or maybe he will treat you with something better… to reward you for the job well done. 

Your hands were still shaking from adrenaline as you tried to open the door with your key card. You can feel Nikolai’s body heat radiating off him as he is practically sticking right against your back. 

You had told him what happened after you left the ballroom while in the car ride back to the hotel. His hand around your waist tightened, and the hardened look in his eyes says it all. He is angry. And pissed off. Not at you. But at the dirty, filthy, piece of lowlife target that has touched you without your permission. 

As soon as the door is closed, he pushes you flat against the wall, nibbling your earlobes as his hand drifts down towards the slit of your dress, sliding this callous hand between your inner thigh. “Do you know how hard it was for me to watch that Мудакl (asshole) touching you? Tainting my wife.. MY GODDESS with his dirty filthy hand…” he growled as he pushed himself closer to you, feeling his hard and thick arousal on your back. As you arch yourself back towards him, giving him more friction.He grabbed your throat lightly, and caressed the line of your jaw with his thumb. “I couldn’t do a thing. Watching him flirting away with you, ogling at your breasts like a hungry wolf…. “ Grabbing one of your butt cheeks, squeezing it lightly, “ No one, no one else should be touching you but ME. you belong to me.” he hissed. “I will not let any other despicable, wretched low life lay a hand on you ever again.”  

“Nik…” you whispered, aching for more. More of his touch. To erase the filth and dirty feeling Ben has left on you. “Please...” 

“Shh…” now he moved his hand towards the slit of your core, “I will give you what you want, soon. Be patient, my little bird. Oh?” Ah he noticed. You bite your lip, waiting for his reaction. 

“No underwear? How daring of you.” cupping his hand around your pussy, inserting his middle fingers in, prodding. “So you walked around all night like this, what were you thinking?”

“... I… I was thinking..” Whimpering, trying to get your words out. Gosh your mind is like a muddle right now,  all you can think of is how much you want him to move his finger, make you feel good. Your pussy clenches around his finger, wanting to get a bit of relief. 

“Louder. I can’t hear you” He commanded as he licked the back of your neck, from the nape of your neck right up to the base of your ear. 

“I was thinking how pleased my husband will be when he finds out.” you blurted out, whole body trembling with anticipation. 

You can feel his amusing smirk as he planted a kiss on the back of your head. 

“Well, he is indeed pleased by it. But what he wasn't pleased about was how a scum had been touching you..ah. It’s not your fault.” his tone changed from slightly harsh to a softer genuine loving tone as he senses you shrinking away slightly. “You did well on the mission. And now,  the good girl gets the reward.” he started moving his fingers languidly, his thumb rubbing ever so often circling around the sensitive nub of yours.  Rolling your head back onto his shoulder, moving your hip in sync of his movement, silently begging for more. 

“Already dripping wet thinking of me, hmmm?” 

“Only you. It’s only you..” you moaned. 

“MMM… and you are the only one,” As if to emphasise the point, he started grinding his hip into your back as he sped up his ministration, “That can get me this hard. Can you feel that?”

You nodded your head eagerly, 

“Good. keep that thought. Because…” moving his hand from your throat, moving down towards your breast, kneading it through the thin fabric of your dress and pitching the nipple. “This is the cock that is going to fuck you until you scream out in pleasure for me, fill you up again and again.” 

With that thought, it topped you over the edge. You didn’t even bother  suppressing your loud moan as you felt the intensity of the orgasm hit you. Feeling the hot liquid gushing on from your fold and onto his finger. He murmurs words of praise into your ear as he slows down his pumping and lets you ride out the rest of the high. 

You feel you are about to collapse after he just drew such an intense orgasm out of you. You tried to grab onto the wall, searching for some friction to hold yourself up right. He pulls away from you slightly, one arm supporting you around your waist, as he undresses with a quick tuck of the strap and unzipping the fastener on the back of the dress, letting it drop on to the floor. 

Now you are standing there in front of him,with nothing but all your jewellery and heels still on. facing the wall in such a vulnerable position. 

Hearing him undoing his belt and watching him kicking his pants to the side, he moved closer to you, one hand intertwined with yours, the other turning your head, facing him as he leaned down and giving you a deep, passionate yet loving kiss, before slowly pushing himself into you.

No matter how many times the two of you made love, you still can’t get over the delicious sensation of how his large cock stretches your pussy, with each pounding you see stars in front of your eyes. 

The room is full of the sound of his low groan and your sobbing and begging, for him to give you another release.  Lifting one of  your legs up to change the angle, he ordered you to move your hand down towards your swollen bundle of nerves.

“I want to see how you pleasure yourself, my little bird.” 

You began to rub your own clit intensely, trying to relieve that need that is bubbling up again, all of sudden he sped up with his pace,  hitting right into the sweet spot that made you scream out with pleasure. 

“That is … sing out for my lastochka… I love it when you show me how much pleasure my cock is bringing you. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and come for me?” 

Your hand falters as the second orgasm hits you,your pussy clenching uncontrollably around his cock. Closing your eyes and letting out a stream of incoherent babble, followed by the sensation of Nikolai’s hot cum filling the inside of you. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, trying to ride out his own orgasm.

You moaned out with frustration with the emptiness that he left you when he pulled out from you, you felt both of your cum dripping down between your legs and the drag of wetness between the crack of your ass as he drew his cock back. 

Turning you around, he runs his fingers between the fold of your pussy, and gathers up a bit of the cum.

“What a mess you have made… Now, how would you suggest we clean this up?” 

With an innocent smile, you draw his hand up towards your mouth, licking and sucking each of the fingers clean. 

“Like this?? “ you batter your eyelashes as you cheekily replied. He let out a laugh and bent down to kiss you, getting a good taste of your and his own cum. “What a brilliant idea.. Now , why don't we move to somewhere more… comfortable, so I can perform the cleaning procedure, and maybe, “ his eyes dart down, you can see him getting hard again, “you can clean up mine too?”

The two of you didn’t check out of the hotel the next day until the team came pounding down on the door, and silently retreated back out again as they saw all the clothes scattered along the floors of the living room, leading towards the bedroom. 

