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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 7 months

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Hihi! I went on anon cause my main blog is strictly sfw, but I promise I'm an adult(29). Anyways, I had this idea of Ascended Astarion teasing Tav/Reader in front of a mirror. He can't see himself, but loves the way Tav/Reader shudders under his touch and them getting more and more embarrassed because all they can see is themselves getting riled up by seemingly nothing, but when they look down, ofc they see his hands working magic across their body.

Lol ty for the clarification and ask! I've been needing some nsfw practice!

Ascended Astarion nsfw under the cut, 18 + warnings. Like this is not implied smut. It is smut, graphic. Possessive, obsessive, manipulative, bad vampire man who loves you. As much as he's capable of. Morally gray human Tav from the start to here. It's only downhill from here baby, m/f angle. But if that doesnt fufill the dream let me know and I can make a gender neutral/ gender nonspecfic no prob! And probably less intense too because this is angsty~~~

Like I went ham, this is a whole ass fic now💀

You frowned at yourself in the bedroom mirror, adjusting your hair for the umpteenth time. It still didn't look right, despite what felt like hours of practice that you'd put into the intricate style.

You sighed as let one of your braids fall down, dissatisfied with what you saw. You didn't exactly look the part of an all-powerful vampire's consort, or at least not with the company you've recently been keeping. But it turned out a significant part of taking over Baldur's Gate was trenched in politics, meetings, balls, social events created for the sole purpose of mind games.

It was exhausting, or at least it was for you. But Astarion seemed to take to it like a duck to water. This life suited him, one of power games and subterfuge, and more often than not, murder. Not that you minded. You were just happy that he was having fun. That he was finally free after all of those years of torment. Even if he was using that freedom for… less than savory ends.

But despite his goals, you had sworn to him that you would never stray. And you intended on making good on that promise.

You just wished that he didn't insist on you being there for all of his "business". You hadn't realized how literal he had been about the whole sitting in his lap plan. It had taken a half-hour conversation to even convince him that no, you would not be doing so in the nude. He still hadn't given up on convincing you off that plan, but you highly doubted that it would help with your current level of heightened insecurity.

Maybe you were worrying for no reason. It wasn't Astarion who made you feel out of place. Well… it was, but not because of anything he did. Just… who he had become. He was so different now, so much colder to everything and everyone but you. More calculating, less forgiving, and just perfect for working with the most dangerous individuals in the mortal plane.

You seemed to be the only living thing he could relax around anymore, the only person who could soften him. It was strange really. You used to remember his softer side, before the ritual. The way his heart would hurt for children and animals alike, despite his failed attempts to hide it. His soft spot for Karlach, those who were brave and brazen, always willing to do the right thing despite the risks. The kind smile he used to have, reserved for beautiful things like the sunrise, the sunset.

Gone, all of it. It was a fact that you didn't like to think about. What you both gave up, things could have been; there was no point to it anyway. It was over. You gave Astarion the choice, this is what came of that. So here you were, obsessing over your appearance in preparation for a meeting with a high-ranking devil.

How things had changed.

You had no idea if you would ever find a way to match up with the company he kept around these days. Maybe it was your own fault for surrounding yourself with otherworldly creatures, but it was hard not to feel inadequate.

It didn't help that whenever you even slightly alluded to that insecurity, Astarion was more than ready to remind you of your… "options".

"You can join us whenever you'd like my treasure," Astarion would say with a creeping grin, "Just one bite, and we can be sure you'll be mine forever. Would that be so bad?"

It was a tempting offer, one that you kept insisting on refusing. You loved Astarion more than anything. But… you wanted that love to stay your choice. An obligation you maintained of your own free will. It's not that you didn't trust him… but to be a spawn had too many implications for you to handle.

"What has you pouting sweet thing?"

You startled when hands suddenly settled on your hip, gripping through the thin fabric of your nightdress. You looked back, relaxing the slightest bit to see Astarion smiling down at you, amused at the fact he'd managed to sneak up on you through the mirror.

"You said you weren't going to do that anymore," You whined as you leaned back into him, your eyes turning back to the mirror. You could see the fabric of your slip indented under his hands, ghost-like without his actual image reflecting back.

"I lied," Astarion said simply, leaning down to breathe you in from the crook of your neck, "Now what are you thinking about pet? I can tell something's on your mind."

You bit your lip, debating for a moment if you should tell him or not. But it's not like he would let it drop, and he was way too good at being able to tell when you were lying. Might as well come clean.

You sighed, "I don't…I don't know if I'm cut out for this."

You expected him to huff at you, maybe even laugh. But instead, the grip he had on you tightened, hard enough to make you gasp. You could feel his fangs scraping against your delicate skin, scratching hard enough to cause pinpricks of blood to bead out.

"And why would you ever think a thing like that?" Astarion asked, his voice harsh and low, "Where else would you be if not by my side hm? Please, enlighten me."

You gulped, your heart rate starting to pick up. You hadn't meant it like that, "That's not what I meant-"

"Then what else could it have meant?" Astarion shot back, his hands digging into you, surely ready to leave finger-shaped bruises. Suddenly he was using that same grip to drag you backward to the bed, effortlessly settling you between his spread legs.

All while managing to still be right in sight of the mirror. You could feel your cheeks redden as his hands started to wander, unceremoniously tugging down the straps of your nightdress to reveal your chest. That was another thing about life after the ritual that had been a surprise, just how different Astarion's sex drive was. It's not like he was a prude before, far from it, but now he was insatiable. Always ready and willing to touch you whenever the urge struck him. Often enough for you to eventually come to the thrilling, if not slightly disturbed realization, that… he was training you. Training your body to always want his touch.

And tonight was no different. You could already feel yourself getting wet, and he had barely done anything yet. But then suddenly he was pinching your nipple harshly, hissing in your ear, "I expect an answer when I ask you a question darling."

You bit back a moan, trying to remember what you were even arguing about as he started to play with your breasts, "I-I didn't mean it like that. I just… I don't want to embarrass you."

It was humiliating to admit but it was true. Not many people of Astarion's caliber insisted on a singular lover. There were so many people after him now, people with more power, more beauty, and grace. You didn't match up. You couldn't.

"Nonsense," Astarion dismissed, his hands wandering down to tear off more of your clothing, "Look at you. You were made for this life. Made for me. You're gorgeous."

The compliments mixed with the harsh feeling of his hands ripping your nightdress in two was quite the experience. You could feel his own hardness pressing into your backside, twitching as he threw your ruined clothing to the side.

Then he was gripping your chin, forcing your head back up to stare into the mirror in front of you, "I said look."

You obeyed, eyes widening at what you saw. It was so strange to see yourself like this, fully exposed with your legs spread apart, flushed and panting. It nearly gave the illusion that your very image was what was causing the wetness between your legs, instead of the invisible man toying with you.

You swallowed, your throat dry as Astarion's hands wandered lower, a feather-light touch tracing up and down your slit, "You are everything. The sole reason that I'm the man I am today. There is nowhere else you should be than right here."

"But-" You gasped, your words interrupted by a sharp slap to your inner thigh. You could see your skin start to redden in the mirror, a perfect imprint left in it's wake.

"Darling, are you questioning my judgment? What on earth made you think that was a good idea?"

You frantically shook your head, moaning when his fingers delved deeper, playing with your slick folds, "I-I'm not. I didn't- I'm sorry."

You whined as he roughly pinched your clit, his other hand moving upward to do the same to your heaving chest.

He was starting to grind his hardness against you, a tease of more to come as he murmured in your ear, "There's my good girl. Was that so hard?"

You shook your head, gasping as he finally dipped his long fingers into your cunt. You were already so sensitive, humiliatingly close in a matter of minutes.

"So gorgeous," Astarion sighed, staring straight ahead to the sole image of you, whimpering as he finger-fucked your pussy, "So needy. Can you see how wet you are pet?"

You could, you were leaking around his fingers, that needy, intense feeling getting more and more intense by the moment. It was so embarrassing seeing yourself like this, enough so that you snapped your eyes shut.

A bad idea. Astarion tutted at you, landing another sudden and hard slap to your thigh, "None of that. I told you to look. Or else."

You snapped your eyes back open, watching yourself whimper and gasp as you were played with, the harsh movement of his hand jostling your breasts. You weren't going to last much longer, not with the image of you being taken apart, the feeling of him inside you, the mean edge to your love's words.

"You're such a silly little thing, aren't you?" Astarion growled, fucking you harder and faster. You were so close, but you weren't stupid enough to come without permission. Not after what he did the last time, "Doubting me. Do you really think I don't know what's best for you? What's best for us?"

"No," You whimpered, your hips arching backward to rub harder into his erection, "You're right, I-I'm yours. C-Can I come now? Please?"

"Beg me and maybe I'll think about it," Astarion meanly laughed, relishing in the gush of slick his harshness coaxed from between your legs, "Beg and apologize. Apologize for doubting us. For doubting me."

You could barely get the words out through your own gasps, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean it!"

"Good girl," Astarion huskily laughed, using a clever thumb to rub over your swollen clit, "Now tell me you love me."

"I love you," You said easily, meaning every word, "I love you more than anything.

"Tell me you'll never leave me. Ever."

There was something else behind that promise. An obvious implication that your fucked-out brain was too distracted to see.

"Never," You promised, reaching back for you him. You curled your fingers into his hair. pulling his head down to press his mouth against your throat. An open invitation, "I'll always be with you."

Astarion groaned against your skin, his fangs so close to piercing, "Precious pet, how could I ever want anything else? Come darling, you've earned it."

Then he was biting you, the brief flash of pain the perfect trigger for you to fall over the edge. You came with an embarrassingly high-pitched whine, slumping back into Astarion as he drank from your throat.

You looked as much of a mess as you felt, the stickiness between your thighs glistening in the light. You watched yourself, whimpering as Astarion slipped his fingers out. Just to tap them against your lips, forcing them into your mouth to suck on.

You moaned around them, light-headed as Astarion popped off of your throat. You sighed as he licked at the wound, enjoying the brief moment of rest. You weren't naive enough to think that you were done yet. Not when Astarion was still hard, his cock pulsing against you.

"See?" Astarion huskily laughed, licking the blood off of his lips while he played with your tongue, "You're perfect. Perfect and mine."

#astarion #ascended astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #check the intro warnings #graphic #m/f pairing

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psychoticallytrans · 2 years

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I've seen a considerable number of people discussing how lack of accessible, safe abortion will force pregnant trans people on T off of it. That's a good conversation, and I'm glad it's happening. I now want to add another dimension to the conversation. Testosterone is not the only medication that is considered unsafe for pregnancy.

An incomplete list of medications that are not considered safe for pregnancy:

-All current stimulant medications for ADHD

-Lithium, for bipolar disorder

-Some medicines to control seizures, such as valproic acid

-ACE inhibitors, for blood pressure

-Xanax and Valium, for anxiety

-Diabetes medication other than insulin

-All pain medication except for Tylenol, which can cause liver damage if overused

Most of these medications can be approved for use during pregnancy if your doctor considers the risk of not using them higher than the risk to the fetus. However, many pregnant people are forced onto medications that do not work well for them because the medication that they use is strongly discouraged. In addition, the changing of medications can wreak havoc on if your insurance is willing to pay for what you've changed to- an additional expense on top of the usual financial burden of pregnancy care.

This is hard enough for disabled people to deal with when they are pregnant voluntarily. If abortion is criminalized, then use of medications that may cause defects or miscarriage will likely be considered criminal if there is a miscarriage. This is especially true if there is no exception for the life of the pregnant person.

This only scratches the surface of the problems that disabled people will face if abortion is made inaccessible. For this and many other reasons, maternal mortality and/or morbidity is strongly elevated for disabled people. I strongly encourage you to consider disabled people as a particularly vulnerable group in regards to this issue, and to consider our needs important.

Further reading on disabled people and pregnancy mortality or morbidity is linked below. They refer to all pregnant people as mothers and women, but the data that they have collated is still important.

"adjusted relative risk of severe maternal morbidity or death was 29% higher among women with a physical disability, 14% higher among women with a sensory disability, 57% higher among women with an intellectual/developmental disability, and 74% higher among women with 2 or more disabilities."

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shanastoryteller · 8 months

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Hello! Thank you for taking the time to open prompts! Could i ask for some lady mo, or anything with wei wuxian? He’s my fave!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

When one of the servants A-jie had brought with her when she married catches his eye and then disappears, Jiang Cheng’s stomach drops.

He leaves Shuchun to deal with the official mingling, which earns him a dirty look, but he refuses to feel bad about it. Wang Yan is hovering at the edges and either she or Jin Ling will save her from any truly obnoxious conversations.

He makes his way to his sister’s rooms, knocking twice before pushing inside. “What’s going on?”

The first person he sees is Jiang Xingyi, which is never good, but A-jie appears whole and healthy. She grabs his arm with both hands, pulling him close before whispering, “Would you be able to get genkwa before the end of the night hunt?”

“Yes,” he says, even though doing it without getting caught is going to be nearly impossible. What his sister needs, she gets. “How far along?”

She doesn’t look any different to him, but then again she never does. But if she needs it before the end of the night hunt, she must have caught it late this time.

This isn’t the first time he’s needed to do this.

A-jie’s body might not be able to handle another birth. He knows that she wants a big family, but none of them are willing to risk her life for another child.

Well, he and Jin Zixuan aren’t. Jin Guangshan and Madam Jin would do it gladly, which is why they can never, ever know of the times he’s had to smuggle the crushed purple little flowers into her hands.

“It’s not for me,” she says which leaves him blinking. “Maybe we won’t need it, but she won’t stop crying, and I don’t want to offer her something that I can’t carry through on. You’re sure?”

“Yes,” he says, “but who are we talking about?”

If it’s A-jie, everything has to be handled with the utmost secrecy, only Jiangs, Jin Zixuan, and Jin Guangyao privy to her condition. But a servant girl or even a noble’s daughter doesn’t garner enough attention to warrant their normal subterfuge.

A-jie gives him a look so full of grief that he’s already reaching for her before she turns and crosses over to the entrance to her private bath. She knocks then leans against the door, “Meimei, can you come out? There’s someone else here, he can help you. You can trust him, I promise.”

The endearment tells him nothing beyond it’s a woman younger than A-jie.

The seconds drag on and then the door slowly opens, a women clad only in one damp robe stepping out. He lifts his eyes to her face, red and splotchy from crying and her hair a mess all around her, and feels his mouth drop. “Lady Xuanyu?”

The wife to the second jade of Lan is not some servant girl or even just a noble’s daughter.

She sees him and fresh wave of tears roll down her face, but she’s smiling too, and A-jie is relaxing. “Hi Jiang Cheng.”

“Is it his?” he asks, mind spinning. “Lan Wangji’s?”

A-jie glares at his lack of tact, but he’s trying to make sense of this. If she’s sleeping around on Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng is hardly going to blame her for it, but it’ll explain why she needs to end the pregnancy.

She hiccups, lifting a sleeve to wipe at her cheeks. “Y-yeah.”

On the bright side, it’s not like Lan Wangji can hate him more than he already does.

A second reason for her to be so miserable at the news that she’s carrying her husband’s child occurs to him and the rage that sweeps through him is surprising in its intensity. “Does he hurt you?”

He drank with her the night before her wedding and told her that Lan Wangji wasn’t that awful, that he wouldn’t hurt her. He told her that she’d be safe as his bride.

But now she’s sobbing and pregnant and so clearly terrified.

Xuanyu hesitates.

“I’m going to kill him,” he says. It comes out perfectly calm, none of his normal bluster. Both A-jie and Jiang Xingyi pale.

He turns to leave, already planning on drawing his sword first and explaining after. Lan Wangji has made a liar out of him. Xuanyu is young and didn’t ask for any of this and he has a responsibility to protect his bride and Jiang Cheng told her that he wouldn’t hurt her and now she’s here and she’s hurt and he’s going to rip Lan Wangji’s spine out and shove it down his throat.

People don’t like him, don’t get along with him, generally. But she’d sat with him beneath the light of the moon and drank with him and it had been something warm and familiar that he hasn’t had since before the war. He tells himself that’s why he cares his so much when the truth is he doesn’t know why, it’s just that she feels familiar in a way he can’t explain, not when he the first time they met was that night.

“Jiang Cheng!” She lunges forward, hugging him from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist. He braces for the feeling of discomfort, ready to push back agaisnt the urge to shove her off of him. It doesn’t come. “I didn’t mean like that! We spar, a lot, and I get hurt, but I’m always requesting it. It’s not like that.”

He turns in her arms, gently pushing her back but not letting go of her shoulders. “Then why are you crying? It’s okay, you can tell me the truth. I’m not afraid of Lan Wangji.”

“I just,” she sniffs. “I can’t – he doesn’t like me, you know? And – and I’m better than I was, um, healthier, but what if,” she blinks heavily, “what if I’m not strong enough, or something goes wrong, and then – what if I mess it up? And it’s all my fault, because I was weak, and then I’m a failure and he hates me–”

“Oh, Xuanyu,” A-jie whispers. He knows she had a lot of those same fears when she was pregnant with Jin Ling, and she and Jin Zixuan were in love, and he proposed to her fully knowing the state of her health.

Both Xuanyu and Lan Wangji were forced into this marriage.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says firmly. “If you don’t want to have this baby, then you don’t have to. Whatever the reason. And if anyone tries to force you to, I’ll stop them. I don’t care who they are. Understand?” He waits until she gives a wide eyed nod. “But I don’t – I don’t think that Lan Wangji will react like how you think he will. And if he disappoints you, then I will help you take care of it. But I don’t think he will.”

Twice now he has vouched for Lan Wangji to Xuanyu, this girl who feels like another sister even though he barely knows her.

If Lan Wangji makes a liar out of him, he will beat him bloody and not even Lan Xichen will be able to hold it against him.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #untamed

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mysticheathenn · 3 months

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What's Your Sign of Encouragement?