“You love her don’t you?”Nikolai looked at Mr Mcleans with surprise but said nothing.“Ah, don’t look so surprised. I have lived twice as long as you, I know that look. The same look I give my lovely bonnie Linda. Bless her soul in heaven.” he took another sip of whisky. 

“ I only agreed to take that bampot bairn because his father Lord Witherington begged me to do so. Now,” Slapping Nikolai’s back,”Go and get her back.”

And People, this is the story of how Anya MacTavish was produced. My inspirations : Again, nothing beat's @shkretart's beautiful Nikolai from this post NIKOLAI IN SUIT . so hot and delicious. I just couldn't get over it! tag list:

@homicidal-slvt,

@roosterr @preciouslittlecreature

@siilvan @floral-force @kaplerrr @captainpriceslover

[rosella-writes]

Hap fri ro!!!! I'm here to hurt you with some Amell/Morrigan, "i know i can’t protect you from everything, but i wish you’d let me protect you from the things i can control." (preferably said by morrigan???? maybe???) (from the yearning prompt list)

>:D why thank you. For you (and @dadrunkwriting) some Inquisitor Amell shenanigans at the Well of Sorrows, feat. canon dialogue from the @daitranscripts project. 💚

Pairing: Amell x Morrigan Rating: G Words: 1170

~~~

“I did not expect the Well to feel so… hungry.”

Eilonwy Amell dragged her worried gaze away from Morrigan, towards the water that lay still as a mirror in the tiled pool before them. With a soft inhalation and a relaxation of the barriers that remained around her magic, kept taut like a sucked-in belly, she reached her awareness towards the Well. 

The Well reached back. It probed, much like a spirit of Curiosity… or Envy. 

“Seems like that should be a concern, love.”

Morrigan scoffed, but when she glanced back towards the Warden-turned-Inquisitor, the corner of her dark mouth was twisted into a knowing smirk. “Knowledge begets a hunger for more.”

Eilonwy’s heart thumped in her throat — to swallow it down seemed as futile as an attempt to swallow a fluttering bird whole. 

“I am willing to pay the price the Well demands,” Morrigan continued, her voice stilted away from that of a lover and towards that of an advisor once again. Eilonwy was reminded of those days in the hot Fereldan sun with a much younger Witch of the Wilds, one who impatiently taught her how to take shape after shape. “I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

Solas’s snort behind Eilonwy was like an agitated druffalo’s. “Or, more likely, to your own ends.”

Morrigan lashed out. “What would you know of my ‘ends,’ elf?”

Birds chirped. The sun beat down. Solas gestured and bubbled over with rage. “You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast! You cannot be trusted.”

Morrigan turned away, the gentle arc of her neck twisting like a swan’s as she placed her attention wholly upon Eilonwy again. “Of those present, I alone have the training to make use of this. Let me drink, Inquisitor.”

Her love’s pleading smile was not enough to soften the arrogance and dismissal in Morrigan’s words. Eilonwy gazed into the witch’s golden eyes and remembered how they pleaded a decade ago for her to steal knowledge for her — this time at the price of her mother’s life. She remembered how those eyes had morphed into the eyes of a raven as the witch changed shape and flew away, not to teach but to impress. She remembered how the witch had disappeared after the battle with the archdemon, only to chase mysteries through eluvians — all when Eilonwy had so desperately needed her.

“You alone?” Eilonwy’s voice rasped with pained incredulity. “You’re not the only mage here. I drank from the well in the temple we found in the Brecilian Forest. I too can take the shape of beasts. I carry mysteries taught by demons and spirits alike. I carry the Power of Blood from the Taint itself.”

She drew nearer to Morrigan, nearly enough to kiss her. Their armour rasped where they touched, hip to hip. As if by habit, Morrigan reached up to push a sweaty strand of Eilonwy’s straw-blonde hair behind her ear, and that pained and enraged Eilonwy all the more.

“I hear the Calling,” she whispered, “and not the false one Corypheus planted within the Wardens to drive them mad with fear. You already took a great power into yourself to help me defeat the archdemon. Why should I let you take such a risk yet again?”

Morrigan inhaled sharply through her nose. “I have studied the oldest lore. I have delved into mysteries of which you could only dream! Can you honestly tell me there is anyone better suited?”

“The mysteries I stole for you?” Eilonwy hissed. “Don’t forget, you could not face your mother alone. You sent me in your stead.”

The pain in Morrigan’s eyes was hard to detect, hidden as it was behind the anger that came so naturally to the woman Eilonwy loved. “You lead the Inquisition. This is not a risk you can take. I have the best chance of making use of the Well… for everyone. Let me drink.”

And when Eilonwy hesitated, taking a moment to rake her gaze over Morrigan’s face and memorise every mark, the witch’s steeled expression broke. 

“I know I cannot protect you from everything,” Morrigan whispered, her voice a shell of its usual tone, “but I wish you would let me protect you from the things I can control.”

Eilonwy’s control snapped. She grasped Morrigan’s arms and nearly shook her, nearly shouted in her face — the bird in her throat choked the scream back down. “You’re not concerned about the price? ‘Bound forever to the will of Mythal’? I fought to keep you free!”

Morrigan’s wry smile struck more rage into Eilonwy’s heart. “Bound to the will of a dead god?” she scoffed. “It seems an empty warning. Perhaps a compulsion yet remains. Who can say otherwise? I do not fear it, even so.”

As the two fought, the voices of the Well had grown. Eilonwy could no longer ignore the push and pull of the will that lay within the water — it rivalled even the Calling’s song in her skull. She dropped her hands from Morrigan’s arms and gestured towards the Well. “Looking at it, listening to it… that’s not just knowledge from the ancient elven priests. It’s their will.

Morrigan was silent for a beat, then spat, “Are you certain?”

“That’s what Abelas was telling us. The collective will of the priests puts anyone who drinks under a compulsion, a geas. Can’t you feel it?”

The witch paused, her eyes flicking back and forth between the Well and Eilonwy’s outstretched hand. “That… would match the legends, but it does not tell us what the geas entails. I would still use the Well, but you are right. We must be cautious.”

With that admission, Eilonwy’s heart slowed. The beating wings of the bird stilled. She reached for the woman she loved and laid her hands on her cheeks — Morrigan allowed her to pull her close, until they rested forehead to forehead. 

“My love,” Eilonwy whispered in the space between their mouths. “If anyone is to use the Well, it will be me. I cannot let you willingly entrap yourself, not when I worked so hard to free you.”