Hi there! I hope you all enjoy it and remember to take what resonates and leave what does not as this is a general reading. This reading does not supplement your need to go and seek actual therapy or professional help.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

Patreon Link

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Pile l:

Tarot: Knight of Pentacles, 3 of Pentacles, The Star (reversed), 7 of Wands. Oracle: Healing, Life Purpose, Happiness, Financial Health

"You are not in a prison" was a phrase I heard as I was shuffling your tarot cards pile 1. There is a difference between being in a prison and also being in your own way. You're causing yourself to stay stuck not ever seeing that you have the key to freedom. Your mind is holding you hostage as your soul is begging to be set free. "Why do you deny yourself heaven? Why do you find yourself undeserving? Why are you afraid of happiness? You think it's not possible for someone like you. But you are more than deserving" - Beyonce. Some of the words I changed because she was talking about love/Jay-z from the Lemonade album but why are you so afraid of good things, boo when good things are calling for you. Open up the wounds that have hurt you and heal. Your life purpose is calling you, financial abundance is also calling you but you need to wake up. Change your mindset and ways. Stop self-sabotaging and seek some healing and therapy. I want to see you win, others want to see you win. But it all starts with you wanting to see yourself win too. I wish I could hug you pile 1, you need it the most right now but I know you got this. Keep reminding yourself that you are a star, you ARE the main character and take your time one foot after another. I know life is shit right now but see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Pile ll:

Tarot: None Oracle: Answers, Finding, Home, Passion, Courage "The answers you seek are inside of you. You're looking everywhere but where you need to be looking, inside." You may be trying to find yourself looking everywhere from social media, to finding yourself in love partners, careers, etc when you should be looking inside of you. Listen to your intuition, listen to the fire that most likely has been burning inside of you but you have been ignoring it out of fear that no one will like this new version or worse maybe you won't like this new person you feel deep down inside. Do not be afraid pile ll. There is a saying that goes "Don't let the money change you, let it make you" from the iconic movie Player's Club but in the sense of this context I am saying embrace the change but don't let the change break you or turn into something that it isn't. You are meant for change, growth, and finding your sense of home this lifetime. You deserve to be at peace and comfort in not only your own skin but the people around you. Find your community, find where you belong, there are billions of people out there who are dying to meet this new version of you, but you have to be willing to show up. Your pile surprisingly didn't need any tarot only oracle cards and the messages were coming in. Have the courage pile ll. *Viola Davis Voice from the Help* You are safe. You is loved. You is welcomed. You is amazing. make that your mantra as you find your sense of home, belonging, acceptance, and self-love.

Pile lll:

Tarot: The Magician (reversed), 10 of Wands, Knight of Wands (reversed), The Lovers, 7 of Cups Oracle: Friendship, Fertility, Boundaries, Prosperity, Strength Pile lll why are you almost always my pile with romance, friendship, or family with boundary problems, haha. Who do I need to smack for you guys because this has to stop, my guy. For some strange reason, I feel one of you said I need to smack everyone for you and I believe it. Two songs are coming in for you and that's "We're Not Going To Take It by Twisted Sisters and "Loverboy by Mickey and Sylvia both popular songs back in the day especially Lover Boy as it was in the original movie Dirty Dancing. You are sick and tired of being sick and tired and you're becoming fed up with being presented bread crumbs for your relationships whether this is romantic or platonic. You want more from the people around you but you fear leaving because you feel you don't have any other options. If not other options you aren't sure if this is as good as it gets and it's not. There is always a bigger and better everything in life. As soon as you think that you have reached greatness or met the best person in the world you meet a whole new level of amazing you keep climbing from there. Just know that whatever whoever you are dealing with you have a whole community behind you waiting to help you pick up where you are and show you a whole new world. If not the current people in your life new people are coming in as well wanting to show you the better things whether it's food, clothes, community, love, career...you name it. Don't believe for a second that you don't have options because you will always have options. A few of you may have been drawn to pile 1 as well. It's okay to start over and it's okay to set boundaries. Take a deep breath and dare to do what is right for you and believe that your life is abundant in all ways possible.

That's all I have for everyone. I hope you enjoyed this reading. Until next time, stay safe and blessed.

#spirituality #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarotblr #tarot cards #pick a card #witchblr #pac tarot #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick an image #pick a card reading #pac reading

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 10 months

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I don’t think Jason has ever hated Tim

I recently revived my Jason Todd hyperfixation from its torpor and realized I had... Means and Ways of reading as many comics as I want for free, so I made the transition from Fanon Only to having read Lost Days, Under the Red Hood, Teen Titans #29 (where Jason fights and beats the tar out of Tim), Hush, Red Hood and the Outlaws (the majority of both runs), Red Robin: The Grail, Batman and Robin: Streets Run Red, Green Arrow #70 - #73 (where Jason kidnaps Mia), Battle for the Cowl, and a smattering of other bits and bobs, all within the last month.

I have come to the conclusion that the idea that Jason hated Tim before slowly learning to be okay with him is completely backwards.

Jason starts respecting Tim as a fellow combatant after basically their first meeting, and was sympathizing with him even before. Fandom talks a lot about how Jason repeatedly tried to kill Tim, but I think there’s a good argument to be made that actually Jason has never tried to kill Tim, and there’s a better argument that Jason has never tried to hurt Tim out of a dislike for him.

Tim is the one who feels viciously betrayed by Jason, hates his guts, and depending on if you blend in the New 52 either learns to begrudgingly like him or just stays hatin.

Obviously I need some proof here, since this goes completely against the grain of every relationship interpretation I’ve ever seen for them, so approximately seven miles of character analysis under the cut lmao

I’m gonna try to go in chronological order of the characters’ history here, which means we’re starting with Lost Days, and Jason’s first reaction to finding out there’s a new Robin:

This does not look like anger to me.

Lost Days is only six issues long, and this is the entirety of the pages devoted to Jason’s feelings on Tim. Jason succeeds in a plan that would have almost certainly killed Batman if Jason had gone through with it. Jason undeniably has Joker dead to rights at one point, but lets him go. Jason at no point in this story attempts to harm Tim at all.

Now for Hush.

Context for fanon only folks: this is where the “throat slitting” bit happens.

Context for a lot of confusion: I don’t know if Jason is the one who holds Tim hostage or not.

In the original Hush plot line this is only Clayface; Jason isn’t here at all. It was later retconned in Under the Red Hood that Jason was actually in this fight for... some amount of time. It’s highly unclear to me when they swap out. Probably because originally, they didn’t swap out. Oh well! In either case, it’s now canon that Jason coached Clayface on his acting, so for the purposes of this essay, Imma hold Jason responsible for the throat damages and the words said regardless of who did what!

Right off the bat: this is a hostage taking, not a murder. Yes, Clayson Jayface does nick Tim’s neck and absolutely makes the threat of murdering him to Batman, but it’s clearly a threat. Like, look at this panel:

He is talking a lot. This isn’t an attempt to kill Tim, it’s an attempt to screw with Batman. No matter who this is, they have every reason to expect that Batman will stop them before they do any permanent damage. Can you see that little, blurry, half-hidden line of red? Lets look at what the damage was later on:

The bleeding was stopped by a bit of cloth, some pressure, and he’ll need stitches eventually, but they can clearly wait, and Tim doesn’t seem alarmed. That’s enough to scar, and enough that it is perfectly reasonable for Tim to assume that he would have died if he hadn’t been rescued.

However, Jason being deeply protective of kids is a reasonably consistent character trait. “You really think I’m gonna bring the pain to a ten year old?” Even at Jason’s most villainous, he is willing to put himself in danger in order to protect his own sidekick Scarlet. I think it would be very out of character for him to have gone through with it. Combined with Jason’s later actions and the general fact that a hostage is pretty useless dead, I come to the conclusion that Jason was bluffing.

It is ambiguous though, and I admit that this is probably the weakest link in the “Jason never tried to kill him” chain.

But enough of that, was he angry with him? Is the hate there?

I argue no, and that really there’s no emotional investment in Tim at all. In terms of hard numbers the pages Jalay Toddface spends holding Tim hostage is 3 and the number he spends fighting Batman is 13 and the number of times he even so much as LOOKS at Tim is ZERO, like actually, literally ZERO TIMES. He does not spare poor Timmy a SINGLE GLANCE.

Now make a special note here because those three pages of no eye contact from someone who might not even be Jason are the ONLY times that Tim is called Pretender or Imposter.

I’m relying on this research done by Kiragecko: https://kiragecko.tumblr.com/post/128411908944/bat-sibling-interaction It only goes up to Battle for the Cowl, (as does this essay it turns out, I just don’t know how to bridge between that and the New 52) so it isn’t every interaction ever, but it’s still excellent research, go leave a like.

According to them: “Comments: Tim thinks about Jason a lot while he’s first training. He imagines the former Robins giving him pep talks, and uses them to fight off fear gas. When Jason comes back, though, Tim’s really nasty, especially in his head. Jason, however, is somewhat respectful. He usually calls Tim ‘Tim’, and seems to kind of like him. ‘Pretender’ and ‘Imposter’ are things that CLAYFACE said, not Jason.“

How many times are those said? Once. Each. That’s it. As a comment under the Jason and Tim post done by Kiragecko points out, “Replacement” doesn’t even get used.

Under the Red Hood is basically THE Jason Todd comic. To my memory he doesn’t interact with Tim in it. However, it does contain that aforementioned reconning! So we get to see his reasoning during this encounter.

And it very very clearly isn’t at all about Tim.

Moving on to Titans Tower, which is indisputably focused on Tim: When he fights Tim, he is absolutely violent and over the line, but he’s NOT out of his head. Jason is clearly very lucid and careful about what he’s doing.

Is he angry? Of course! He’s angry at the Titans who in his mind cared about him way less than their other members, and accepted a replacement robin as though his life, his whole flesh and blood self, was something that could be so easily forgotten and swapped out.

But I think it would be a mistake to assume that Jason’s at all mad that he isn’t Robin anymore.

A very interesting direct parallel to this fight is when Jason kidnaps Mia, Green Arrow’s sidekick Speedy, fights her, appeals to their commonalities and encourages her to solve crime his way rather than Green Arrow’s way.

In both scenarios Jason engineers a way to isolate a sidekick and attempts to teach them something through combat. He makes a direct appeal to them against their mentors, and seems genuine about what he’s saying. He also lets both of them live, and with Mia is honestly pretty damned polite about it all. At least, as polite as a guy can be about kidnapping you and encouraging you to try to kill him in your high school gym that he definitely should not know about.

The plain fact of the matter is that Jason knocked Tim out, had time to paint his whole ass name way up high on a wall, and did not kill him. This is the same Jason who just prior to that took out all of Tim’s allies non-lethally. The same Jason who kept Mia’s protector’s busy non-lethally. The same Jason who cuts Mia free and gives her weapons back and starts slow in their fighting to make sure he doesn’t hurt her too badly. The same Jason who seems to feel very strongly that killing, trafficking, or selling drugs to kids is an unforgivable offense and very clearly sees Tim as a kid.

Quite frankly, this reads not like a murder, and not like a jealous beatdown, but an attempt to convince Tim that he’s going to get himself killed and needs to get out while he still can. In Jason’s mind before they meet, Tim is purely A Robin, a kid who deserves better than to be put into danger against the same monsters over and over again until he finally slips up and dies.

Is this a hairbrained and back asswards way of doing that? Yes! But it does track for someone who tries to do all of his talking through his actions, which do speak louder than words, but unfortunately C-4 loudness is not actually a significant boon to nuanced communication.

If you want to put it in a less charitable way (and maybe we should, this is a bonkers asshole move on Jason’s part no matter how you slice it) then we can say Jason is testing Tim, trying to see if this one has what it takes to be better than he was, to survive where he couldn’t. Personally I think it’s a mix of both, and for this end of that emotional mess: Tim passes the test.

Jason leaves while talking about Tim in present tense, showing that he has every expectation of Tim being alive, and praises him in the process:

Did you know that the fun panel of Tim kicking Jason in the nuts is actually from the same comic run, about twenty or so issues later?

Did you know that the argument they were having starts with Dick and Tim wrestling with Jason and accusing him of a murder he did not commit, and in fact tried to save the victim from?

Did I mention yet that the death in question was of Duela Dent, aka the JOKER’S DAUGHTER, whom Jason caught attempting to hold a young woman hostage for ransom? And that Jason repeatedly shot her getaway balloon instead of her and then tried to save her life immediately afterwards despite the fact that she was going to let the hostage plummet to their death? And it is implied that part of the reason he’s so easy on her is because of “Once a Titan always a Titan” loyalty, with this being our first clue that Jason isn’t the one shooting at her anymore?

Did I also mention that he comes to her funeral in part to be around Donna (the starry leotard lady whose statue he smashed) because it’s nice to be around people who understand being displaced by their own death? And that the one who sticks up for him in this scene is Donna?

At risk of negating my own thesus here, I’d say it’s reasonable to think that maybe Jason feels rage-hate for Tim in this “kicked in the dick while Dick grins smugly” moment.

Lets go now to Robin #177 at the tail end of the 1993 to 2003 run - Bruce has “died” and Tim hasn’t yet gone on his epic quest to find him. Tim finds Jason unifying street gangs with the intent to bring them under control and solve the current crisis. He appeals to Tim for help with this, in fact he comes off as almost puppy dog eager to work with him, and seems really sad when he says fuck no.

This is one of the first fights in which Tim really holds his own against Jason, and I am very proud of him, yes :3

This gets Jason arrested. Then Tim actually goes through with a heavily modified, less violent version of Jason’s plan that Jason didn’t think could work. A few issues later, when Tim decides that he’s going to try to honor what Bruce would have wanted by springing Jason out of jail, Jason makes note of that.

Jason is pretty damned civil at their next meeting, even though Tim makes it pretty damned clear he doesn’t want him around.

And now... we have to talk about Battle for the Cowl.

I’ve seen it described as a masterclass in how NOT to write Jason Todd, due to it portraying him as being an absolutely off his rocker anger murder violence man. I am inclined to agree.

In this three issue comic Jason Todd has been dRiVeN mAd (in the most bullshit comic sense of that word) by Bruce’s will... telling him to go to therapy. Yeah. So uh, he dons a Batman suit to shoot people in AND pretends to be Black Mask so he can enslave a bunch of villains Amanda Waller style, and like it gets weird from there. It is an extremely jarring transition from that last scene to GUNS BAT HATE MAN.

He still does not hate Tim in it. I really, seriously thought I was going to have to make a lot of excuses for this portion but then the more I read of it the more vindicated I was cause let me repeat: One of the most unhinged with Bat hate and crazy juice versions of Jason ever put to print does not hate Tim at all.

Hell, he likes Tim! He compliments him!

And on top of that, even though he is MUCH more lethal against his fellow robins when they attack him - Jason straight up shoots a ten year old Damian in the chest. It’s fucked. - There is still evidence to suggest that Jason deliberately didn’t kill Tim when he had ample opportunity.

Jason first of all never hunts Tim down. I’ve heard Battle for the Cowl described as Jason tracking Tim down or kidnapping him or going after him to force him to Be His Robin, but that’s just not how it goes.

Instead he waits for Tim to come find his Batcave, disorients him, and goes for a ton of surface cuts. He only actually goes for a real body blow after Tim picks up a crowbar and beats Jason across the face with it a few times.

(Again, proud of you Timmy)

After the stabbing, Jason doesn’t just leave Tim there; this isn’t a matter of hurrying on before he could check. He’s seen dragging Tim off. When Nightwing later comes to rescue him, Dick is downright certain Jason is lying to him about Tim being dead because Jason is refusing to show him the body and Dick figures it’s because he knows there’s no body to show (if in part because he can’t let himself believe Tim is dead without hard proof).

Tim himself wonders about this, noting that the batterang was rusted and shattered on his armor.

Sure, Tim used playing possum to make his pulse slow to a near stop for a while, maybe that fooled Jason, but keep in mind that BRUCE taught Tim that skill, and if there’s one thing these comics have established, it’s that Jason is dangerous precisely because he is so intimately familiar with the techniques of the Bat. Jason even makes specific note of the fact that Tim being trained like Bruce and fighting like Bruce would be his downfall at the beginning of their fight.

The whole comic leaves me wondering just how much of what happened went completely according to Jason’s plan. I really would not put it passed him to engineer a ‘death in the family’ recreation for the next Batman in line! As much as I agree that this is garbage characterization for him in many many ways, I do think Jason makes a fantastic villain. I love to see him run rings around the Bats in some places, and make lemonade out of getting his ass kicked in others.

No matter how we interpret the stabbing here though, what does seem very clear to me is that Jason makes the Be My Robin offer to Tim first and foremost because he thinks pretty highly of Tim! He’s been rejected by Tim at least three times over but keeps holding a hand out for him. This does not seem like Tim hater reaction hours here!

Also that whole thing about kids being dragged into this vigilante life irresponsibly? Yeah that’s still there!

I have TRIED to find evidence that Jason hates Tim at like literally any point here. I have gone through the shit people point to. I have looked at the context around those and dug up more obscure interactions for second and third views. Everywhere I look I just see more instances of Jason complimenting Tim!! It’s driving me nuts!

The only conclusion that I can come to is that people read this stuff and just trust that Tim is right about Jason. Tim’s internal view waaay more closely resembles fandom interpretation. Tim assumes that Clayson Toddface would absolutely have killed him in cold blood, that Jason beat the shit out of him purely to prove he was stronger, that he’s a brute, a moron, an active danger to society, and that every bit of leniency given to him will result in betrayal and death.

I don’t have clearer proof for it, but I also don’t think it’s a stretch to say that Tim probably believes Jason has it out for him and holds him responsible for his replacement.

So yeah. As a fascinating reversal of my expectations going in: I don’t think Jason has ever hated Tim, but boy fuckin howdy has Tim HATED Jason.

#jason todd #tim drake #character analysis #jason todd and tim drake #jason todd & tim drake #jaytim #jason todd/tim drake #robin #red hood #red robin

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girlactionfigure · 5 months

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THURSDAY HERO: Nicholas Winton

The British Schindler: Nicholas Winton

He saved 669 children.

Nicholas Winton was a young British stockbroker who rescued 669 Czech Jewish children from being sent to Nazi death camps. He never told anybody of his heroism, and the story only came out 50 years later after his wife found an old briefcase in the attic containing lists of children he’d saved.