She could hear Morrigan’s teeth grind together. She braced herself for the vitriol Morrigan so often spewed instead of admitting sadness or fear. “So you will take what little knowledge you can understand, and let the rest go to waste?”

“And who’s to say it will go to waste?”

Morrigan’s eyes flicked up to meet Eilonwy’s. The anger in them slowly faded away.

“Perhaps,” she finally said, her body wilting into Eilonwy’s outstretched hands, “it is better this way.”

When Eilonwy drew Morrigan into a kiss, she could practically taste the regret on the witch’s lips — regret, sadness, fear, and the one salty tear of a scared woman who was once a scared girl. She kissed the taste deeper into her love’s mouth, then pulled away.

“Do as you will with the Well of Sorrows, my love,” Morrigan breathed against Eilonwy’s lips. “But be careful.”

[mykneeshurt]

Field of Tulips - three

09 Soap x F!reader

All warnings are on the title page

Over the next week you slowly started to pick up your skills again, to say you were rusty would have been an understatement. You spent most of your time on the mats with Ghost and Gaz. Ghost was a peculiar character, 6’5 and built like a behemoth, an intimidating presence, but with the driest humour. The only way you could describe Gaz was like a Staffordshire bull terrier, always smiling, incredibly loving but fiercely loyal and protective.

They kept their eye out for you around base, always making sure you were ok, as comfortable as you could be. The brothers you’d never had. While your guard was still up around them, you felt it soften slightly. Your trust wasn’t easily attainable, whom ever wanted it needed to first prove themselves. You’d been burnt before.

With each training session you felt yourself becoming stronger, each neglected neuron becoming reignited with every passing day. The Captain would sometimes watch your sessions when he wasn’t busy with whatever it he does. You’d often notice him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, biceps bulging as he watched your every move.

He’d arranged a first meeting with the base therapist much to your dismay, and today was the day you were to finally meet. Standing outside the door you rolled your eyes, you didn’t need therapy. You needed to get back on the field. This was bullshit.

Knocking on the door a sweet voice beckoned you to enter. On entering you saw a woman sat at a desk knee deep in e-mails. She looked up, a warm smile spread across her face as she finished typing on the keyboard. ‘Sargent Dunn! You’re early. It’s so good to meet you, please take a seat.’ She waved her hand towards two royal blue chair that sat opposite each other, just at an angle.

You reluctantly took a seat, taking in the room around you. ‘I’m so sorry, I won’t be a second, bit of a crisis. Please make yourself comfortable, there’s water on the table.’ With that she rushed out of the room typing furiously on her phone. As the door clicked you were left alone.

Don’t trust her … she’s going to try and change you … you don’t deserve this … leave … she’ll never believe you … you’re not worth her time …

Looking around the room you noticed various types of indoor plants, mountains of books, colourful stationary, art adorned the walls, nothing about this office was minimalist. You started picking at the skin around the nails, anything to drown out the voice in the back of your mind.

Pathetic … a solider seeing a therapist? … what a joke you are …

Eyes widening you focused on the water in front of you, your jaw clenched as your knees started to bounce involuntarily. The rhythmic movement of you knee mimicked the turbulence of the plane before it crashed. The water reminded you of the rain that lashed against wreckage as you clutched at Adam’s, the silence of the office was deafening.

You were sure you could hear the blood in your veins, your heart pounding in your chest, your muscles tensing as the scene played out. Again. And again.

Suddenly your chest felt tight. The room felt so small. The walls felt like they were closing in with every breath.

Get out … run … run …

Clutching at your chest you stumbled out of the room and down the corridor. You fought against the tears that wanted to spill, fought against the choking feeling in your chest. As you tried to get back to your room your feet felt heavy as your boots hit the floor. Clutching at your chest you tried desperately to calm down, but nothing was working.

You weren’t looking where you were going when you slammed into an immovable object. Looking up you saw the good Captain, in a deep conversation with Price. His initial annoyance at being slammed into soon faded as he saw you, doe eyed and in a clear state of panic. ‘Love?’ Price asked, in that fatherly tone you’d grown to love.

A choked sob exploded from your chest as you fell into his chest. Price threw his arms around you and pulled you close to him. Cradling your head he shushed you as he lead you both to his office. Instantly you felt safe, he was family, your solace. Holding your shoulder he ushered you away, looking over your shoulder you saw your captain offer a look of understanding. His crystal blue eyes were soft, brows furrowed as he offered a small smile.

Price sat you down in his office and poured you a drink from his secret stash. Nursing the liquor you slowly took control of your breathing again. Your heart rate slowed and the walls stopped closing in on you. Taking in a deep breath you wiped your eyes, ‘fuck sorry.’

‘Nothin to be sorry for love. Wanna talk about it?’

‘First therapy appointment. Except I didn’t even get that far, she had to leave and … well … flashback’ you shrugged.

Price nodded in understanding as he sipped his drink, the ice clinked against the crystal glass as he set it back down. ‘I see, sounds like it didn’t quite go to plan then?’

‘You think?’

‘Proud of you for going. First one is always the hardest.’

‘But I don’t even wanna go! I’m fine. I’m a fucking solider, this shouldn’t be happening.’

He tapped his thumb against the rim of the glass as he pondered your statement. ‘Hmmm. But you’re human first. Undeniably so, love. We don’t get to choose what traumatises us.’ Throwing your head back you sighed. You knew he was right deep down, but you didn’t want to accept it. You’d always been taught that how you felt now meant you were a failure.

You opened your mouth to argue but he very quickly shushed you. ‘Don’t lose yourself to this. Recovery ain’t linear but don’t let it consume you. Get some rest. Go on’ he ordered waving you to the door. Downing the rest of the liquor you hissed as the amber liquid singed your throat, earning a hearty laugh from Price. ‘Fuck off’ you smiled. ‘There she is’ he grinned through his bushy beard, ‘I’ll check in on you soon.’

— — — —

3AM. The green analogue clock lit up the room as you tossed and turned in your bed. Desperately you tried to feel the wind on your skin, smell the tulips at your feet, your mind scrambled to conjure up your field on tulips. But it was all in vain.