Nicholas was a 29 year old clerk at the London stock exchange getting ready for a ski trip to Switzerland when he received an urgent call from his friend Martin Blake. Known to be passionately opposed to Nazism, Martin urged Nicholas to cancel his vacation and come to Prague immediately. He told Nicolas, “I have a most interesting assignment and I need your help. Don’t bother bringing your skis.”

It is a testament to Nicolas’ sterling character and strong moral compass that he didn’t waver for a moment. It was an easy decision to sacrifice his fun and relaxing ski trip and instead travel to a dangerous place on a mysterious mission.

Two months earlier, in October 1938, Nazi Germany had annexed the Sudetenland It was clear that the Nazis would soon occupy all of Czechoslovakia. When he reached Prague, Nicholas was shocked by the huge influx of refugees fleeing from the Nazis. In early November, the Kristallnacht pogrom occurred in Germany and Austria. Jews were killed in the street and hundreds of synagogues burned down, as well as Jewish-owned businesses. This horrifying event shocked the Jewish community in eastern Europe, and thousands were now desperate to flee.

Born to Jewish parents, Nicholas was actually Jewish himself. However, his parents changed their name from Wertheim and converted to Christianity before he was born. Nicholas was baptized and raised as a Christian, and he didn’t consider himself Jewish (although was doubtless aware that Hitler would.)

In Prague, organizations were springing up to help sick and elderly refugees, but Nicholas noticed that nobody was trying to help the children. In his words, “I found out that the children of refugees and other groups of people who were enemies of Hitler weren’t being looked after. I decided to try to get permits to Britain for them. I found out that the conditions which were laid down for bringing in a child were chiefly that you had a family that was willing and able to look after the child, and fifty pounds, which was quite a large sum of money in those days, that was to be deposited at the Home Office. The situation was heartbreaking. Many of the refugees hadn’t the price of a meal. Some of the mothers tried desperately to get money to buy food for themselves and their children. The parents desperately wanted at least to get their children to safety when they couldn’t manage to get visas for the whole family. I began to realize what suffering there is when armies start to march.”

Nicholas knew something had to be done, and he decided to be the one to do it. He later remembered, “Everybody in Prague said, ‘Look, there is no organization in Prague to deal with refugee children, nobody will let the children go on their own, but if you want to have a go, have a go.’ And I think there is nothing that can’t be done if it is fundamentally reasonable.”

Nicholas decided to find homes for the children in the UK, where they would be safe. He set up a command center in his hotel room in Wenceslas Square and his first step was to contact the refugee offices of different national governments and see how many children they could accept. Only two countries agreed to take any Jewish children: Sweden and Great Britain, which pledged to accept all children under age 18 as long as they had homes and fifty pounds to pay for their trip home.

With this green light from Great Britain, Nicholas did everything possible to find homes for the children. He returned to London and did much of the planning from there, which enabled him to continue working at the Stock Exchange and soliciting funds from other bankers to pay for his work with the refugees. Winton needed a large amount of money to pay for transportation costs, foster homes, and many other necessities such as food and medicine.

Nicholas placed ads in newspapers large and small all over Great Britain, as well as in hundreds of church and synagogue newsletters. Knowing he had to play on people’s emotions to convince them to open their home to young strangers who didn’t even speak English, Nicholas printed flyers with pictures of children seeking refuge. He was tireless in his efforts and persuaded an incredible number of heroic Brits to welcome the traumatized young refugees into their homes and hearts.

The office in Wenceslas Square was manned by fellow Brit Trevor Chadwick. Every day terrified parents came in and begged him to find temporary homes for their children. Despite Nicholas’ success in finding places for the kids to stay, British and German government bureaucrats made things difficult, demanding multiple forms and documents. Nicholas said, “Officials at the Home Office worked very slowly with the entry visas. We went to them urgently asking for permits, only to be told languidly, ‘Why rush, old boy? Nothing will happen in Europe.’ This was a few months before the war broke out. So we forged the Home Office entry permits.”

The first transport of children boarded airplanes in Prague which took them to Britain. Nicholas organized an amazing seven more transports, all of them by train, and then boat across the English Channel. The children met their foster families at the train station and Winton took great care in making the matches between children and foster parents.

The children’s transport organized by Nicholas Winton was similar to the later, larger Kindertransport operation, but specifically for Czech Jewish children. Nicholas saved an astounding 669 children on eight transports. Tragically, the largest transport of all was scheduled for September 1, 1939 – but on that day, Hitler invaded Poland and all borders were closed by Germany. Winton was haunted for decades by the remembrance of the 250 children he last saw boarding the train. “Within hours of the announcement, the train disappeared. None of the 250 children aboard was seen again. We had 250 families waiting at Liverpool Street that day in vain. If the train had been a day earlier, it would have come through. Not a single one of those children was heard of again, which is an awful feeling.”

Nicholas joined the British military and spent the rest of the war serving as a pilot in the Royal Air Force, attaining the rank of Flight Lieutenant. After the war, Nicholas worked for the International Refugee Organization in Paris, where he met and married Grete Gjelstrup, a Danish secretary. They moved to Maidenhead, in Great Britain, and had three children. Their youngest child, Robin, had Down Syndrome, and at that time children with the condition were usually sent to institutions. However Nicholas and Grete wouldn’t consider it and instead kept their son at home with the family. Tragically, Robin died of meningitis the day before his sixth birthday. Nicholas was devastated by the loss, and became an active volunteer with Mencap, a charity to help people with Down Syndrome and other developmental delays. He remained involved in Mencap for over fifty years.

Humble – and perhaps traumatized by the children on the train he wasn’t able to save – Nicholas rarely talked about his wartime heroism and his own family didn’t know the details. It was only in 1988 that Nicholas Winton became widely known. His wife found an old notebook of his containing lists of the children he saved. Working with a Holocaust researcher, she tracked down some of the children and located eighty of them still living in Britain. These grown children, some with grandchildren, found out for the first time who had saved them.

The BBC television show called That’s Life! invited Nicholas to the filming an episode that became one of the most emotional clips in TV history. With Nicholas in the audience, the host told his story, including photos and details about some of the children he’d saved. Then she the told Nicholas that one of those children was the woman in the seat next to him! They embraced, teary eyed, and the host announced there were more grown children in the audience as well. She asked everybody who owed their life to Nicholas Winton to stand up. The entire audience stood up, as Nicholas sat stunned, wiping away the tears.

After that, Nicholas was showered with honors, including a knighthood for services to humanity. Known as the British Schindler, he met the Queen multiple times and received the Pride of Britain Award for Lifetime Achievement, both for saving refugee children and working with Mencap to improve the lives of people with cognitive differences. There are multiple statues of him in Prague and the UK, and his story was the subject of three films.

Nicholas Winton died in Britain in July 2015, at age 106. Today there are tens of thousands of people who owe their lives to Nicholas Winton.

For saving hundreds of Jewish children, we honor Nicholas Winton as this week’s Thursday Hero.

#Thursday Hero

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sanjisboyfie · 2 months

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๑ mummified [name] (29)

one piece x male reader

oh, the boy's a slag,

the best you've ever had

『 prev 』

nami covered her mouth at the sight.

it was truly gruesome. how did [name] end up in such a severely worse state than both sanji and usopp, even though they suffered the same attack? nami didn’t have any idea why, nor did she find herself caring for a reason.

not when she was reminded of how [name] was no longer breathing.

she turned him onto his back, grimacing at the sound the blood mad underneath the movement of his body. she took a couple of deep breaths before performing basic cpr.

“come on! [name], you can’t die here!” she shouted, frantically repeating the compressions with a steady rhythm. her arms were straight, in proper positioning, and she huffed with the motion of her body weight pressing down onto the area above [name]’s heart. “wake up!!!”

she debated on whether or not to give the breaths to [name] before shaking her head and committing herself to the routine. if it was life or death, then giving two breaths of air mouth to mouth wasn’t even a big deal. she wouldn’t hesitate if it meant the difference of [name] dying or living.

but just as she tilted his head back, to open his airway, there was a cough of blood that erupted from his mouth. she flinched away immediately to avoid the liquid splattering on her and also in shock. she looked at [name]’s chest and realized it was moving, very, very slowly, but it was moving.

“[name]!!!” she shouted, turning him to his side so that the blood could escape his mouth, instead of suffocating his airway. in a panic, she slapped his back a couple of times to urge the liquid to come out — not really thinking the action through in terms of bodily harm. but she didn’t have time to seriously evaluate her actions, not when she was just so frantic in seeing [name] stay alive.

he continued coughing out blood, the liquid dribbling out of his mouth and forming a puddle near his cheek. nami felt tears spring to her eyes as she saw how weak and fragile he really was.

his eyes were barely open, his jaw ajar, and his body was twitching every now and then.

“so much…blood,” nami breathed out, looking at the expanse of [name]’s body and her eyes becoming dull at the sight and reality. [name] had lost too much blood for it to be normal, for him to even be alive.

but she wasn’t going to question how he survived, she would just do everything in her power to ensure he stayed alive. she stood upright and was about to run to grab chopper’s spare bandages, gritting her teeth as she willed her legs to run forward.

but now, her and the weird knight had to be dealing with these two random circular people that had invaded their ship. they were spewing some irrelevant information about how usopp and sanji killed their brother, but nami could care less.

when they both started throttling her crew’s body around, she felt nothing but anger surge in her core.

“don’t touch them!!” she shouted, taking apart her clima tact and shooting two bars of it forward, the blue weapon forming an “x” shape as it was thrown towards the duo. “they’re already unconscious! can’t you see?! he’s going to die of blood loss, stop it!!!”

the two people obviously didn’t care for her pleading, which only made her more aggravated.

the weird knight and her made quick work in dealing with the two, nami filled with a new sense of urgency when she saw how beaten up and bloodied [name] really was. her eyes almost welled with tears, but she blinked them away and forced herself to focus on attacking.

after a joint effort in defeating the two, the ship and crew were finally safe again. nami threw off the gauntlet she was forced to use, rushing over to [name]’s side and holding her hand over his heart. a wave of relief came over her when she felt it was still beating.

“i need to do first aid quickly,” she reminded herself, running to grab the bandages from chopper’s quarters and then coming back onto the deck and hastily treating [name].

she apologized briefly to the unconscious sanji and usopp, but considering that they were not in as terrible condition as [name], she didn’t feel all that bad treating [name] first.

“old man!! where do you think you’re going?!” she shouted from [name]’s side, seeing that the old man was now adorning his metallic fear. “you can’t just leave us here?!”

“i apologize, but i must follow where enel went,” gan fall spoke, eyeing the injured [name] with immense pity, “please, treat him quickly and the other two so that you all can make it out of here alive,”

before nami could further argue with him, the sky night and his bird took off. she grit her teeth in annoyance, angrily wrapping the bandages around [name]’s bloodied form.

just as she thought she was at least half way done in treating him, there was a sudden blast of music that was heard from behind merry.

she fully expected to see some sort of enemy attacking them once again, but insteaad was confused when she saw a little ship being steered by conis and her father.

“nami-san! heso!” conis greeted, making nami tilt her head in confusion.

pagaya parked the vehicle behind merry and the two climbed aboard, a new face in tow.

“this is aisa-san, we had agreed to-”

“stay away blue sea people! i am a warrior of shandora and i will eliminate you!!”

pagaya’s explanation of who the girl was was cut off by the child herself, who was waving around a “weapon” in nami’s face. the woman could only look at her with an unimpressed expression, push her aside by using her elbow to get her out of the way, and looking up at conis.

“help me treat them, all of them are in really bad shape, but [name], i think he’s in the worst conditon,” conis and her father looked at the man in shock. the tall man that was comfortably eating at their home only hours before was now boiled down to a completely bloodied mess.

conis jumped to action, retrieving her first aid bag from their own personal ship and then immediately getting to work on treating him. nami assisted her, wiping [name] down clean of any blood and then immediately plastering a healing balm over his wounds.

the most obvious signs of damage were near his face, such as his eyes and ears, as well as his chest. conis worked as calmly as she could whilst nami kept a hardened expression the entire time she was treating [name].

‘if you even think about dying, [name], i’ll make sure to give you an earful in hell! there’s no way you’re dying today!’ the navigator thought to herself, watching conis’ finger expertly navigate the roll of bandage around [name]’s body.

“he should be completely covered now,” conis sighed after a strenous couple of minutes of work.

[name] was dressed head to toe in bandages. his eyes, nose, and mouth were the only uncovered parts of his face since he, obviously, needed to see and breathe. nami had covered him up with his shorts, but didn’t bother with his shirt since she didn’t want to move him around all that much.

“the healing balm underneath the bandages act as a cooling agent as well as an antibacterial, so it should target the possible burns he might have suffered from enel’s attack as well as fight infection,” conis informed nami, who only nodded her head in understanding. the skypiean noticed the other woman’s worried gaze lingering on [name], so she offered her comfort by rubbing up and down her back, “i will treat the other two, please stay by his side to keep him company.”

nami nodded, muttering a thank you, and positioned herself to be as close as possible to [name]’s resting body. her hand rested on top of his chest, right above his heart and it was a comfort to feel the faint beating against her own skin.

“i hope the others are doing alright,” she said to herself, looking down at [name]’s body with deep regret evident on her face. “seriously, you’re always getting into life threatening danger…for what, you idiot?”

she grit her teeth in annoyance, thinking back to alabasta. they were lucky to have vivi and chopper both on the scene to treat him quickly. and nami feels thankful to have conis help her out with the first aid. but her worry and anxiety over his wellbeing still hadn’t been quenched at all. without chopper here to treat him, he may as well be closer to being a dead man than walking this off like he did in alabasta.

when caused [name] to wake from his knocked out state was the giant beam of lightening that had shot straight down from the sky. he coughed blood up as the electricity hit the island beside them, making the water underneath merry rock back and forth.

he stabilized his breathing before taking in his surroundings. they were below deck of merry and beside him, usopp and sanji were bandaged up to treat their own wounds. and that was when he noticed he was wrapped head to toe in white bandages, some parts of the white surface blotted with red blood.

he groaned, feeling fatigue and pain wash over his entire body. of course, the god had to have the ability linked to electricity, he cursed in his head. he rolled over, trying to urge his legs in stepping forward. it took a couple of tries, like a baby deer walking for the first time, but then he was finally able to make it to the door.

when he slammed it open, the first thing he heard were the cries of someone. he searched the deck and saw a familiar head of blonde hair and a pair of white wings on their back. he walked forward, eyes softening as he saw that she was the source of crying.

seeing as he was unable to speak properly, the bandages around his face secured rather tight, all he could do was kneel down beside her and offer him his arms.

”[name]?” she breathed out in shock, surprised to see that he was even conscious so soon. when she saw the gesture he was offering, his arms spread open and his torso awaiting, she bit her lip and tried to muffle her cries. she collapsed into his arms, crying into the bandages around his chest as he hugged her tight.

she had just witnessed her father die, all thanks to enel and his lightening powers. she feels nothing but grief and anger. how could enel do this to her father? and while [name] didn’t even know the gravity of their current situation, he held her for as long as she needed with a stoic expression underneath his bandaged face.

“[name]! enel is going to-” she cut herself off, not wanting the same fate of her father to befall [name] and herself, “no, i can’t! i have to go, [name], i can’t explain further.”

[name] blinked at her sudden change in demeanor, tilting his head to the side in confusion. seeing the fire in her eyes and hearing her determination, though, he let her go and stood upright.

”for our safety, i can’t say what i have heard, but please tend the other two while i relay the message to the people. i can’t allow for this to happen without warning the others!” whatever “this” was, [name] didn’t know, but he didn’t bother trying to stop her.

instead, he only attempted a smile and threw her a thumbs up.

conis faltered at the sight, rushing forward and hugging him with the lightest touch and then backing away, “thank you for understanding! i really wish i didn’t have to leave the three of you without aid, but i must! i’m sorry! [name], please be safe!”

he waved her comment off, rolling his eyes at her apology, and shooing her away. she weakly laughed at his behavior, running off the deck of the ship and onto the miniature boat that she and her father had brought.

the only plan of action was to bring merry to the original meeting point. unfortunately, he would just have to hope that he was steering merry in the right direction. after getting everything in order, he walked to the room where sanji and usopp were resting and went to take care of them.

the two rags that were resting on their heads was set on the rim of the pail of water, so he first went to set them back in place. after wringing the water out, he placed the two rags on their foreheads. he continued to silently work in making sure they were comfortable, covering them with the thick blankets and fluffing their pillow.

in the midst of him treating them, sanji began muttering in his sleep. he wasn’t really listening, blocking out the noise and just focusing on how to speed up their healing process.

as he was redoing the bandages around sanji’s arms, though, the blonde unconsciously grabbed his own and pathetically called out, “nami-san~” to which [name] very abruptly dropped sanji’s hand with a grimace.

the action made sanji’s eyes open and when he saw the mummified version of [name] staring at him, he scurried away and wrapped himself in the blanket for protection, “no way i just held your hand!” he shouted, pointing a finger at [name].

seeing as he was bandaged up and unable to talk, [name] just went to flip him off before turning around and tending to usopp.

“where is nami-san?!” sanji cried out, rocking back and forth like a baby throwing a tantrum, “oh, i hope she is safe!”

as he was crying those mock tears, [name] stood up and went to throw out the old bandages. the movement made sanji look up from his wallowing and observe [name]’s form. he was moving well, all things considered, but he noticed that his actions were sluggish and lazy. as if he barely had enough energy to even be moving.

then sanji remembered everything up until this point. [name] was having really bad reactions prior to the god even showing up, overheating and sweating bullets. then he was attacked head on by the supposed god, making everything else that happened after become unknown.

using context clues, he could assume the condition [name] was in was also due to the god striking him. sanji grit his teeth, looking at the man’s bandaged body and recognizing the fact that the blame could be put onto him. he ran a hand through his blonde hair, looking aside as he mentally beat himself up.

[name] is so injured because of me, he thought to himself, and now nami-san is nowhere to be seen! i’ve failed as a crewmate and as a man! his thoughts were going rampant, ranting on and on about nami’s safety.

then he was knocked on the head by [name]’s knuckle. he was going to shout at him for being annoying, but when he looked up and noticed that every inch of [name]’s body was covered with bandages, he bit his tongue.

“we better wake up usopp,” sanji commanded, standing up and putting the cigarette back into his mouth, “we have to go and save nami-san,” then he shoved [name]’s shoulder with a glare, “you’re in no condition to do anything, though, so just stick behind with merry,”

[name] immediately refused, shoving sanji’s shoulder with an equal amount of force. sanji shook his head, “i won’t let you come, you’d only slow us down. be more considerate on this mission and stay back!”

if [name] could speak, he’d definitely curse sanji out, the blonde knew that. the glare he was sporting spoke for itself. but the chef really didn’t want [name] joining them.

they had to run across the island’s terrain, get to a high vantage point, somehow get on board of the massive flying ship that was above their heads and then probably fight the god that was behind this entire mess. [name] would only get hurt even more.

”you’ll just get even more hurt and slow us down,” sanji said, walking away and not leaving [name] anymore room to argue — as if the man could in the first place.

[name] felt furious at sanji for underestimating him so much. he already knew that there was no way that he was going to stay back while usopp and sanji got to face enel. over his dead body would he let those two go into such an intense fight alone.

but all he could do was simmer in his anger in silence, wincing as he crossed his arms over his chest in said anger.

“usopp, let’s go! we have nami-san to rescue!” sanji shouted, tugging usopp to the railing, “[name], don’t even think about-”

“too late,” usopp drawled out, seeing that the h/c haired man had already jumped off of the railing and onto the island before either of them could react.

“shit for brains, get back here!” sanji shouted, jumping ahead too and running to be side by side with [name], “go back to the ship, i won’t repeat myself!”

[name] flipped him off and continued running ahead.

“you’re only going to slow us down!” sanji argued, but his words were easily proven false as [name] was running the fastest among the three. usopp was running a couple of feet behind.

“sanji, are we seriously going up there?!” usopp cried out, legs wobbly as he tried catching up with the two.

“yeah, after i kick this asshole back to merry!”

[name] suddenly halted in his running, catching sanji in his arms and bracing for impact when usopp ran into his torso as well. with an iron strong grip, he had his arms wrapped around sanji and usopp’s waist and were carrying them at his waist height — as if they were rag dolls.

“put me down, shit for brains!”

“ah, how relaxing this is, to just rest in [name]’s arms like this~”

usopp and sanji had two very different reactions, obviously.

and [name] furrowed his brows in concentration, getting into position as if he were about to start running. but what shocked the two in his arms was that instead of him running, it appeared as if he was flying through the air.

they were still on the ground, the two confirmed that when they looked down and saw the grass so close to [name]’s feet. so he wasn’t actually flying, but the speed in which he was “running”, it was as if he was soaring through the air.

and before they knew it, they were standing on a rock that was a couple meters tall and gave them more leverage in reaching the gigantic ship that nami was apparently harbored on. after she was kidnapped by enel. all according to sanji’s theory.

[name] set usopp and sanji down, giving them a couple of seconds to get used to their lack of motion. using soru when it’s just your body in transport is fine, the body has been trained for it. but when you used soru with other in tow, it was hard to estimate how their bodies would react to the action.

sanji was reacting better than usopp, simply putting a hand on his chest to calm his heart and stabilize his breathing. the sniper, on the other hand, was off to the side puking his guts out.

[name] walked over when he was finished and roughly hit the belt that was around usopp’s waist. sanji perked up, seemingly ready to get their rescue mission into play, and joined [name]’s side. and speaking for him, he exclaimed, “usopp, get ready, we’re gonna use that stupid rope thing you have to get up there!”

“what?! why me?!” usopp cried out, not liking the way the two were ganging up on him. he couldn’t even rely on [name] to cower behind because the man himself looked rather unbothered by his fear.

“that rope of yours can reach up there! shoot it up and i’ll kick it in the direction of the ship to make sure it latches on! from there, we’ll climb it and save nami-san!”

usopp’s knees shook where he stood and he was about to beg [name] to let him not participate, but the male was still glaring at the belt around his waist with determination.

there was no way [name] would listen to his pleas now, usopp thought with a stream of tears going down his face.

“if this ends up ending terribly, i won’t be responsible!” is the last thing usopp shouts before releasing the hooked rope from his belt. it’s trajectory is set towards sanji, who kicks it at the last second to send it flying towards the ship.

when the hook at the end finally latched onto the ship, sanji and [name] threw themselves onto the rope while usopp just waited for it to take him off of the ground. now all that was left was to climb.

[name] grit his teeth at the immense pain he was going through. the closer they got to the deck of the massive ship flying through the sky, the more pain he was in. regardless of the fact, though, he continued on climbing and toughed out the pain.

when they finally were able to get onto some surface of rest, sanji was more amped up to save nami than he was before. he ran ahead, shouting about how they had to split up and use this time as resourcefully as they could. before he disappeared from their line of sight, though, he shouted once more, “and [name], don’t be a fucking idiot! it’s not just your life on the line, it’s usopp’s too!!”

“who said i can’t fend for myself?!” usopp cried out in offense, making [name] turn to him with an unimpressed look on his face.

obviously, [name] couldn’t verbalize anything so all he did was roughly tug usopp in a random direction and hope that that was the path that led them to enel. usopp continued crying out for him to stop, not wanting to actually fight the god, but he had no choice when it was [name] pulling him along.

[name] was bulldozing through wooden doors with not a care in the world, eager to find nami and get everyone to safety. he could see that with each door and wall that he smashed to pieces, she was getting closer. it only encouraged him to move faster.

usopp was tightly gripping his slingshot in anticipation, keen on how the farther they were traveling in on the ship, the louder the sounds of fighting were. nami was probably in a lot of trouble and that was what encouraged the sniper to move onward with [name] with some sense of courage.

but when the door [name] slammed open and revealed the actual god, usopp felt nothing but fear. he looked to [name] to gauge his reaction, but when he looked to where he was supposed to be standing, he was no longer there. and when usopp turned his head back into the direction of enel, he almost pissed himself when he saw the god was looking directly at him.

“special attack : exploding star!” he shouted with a mixture of courage and fear. when he opened his eyes, he saw that the god was glaring right back at him. where the hell did [name] go?! usopp screamed in his head, looking at the god and feeling himself tremble, “i-i’m sorry,”

the god didn’t look impressed.

”oi! nami, is sanji here yet?!”

“sanji? he’s here?!” nami exclaimed in shock. she was wondering if her eyes were deceiving her before or if it really was [name] that she saw standing beside usopp earlier. but, considering he was now missing, it must’ve been a trick of the light. that or she was going crazy.

“what do you mean he’s not here yet?! plus that asshole abandoned me! what are we going to do?!” usopp shouted in worry, running out of the way of one of enel’s attacks and tumbling towards nami.

“what do you mean?! you’re the one that’s supposed to be saving me?!”

“what?! no way, you save me!”

“screw that, save me!!”

the two bantered back and forth until enel shot another electric beam towards them. they dispersed and dodged the attack, crying to their heart’s content when they realized they were so close to getting hit.

“what the hell?! where’s [name] when you need him?!”

“savior [name]! save us!!!” usopp shouted, but when he saw zero movement from their surrounding area of the said man, he kicked his feet into the ground, “you asshole! how could you abandon us?!”

“you mean he was really here?!” nami shouted in confusion, “he’s in no condition to even be moving, what the hell were you guys thinking bringing him up here?!”

“he insisted, we can’t stop him! that’s like trying to stop a hungry luffy from eating all the food we have — it’s impossible! im-poss-ible!!” usopp drawled out, a shriek escaping his lips as he dodged another attack. “but that doesn’t matter, he’s left us here for some reason! so now, we have to be the ones to take care of this situation!”

nami grit her teeth, “he’s gonna die if he fights enel! i’m serious, usopp, where did he go?!”

“how the hell am i supposed to know?! i’m the one telling you he ran away!”

“that’s bullshit, [name] wouldn’t run away!” nami defended, looking around and clenching her fists in frustration, “[name]! come here right now, or else we’re leaving you here!”

“you have an escape plan?!” usopp asked with stars in his eyes, eager to get out of the immediate line of danger.

“the waver — if we time our jumping right, we could land in the cloud island below and be saved by the clouds! that’s our only shot of getting out of here alive!”

“roger, i’ll distract him and you make sure it’s ready!”

the two nodded in understanding, running in separate directions to get their plan in motion. usopp’s plan to distract god enel didn’t work that well considering he only just put a target on himself and made enel focus on him entirely.

usopp thought that he was going to be done for, kneeling before enel with a firghtened look on his face. the god didn’t even flinch as he charged up an attack that would surely knock him out.

just as the beam was going to be shot out straight onto usopp’s torso, there was a squelching sound that echoed through the ship. it was quieter than the electricity bumbling on the end of enel’s fingertips, but usopp had heard it.

and enel was the one that felt it.

he looked down and saw the tip of a dagger sticking through his abdomen. the electricity he had charged up immediately died down and he coughed out blood, nothing but surprise painting his features.

“and who do you think you’re going to attack, god?”

usopp almost cried out to rejoice if he wasn’t scared out of his mind. that was [name]’s voice, no doubt. but the image of him was truly terrifying.

his shadow almost seemed bigger than it usually was, the way he was intimidatingly hovering behind enel. he was carrying a large bag behind him, making his figure seem even larger. the bandages that were tightly wound around every crevice of his body were now painted more red than white. the ones that were around his face were ripped off, revealing portions of his features. but most importantly, his mouth was unrestricted and his smirking canines were on display for them to see.

[name] was standing behind enel, a dagger in his clenched fist and buried deep into enel’s lower stomach. with a scowl on his face, he twisted the dagger and pushed it in deeper into his flesh.

“hey, i’m asking you a question, it’d be polite of you to answer,” he taunted, his knee nudging the back of enel’s and forcing him to kneel, “huh, never thought a god would look so befitting in this position. it’s kind of fuelling my ego. having a big, mighty man such as yourself kneeling before me,”

enel grit his teeth, a million questions running through his mind. how did such a feeble weapon manage to pierce his skin? that wasn’t supposed to be possible. it should’ve went straight through.

“i’m your god, now, enel,” [name] grinned, pulling the dagger out with a satisfied look on his face with the way the blood splattered across the deck, “say your prayers and i might be merciful,”

—

[ .ᐟ ] mc getting saved by the power of medical knowlede iktr but also if u think about it, it's the mosy realistic thung that could've happened thats all im gonna say

—

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vickyvicarious · 9 months

Note

The death alarms must be blaring loud in Mina's ears by now. "God bless and keep him" is as if she wants to manifest him being alive. While getting radio silence from him, coupled with her new friend telling her that he'll soon die (which made her tear up), and then Indeed Dying, her reading about the ship of death, the funerals...

Absolutely, they're blaring nonstop.

She hasn't heard from Jonathan in a long time. Actually, let's take a look at this timeline of Jonathan's letters...

12 May - Sent two letters (one each to Mina and Mr. Hawkins) on Dracula's behest saying he's leaving in a month.

19 May - Made to write three dictated letters.

28 May - Real letters confiscated, shorthand one to Mina burned. One supposedly sent to Mr. Hawkins telling him to talk to Mina (may have just been a taunt from Dracula/may not have actually been sent).

12 June - Expected departure based on 12 May letter. Dictated letter that he'll be leaving in a few more days mailed.

19 June - Dictated letter that he's leaving the next day mailed.

29 June - Dictated letter that he is in Bistritz mailed.

1 July - Mina presumably receives letter from 12 May (see 1 August). Expects him home soon based on the contents.

25 July - Letter to Mr. Hawkins arrives (forwarded to Mina next day). Seems to be the one sent on 19 June based on the contents.

1 August - Mina says she hasn't heard from him in a whole month (probably referencing a letter to her specifically, must be the one from 12 May). "I hope there cannot be anything the matter with Jonathan."

3 August - "Oh, I do hope he is not ill."

8 August - "Somehow I felt glad that Jonathan was not on the sea last night, but on land. But, oh, is he on land or sea? Where is he, and how?"

10 August - "I should be quite happy if I only knew if Jonathan.... God bless and keep him."

So yeah, it seems like she hasn't gotten a letter directly from Jonathan in over a month - and I'm willing to bet that letter wasn't super effusive. It still was nowhere near as alarming as the one she was forwarded from Mr. Hawkins later, though. That one is even more directly dictated by Dracula and she's very clear that it doesn't seem like Jonathan's usual writing style. She even suspects a forgery, but his handwriting convinces her otherwise in the end.

If I'm reading this correctly, it took about 8 weeks for Mina to get the letter Jonathan wrote on 12 May, and about 5 weeks for Mr. Hawkins to get the one sent on 19 June. Assuming the latter timeline is more typical (since who knows how long Dracula took to get around to mailing that first letter; the later three are specifically dated), the letter saying he's in Bistritz is actually already running a week late. (If we split the difference, then it could be expected very soon, though.) Meanwhile, for all Mina knows Jonathan left the castle just about two months ago and hasn't communicated at all since. Setting aside that it should not take him that long to come home (I don't have the time right now to look up how long the journey is supposed to take, but definitely less than this), it's still wildly out of character for him not to let her know if he has been delayed further for some reason.

So yeah, that's all deeply alarming. And then we get on to her pleasantly distracting summer vacation, which so far is anything but. Lucy is sleepwalking, Mrs. Westenra is freaked about it, Mina has to watch over her and thus is getting little sleep herself. This doubtless increases her stress levels on its own, but I suspect also is what leads her to hint at him possibly being ill. She does the same thing later on; after there is a bad storm and a ship crashes ashore with no one alive aboard, she doubts whether he is on sea and wonders where he is. And then today, after attending the funeral/after her friend's death, she comes close to wondering if he is even alive, before trailing off and just praying for him instead.

All the bad stuff happening around her keeps making her think of what might be happening to Jonathan too, and the possibilities are just steadily getting worse... but all could end in death. Maybe he caught some illness and died with no one looking after him (Lucy). Maybe he was traveling on a ship and drowned in a storm (Demeter). Maybe he was attacked and murdered (Mr. Swales - though Mina doesn't say he has been, the nature of his death could easily remind her of such a possibility).

Maybe this all happened weeks ago.

She has no way of knowing, and thus nothing she can do about it. Last she heard he'd left the castle, so even if she wanted to go search for him (and somehow found the money for a sustained search), she wouldn't have any clear destination. It's just "somewhere between Transylvania and England" and that's a big space. So all she can do is worry over him. Try to deny the possibility.

Pray.

#dracula daily #mina murray #jonathan harker #jonmina #anonymous #replies

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ilguna · 10 months

Note

lmao finnick and number 29 please 🎉 -🪐

☼ exhaustion (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; Finnick tells you to stay home after realizing just how tired you are.

warnings; swearing, death mention.

wc; 1.1

prompt: 29. “You're not up to this, you can barely stand!”

–

If there’s one thing you could go for right now, it would be the best sleep of your life. You think that you’d drain everything you’ve saved up since you won, just so you can sleep for twelve hours straight, and wake up in a warm bed that you don’t want to leave. Preferably, Finnick would be in that same bed, holding onto you.

You can't, though, between the past two and a half days, you’ve only slept for about five hours, total, and that might be an overestimation. You’re not entirely sure, because you’re not keeping track. You don’t have time to.

It’s partially your own fault, you could make a harder effort to get some sleep. You’re afraid of the consequences that will follow. Each time you lay down for thirty minutes, close your eyes, get comfortable—some tragedy inside of the arena happens. It’s not your tributes every time, but that doesn’t matter.

Whatever they’ve done to the arena this year, they’ve rigged it too well. The mentors can’t sleep, the tributes can’t sleep. You’re not entirely sure how anyone is supposed to go on with a peace of mind, knowing full well that their tributes could die at any moment without notice.

It’s a chain reaction that they’ve set up. One tribute will step into a trap, trigger an animal, make a wrong decision, and everyone else inside of the arena will suffer that exact same pain.

They’ve started fires that have lit the forest on fire, which caused a stampede of the largest animals, which drove all the food away. That caused the predators left over to turn around and begin hunting tributes instead. Mentors panicked, now there’s too many weapons inside of the arena.

At least one tribute has died every day since the bloodbath, which was five days ago. You think this year they’ve made history, because you’re already down to the final eight, causing another round of interviews by the press. You were hoping that you’d have a few more days before having to appear on screen in front of Panem, praising your tributes for surviving this far.

You’ve seen yourself in the mirror, and it’s horrible.

This wouldn’t be so hard if you had Finnick with you. And technically you do, he’s here somewhere in the Capitol. Only, he’s been Snow’s errand boy from the second you two stepped onto the train station. You were able to speak to him briefly two days ago between his next client and you coming back to power nap. Apparently, everyone has decided that he’s the hottest victor, yet again, and his schedule is so packed that he barely has time to pee. Much less, come and help you in the betting room.

You’ve tried to feel bad for him, but it takes more effort than you’re willing to give right now. You’re juggling fucking everything, a task that’s hard for even two amazing mentors on a good day. You’ve got your eyes on both tributes, the sponsors, the stylists, the escort, the media, and yourself. You don’t have time for Finnick, which is a first for you.

You close your eyes, letting the warm water rain onto your skin. You can already feel yourself growing drowsy, and even though you tell yourself repeatedly to change the water to cold, you sit there, basking it in. It would be so easy to fall asleep in here and ‘accidentally’ forgetting to go do the public statement.

It’s important for one reason: for the collage video in the chance that they win. They’ll insert the clip of you talking about you on the edge of your seat, rallying sponsors, cheering them on. Depending on the act they’ve decided to put on for the Capitol, your reaction to their survival changes.

You’re not entirely sure how you’re supposed to do this half-asleep, but you’ll figure it out.

A knock sounds at the bathroom door, your eyes open, suddenly awake as you turn to watch the door open. You see Finnick’s reflection in the mirror and relax, sitting against the wall again.

“Hey, I thought you were busy tonight.” You murmur, yawning.

“Last minute cancellation because of the statements being made, Snow let me have the night off.” He closes the door, leaning up against the bathroom counter while watching you. “Are you doing that tonight or do you want me to do it?”