Your skin was clammy, bed sheets sodden with sweat as you swung your legs off the side of your bed. Your chest felt heavy again. The walls were slowly moving towards you. You needed a distraction.

Throwing on your gym clothes you made you way to 24 hour gym on site. The base was hauntingly quiet at night, dim emergency lights lit up the corridors. The linoleum shimmered, your footsteps echoed, the air seemed a little less dense outside of your room.

Seeing you were alone in the gym you hopped onto the treadmill and began running.

And running.

And running.

And running.

You ran until your legs felt heavy, until your knees wanted to give way, until the back of your throat burnt. Sweat poured from your forehead down your face, your neck, your back. The salty tang of it hit your lips as you pushed yourself to exhaustion.

‘You’ll vomit if you keep that pace up’ a gruff voice sounded from behind you, making you jump. Hitting the emergency stop button the treadmill screeched to a halt, you choked on your breath as you tried to catch it. ‘Captain McTavish!’ You stammered as you clutched your chest ‘scared the shit outta me. Jesus.’

His face broke out into a smile as he handed you your towel, ‘Soap.’

‘Hm?’

‘Just call me Soap. Captain’s too formal. How you feelin?’

‘Fine. Couldn’t sleep. Why’re you lurking round base this time of the morning?’

‘Lurkin?’ He chuckled ‘didn’t realise coming to the gym was lurking.’ You wiped your brow with the towel before dabbing at your chest, you noticed his eyes flicker downwards. Only for a millisecond.

‘It’s 4:30AM. You’re definitely lurking’ you laughed, it was a true laugh. A sound you hadn’t heard from yourself in quite some time. ‘And what are you doing here at 4:30AM?’ He asked, eyebrow raised.

‘Like I said, couldn’t sleep.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Christ you’re annoying’ you grinned as you took a swig from your water bottle. ‘Bad dream. That’s all.’

Your eyes drifted towards the floor as the memory plagued your mind once again. ‘I have em too. First guy I ever killed. Twenty odd years ago. But I still see the life drain from his eyes. I feel it every time.’

‘Does it ever stop?’ You asked meekly, watching as his face dropped, a forlorn expression washed over his features.

‘Nah. But you know what helps?’

‘What?’

‘Therapy.’

Rolling your eyes you playfully slapped his bicep, his firm, taught bicep. ‘Fuck off.’

‘Just try it again? It might not fix it, but it can make it more bearable. Seen too many good soldiers lose their life to this job cause of the shit we do. Don’t lose yourself.’

You bit your cheek as you squirmed in front of your Captain, you didn’t expect him to be so vulnerable so quick. ‘Don’t overthink it lass. Just consider it.’

‘You sound like Price.’

‘Who do you think made me go?’ He winked, the corners of his mouth creasing up into a smirk. ‘Maybe … I’ll think about it’ you said whilst twisting the towel in your hands. ‘That’s all I ask’ he smiled, placing a warm hand in your shoulder.

His hand encapsulated your entire shoulder, the calluses that decorated his skin kissed yours ever so gently. All you could do was offer a kind glance in his direction as sparks ran down your spine. ‘Go on. Try and get some rest at least. You’re facing me on the mats tomorrow.’

‘Ah, so that’s why you’re in the gym. Trying to muster a little more strength before I put you on your ass is it Captain?’

Chuckling he rolled his eyes ‘I knew you were gonna be trouble ‘moment I saw you. I’ll see you in the morning Dunn. Piss off.’

Giggling you turned to leave but not before your eyes lingered on him, drinking in his form before you. ‘G’night Soap.’

— — — —

A/N low key loved writing this chapter. Ain it cute?

Taglist - @abbsaura @deadbranch @moniheartz @tiredmetalenthusiast @cathnoneofyourbusiness @alittlefansthings @all-good-things-have-an-ending @mintttchi @whore4dilfs @unforgettabie @brewed-pangolin @luminousbeings-crudematter

[re-bec-ca-ann]

New Year's Eve, 1986

Summary: Steve cooks dinner for The Party on New Year's Eve while wearing his mother's old "Kiss The Cook" apron.

Read on AO3.

Artwork by the talented @yendts​!

The apron isn’t even his. His dad had given it to Steve’s mom when he was in grade school as a joke. Cooking was a rare affair in the Harrington household, but when the nanny was out sick or unavailable due to prior commitments, Mrs. Harrington would muster the will to prepare a bowl of cereal or a plate of scrambled eggs and toast for her son before he ran out the door to catch the bus. Regardless of the dish's simplicity, she was adamant about wearing an apron to avoid staining her fancy silk shirts or lace-adorned blouses. Up until a certain point, before Steve was deemed old enough to use a stove or face a full day of school on a single granola bar, she would entertain his insistence at planting a boyish peck on the apple of her cheek when she hooked the apron on her neck and secured the strings around her fine waist. As Steve grew in age, height, and ability, those light and heartwarming moments between mother and son became less and less frequent. By high school, he was relying on chalky protein bars in the morning, school lunches, and cold pizza or TV dinners that required a microwave and a quick stir. 

Things are different now. Hawkins is different. Steve is different. 

The town, while no longer the gateway to hell, borders on desolation. Those wealthy enough to vacate put their houses on the market or took the hit and fled within days and even hours of the supposed earthquake—including Steve’s parents. He came home one day following a shift at Family Video to find a FOR SALE sign pitched in the front yard without a word from his parents. Robin helped him box his belongings and Eddie offered the wide belly of his van to transport his belongings to a two-bedroom apartment in his price range. 

So while many have retreated to supposed greener pastures, The Party remains. Steve’s not certain Hawkins will be his home forever, but for now, it’s where he needs and wants to be. The determination to see Dustin, Max, Lucas, and even Mike fucking Wheeler survive high school and live out their weird, awkward, and nerdy teenage years with some semblance of peace keeps him steady and focused. And the distraction of caring keeps the pain that nips at his heels from rising any higher. 

That’s why tonight, on New Year’s Eve, he isn’t getting blasted at a bar or cozying up with some stranger at a house party. Instead, he’s in his cramped apartment kitchen managing a nearly full stove and a blistering oven while “Manic Monday” by The Bangles plays on the radio. Sweat is beading at his temples along his hairline from the forced warmth the appliances are emitting. He uses the tea towel draped across his broad shoulder to dab the moisture up before snatching the wooden spoon that’s laying across the bubbling water to stir the softening pasta. He’s not sure if everyone even likes chicken alfredo or what teen will stomach a side of roasted broccoli, but he knows Max is hardpressed for a homecooked meal, Robin likes to consider herself cultured and will force down anything, and there’s nothing a quick swat to the side of Dustin’s big head can’t cure. As for Eddie, he seems content to scarf down whatever he happens upon—dry cereal, lukewarm beer, a gourmet meal, a can of cold beans. The guy eats like he’s not sure when the opportunity will present itself again—and doesn’t that make Steve’s insides twist and his heart clench. 