“No, I got it.” You blink, eyelids heavy. You force your eyes open and to focus on Finnick’s face, which is laced with worry, you think. You can’t really tell, neither do you care at this point. “You go and rest.”

“You know that you have to be there in an hour, right?” He asks.

You shoot upright, “Fuck, how long have I been in here for?”

Your hand slams against the button on the wall that shuts the water off. You get to your feet, almost slipping in the process. Finnick jerks forward, prepared to catch you, but you push his hands aside.

“I don’t know, I just got here.”

You throw a towel on the floor to dry your feet while you towel down your body. When you move to grab your clothes from off the counter, you slip. Finnick grabs under your arms, steadying you.

He eyes your face, eyebrows drawn in, “Are those bags under your eyes?” He reaches to touch the purple bruising, you move your face away.

“Yes, and I’m fine.” You move to pull on your underwear.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asks.

You let out a nervous laugh, knowing that you’re about to get a lecture from him if you answer that question. Finnick deadpans, because he’s heard that exact tone before when you’ve admitted to unhealthy behaviors in the past.

“(Y/n).”

“I don’t have time to sleep, babe.” You tell him, “I barely have time to shower, let alone go do an interview that won’t matter. Sleeping for more than an hour at a time is like winning the Games twice.”

“You should stay here, I don’t mind going.”

You give him a look, “That is not happening.”

When you begin to pull on your black slacks, one leg at a time, you throw yourself off-balance, hopping on one foot. Once again, Finnick reaches for you, and catches you before you hit the floor.

You sigh.

“You’re not up to this, you can barely stand.” He tells you, moving your hair out of your face, “So you’re going to stay here and get some sleep. I’ve got the interview covered.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, shoulders dropping.

“I am, darling.”

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avastrasposts · 8 months

Text

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 29

Our boys, along with Joel and Tommy, finally made it to Boston and start getting settled there. But working with Joel isn't as straightforward as it might seem, he is not the same man he once was. And he shares a trauma with Frankie, who isn't as stable as he might seem.

Series Master List

Chapter 30 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 10.7k

Seriously, fuck Boston winters. You were not made for this kind of weather, no one was made for this kind of weather. You’re grumling under your breath as you stomp your feet in a futile effort to bring life back to your toes. Five Massachusett winters and you’re still no closer to getting used to them, despite all the layers you wrap yourself in during the colder months. The north easterly winds that rushed in off the Atlantic seemed to seep through both clothes and flesh and chill your bones. The bar you were waiting by hadn't opened yet, the owner, a prickly middle aged woman, was late for some reason, leaving you and a few other patrons shivering outside the door. Your plan had been to go straight from work and meet Frankie at the bar, trade a couple of ration cards for hot stew and maybe a whiskey. Frankie was due back from a trade with Joel and Tommy and you needed to talk to them about a special trade. They hadn’t been outside the wall, just another part of the QZ, to trade with someone who’d managed to get hold of actual pre-outbreak cigarettes, a very valuable commodity these days.

Five years have passed since you all came to Boston. The six guys had built up a solid smuggling network, and you’d stepped aside. You still hated Frankie leaving to go outside the wall, it didn’t happen often these days, but even inside the walls, trading was risky business. But you kept quiet about it, and Frankie never brought it up. You just told him to be careful when he left, told him to come back to you and he always assured you he would. He didn’t always come back in one piece though, several times they’d come back with cuts and bruises and broken knuckles. Both Pope and Benny had even been shot, not fatally, but enough to chill your blood when you saw them stumble in. A stark reminder that even inside the walls, people had guns and were willing to kill for a trade.

But the four former Delta Force guys, with the addition of Joel and Tommy, instilled fear in the QZ. People had learnt the hard way to not double cross or cheat them, the retribution swift and hard when someone tried to go against them. Pope had taken unofficial leadership, but it was Joel, and Tommy, who did most of the heavy lifting. Pope’s charm had always worked to convince people that he could be trusted to trade with, so he took on the role of negotiator and dealmaker. Joel, on the other hand, seemed to have lost all his charm and charisma in the years after the outbreak, and was always the first to volunteer for runs outside the walls. You often wondered if he had a death wish with the way he so willingly did the riskiest missions and how dark his mind has gotten since the death of Sarah. It had become clear to you all that Joel wasn’t the same man he was before the outbreak. Will, who’d obviously known Joel a lot better than you had, sometimes talked to you about Joel before the outbreak. He was worried about the older man’s mood, and how he sometimes used alcohol and pills to get through the night. The death of Sarah had broken the man and left him to survive, and nothing more. But neither Will, nor Benny, knew how to get through to him. And Tommy had given up, he followed Joel’s lead and did what his older brother told him. It was clear that they’d had five very rough years since the outbreak when you met them again.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you thought about the relationship that had sprung up between Frankie and Joel. Tommy went where Joel went and Joel often asked Frankie to come too, along with one of the other Miller brothers. You knew Frankie was a follower, not a natural leader, and when he went on missions with only Tommy and Joel, Joel took charge. On their latest run outside the wall, they’d been gone a lot longer than usual. It’d been a trade with a community two days hike away and they’d been delayed, returning only after a week. You’d been frantic with worry, pacing Pope’s living room while he did his best to calm you. You’d had your bag packed, planning on going after them the very next day, when Frankie finally came back. He’d been exhausted, dirty and partially covered in blood, but unharmed and confident. The blood wasn’t his, it belonged to raiders that had attempted to take them on and suffered the consequences. When you saw Joel a couple of days later at the bar, he’d clapped Frankie over the back and praised him for the efficiency with which he dealt with the raiders.

“You dropped that first guy before I even had time to blink!” Joel had said, even a small satisfied grin pushing through on the usually scowling man’s face. “And it was a genius move to make them lead us to their stash, gave us a lot of extra supplies.”

When you’d asked Frankie later that evening how they’d made the raiders give up the information, he’d been unwilling to talk about it, only mumbling that he’d used an old military tactic. But the amount of blood on his clothes made you uneasy, and your unease grew when Joel praised Frankie’s ability to ‘handle things’ the next time they’d come back from a trade in another part of the QZ. Frankie’s knuckles had been bruised for a week afterwards.

And worst of all, Frankie’s nightmares were getting worse again and you started to see the signs of his PTSD flaring up. It had never been really gone, he always had darker days or periods of nightmares, but since Arlington, and Herb’s work, it’d been under control. Frankie had tools to deal with it and knew when to talk to you about it. But now his nightmares were reoccurring again. He’d come back from a run with Joel and Tommy and be in a confident, elated mood, but then nightmares would inevitably wake you both up in the following nights. When you asked him about it, what triggered them, he would brush it off, say it was only flashbacks to the earliest days of the outbreak, that he was fine. And at first the nightmares had receded after a few days, but then it took longer and longer. The last time he came back, the nightmares had plagued him every night for over a month and his mood had become very dark. No matter how much you tried to coax him to talk to you, or to one of the guys, to remind him of the tools he had, he remained sullen and withdrawn. He hadn’t been back to normal for over six months now and you were worried. You were about to ask him to stop working with Joel, but you needed them to do one last run for you, a special favor for a good man.

When you decided to step away from the smuggling, after Joel demanded that you and Frankie didn’t work together because of Frankie’s protectiveness of you, you’d looked around for another job that didn’t entail sewages or latrines. By luck you’d met an elderly man, an old college professor from MIT. You’d seen him struggling with the broken zipper of his winter coat one day when you were both assigned to cleaning out a previously condemned building. You’d become pretty adept at fixing clothes, button holes, broken zippers and had helped him by reattaching the zipper so that he could close the coat again. As a thank you, he offered you time on the amateur radio he’d built, using parts from the MIT campus. You had no one special to contact, you didn’t know where your parents or brothers were, even if they were alive, so you asked if Pope could use the radio time to set up trades. The old man, Sean, had agreed to it, and over the years you spent more and more time with him. He’d taught you how to work the radio, even how to repair it and build smaller radio units, and now, a few years later, you worked the radio with him every day.

Sean was a good man, old enough when the outbreak happened to not let the brutality of the new world affect who he was. He saw kindness in almost everyone he met and would dole out favors to anyone, irrespective of them being able to repay him or not. He was probably taken advantage of more times than he cared to admit, and you often stepped in to stop people from abusing his kindness. Your connection to Frankie and the rest of the smugglers made sure no one was willing to get on your bad side and now that expanded to Sean and his radio business too. And the more you saw of Sean’s willingness to selflessly help people, the more protective of him you became.

Now, as you stood stomping your feet outside the still closed bar, you thought back to the conversation you’d had with him yesterday. Everyone in Sean’s family had lived in Boston before the outbreak but, like for most of you, almost everyone in his family had been lost in those first chaotic days and weeks. Sean had been having dinner with his son that fateful Friday night and together they had managed to survive, but everyone else had been lost. Sean never found out what happened to his wife and second son, lost somewhere in the city when chaos erupted. Sean and his son had been in the Boston QZ since the beginning, and after some time, his son had met a woman and fallen in love. A couple of years later they had a son, Sean’s first grandchild. But the birth had been complicated and without access to most of modern medicine, the mother had passed away. A few years later, Sean’s son had taken a wrong turn while on patrol with FEDRA and been infected, leaving Sean as the young boy's only caretaker. The boy, Liam, named after his lost uncle, was Sean’s heart and probably the most spoiled boy in the entire QZ, Sean couldn’t deny him a thing.

Sean had come in yesterday afternoon, to take over the next shift on the radio, and he’d been uncharacteristically late.

“Liam’s really ill,” he said, stopping in the doorway of the small radio room. He looked ashen and disheveled. Liam had come down with the flu a week ago but instead of getting better after a while, his fever had spiked. Sean had asked you to cover for him yesterday so that he could go home and care for the boy. He’d traded a large stack of ration cards for pills that were hopefully the expired Advil the man trading claimed they were.

“The pills didn’t do anything and now Dr. Mason says he’s got bacterial pneumonia.” Sean’s eyes had been red rimmed and watery, “He needs antibiotics or he might…” the old man’s voice broke as he repressed a sob but he waved a dismissive hand at you when you stood up.

“I hate to ask, I know how much you hate the danger Frankie puts himself in when he goes outside the wall,” Sean had said, stuffing his hands deep in the pockets of his knitted cardigan, ever the college professor. “But is there any way they could get proper antibiotics for Liam? Could you ask?”

You had no choice, this was why you still accepted the danger the smuggling entailed. FEDRA simply didn’t supply enough of what people needed and the chances of getting antibiotics from them were minute. Any medicine FEDRA owned was hoarded and reserved for their officers and higher ups in the makeshift government that governed the country. Smuggling was the only way ordinary people could get hold of supplies that could save a sick child or relative. As much as you hated Frankie putting himself on the line, what he and the other guys did made a difference in the QZ.

...

Outside the bar, the line is getting long. But Liz, the bar owner, finally shows up, grumbling about a FEDRA check point, and opens up. It’s an old building and it thankfully has a large open fireplace in the center of the long back wall. While Liz gets the kitchen going, you help out and start the fire. The warmth it spreads thaws out your toes as you grab the seats closest to it and start peeling off your layers.

It’s not long before Frankie turns up together with Joel and Tommy. He comes straight over to you while Joel and Tommy head for the bar.

“Hey, mi hermosa,” Frankie smiles as he sinks down next to you on the couch. His lips are cold when he kisses you, bringing a cloud of cold air with him. “I’m freezing, I need thicker socks I think.”

“Hi Frankie,” you say, cupping his red cheeks with your hands, warming him up. Despite his darker moods, he’s managed to hold on to the softer parts of himself when he’s with you and now that he’s back after a long day in the cold, he wants to do nothing else but pull you onto his lap so that he can wrap himself in your bubble. But you’re still in public, in the bar, so he limits himself to putting his arm over your shoulder and pulling you into his side, soaking up the warmth of the fire.

“How did the trade go?” you ask, Frankie’s cold fingers caressing the back of your neck, slowly warming up against your skin.

“It went well, he didn’t have as many cigarettes as he claimed over the radio, but we traded for what he had, made him give us a discount since we had to go all the way over there and then he didn’t have the amount he promised,” Frankie shrugs, “we didn’t even have to threaten him, I think our reputation preceded us.”

“Yeah, you guys have a pretty violent reputation by now,” you mumble, rubbing your thumb over the many scars on Frankie’s hands, his knuckles crisscrossed by thin white and pink lines. Frankie opens his mouth as if to say something but Joel and Tommy are coming over, drinks in hand, and he stands up instead.

“I’ll get us some food, cariño. Do you want whiskey too?”

“Thanks Frankie, food sounds good, but get me a tea if Liz has it,” you smile at him as stops in his tracks and bends down to kiss you instead, his lips warm now.

“Coming right up, amor.”

Joel and Tommy occupy the two armchairs opposite the couch and Tommy lets out a deep sigh as he stretches out his legs and lean backs.

“Fuck me it was cold out there today, this god damn winter is never ending,” he grumbles, taking a deep sip of the whiskey in his hand.

“How’s the radio, any good information?” Joel asks you. Despite not getting off to the best start when you first met again, and Joel’s less than sunny disposition these days, he’s pretty decent. You supply the guys with a lot of useful information and Joel seems to respect that. And as long as Frankie’s protective streak doesn’t compromise their safety while trading and smuggling, Joel seems to appreciate how important you are to Frankie. Although, that might have more to do with how it contributes to the success of the missions. Joel had once said he appreciated how Frankie would always make sure he could get back to you and that included making watertight plans and covering every angle when they went out. ‘He fights like hell to get back to you, darlin’, and he ain’t letting nothing get in the way of that’, Joel had told you while clapping Frankie on the back after a particularly gruesome expedition outside the walls.

Now the older Texan looks over at you from the brim of his whiskey glass and raises his eyebrows in question.

“I’ve got some good leads,” you reply, “but I’ve got a special request I need to ask you about when Frankie gets back. It might require a bit more than usual.”

“As long as it pays well, I’m alright with that,” Joel says and looks over at Tommy who nods along.

“Is it a dangerous run?” he asks, leaning forward on his knees.

“I don’t know, depends on where you can get hold of what I need,” you reply, looking up at Frankie who’s returning with two bowls, two mugs of tea and cornbread on a tray.

“What do you need?” he asks, sitting back down and you gratefully grab your bowl.

“Antibiotics,” you reply, “And I know it’s hard to come by the real stuff, but it’s for Sean’s grandson. Liam’s got bacterial pneumonia and Sean says he’s really ill. He needs it fast too.”

Joel looks over at Frankie and nods, “There’s that guy who said he’d meet us in Concord, he was trading all sorts of medicine.”

“Pope and Will said no to that one though,” Frankie says, digging into the stew.

“Yeah, but this is different, if Sean’s kid needs medicine, and this guy can supply it, we need to trade with him,” Joel interjects, looking at you as if to make you convince Frankie.

“Why doesn’t Will and Pope want to trade with him?” you ask Frankie and he shrugs while he swallows.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there for that decision.”

“I’ll talk to Pope,” Joel volunteers, “and plan the run, it’s a six hour hike to Concord. What do you think Sean is willing to trade in return?”

“Anything,” you say, “I mean, it’s Liam, he’ll give up his own life to save his grandson. But I don’t wanna ask him for anything extra just because he’s desperate, that’s now how we do it.”

“No, that’s fine,” Joel replies, downing the last of the whiskey and putting the glass on the table, “The guy in Concord had a lot to trade, we’ll be able to bring in extra supplies and make a lot in the QZ as it is.” He gets to his feet and shrugs his jacket back on, “I’ll go see Pope straight away, get this planned seeing as we wanna get the meds to Sean quickly.”

“Thanks, Joel, I appreciate it,” you reply and Joel puts his hand on your shoulder as he steps past the couch.

“Of course, darlin’, Sean’s been a good friend over the years, we need to help him out. I’ll see you guys later but be prepared to head out tomorrow morning.” The last thing he directs at Tommy and Frankie before he disappears out of the door.

“Well, if we’re heading out tomorrow morning, I’d better go see Louise,” Tommy sighs and pushes himself up, “I might be in the dog house.” He gives the two of you a wave and leaves. Louise was his latest ‘on again - off again’ girlfriend. Tommy seemed to attract women easily, but keeping them was more problematic. Louise and him have been on again now for a couple of weeks after a very public break up three months ago.

“Let me know if we’re heading out,” Frankie calls after him and Tommy raises his hand in acknowledgment.

“Joel was very eager to help out Sean,” you say, “I haven’t seen him be so quick to go on a run unless it was something really extra.” Joel was a ruthless smuggler, you paid what the item was worth to Joel, and nothing less. You’d never seen him do a favor for anyone except maybe Tommy.

“I think he’s keen to have a reason to go to Concord. Pope said the guy was willing to trade a lot of good stuff.” Frankie put the bowl back on the table and grabbed his tea mug, leaning back he pulled you into him so that his chin rested on your shoulder. “Maybe Pope didn’t think the journey up there was worth it, but it should be now.”

“Not like Pope to say no to a good trade though, the route must be really difficult,” you say, sipping your own tea. You were warm all the way through now, your toes toasty and your muscles felt loose. Leaning into Frankie, he bumps his nose along your cheek, dragging it up to your temple before he presses his lips against your hair.

“We’ll be gone at least one night,” he mumbles, “are you gonna be ok on your own? You could always go stay with Diana or Eve.”

Diana was Will’s girlfriend, Eve was Benny’s. Benny had met Eve pretty soon after getting to Boston, there was some story about Benny stepping in to help her carry a kitchen chair up two flights of stairs. She’d yelled at him for presuming she couldn’t handle herself and somehow, Benny fell in love with the tiny redheaded woman with a fierce temper. The big blonde man had followed her around like a puppy for a week before you’d stepped in and talked him up to her, telling her what a great friend he was and how you’d trust him with your life. Once he got a chance, she fell for him hard and the two of them moved in together after just a couple of months. He still followed her around like a puppy and it put a grin on your face every time you saw them together..

Will had met Diana while both of them were on probably the roughest duty in the whole QZ, the incinerator. Once you were all safe in Boston, Will’s guilt over Hannah had caught up with him and he’d tumbled head first into depression. Not even Benny could get through to him and Will sought out the most gruesome tasks, working long shifts and falling into bed each night. He worked with the other guys on the smuggling runs, but became even more quiet than usual, going along with what Pope and Joel agreed on. He wasn’t self destructive like Joel, he just didn’t care about anything it seemed. But then he met Diana, both of them regularly signing up for the incinerator.

Diana had lost her husband and two young daughters when Providence fell, she was one of very few survivors that made it to Boston. Together, Will and Diana worked alongside each other for the better part of a year before they started talking. Once the dam broke, they found comfort and solace in the other person's strength and together they managed to see something other than the darkness that had surrounded them. It took them a long time to move from friendship to lovers but once they did, the old Will gradually came back and he started resembling the man you knew from before the outbreak. Will had been sharing an apartment with Pope ever since coming to Boston, but six months ago he’d moved in with Diana. And when Benny, Will and Frankie were away on smuggling runs, you, Diana and Eve often stayed together. Facing the long nights that they were gone was easier when you had the two other women around.

“I’ll invite them over,” you say, “if you’re only gone one night I can manage.”

Frankie pulls you in closer, his lips finding your cheek, “I’ll make sure we come back after one night, you know I can’t stay away from you for even that long.” The tone of his voice, and the way the tip of his tongue comes out to taste the skin he’d just kissed, made a different kind of heat flare up inside you.

“I need to shower, hermosa,” he mumbles, his teeth finding your earlobe, “why don’t you join me?” The way his warm breath tickles your ear makes you shiver with pleasure and Frankie chuckles, pushing you away from him so that you both can stand up.

“C’mon, baby, I’m taking you home.”

...

At some point during the evening, Pope slid a note under the front door for you to find when you come back out of the bedroom to get a glass of water. The note gave a coded time and place for Frankie to meet the others. Will was going with them it seemed and Pope must’ve stopped by after Frankie had pulled you into the bedroom. You hadn’t heard a thing, but then, Frankie had been busy making you whimper with the way his tongue teased between your legs. Now you were in bed, wrapped up in the comforter, while Frankie repacked his bag for the early morning start the next day.

“I’ll see if I can trade for some thicker socks for you while you’re away,” you say, reminded by his complaint when you watch him pull out an extra pair of woolen socks from the wardrobe. “Cathy, down by the mess hall, she’s always keen to trade for cigarettes.”

“I’m surprised she has any clothes left, she trades everything to get smokes,” Frankie says, checking his gun and ammo.

“I think she has some sort of connection with FEDRA, she trades children’s clothes too.” You roll over on your belly and stretch, a big yawn escaping you. “I saw weird graffiti today, by the way,” you say, “A red fly. Ed was cleaning it off the wall and said it belonged to some group who call themselves ‘The Fireflies’. Have you heard of them?” you ask.

“No, what kind of group are they?” Frankie’s done packing and you lift the comforter to let him back into the bed.

“Ed said they’d been spraying their logo all over the QZ just these past two days, but he didn’t know why. Maybe it’s some sort of protest? FEDRA isn’t too bad here, not compared to Arlington, but people are unhappy with the rations and the curfews.”

“I hope they don’t try to rock the boat, we don’t want a repeat of Arlington,” he shuffles around, puffing the pillow up under his head before turning to you. “C’mere, you’re too far away,” he smiles, hooking his arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest so that you’re tucked in under his arm. “Need you to heat me up enough to stay warm when I have to sleep in some cold house tomorrow night.”

“Don’t say that, Frankie,” you mumble into his chest, “I hate the thought of you sleeping in the cold out there.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it, and thinking of you really keeps me warm,” he mumbles, you can feel his lips against your temple as he lets his fingers rake through your hair. “Sleep now, amor. Te amo.”

“Love you too, Frankie, sleep well.”

...

You make breakfast for Frankie and Pope the next morning, feeding them fresh arepas filled with the last of some leftover chicken and a couple of fried eggs. As usual when you send them off outside the wall you’re quiet and jumpy. You feel like you don’t want to stop touching Frankie, keeping your hand on his leg while you both eat in silence. He knows where your head’s at on mornings like this and you can feel his eyes on you while you both get ready. When it’s time for them to leave to meet the others, Pope leaves first and lets you say goodbye to Frankie. He pulls you in and you wrap your arms around his waist underneath his winter coat, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms come around you and you feel his breath on your cheek when he leans his head on your shoulder.

“Come back safe, Frankie, or I’m coming after you.”

“I know, cariño, but I’ll come back, I promise,” he whispers, his arms squeezing tight around you as your feet almost leave the floor. He gently puts you back down and cups your cheeks, pressing warm lips against yours. You let his tongue slip in, just for a few seconds, to taste him and feel how he tries to get you even closer. When he pulls back he brushes the tip of his nose along yours. “Stay safe while I’m gone, hermosa, I’ll be back soon.”

“Stay safe, Frankie.”

And then he’s gone. You close the door, always a feeling of loss when you know he’s leaving the QZ and the apartment feels empty. The only way to keep sane when he’s gone, is to stay busy.

Your day is filled with people, a long line waiting to send messages through the radio. Sean is at home with Liam so you work the whole day, right up until when your unofficial office closes. You haven’t told Sean about the attempt at getting medicine for Liam, just in case things don’t work out. You count the ration cards you’ve collected, along with some other bits and pieces you deemed valuable enough to accept, cigarettes, dried beef and, as if by providence, a pair of extra thick wool socks in Frankie’s size. You pack those into your bag along with the beef, and lock up the rest of the items and ration cards in the hidden safe.

You make your way over to Benny and Eve’s place and find Diana already there. She somehow looks like Will’s opposite but also exactly the same, as dark skinned as he is fair but with the same thoughtful, quiet demeanor and measured movements. She’s almost as tall as him and almost as muscular, when you saw them together it made perfect sense. But when you first met her she seemed so different from Hannah that you wondered if it was only convenience that brought the two of them close. But now that you knew her better, you saw that she had the same protective qualities that Hannah had. Even if she couldn’t collect strays the way Hannah did, she always had an eye out for people who needed extra help, especially children. And although Will and Diana were never as affectionate in public as Benny and Eve, or Frankie and you, it was clear that they loved each other and that it was a lot more than just something convenient. The sheer change in Will was evidence enough, he seemed happier than you’d ever seen him since the outbreak.

Eve pulls you in for a warm hug when you come through the door. She’s Benny’s polar opposite, a tiny girl with vivid red hair and a strong Irish accent. She’d been an exchange student in Boston when the outbreak happened and simply got stuck. She’d survived through sheer luck, locking herself in her dorm with two other students when it all broke out. She’d endured the following ten years by relying on herself alone and it had given her a hard exterior shell, coupled with a fiery temper you’d previously thought only was a myth but you were now starting to believe there was some truth behind it. But Benny had been taken in by her instantly, and even though it had taken her a bit longer to warm up to Benny’s golden retriever energy, there was no mistaking how devoted she was to him now.

The two women sometimes made you wonder who you would’ve turned into if Frankie hadn’t been by your side, if you’d have to fend for yourself all these years. You were pretty sure you would’ve died in the outbreak, or been infected, which was pretty much the same thing. You didn’t even know where you would’ve gone if you hadn’t known Frankie and by extension, not known Denny and his cabin. If you’d survived you thought you’d probably just stay in the Arlington QZ and then die when it fell.

You tried not to think about life before the outbreak too much, and people seldom mentioned it these days. It was too painful for most of you. You always wished you’d had more time with Frankie before the outbreak, that one year of normality you’d had didn’t seem enough. But like you’d told him before, you’d rather be with him and live in this post-apocalyptic world, than not be with him at all. Life without Frankie was impossible to imagine but when he was away, like now, those thoughts were a bit too close to the surface. And you knew Diana and Eve felt the same way when Benny and Will were gone, so you sought out each other’s company for comfort and distraction.

Today it was Will and Frankie that were away, Benny and Pope remained behind. There was a rule among the four Delta Force guys, to never leave all four at once. At least one of them, usually two, stayed behind. It wasn’t as patriarchal as ‘male protection’, it was about safety in numbers. Should something happen while the others were away, either to those still in the QZ or those on the outside, both groups had safety in numbers. You also knew, although that was more unspoken, that it meant a large enough group remained for a rescue party, should the group outside the QZ not return. It had never come to that yet, but it had been close a couple of times.

Once you got your boots off and got a hug from Benny and Diana, you sunk down on the couch, inhaling the scent from the kitchen.

What are you cooking, Eve? That smells amazing!” you exclaim, inhaling again to get a better whiff of the meaty aroma.

“You’ll never believe this, it’s pork!” the redhead squeals, “Benny got me a new winter coat, and I traded the old one for three whole pounds of pork!”

A few years ago FEDRA had sent an expedition out to gather as much livestock as possible. Most of the animals had starved to death, there just wasn’t enough feed. But chickens and pigs could live fairly well off scraps and although the pig population was small, sometimes pork made its way onto the market.

Now you pushed yourself off your feet and went to the kitchen to peer into Eve’s big stew pot. Big chunks of pork simmered slowly in a thick stock and as you stir it your mouth waters.

“I can't wait to try this, it smells amazing.”

“Soon! Needs another half an hour, now shoo!,” Eve replies with a smile and waves you away from the stove and back to the couch as Pope knocks and walks through the front door.

“Fuck! That smells so fucking good, Eve!” he calls the second he steps through the door and Eve laughs, everyone was getting excited by the pork.

“Anything good on the radio today, hermana?” Pope asks you as he sinks down next to you on the couch and gives you a hug from the side.

“Nothing major, some updates. But I talked to that Frank guy again. His partner is not the trusting kind but maybe with time we can work something out.”

“Do you know where they’re based?” Benny asks, he’s putting down cutlery and bowls on the coffee table in front of you.

“No, he hasn’t said yet, I think he’s still wary. But he knows I’m in Boston, I told him as a way to show trust. And I didn’t mention that any trade would be with at least four big ex Delta Force men…” you shoot a crooked grin at Benny who most definitely could look very intimidating when he wanted too.

“Yeah, that’s probably a detail left to the end,” Benny chuckles and sits down on the other side.

“Do you know what they were going out for today?” Diana asks, “I came home so late last night and Will didn’t have time to tell me this morning,” she’s looking over at Pope who nods.

“Yeah, antibiotics for Sean’s grandkid Liam, he’s very sick.”

“They’re doing it as a favor to me really,” you say, “but Joel seemed pretty keen, he said the guy had a lot more to trade than just antibiotics.”

“That’s good, if it’s more medicine it might be a chance to bring some much needed supplies to the clinic.” Diana works at a small, volunteer run, medical clinic. It was the only place to get health care that didn’t involve FEDRA’s unjust priority system of hoarding anything useful for their officers. The clinic gave supplies to those who needed it most, FEDRA or not.

“We’ve been out of antibiotics for over a year and we’re running low on almost all our stock,” she says. “I’ll ask Will to set up a trade with the clinic, we could use so much.”

Eve calls you all over to serve yourself from the pot and soon you’re all silent around the coffee table, humming over the stew. You all eat your fill but there’s plenty left and Eve ladles some into containers and gives one to you and one to Diana. .

“Give them to your men when they’re back, they’ll need warming up after a night out in this weather.”

During the afternoon it had started to snow and now it’s coming down thick, the stubborn Massachusetts winter wasn’t ready to give up yet even though it was already March. When you leave Eve and Benny’s apartment with Pope and Diana the heavy snowflakes have coated the dirty streets, giving the neighborhood a Christmas-like feel. You shiver despite your warm coat, looking up at the sky and hoping that Frankie and Will are inside a good shelter at least, maybe even somewhere where they can light a fire.

Pope and you walk Diana home and then hurry through the streets and make it back just before curfew begins. Pope has moved up to your floor, but in a smaller apartment now, and as you get to his door he holds it open for you.

“Do you wanna come in? Frankie said you might need some company.”

“Thanks Santi, that sounds nice, I’m not ready to face the empty apartment yet,” you say and accept his invitation gratefully.

“I’ll get us some whiskey, make yourself comfortable,” he says and kicks his boots off and you do the same. You sink down into the corner of his couch as he brings out a bottle and two glasses.

“Before the outbreak, I never drank whiskey,” you say as he hands you a glass, “now I feel like it’s all I drink, to calm down, to celebrate, to warm up. And I don’t even like it that much.”

“Good think you know some pretty resourceful smugglers then,” Santi chuckles and occupies the other corner. He sips his drink and his expression changes, the light smile that had tugged at the corner of his mouth slips away and he looks concerned.

“I wanted to talk to you about Frankie,” he says, his eyes lifting from the glass to meet yours. “His PTSD is flaring up, isn’t it?”

You nod and sigh, “What did you notice?”

“He’s been more tired than usual lately, almost fell asleep while we were keeping watch for a trade and he said it was just a bad night but I know him better than that.” Santi says, “And it’s his mood, Frankie’s not a chatty guy at the best of times but now he’s really quiet, if he’s not snapping at people, even telling Benny to back the fuck off and flaring up over nothing.”

You tilt your head back and sigh again, deeper this time. You’d seen the changes in him for months but you didn’t realize it had gotten that bad, he was good at hiding it around you since you didn’t go out on runs with them.

“I’d like him to stop smuggling,” you say, looking back at Santi, “at least the runs outside the QZ or any of the more dangerous trades on the inside, the nightmares get worse when he’s been outside or had to do something violent.”

“I can try to get him away from outside runs, the problem is Joel. He seems to favor working with Frankie and wants him on every run, he seems to trust him the most.”

“Joel doesn’t get to decide who goes or who doesn’t,” you scowl, brow wrinkled, “Frankie’s more important than the smuggling.”

Santi nods, rubbing his hand over the thick beard he’s grown, “I agree, and there’s another reason why I think Frankie shouldn’t go on runs with Joel,” he says, staring at the amber liquid rather than you and falls silent for a few seconds while you look at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Joel’s…methods, or whatever you wanna call them, might bring out a side in Frankie I haven’t seen since our army days,” Santi says, sitting up a bit straighter and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, “We did some fucked up stuff, you know that, even though we never shared the details with you.”

“Frankie’s nightmares told me enough about that, yeah,” you say and Santi nods.

“I haven’t been out on a run that’s gone bad in a long time but, here and there, I hear things about what Joel gets up to, when he’s out with Tommy and Frankie, that’s got me worried. Benny mentioned something and Joel let something slip once.”

“What do you mean, Santi?” you say, anxiously leaning forwards too and he sighs.

“Joel’s very good at violence, and I think he’s bringing that side out in Frankie too. But I’m not sure,” he adds quickly as he sees your horrified expression, “but I think it would do Frankie good to not work so closely with Joel.”

You can feel your chest constricting, unable to sit still you nervously twist your hands together around the glass “Santi, please, whatever you do, make sure Frankie stops going on runs with him,” you plead, your voice wobbly as tears spring up. Santi moves across the couch and holds out his arms for you.

“Come here, hermana, I promise, I’ll get him to stay behind,” he pulls you in for a hug and you gratefully accept his arms around you, sniffling into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says, cupping the back of your head with his hand, “I shouldn’t have brought this up now, especially not with Frankie away,” he says, rubbing your back.

“No, it’s good you told me, I need to know, or I can’t do anything about it,” you push back a bit from Santi and rub your wet eyes. Santi lets go of you and grabs a handkerchief from the side table behind the couch.

“Here, it’s clean,” he offers it to you.

“Thanks, fuck,” you sigh, “I’m such a cryer, you’d think I’d be tougher after ten years in the fucking apocalypse.”

“You love Frankie,” Santi says and gives you a small smile, “and when he has issues I think you’re allowed to cry as much as you want. And I’ll try to talk to him, get him to stop doing runs for a while, I’ll tell him you’re worried about him, he’ll do anything for you.”

“Thanks Santi,” you sigh and gratefully accept the glass he holds up, taking a small sip.

“Do you wanna stay here tonight? I’ll sleep on the couch, you can take the bed.”

You shake your head, “No, I know what you get up to in that bed, the walls are not that thick, but thanks for the offer.” You smile at him as he chuckles and looks mock offended.

“I change the sheets, you know.”

“Corny as it sounds, I wanna sleep on Frankie’s pillow, it smells like him,” you say as you get up and reach for your boots, “Makes me sleep better when he’s gone.”

Santi smiles and pulls you in for another hug as you stand up, “I’m glad I made him go ask for your number, he’s lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, Santi,” you wrap your arms around him and give him a big squeeze, “I’m lucky to have both of you in my life, don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably have less sex,” he quips with a grin, “like you say, the walls are not that thick.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you slap his shoulder and laugh. “Sleep well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well, and you know where I am if you need company, just come over.”

...

It’s not very late the next evening when you hear Frankie come through the door, his heavy pack dropping on the floor as you step out from the kitchen. He looks cold and wet, and he gives you a tired smile as you wrap your arms around him.

“Walking in the snow was fucking exhausting,” he grumbles, his cold face tucked against the crook of your neck. “Is there hot water? I really need a shower.”

“Plenty, I didn’t shower yet - fuck!,” you squeal as Frankie’s cold fingers find their way under your sweater, “your hands are so cold!”

“Sorry, but you’re just so soft and warm, hermosa,” he mumbles, pulling you closer and you feel the melting snow on his jacket starting to seep through your clothes.

“Get your clothes off, Frankie boy, I’ll warm up the shower for you,” you giggle as he tries to slide his cold hands down your trousers. “Get off me,” you grin, pushing him away as he disobeys and grabs your ass with two icy hands.

“Only if you shower with me,” he chuckles and you wiggle his hands out of your trousers and start pushing his jacket off.

“Did you get the antibiotics?” you ask as you hang it up to dry behind him.

“Yeah, Will took it to Sean straight away. It was expired but I remember Dr. Mason saying most antibiotics are fine even fifteen years after they’ve expired so I hope they work for Liam.”

“Thanks for going out for them, Frankie, it really means a lot.” Frankie comes into the bathroom with you and sinks down on the toilet seat as you turn on the shower. The water is slow to warm up but it’ll get hot soon enough.