They arrive in a flurry. Cold air from the hallway rushes into the kitchen every time the door is shoved open without a knock. At this point, they all have keys, Steve both desperate to avoid silence and eager to give them all a getaway when needed. Sure, he regrets the decision on the occasion that Dustin uses it to host a game of Dungeons and Dragons without warning, but he doesn’t mind when those impromptu game nights lead to Eddie playing a new record for Steve in the living room after the campaign comes to a close. In those instances, it’s common for Steve and Eddie to doze off on the blue plaid couch given to him by Robin’s parents until one of them jerks awake from a nightmare or a neighbor slamming a door shut. More often than not, Steve is the one to wake, and after he chugs a glass of water in hopes of settling his nerves, he grabs the sherpa blanket from the hall closet and drapes it across Eddie’s prone form.

He doesn’t know who will stay tonight, but he used what was left of his last paycheck to buy a few more blankets and pillows just in case he has a full house of drowsy kids and friends. 

They all greet Steve in their own unique and annoying ways. 

“Is that broccoli I smell? Steve, my mom feeds me enough vegetables, dude.” Dustin complains with a whiny tone. 

Lucas tells him about what basketball skill he’s on the verge of mastering; Erica rolls her eyes with so much piss and vinegar that it has him questioning how she hasn’t lost an eyeball yet. 

Max grunts out a “hey” as she uses a cane to maneuver the small space. 

The carpool crowd of the Wheeler siblings, Byers siblings, El, and Argyle patter in with such a subdued and quiet energy that he barely notices until Jonathan’s pat on the back causes him to crane his neck around. 

Before he can turn back to the simmering alfredo sauce, Robin is lifting herself onto the only space of open, clean countertop next to him. She gives his shoulder a flick, sticks a finger in the sauce, offers a nod of approval, and starts yammering about her day with more details than his brain can compute. Regardless, he does his best to keep up and nods when he loses track of the narrative. 

Eddie is the last to arrive, and Steve certainly notices enough to turn around and away from the steaming stove. The metalhead shoots through the door like a loose canon, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he kicks off his weathered sneakers. They land half on the mat and half on the tiled floor as he announces his presence with an abundance of zest and enthusiasm. Nancy catches sight and bends down to shift them over. Steve laughs and turns back to the sink where he needs to drain the industrial-size amount of fettuccine. 

“Hold up,” Robin quips, voice a whisper but tone alarmed. Against his better judgment, Steve freezes when he realizes that what he’s wearing is the catalyst for her surprise. When he has anyone over for dinner, he typically finishes cooking prior to them entering the apartment. 

Shit, he thinks, glancing down at the apron with a grimace. 

Everyone erupts into either howls of laughter or fake gags. He flicks Dustin’s hat off of his head and scowls at Mike. His middle finger is raising on its own accord, but El shifts into his line of vision and pushes onto her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. His hand drops and he smiles at the genuine sweetness he discovers on El’s face. 

“Thank you for cooking for us, Steve,” she says without preamble. 

“Yeah, my perfect-haired dude,” comes Argyle’s deep, drawn-out voice as he steps forward and into Steve’s space. “Many thanks for opening your humble abode up to us.” The kiss lacks the gentleness of El’s, but it’s full of unhindered appreciation. The shock of it brings a warmth to the apples of Steve’s cheeks. 

No one else seems to be getting in line so Steve coughs to clear his head and the air. “Right, uh,” he mumbles out. “Food should be done shortly, so grab a drink and sit the hell down—and try not to break anything,” he finishes with a pointed look at Mike and Dustin.

Before he can spin on his heels and hide his face from view, Eddie’s doe eyes latch on to his. His usual pale skin has a dusting of color that mirrors the blush wine Nancy is uncorking and he’s tugging at the cuffs of his jacket sleeves. The thing that really makes Steve’s stomach swoop, however, is the intensity that’s swirling in the metalhead’s brown irises. They both swallow and drop one another’s gazes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Robin’s mouth is slightly ajar. “Jeez, Steve,” she grits out, this time actually in a whisper just for their ears. “Here I am still working on getting my first kiss from a girl, and you’ve got a freakin’ queue going. Step right up! Take your pick! Come one, come all! The boy wonder is awaiting with his pouty lips and brooding stare.”

Steve chuckles and shakes his head at her antics but his face turns a little sour after a moment. “There’s only one person I’m hoping will be in that line at midnight, Robs.” 

“I know, I know,” she acknowledges. “Don’t play dumb though. Did you see his face? I’m surprised he didn’t lunge like a rabid dog or melt into the floor and become a permanent fixture," she comments. “By the way, very tactile selection of cooking attire.”

Steve scoffs in disbelief. “I didn’t wear this on purpose!”

“Sure, you didn’t,” she quips with an exasperated eye roll. “I believe you.”

“Screw you, Robs!”

Before sitting down at the table, Steve makes sure to shuck off the apron and hang it on the handle of the oven. 

Dinner involves a cacophony of slurping, happy hums of contentment, and the boys discussing what movies they want to see next year and complaining about their fast-approaching return to the halls of Hawkins High with irritated digs from Max and Erica sprinkled in. Throughout most of it, Steve finds himself observing. Robin talks between bites of food to a smirking Nancy. Jonathan and Argyle are looking longingly at the food and savoring each bite—a telling glaze clouding their respective eyes. Eddie seems to be doing the same as Steve. Taking it all in. He knows the metalhead has his bandmates, but this mismatched, makeshift gang takes the cake. Steve doesn’t try to even understand it. He doesn’t know why but it works. They work. 

From across the table, their eyes cross paths once again and pause. It’s always hard to peel his gaze away from Eddie—especially as of late. They’ve grown closer. Spending more and more time in each other’s atmospheres. Sometimes with no real reason aside from having nowhere else to go or not wanting to be anywhere else. Steve’s had friends, mates he’d throw parties with, toss a football around with, grab a burger and fries with. But this is something all its own. 