“Sean’s a good man and he’s helped us many times with the radio,” he says, letting you help him undress. Now that he's under the bright bathroom light you can see the dark circles under his eyes, he looks dead on his feet. You unbutton his thick flannel, peeling the layers off him and ushering him into the shower when he tries tugging at your sweater.

“Get warm first, Frankie,” you smile, pinching his cold butt as he steps in, earning you a growl that turns into a full body shudder as the warm water hits him.

“Fuck that’s good,” he groans, dropping his head down onto his chest with a deep sigh.

You stay together in the shower until the warm water runs out and then you drag Frankie to bed with you, only getting up to bring Eve’s leftovers to him. Once he’s eaten he pulls you in close, his hard cock grinding against your hip while he dips his thick fingers into you, swallowing down your moans as you seek out his mouth. When he’s made you come you push him onto his back, straddling his narrow hips and sinking down over his hard cock. His eyes are half closed, head tilted back on to the pillow and you can feel his fingers digging bruises into your hips while he groans under you. He comes hard, with a loud shout, and pulls you down over him as he grinds his hips into you, burying himself deep. He’s almost asleep by the time you untangle yourself from his arms and go to clean up. When you come back he’s softly snoring and he only wakes up enough to wrap his arm around you when you pull the comforter over the both of you.

“Love you,” he mumbles, half asleep, into your neck.

“Love you to, Frankie,” you whisper, taking his hand on your chest and pulling it closer.

...

Will comes by the radio office the next day, just before you close up. His big frame feels even bigger inside the small office and the kitchen chair in the corner creaks under his weight as he sits down. The young girl who’s sitting on her mother’s lap gives him a wide eyed stare as the mother dictates a message to you. You can’t help but giggle at the girl’s astonished face as Will gives her a small finger wave and a smile.

“You need to work on your charm, Will,” you say to him as the girl and her mother have left and you’ve closed the door to the radio room.

“I must look old and scary,” he chuckles and swaps seats so that he’s in front of your desk instead. “I dropped off the meds to Sean last night, he gave them to Liam straight away.”

“Frankie told me, and I stopped by there on my way here this morning, Liam’s already doing better. Dr. Mason says his fever broke just before dawn.”

“That’s great to hear, then our run was worth it,” Will leans back in the chair, running his hand through his hair and sighs, “I need to talk to you about Frankie though.”

“You too? Pope said the same thing when you guys were away, about Frankie’s PTSD getting worse.”

“Yeah, he said he was gonna talk to you about it, but this is about something else, although I’m pretty sure it’s connected to his PTSD.” Will replies and crosses his arms, you recognise the look on his face, the way he collects his thoughts before he speaks.

“When we met up with the guy,” he says eventually, locking eyes with you, “he had a pretty good stash of medicine to trade, but when we asked about antibiotics, he said he didn’t want to trade them for what we were offering. He had some other guy near Worcester who would pay more, more than what we had on us. We tried talking him into accepting our offer but he refused. So I did the trade with him for the other stuff, still trying to persuade him, telling him about Liam and how it would save his life but the guy refused.” Will pauses and shakes his head, “Frankie lost it, he lashed out, punched the guy and threatened to gouge out his eye if he didn’t take us to his supplies. Frankie had his knife out, the point next to the guys eye and Joel was telling him to do it, it was fucking close.”

You shudder, you’ve seen Frankie be violent when needed, but you’d never seen him threaten anyone like that, even though you realized he was capable of it. Will is still looking at you, pausing his story when you pulled back, now you nod at him to continue.

“I was trying to calm things down, the guy was panicking, I was worried he’d do something stupid. And Frankie was not thinking straight, his hands were shaking, he nicked the guy's cheek with his trembling. And the guy caved, took us to his stash, it wasn’t far, and traded us for the antibiotics. Frankie kept talking about how you need them for Sean, to save Liam, that Liam deserves to live because Sean is a good man. I got worried, Frankie wasn’t on top of things, I’ve seen him slip before, towards the end of our time serving together, and that’s where he was now, his headspace was not good.”

“Do you think something triggered him specifically?” you ask and Will shakes his head.

“No, just all of it, the stress and danger of being outside the wall and the need to get meds for Liam. But Joel didn’t help, I’ve talked Frankie back from this kind of situation a couple of times but Joel was pushing it. Yelling at the guy, telling Frankie to get closer, it was fucked up, I had to step in and pull Frankie off the guy.”

Will crosses his arms again and lets out a deep sigh, “Joel’s changed, we know that, it’s like he doesn’t give a fuck about anyone, apart from maybe Tommy. But he's inadvertently getting inside Frankie’s head too, picking at the worst parts of the soldier version of Frankie. And since you’re the only person Frankie really cares about,” Will raises his hand as you begin to protest, “It’s true, I’m not saying Frankie doesn’t care about the rest of us, but you are everything to him, without you, he has nothing, and you know that. And Joel’s particular brand of personal hell is seeping into Frankie and activating behaviors that I thought were long gone..”

“Fuck, Will…” you sigh, sinking down in your chair, looking over at him with worry, “Frankie can’t go out anymore, he just can’t:”

“I know, that’s what I was thinking too. But there’s more, unfortunately, “ Will says with a grimace, “The guy had oxy to trade and I said no, we don’t deal with that. But Joel took it anyway, said he’d just trade it on his own to the soldiers, the profit was too good to pass up on.”

“So Joel’s just gonna trade on his own? With Tommy?” you ask and Will nods, his eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown..

“I think so, I talked to Pope and we have to have a sit down with them, see where we stand if Joel insists on trading oxy on his own. But you’re gonna have to talk to Frankie, make sure he’s ok.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna talk to him tonight, he can’t go out on runs anymore Will, it’s already fucking with his head, and it’s just getting worse.”

“I agree, but he listens to you, he’ll be fine once he gets away from Joel and doesn’t do runs with him.”

“Thanks Will, I hope you’re right,” you say, getting up and grabbing your coat, “I’d better get home and talk to him straight away.”

“It’ll be fine, he listens to you,” Will says, accepting your hug when you stand on your tiptoes to reach around his neck, “he’ll be fine.”

…

You wish it had been as easy as Will had said, but it wasn’t, far from it. You got home, Frankie was already there, sorting dinner and you kept thinking about what to say to him all through it, and of course he knew something was wrong and asked. But now you’re standing on either side of the couch and you can feel hot tears prickling behind your eyes while Frankie stares at you, his hands on his hips and his brows furrowed.

“I did what I did because of you, because of Liam!” he says, throwing his hands in the air, “He needed the meds and you asked me to get them!”

“I didn’t tell you to go threatening to gouge someone’s eye out!” you say back, your voice louder than you intend, but frustration is making it hard to control yourself, Frankie just doesn’t seem to get it. “How can you-”

“Because I had to!” he yells, cutting you off, “He had what we needed to help Sean and Liam, what was I gonna do? He was refusing to give it to us and we needed those meds. Liam needed those meds! What the fuck was I supposed to do? Walk away?”

“Yes! Maybe that's the choice you have make sometimes! Maybe it’s so fucked up now that you have to choose if you wanna be the guy who gouges someones eye out or not, Frankie!” You yell back at him, angry tears starting to drip and you wipe the palm of your hand over your eyes as Frankie growls.

“I don’t wanna be that guy!” Frankie shouts, gripping the back of the couch and you see his knuckles turn white, “I don’t wanna! But I fucking know how to be that guy and I’m gonna be him if I need to!”.

“You’ve always got a choice! And what if he’d refused, or Will wasn’t there? Would you have done it and taken his eye out?” You can feel tears staining your cheeks now and usually Frankie drops anything he’s doing if he sees you cry, any time you disagree, it’s like kryptonite to him. But now he just stares at you and puts his hands back on his hips.

“I don’t fucking understand you, you’re telling me that guy's eye is worth more than Liam’s life?” Frankie shakes his head like he can’t believe what you’re saying, “He had what we needed to save Liam’s life, what right does he have to deny us that? What if was Lucía? Then what? Would you still tell me his eye was worth more?” He’s coming around the couch and up to you, staring down at you with his eyes dark and you raise your hands, palms towards his chest. “Frankie…”

“No, I would’ve fucking killed him and anyone who had what she needed and you know that! You fucking know I would’ve done anything to save her so you have no right to stop me from doing anything necessary to save Liam!” He’s yelling at you and you take a step back, choking on your tears as Frankie runs both hands through his hair, turning around and stalking back across the living room.

“And it was your fucking idea, you’re idea to get the meds, that’s why I went out there and risked my fucking life in the first place and now you’re telling me I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Frankie, that’s not what I said,” you protest weakly, “I never said..” you’re cut off by a knock on the door and Frankie walks to it without a backwards glance at you.

“Hey Frankie, everything alright?” you hear Joel’s voice from the hall, from his tone you can tell he’s heard your raised voices from outside.

“Hey, yeah, um…all’s good,” Frankie mumbles, “what’s up?”

I thought we’d start planning that next run, if now’s a good time?

“Yeah…sounds good,” Frankie hesitates for a beat, you can hear the tension in his voice, “But not here, can we go somewhere else?”

“Yeah sure, the bars open, we can use the room in the back,” Joel replies and you hear Frankie’s boots scuff on the floor as he pulls them on.

“Frankie, we need to-” you say, walking towards the front door as he stands up and grabs his jacket.

“I need to think,” he interrupts, his eyes on his shoes as he pulls on the jacket, “I’ll be back later.”

And with that, he’s gone.

The front door closes behind him with a heavy thud and you can’t seem to move. You’ve argued before, plenty of times, over stupid things. But he’s never left, never in the middle of an argument. But now he’s gone and you’re left standing with wet cheeks and a lead ball in the pit of your stomach.

Slowly anger seeps into you, drying up your tears and making you bunch up your fists as you turn back to the kitchen. You break one of the bowls as you throw the remains of your dinner into the sink but you leave the broken pieces there as you stomp into the bathroom and turn on the shower. You let the hot water scald you until it starts to run cold and you step out, your skin damp and heated. It’s not even late, but you crawl into bed, pulling the comforter tight around you, trying to force your body into sleep two hours before it’s usual time. Your anger and frustration grows as you twist and turn, every position uncomfortable and with a furious kick you knock Frankie’s pillow off the bed.

Finally, much later, when you’ve resigned to lying flat on your back and staring at the ceiling, you hear his key in the front door. As you listen he kicks his boots off, the jacket falls on the floor and he knocks the coffee table as he stumbles to the kitchen. Cursing loudly in Spanish, he sounds drunk. The kitchen tap runs and you hear the clatter of the broken bowl in the sink and another curse as a glass clinks.

Eventually he stumbles into the bedroom and you sit up, turning on the bedside lamp. It makes him stop at the door, his face sullen and tired, you can see his red eyes even from the bed. He’s swaying where he stands, one hand on the door frame to keep himself steady.

“You have no right to judge me for what I do to survive,” he says, his tone stubborn.

“You weren’t doing it to survive, Frankie,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm as anger flares up inside your chest again.

“I did what I had to do so that Liam could survive,” he takes an unsteady step towards the bed, his movements are sluggish, his eyelids heavy, “You’re not out there, you don’t have to make the choices, I have to save them, we have to save them, Joel and me.”

He spots his pillow on the floor and bends down to pick it up, almost losing his balance in the process. He staggers backwards, holding the pillow up, pointing it at you, opening his mouth.

“Frankie, come to bed,” you say, stopping him, “you need to sleep, we should talk about this when you’re sober.”

“You don’t know what I see, every night,” he jabs the pillow at you, his words starting to slur, “and now you don’t want me in bed with you. I’m too fucked up for you? Is that it?” He shouts the last words, squeezing his eyes shut and he loses his balance, stumbling back to the wall and catching it to remain upright.

“Frankie!” you call, scrambling from the bed, “you know that’s not true, you know that’s never true!” You can feel tears starting to well up as you reach for him, putting out your hands to steady him. But he brushes you off, pushing himself off the wall and lurch through the door, back to the living room.

“You, you, ask me to go outside, to..to…get you stuff, but then…you think I’m a mo..monster when I do what I ne-need to do, to- to survive, to help h-her survive.” He slumps down on the couch, flat on his belly, burying his face in the pillow.

“I don’t think you’re a monster, Frankie,” you sob, “I never said anything like that. Please just come to bed, we’ll talk in the morning, please, Frankie, come to bed with me.” You kneel by the couch, taking his hand, it’s limp in your grip and he shakes his head, his eyes closed.

“There’s n-no t-tomorrow,” he mutters, sleep, or maybe unconsciousness, dragging him under, as you wrap your fingers around him.

You rock back on your heels, swallowing down another sob, still holding his hand. It’s never been this bad, you’ve never seen him like this and you’re suddenly scared. It’d been getting worse, but now it’s spilled over so suddenly and you feel overwhelmed, frozen on the floor next to him as he begins to snore.

In sleep he still looks like your sweet Frankie, even though his brow is furrowed and troubled. But you feel like you’ve had a glimpse of the real darkness that sits inside him, and it’s left you paralyzed. What do you say tomorrow? How do you get him passed this?

Your body is frozen to the spot next to him, but your mind is racing, until a shiver makes you move. Stiff and like a sleepwalker you pull yourself up from the floor and cover Frankie with the blanket from the back of the couch. Then you drag yourself back to bed and burrow yourself deep under the comforter. It takes hours before you fall into a fitful sleep, new nightmares plaguing your mind as you try to find, and save, a new version of Frankie of who doesn’t want to be saved. At least not by you.

Chapter 30

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our-blood-is-our-ink · 1 year

Note

if your still doing the prompt thing how about 17, 23, 25, 29 with power!bottom claire being stressed and intern!reader offering to help but don't have any sexual experience so claire teaches them

Thank you so much for sending this in! I'm so sorry it took so long to complete, life got very hectic, but I have it for you now! I hope I've done this request justice <3

Afterhours

Ship: Claire Debella x Reader

Summary: When you, an intern working at the governor's office, offer to stay with the governor while she works late into the night, you find yourself in a situation you have only ever fantasized of.

Word Count: 5.8k

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY, minors dni

Warnings: smut, hints at dark!Claire, pet-names, praise kink, degradation kink, fingering, oral, first time, virgin reader, legal age gap, power imbalance, mommy kink, begging, implied subspace

It's an open secret at the office that Governor Debella is paranoid.

If the extreme vetting process to just simply become an intern is anything to go by, the woman could use some relaxation time.

After all, a single intern hardly would have the ability to take down the political powerhouse that Governor Debella is.

Or, that's what you think anyhow.

You knew you had been lucky to land the job, the experience and credentials that will pad up your resume and qualifications that will come from working here, but some days, all you can think about is how stressed the top boss constantly is.

Being a people pleaser, being a people fixer, you started to stay late, wanting to get as much work done as possible.

Sure, you're only a low level entry personnel, but what you do helps free up time for those above you to focus on more important things.

After a few weeks of being the last one in the office, Governor Debella notices.

“Don't you have someone to get home to? A boyfriend, or a pet, or something?”

You nearly topple back in your seat, startled by your boss’s boss’s boss’s boss (seriously there's a chain of command here, and you're merely a bottom feeder) not having heard her approach from behind.

“Governor!” You gasp, trying to recover. “Uh- I don't- I live with a few roommates, but they never care if I'm there or not. We're all very busy.”

Governor Debella frowns, and crosses her arms.

“There's no reason for you to be staying so late. You're an intern. You don't get paid overtime.”

You shrug.

“I don't have much else to do. Call it volunteer hours.”

(And god, doesn't that sound pathetic, especially because it's true.)

Her frown deepens.

“It's illegal for you to stay and work without pay.”

“Are you telling me I need to start going home at quitting time?”

The words spill from your mouth before you can think them through.

There's a moment of silence, and for a second you could swear it's hesitation on Governor Debella’s face.

“No.” She says, after a beat too long.

There's another, much longer silence.

You hate the quiet, and you find yourself breaking it.

“Then, er, what do you want me to do?”

Governor Debella blinks, and it draws your attention to the dark bags underneath her tired silvery-blue eyes, her makeup must having had rubbed off enough for it to begin to show.

You suddenly realize that perhaps it's just as exhausting for her as it is for everyone else to deal with her stress and paranoia.

“Would you like some company while you work?” You offer, a gentleness in your tone that you hadn't made the decision to speak with. “I could clock out and then just… Sit in your office with you if you'd like. I know how empty the building feels when everyone has left.”

This time, you know you haven't imagined her hesitation.

“I'm under contract, anyhow, Governor. If there's an additional paper you need me to sign, for security reasons, well.” You shrug. “What's one more?”

Again, there's silence, and then…

“Call me Claire, if you're really willing to sit and do nothing for hours besides for staring at my office walls.”

You're a bit shocked she's accepted your offer, and you stumble over your response.

“I- oh. Uh… Okay, um. Claire.”

The governor’s lips twitch, as if she's hiding a smile.

“But not tonight. I was just about to head out, which means you definitely should too. Security won't stick around once I leave, and the night shift…” Claire scowls. “I need to remember to get them replaced.”

It's the most you've ever heard her talk without snapping at someone to do something, let alone to you.

“Isn't that what your assistant is for? To remind you or to arrange that on your behalf?”

“That's only if I remember to tell him.” Claire mutters, before shaking her head. “Shut your computer down, you're not staying if I'm not in the building.”

She waits, hovering over your shoulder as you listen, and she walks with you out to the front of the building.

“You didn't park in the lot?” She asks, when you start to head towards home.

You can feel your face flush.

“I uh… I don't exactly get paid enough to own a car.” You refuse to look at the older woman. “Usually I just walk back.”

“It's two in the morning.” Claire sounds incredulous.

“I have pepper spray.”

“No. You're not walking home anymore.”

Claire has her arms crossed again, and an all too familiar glare is being leveled at you.

Before now, you always thought it was an angry expression.

You're beginning to wonder if maybe it's a stubborn one instead.

You sigh.

“Well short of driving me home yoursel-”

“That's exactly what I'm going to do.”

You barely manage to keep your jaw from dropping as Claire turns, clearly expecting you to follow her.

You suppose if you don't, you won't get too far before she can find you walking.

Or if not, possibly fire you over it tomorrow.