Robin is his best friend. Someone he spills his guts to on the daily. Eddie is on the cusp of that, but there’s another layer there that Steve is working through at a rate and ease he never expected. He hates Eddie’s taste in music. He hates the volume at which he listens to it. He hates how much his energy never seems to wane. But he also likes Eddie. A lot.

When the realization made itself known, it slammed into his chest and clobbered him upside the head. Another theoretical concussion to really scramble his brain and tear through every belief he had about himself. Robin was there to help him through it. Determined to convince Steve that the same instant acceptance he offered her was what he deserved too. The uncertainty still appears from time to time, but he’s proud of himself. He feels as though the hard edges crafted by his parents and his former coaches and the Country Club of Hawkins have been all but chipped away to reveal someone he recognizes and wants to get to know better. And that someone appreciates and longs for the companionship of a woman or a guy—or at least Eddie Munson.

He knows he’s about to trip face-first over the line between what’s an OK amount of time to hold someone’s stare, but Eddie has resorted to sticking his tongue out in a messy attempt to catch a noodle that’s dangling from his fork. Steve decides it's gross and endearing. He keeps his responding smile small and feels child-like joy blossom in his chest. It begs him to snatch a piece of broccoli from his plate and throw it at the other man. Against his well-trained judgment, he does just that. The floret gets caught in a frizzy curl and hangs mid-air. The look of feigned offense that blooms on the metalhead’s face ignites a chocked-out laugh in Steve’s throat. It’s loud enough to catch the attention of everyone at the table. Moments later, broccoli is catapulting in all directions. It lands on plates, in the sink, down shirts, and on the floor. Steve puts a stop to the chaos when he spots Mike grabbing for a noodle coated in alfredo sauce.

During clean-up efforts, Eddie saddles up behind a kneeling Steve to pluck a piece of food from his chestnut mane and popping it in his mouth. “I’ll give it to you, Harrington,” he comments with a playful husk to his voice, “you make food that’s good enough to eat and wear.” 

“Gross, Eddie!” hollers Mike at the interaction. “You probably just consumed at least half of a can of hairspray!”

Eddie shrugs and says, “I’ve eaten worse,” and saunters into the living room. 

They’ve been doing this for a few months now. Engaging in exchanges that border on innocent and flirtatious. Eddie gives just as good as Steve, if not better if the former jock tallies the number of times he’s left sputtering or with a warmth seeping across the surface of his skin. Steve knows Eddie is gay. Eddie is smart about not letting that flag fly in the “real” world—he has to be in Hawkins—but in the safe confines of The Party or even at The Hideout, Eddie allows it to wave with ease. 

At first, Steve suspected that the metalhead was just a flirt or found joy in making other people squirm. But Robin was quick to correct his thinking. Noting how there was a clear difference. While Argyle loved up on each and every person willing to receive his affections, Eddie reserved his heated lines, looks, and touches for Steve and Steve only. After a while, the former jock couldn’t deny Robin’s observations. And yet, there’s still a doubtful piece of him that wonders if it’s all a joke. A means to an easy laugh at the expense of Steve’s forgotten macho persona. And the thing is, Steve wouldn’t blame Eddie. He gets that he was an entitled, hotshot asshole. But the hurt and disappointment that bubble beneath the surface at the possibility are so very real. 

For the remainder of the night, the group plays board games in the living room, using the wobbly coffee table to roll dice and move pawns. There isn’t enough space for everyone to gather around it, so they team up and take turns. Eventually, Steve exits to the kitchen with Robin and Nancy. They sit at the table, Nancy telling Robin about what classes she’s taking next term at Emerson. Steve tries to listen, but he notices the pile of dirty plates in the sink and the urge to not wake up to them in the morning is enough to pull him away from the conversation. He lets the water heat up and reaches for the apron. He’s taking a chance at being the butt of another joke, but he’s ruined one too many shirts to questionable stains at this point for his minimum wage job to handle. He’s halfway through the stack of dishes when the music sounding from the radio comes to a halt and he hears a cassette being clicked into the tape player. The chords, the bass, the beat—everything is heavy from the start. Steve guesses it’s Metallica, but he knows it’s Eddie at the helm. 

He wants to yell at him to turn it down, fearful of his ancient neighbors, but Dustin’s joyous hoot at the song choice drags the demand back down his throat. It’s New Year’s Eve, he thinks—they can suffer for one night. 

He imagines the pair thrashing around the space, throwing their bodies onto the couch. As they get older, Steve feels more and more like a parent to Dustin. Not a babysitter. They joke about him being the “mom” of the group and to be honest, Steve has stopped fighting the label. He kinda is. He’s not sure where that leaves Eddie. Ever wild and whimsical. He supposes he’s the fun guardian. Who keeps watch but not in a meddling manner or worrying way. They’re a good team when he thinks about it. 

He must get so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize someone is next to him drying the clean but dripping plates until an elbow is poking into his side. 

Eddie grins at him.

“Can’t let you have all the fun.”

Steve rolls his eyes and lets a smirk tug at his lips. “Never.”

They finish the dishes in somewhat silence, Eddie bobbing his head to whatever hellish tune comes on next and flicking drops of water at Steve. The former jock is seconds away from spraying the water flow into his face when Mike’s voice screeches, “Ten minutes and counting! Get in here or you’re gonna miss it, losers.”

El shushes him, and Robin and Nancy grab their glasses of either wine or champagne from the table and head to where the group is quieting down to listen to the news broadcast live from Times Square in New York City. Steve from three years ago might have convinced himself that he liked the noise and the crowds and the flashy outfits and expensive liquor, but now, between his abused skull and his cracked-open heart, he’s confident in his whereabouts. 

While Eddie tosses the plates with a carelessness that threatens to make Steve’s eye twitch into the cupboard, Steve dries off his hands and moves to remove the apron. The metalhead reaches out to stop him halfway through, the back undone, but the apron still hanging loosely from his neck. Steve looks down. The hand sprawled out on the center of his chest is adorned with chipped black nail polish and clunky sterling silver rings. The one on his middle finger is of a bat that Dustin and Steve chipped in to get him for a graduation present.

Steve pulls his gaze up to search Eddie’s face for an explanation. The same heat he witnessed in the other’s expression earlier in the evening is back. 

“I never got a chance,” Eddie says softly between them. 

A chance? A chance to what? To kiss the him? 

Steve worries that his own silence is the reason for the hesitation that’s mixing with the heat in Eddie’s eyes now. But what if he’s reading it wrong? The possibility tightens his throat with building pressure. Still, seeing the other man uncertain and unsure reminds him too much of the terrified version he first tangled with in the boat house—so much so that he pushes past it and takes a leap. 

“You don’t need the apron’s permission.”

Eddie blinks, the fearful fog lifting from his eyes. “No?”

Steve’s bravery bounds. “I want you to kiss me, Munson.”

Eddie nods as if to confirm he’s gathering and comprehending what’s being communicated. The metalhead’s hand is still on his chest, and Steve feels the need to ground himself, so he grips the edge of the counter with his left hand and wraps the fingers of his right around the other man’s wrist. Eddie bunches the material of the apron at the touch. 

“Midnight is,” Eddie breathes out, glancing at the clock on the wall, “eight minutes away. We could wait.”

Steve shakes his head, somewhat disbelieving at his own transparency when he replies, “Don’t want to.” 

Their lips meet like a wave crashing along the unsuspecting shore. They move with and against one another, pushing and pulling, trying to claim and be claimed. The heat originally reserved for their gazes has transferred to their mouths and tongues and teeth and hands. Steve releases his hold on the sink and the metalhead's wrist to instead grip Eddie’s hips. Eddie slides his palms and fingers to hook around Steve’s neck and tug at the loop of the apron. 

Without much thought, Steve turns and lifts the metalhead up onto the wet counter. Eddie gasps and scowls before diving back in to reconnect their lips. Steve gets a nip to his bottom lip that he suspects is payback. Payback he’s willing and grateful to endure.

By the time they truly separate and break for intakes of air that are longer than two or three seconds, Dustin announces the start of the countdown. 

“Eddie! Steve! Get in here!”

Eddie hops down from his perch and grabs Steve’s hand and tugs him to follow.

The kiss that stems from the clock striking twelve is gentle in comparison to their first. It happens on the outskirts of the living room, where the kitchen tile transitions starkly into the plush carpet. Those who aren’t cheering, shaking noise makers, or exchanging platonic embraces or romantic pecks, take note of the two men with squeals of surprise and yips of amusement.

When they pull away from each other, they’re both red in the face and laughing. 

“Happy New Year’s, Ed.” 

“Happy New Year’s, big boy,” the metalhead replies, grin broad as ever. “Guess ‘86 really was my year.”

It’s Max who gets the last word in though, gritting out a disgruntled “gross.”

[watertreatmentplantindia]

Buying a High-Quality Domestic Water Softener Plant : Dew Pure

Are you troubled by the hardness of domestic water? If so, then you must think about reaching Dewpure Engineering Pvt. Ltd. and buying a high-quality Domestic Water Softener Plant. Get in touch with the company right now!

[https-chaos]

Do you have a screenprinted shirt/hoodie that's stained? A pair of jeans that you hate the color of? Do you really want that cool merch hoodie but it's only sold in an ugly ass color? Do you want to dye something but not mess up the decal?

You need: fiber reactive dye! This is my how-to; it's enough stuff for a hoodie, a couple t-shirts, and a pair of jeans. About 5lb of cloth when it's dry.

Here's how this hoodie was sold and how it turned out. I bought it before he had the black one in the shop, back when the only color options were pink and blue.

Note: these instructions are for a front-loading washing machine and natural plant fabrics like cotton. Other methods are listed here:

Supplies:

The dye (1 8-ounce jar) https://a.co/d/aR1U5tP

The activator (soda ash, get 2 1-lb bags) https://a.co/d/9di48gH

3 26-ounce containers of non-iodized salt https://www.walmart.com/ip/10448311

A 5-gallon bucket https://a.co/d/12sZoPR

Something to boil 1gal of water in (I did it in 2 batches with my kettle)

Something to stir with (I used a big serving spoon, this dye will NOT stain anything but fabric)

A washing machine, regular laundry stuff

Vinegar

How I did it:

1. Wash the clothes you want to dye normally, but don't add fabric softener.

2. While the load is finishing, put all 3 things of salt, 3 cups (700ish ml) of soda ash, and half a cup (115ish ml) of dye, in the bucket.

3. Boil 1 gallon (4ish liters) of water and pour it in the bucket (I did this by boiling 2L at a time in my kettle)

4. Stir stir stir! Dissolve it as well as you possibly can.

5. When the load is done, take the clothes out.

6. Pour the whole bucket of dye mix straight into the washing machine. I was able to tip the whole bucket into my machine, but do be careful and think ahead on how you're going do this part.

7. Put the wet clothes back in the machine. Don't add anything else like soap.

8. Start the machine, using the hottest and longest cycle possible (on my machine this is the 'whites' setting).

9. Once the cycle is finished, add your regular laundry stuff to the machine (soap, fabric softener), and fill the bleach compartment with vinegar.

10. Run the machine again on the hottest and longest cycle.

11. Tumble or hang dry. Enjoy!

[the-library-and-the-teashop]

The Jasmine Throne

&

The Oleander Sword

Author: Tasha Suri

Genre: fantasy

Format: novel

Serie: yes, named The Burning Kingdoms. Third and last book (The Lotus Empire) out in November.

Editions: Orbit

Romance: wlw, slow burn, no love triangle.

Other representation(s): brown-skinned characters (full cast) as the story takes place in a country inspired by India.

TW: forced captivity, non consensual drug use, feminicides, death by fire, death by various means, grief, hallucinations, fratricide, verbal et physical abuse on a child by her brother, religious fanatism, sexism, systemic homophobia, body horror, war.

Rating: 8/10

Tea association: a chai in the pure Indian tradition, the heat of the spices and the strength of the black tea, softened by the milk. Or a jasmine tea for the empress and for the the plants Priya grows.

.

Synopsis of The Jasmine Throne:

Author of Empire of Sand and Realm of Ash Tasha Suri's The Jasmine Throne, beginning a new trilogy set in a world inspired by the history and epics of India, in which a captive princess and a maidservant in possession of forbidden magic become unlikely allies on a dark journey to save their empire from the princess's traitor brother.

Imprisoned by her dictator brother, Malini spends her days in isolation in the Hirana: an ancient temple that was once the source of the powerful, magical deathless waters — but is now little more than a decaying ruin.

Priya is a maidservant, one among several who make the treacherous journey to the top of the Hirana every night to clean Malini’s chambers. She is happy to be an anonymous drudge, so long as it keeps anyone from guessing the dangerous secret she hides.

But when Malini accidentally bears witness to Priya’s true nature, their destinies become irrevocably tangled. One is a vengeful princess seeking to depose her brother from his throne. The other is a priestess seeking to find her family. Together, they will change the fate of an empire.

.

My thoughts:

Malini and Priya aren't the only characters we'll be following in this epic tapestry of a story. Bhumika, the last temple sister of Priya still alive is an important part of the story, as is Ashok, the third and last temple child alive with the other two girls. Rao often gives a different perspective and is an important support character. A handful of other characters give their point of view through out the two books. All of them combined tell us this story of war.

Because war, along with religion, is the central theme of those books. Some of the characters fight for power, other for survival. Some fight for their loved ones, other for freedom and their way of life.

The first book is about survival and escape. Getting to safety. Cutting a deal. Many deals actually. The characters want freedom and peace, but are not against fighting for it.

The second book is all about war. About the rise of an empress and the fall of an emperor, mirroring what happens in Ahiranya.

The third book will probably be about war too, but against a far greater enemy.

With all those struggles going on, there's not that much room for anything else, but it's there. Emotions. Love. Two women falling for each other in the midst of chaos. A mother cherishing her infant daughter. Friendship and brotherhood. But there's also grief, longing, hate, terror.

Faith and magic are also central themes in the books. Both always means sacrifice, but that sacrifice has to be done by a willing person. Magic comes from that willing sacrifice. However, sometimes the person seeking power doesn't know what it would cost them. Sometimes it's their life, sometimes their soul, or even their body. But it's never without a price.

As the plot unfold in front of you, you realise that not everything is morally clear cut. You realise that what you thought you knew about this or that was wrong, or wasn't as simple as you previously thought. The plot is beautifully woven, and I can't wait to finally read the last book. I feel like it's gonna be a killer!

.

A word about the cover art:

I'm not the biggest fan of the first book cover, which if I'm not mistaken, depicts Priya.

The second book cover is better, showing Malini with a murderous look her saber in her hand, though it's a little too green to my taste.

The last book cover though... It's stupendous! The colors, the details, the movements, the poses, everything is eye-catching. Priya in her green sari has lotus flowers growing in her hands and is surrounded by her greens. Malini in the back in her white and gold sari, the colors or Paridjat, is surrounded by fire, wielding fire. From what the ending of the Oleander Sword is hinting, that cover art seems really fitting for what's ahead!

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[iturbide]

Summer Storm

7,066/50,000 words

The two people at the table looked up at him as he closed the door behind him.  Dain sat comfortably on one side, legs crossed at the knee and arms folded over her chest -- though her cool smile softened when she met his eye.  “Welcome back, Miryn,” she called, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table and her chin over her laced fingers.  “How was the market?”

“I sold out,” he beamed, easing his pack down beside the door with a bright clatter of glassware.  Turning to the man standing opposite his sister, he bobbed his head in easy greeting.  “It’s good to see you, Leander.”

The man returned the nod, hawk-like gold eyes looking between Miryn and Dain.  “I was wondering where you were -- market day, huh?” he asked, giving the short tail of his red hair a brief tug.  “Maybe you can help me convince Nightshade to help me out.”

“You know my price, Lee,” she said calmly, shrugging as he planted one hand on the table and the other on his hip.  They all knew his attempts to put pressure on her with simple posturing wouldn’t work (though that had never stopped him from trying).  “A quarter.”

“Highway robbery,” he shot back while Miryn unbuckled and opened his packs, removing his market purchases and bustling about to put them in their proper places.  “Ten percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.  Final offer.”

She stared him down, a triumphant smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.  “Fine,” she agreed.  “Give me the details.”

Leander dropped into the empty chair across from her, pulling a folded map from the pouch on his hip and spreading it across the table.  Miryn only half-listened while he prepared dinner: slicing vegetables, scaling and gutting and deboning fish, crumbling dried herbs and mincing fresh, and adding a splash of the stock simmering in the pot over the low-burning hearth to the heavy dish, before covering it and clearing a place for it to cook in the embers. 

With that done, he left them to their discussion, moving into his room and emptying his satchel of the plants he’d collected along the way to and from the city, laying them out along his workbench and windowsill to dry: some would be key ingredients for his recipes, others would be moved to their kitchen to season their meals.  The berries he piled into a bowl at the corner of his desk -- in easy reach for later when he needed a snack.

He'd cleaned his equipment the night before, after he’d finished packing the last of his market wares.  Now he reached up to the shelves over his workbench, pulling down jars of dried leaves, seeds, flowers, and bits of bark, each neatly labeled in his most careful handwriting (though he hardly bothered to look at them anymore, knowing by habit what each one contained).  Adding a thumb-sized piece of willow bark, a few dried catmint leaves, a sprig of goldenrod flowers, and enough water to cover them to a stone bowl, he placed it into the open cradle over a charred plate, a small pile of dry twigs and leaves already piled and waiting.

It would be a while until and Leander finished their discussion and dinner was ready to serve.  Spreading his arms, he pulled in a deep, steady breath, and pulled the quiet energy of the room around him, focusing it by will alone into a bright spark that set the kindling aflame.  

And with magic humming at his fingertips, Miryn rolled up his sleeves and set to work again.