You push down your anxiety.

Don't worse case scenario. You scold yourself.

Claire drives a nondescript silver minivan.

“I have custody every other month.” She explains your unanswered question.

Ah, right.

Sometimes you forget that Claire just recently went through divorce, that she has two little ones to care for.

You remember how the media had dug it all up, how they aired her very private life for the public.

For a minivan, it's pretty nice.

When Claire turns on the car, a few loud notes play, before she quickly slams her palm against the knob that turns the car music on and off.

You raise an eyebrow, but don't say anything about it.

Instead you ask, “how are they?”

“My kids?”

She sounds mildly surprised as she reaches for her seatbelt.

“Yeah.”

You click yours in as she replies.

“They're… They're okay, all things considered.”

She puts the car in reverse, and you rattle off your address so she knows where she's headed.

Her nose wrinkles, and you're willing to bet it's because you don't live in a particularly nice area.

“You had to hire shadows- uh, bodyguards for them, right?”

Claire's hands clench the wheel, turning her knuckles white.

“I don't know of any other governor who's had their children's lives threatened.” She practically growls. “It scares them, but they won't say anything.”

“I'm sorry.” You murmur.

Claire glances at your pale face, and she takes a breath, forcing her body to relax.

“It's not your fault.” She shakes her head. “They're my kids. I'm their mother. I'm bound to be a bit overprotective.”

You choke back an unamused laugh.

“You would hope.”

Claire gives you a quick look, before returning her full attention to the road.

“What makes you say that?”

Oh crap, you didn't mean to invite Claire to dig into your life.

“Er… My parents… They weren't the best.” You mumble.

Claire frowns, eyes still looking forward.

“How old are you again?”

“Twenty-three.”

Claire hums.

“And how much are we paying you again?”

You rattle off the salary.

Claire hums again, and then there's silence for the rest of the short drive.

When she pulls up in front of your apartment, you say, “this is it.”

You undo your seatbelt and open the door, moving to leave.

“I'll have the paperwork ready for you on your desk by lunch.” Claire says.

At your confused look she huffs.

“For your extended night hours.”

Oh!

“Right, thank you. And thank you for the lift.”

Claire nods.

“If you don't have those papers past lunch break, hound my assistant. Don't take no for an answer, I might not remember to let Brian know to expect you to be a bother.”

The word bother echoes around your head, and you swallow down sudden anxiety.

“Sure thing. Good night, Governor-er- Claire.”

“Good night.” The other woman says, and you shut the passenger door firmly behind you as you sprint into your building.

—»•«—

You do have to bother her assistant the next day, and the stack of papers Claire presents you with is frankly ridiculous, but you pull out a notepad, read them through, and write bullet points of what you're agreeing to.

You sign, and initial, and date.

And then you binder clip it all together and drop it with a fairly solid thud onto Brian’s desk.

“Governor Debella will want these to be scanned and filed.” You say, even as an intern knowing the procedure for important documentation.

The man frowns at you.

“You're not done.” Brain says, and then seemingly out of nowhere, produces another stack of papers.

You groan, but your impatience quickly disappears as you stare at the sheet of paper, towards the end of the stack, that says how much of a raise you're receiving for signing on to be Claire’s personal intern.

Claire's personal intern.

$47,000

That was $15k more than what you had been making.

What the fuck.

You sign the papers, and don't say a word.

Slowly, as the day progresses, people trickle out, until you're the last one in the main office.

Brain looks at you as he leaves, and nearly walks into a wall trying to maintain his stare.

You head towards Claire's office and knock on her door.

“Come in.”

She sounds frazzled, and you realize you haven't seen her flying around the office today as you normally do.

“Everything alright?” You ask, taking note of Claire's disheveled state.

“No.” Is the simple answer you get, and you don't push as Claire continues to frantically scribble something out.

You glance around, familiarizing yourself with the private office you so rarely see the inside of, and take notice of a little seating area, with two arm chairs and a very comfortable looking couch.

In addition, there's what appears to be a bar cart, but it's filled with bottled water and sports drinks instead of alcohol, as well as a giant TV screen and what looks like a game console hooked up to it.

Somehow, you can't quite picture Claire playing video games while at work, and you have to wonder if perhaps she has ever been forced to watch one or both of her kids while working.

You don't want to become an annoyance, so instead of pacing the space, you choose to settle into one of the armchairs, curling up with one knee to your chest, the other dangling off the side of the chair.

You stare at the ceiling and let your mind wander as you examine the embedded ceiling lights.

“This is fucking bullshit.” Claire suddenly growls, and the sound of a pen clattering against the plastic wood of her desk sounds through the room.

“What is?” You ask.

Claire’s head jerks up, and for a moment, she looks surprised.

“You're so quiet.” She says. “I forgot you were here.”

You shrug, and don't say I’m good at that, I've had a lot of practice growing up.

You do say, “I didn't want to be a distraction.”

Claire hums.

She does that a lot, you realize.

“Well, maybe instead I can bounce this off of you.”

She gestures for you to come around to her side of the desk, and you quickly skim over what appears to be a proposal for a bill.

“Is it even legal for me to be doing this?” You ask.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Claire shrugging.

“You work for the government office this will be coming out from. It's not illegal, just out of the norm.”

You make a noise of understanding, going over the contents of it, frowning.

“What’s the problem with this?” You ask once you're finished giving the proposal a once-over.

Claire viciously stabs a single digit at some handwritten notes laying next to her keyboard.

“This section, this sentence, this paragraph, this fucking word is wrong, but the thesaurus is being useless-”

“Whoa, whoa.” You slow down what was sure to be Claire spiraling into more stress. “What's the most important thing to fix here?”

Claire blinks, pauses, frowns, then flips through her notes.

“Here.” She finally decides. “This entire section needs to be completely rewritten.”

You scroll to the right place on the computer screen and read it over more carefully.

“I'm pretty sure we can bullshit what you want to say here.” You murmur half to yourself. “It shouldn't be too difficult, most of the framework is here, it's just about closing the loopholes and rewording things to be less polarizing.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Claire grumps, leaning back in her chair and frowning as she crosses her arms.

You shrug.

“I bullshitted my fair share of essays, the difficult part to it is having a decent outline, which you already have.”

The other woman grumbles something under her breath before sitting up, shooing you away with a flick of her hand.

“Alright, well if it's that easy.” Her tone is disgruntled, but her fingers are already clacking against the keyboard, and you take that as your signal to return to the armchair you had been lazing about in.

At the end of the night, she drives you home again.

It becomes a routine.

For the next few months, Claire uses you as a sound board during the late hours, and you've taken to bringing either a book to read or an adult coloring book to do while you sit with her.

And then something big must have happened in her private life, because Claire is an absolute menace even to you one Monday, tearing through the office morale like a hot knife to butter.

You don't dare say a thing, even when she snaps at you later that night for being incompetent, and you just sit and take it.

She doesn't mean it personally.

You know that.

But by the time Thursday rolls around, her attitude hasn't changed, and you've found yourself retreating, becoming as small and invisible as possible in an attempt to spare yourself from Claire’s wrath.

You hear shuffling from where you're curled up on the couch, and you look up, and find Claire downing a shot, a bottle of amber liquid sitting on her desk.

“I know I've been an ass.” She says when she catches your eye.

“You've been stressed.” You excuse.

Claire shakes her head.

“There are better ways of releasing steam.”

“Well what do you usually do?”

You think this must be the first conversation all week that Claire is having civilly.

“Get high. Or have sex.”

Your mouth drops open at her blasé answer.

“And I haven't been able to do either.” She complains.

“Well, er. I could- I could help. If you wanted. To- um. To destress, I- I mean.”

You don't know why those words left your mouth, and the moment they do, you can feel your face heat up.

Sure, you've begun to have the occasional fantasy or wet dream about your boss, but that wasn't the same thing as implying you'd have sex with her.

HR is going to have a field day with you.

You're going to be fired.

You bury your face into your hands, and when Claire gently brushes her fingers against your back, you jump.

You hadn't heard her move.

“Look at me.” She softly says, and you shiver at how low her voice is pitched.

“There's a good girl.” She smiles as you listen, and the pulse of heat that shoots down your spine makes you feel dizzy.

Her hand comes up to cup your face, angling it upwards and forcing you to meet her eyes.

“Do you mean it, baby?” She asks, and you shiver at the pet-name, biting your lip as you grow more aroused. “You'll help mommy destress?”

Your eyes widen at the title Claire has bestowed upon herself, and you flush with embarrassment as the whine you've been fighting to keep down slips out through your mouth and escapes.

Your boss chuckles.

“Such a sweet thing. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, offering to stay so late with me, did you?”

You frown, confused, despite your ever growing arousal.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Claire smiles, but it's a sharp thing that causes gooseflesh to erupt along your arms.

“Please, doll. I've seen the way you look at me. And we both know how aware you are of how… Lonely, I have been.”

Her hand reaches out, and she brushes her knuckles gently against your cheek.

“Say yes.”

Her voice is pitched low, and it makes you shiver.

“Say yes to mommy, and I promise, you'll never have to worry about a thing again.”

Perhaps it should be your sign to leave right now, the possessiveness that practically drips from the governor's tone, but all it does is empty your head of thought.

“Yes.” You breathlessly say. “Yes, I'll help mommy destress.”

“Good girl.” She purrs, and when your lips part to allow a moan to tumble out, Claire gently presses against your tongue with two fingers.

When you stay still, frozen and unsure of what the older woman wants you to do, she furrows her brow and withdraws her fingers.

“Have you ever had sex before, honey?”

Immediately you can feel heat rise to your cheeks as you shake your head, shame rising in your throat.

“I- I'm a virgin.” You whisper, tripping over your words. “This is my first time…”

You trail off, embarrassed.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Claire coos, her eyes sparking with something that makes you feel a bit like her prey. “Budge over.” She says.

Mindlessly, you obey, scooting all the way down, and Claire settles back against the arm of the couch, and she lazily smiles at you as she slowly, tantalizingly spreads her legs.

You had no idea a suit skirt could stretch so much.

You had no idea how well it could hide the fact that Claire wasn't wearing any underwear either.

“Teach me how to make you feel good.” You're flooded by a sudden need to please this woman spread out before you, a sudden desire to watch her come undone because of you. “Show me how to touch you.” You beg. “Please.”

Claire chuckles deeply.

“You're going to be so perfect for me, baby.” She husks out, and you can feel how your pussy pulses, leaking wetness against the material of your underwear.

Unlike Claire, you're wearing a pair.

A niggling feeling of regret bothers you.

You wish you were easily accessible for your boss.

You want her to ruin you.

“Come here, honey.” Claire beckons you with a single finger, and you're obedient, crawling until you hover over her.

She reaches her hands up, and oh so gently cups your face with her hands, guiding your head downwards until your lips are just millimeters apart.

One of her thumbs softly brushes over your cheek, moving back and forth in a soothing sweeping motion, and her silvery-blue eyes gaze deep into your own.

The moment stretches, and you grow impatient of waiting, and despite your heart hammering against your ribcage, you close the miniscule gap between your lips and hers.

They're so fucking soft.

Claire isn't your first kiss by any means, but you deeply wish it were.

You're moaning into her mouth like you're a slut, and when Claire enters your own with her tongue, it's all you can do to keep yourself from falling atop of her as your limbs go weak.

Languidly, you make out with your boss, and as you do so, one of her knees makes its way between the apex of your thighs.

When you instinctively buck into the touch, Claire pulls away, and breathlessly laughs at you.

“Remember, doll. This is about mommy, not about you.”

Your head is spinning from the lack of oxygen.

You whimper, and bite your lip.

Her expression softens, and she reaches up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear.

“Didn't mommy say that as long as you're with me, I'll see to all your needs? Make me feel good, and I promise, you'll get a reward, sweet thing.”

You drop your head against her shoulder, and the whine that escapes you causes Claire to reach up and stroke at your hair.

“Let me show you how to touch mommy, baby. Let me show you how she likes to be pleasured.”

It's not fair, you think. No one woman should have the right to say things like that in such a husky sounding voice.

Your pussy throbs.

You lift your head up, and shift your weight, settling back so that you're straddling Claire.

“Please mommy, teach me.” You beg, and the older woman groans at the plain desperation that drips from your tone. “Teach me how to make you scream for your baby.”

At the word ‘scream’, Claire's eyes light up, something that simultaneously sends a shiver of fear through your body, but also a shiver of anticipation.

“You want to make mommy scream, doll? Get off, and I'll show you how.”

Gracelessly you tumble off of Claire and onto the floor, and she shakes her head as she laughs.

“You’re adorable, sweetheart.”

She stands, and as she walks back to her desk, she strips, carelessly leaving her clothes crumbled on the floor.

As she settles back into her leather seat, she spreads her legs wide in a clear order.

Her gaze feels intense as she watches you wobble over to her, before you collapse, dropping to your knees, your legs unable to continue to support your weight.

Your head spins as the scent of Claire’s arousal overwhelms you, and you look up at your boss with wide, pleading eyes.

She chuckles, and her hand comes down to pet your hair, before they tangle and tug at you.

“M-mommy!” You protest. “I still don't know what to do!”

Claire groans, but she doesn't stop guiding you forward.

“You're smart, doll. I'm sure you can figure it out.”

You whimper, but don't protest further, and then the older woman's cunt is directly in your face, and you're powerless as you stick your tongue out hesitantly.

You give her a taste test.

The wetness that is slowly dripping from Claire is a bit salty, but mostly, it just tastes musky.

It isn't bad.

It's just… New.

You give Claire’s pussy a few more tiny little licks, trying to acclimate to her taste, and she tightens her hold on your hair.

“I thought you wanted to make mommy scream.” She bites out, yanking you flush against her pulsing center. “So do it. Mommy needs to relax, and you're going to help.”

Helplessly, you do as Claire commands, and you start lapping at her earnestly.

When she lets out an unrestrained moan above you, you can't help but moan in return, and Claire gasps.

She yanks your head back, her chest heaving slightly, pupils blown wide.

“I never thought you could make such sweet noises, baby.” She breathlessly says.

You feel heat rushing to your face, and Claire's free hand grips your chin when you try to look away.

“Neither did I.” You whisper, ashamed.

Claire tsks.

“None of that now, honey, mommy wants to hear you again. Moan for me.”

Your mouth drops open, and your mind goes blank as you try to process your boss’s demand.

Her grip tightens.

“I said moan for me, bitch.”

It tumbles involuntarily from your mouth, loud and uncontrolled, and Claire's grip on your chin turns painfully.

“Does that turn you on? For mommy to degrade you like the little fucking slut you are?”

The noise you make in response causes Claire’s eyes to glint as she smirks.

“Who knew beneath all that innocence was a whore.” She coos, before jerking your head forward in a clear demand.

You eat her out for what feels like ages, the taste of Claire filling your senses, and you grow progressively lightheaded.

You find your thoughts slipping away as you become utterly focused on not letting one drop of your boss’s wetness to escape your tongue, and you find your hands keeping her legs spread apart as you become more eager in your ministrations.

You feel drunk as Claire begins to make higher and higher pitched noises until finally, she goes so high, it's a shrill thing that your ears can barely withstand, and there's a wetness soaking your face that isn't from how vigorously you had been pleasuring her.

She hasn't told you to stop, though, and you find yourself not wanting to regardless, so you continue to lap at her until she harshly jerks your head away.

“Enough.” She pants, eyes closed, chest heaving. “Enough.”

Your head spins, and you feel dizzy as you stare, memorized by the woman above you.

You open your mouth, aware there's something you want to ask, but you can't seem to conjure enough words in your mind to even speak them aloud.

Silvery-blue eyes open, and the most self satisfied smirk you have ever seen curls at the edges of Claire’s lips.

“How precious.” She murmurs, before sticking her heeled foot out.

You hadn't noticed that despite shedding her clothes, the older woman had kept her shoewear on.

“Why don't you make yourself feel good, and put on a pretty show for mommy, hm?”

You slowly close your mouth, becoming aware it's been hanging open, and give your boss a confused look.

Claire sighs.

“That's right, you really don't have any experience. Could have fooled me, with how well you've made me cum, doll.”

You flush, uncertain if it's from the praise or from the degradation.

You watch as Claire carefully stands, and you're startled when she hisses, her left leg buckling from how loose and relaxed her muscles have become.

“Strip.” Claire orders, her knuckles white from how hard she's clutching at her desk. “And then lay back on the couch.”

You scramble, tugging your shirt off as you simultaneously attempt to undo the button of your pants, and you wind up tripping, falling to the floor.

Claire's laughter causes your face to heat up.

“Looks like my baby needs my help, hm?” She giggles, toeing off her heels so that she can walk properly.

You whine, and can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes with embarrassment.

“Aw, sweetheart.” Claire pouts. “Mommy thinks you're cute for being so eager. No need to be so sad over it.”

You whine again, but slowly force yourself to sit up.

“Mommy.” You whimper. “Jus’ wanted to feel good.”

The older woman’s amused expression visibly softens, and warm hands reach for you.

You stand with Claire's help, and she almost reverently helps you undress, gently kissing each newly revealed piece of skin.

“Look at this beautiful body, honey. Just so perfect for me.”

Unable to bear the compliment, you choose instead to bury your head against the upper part of Claire's chest.

She coos, and runs her fingers through your hair.

“Oh, sweet thing. Is my baby feeling shy?”

You nod against her, noticing the soft smell of vanilla.

You've never noticed it before.

You had thought it was maybe the air refresher in Claire's office, but no.

It's her.

Your head spins.

And you're so wet.

Claire's laugh rumbles against you, and she easily guides you towards the couch.

You only grow steadily redder as she pulls your legs apart, kissing her way up from one ankle, and then kisses her way back down the other, over and over until you're squirming with your need.

“Mommy, please!” You cry.

Claire groans, eyes fluttering shut for a few moments, before she pulls you close, hooking your legs over her shoulders.

When she noses at your clit, your hands find her hair, and she tsks.

“No, doll. I won't reward you if you pull at my hair.”

Reluctantly, you release your grip, and bury your fingers against the cushion of the couch instead.

“Good girl.” Claire praises, and you moan softly in response.

When her tongue presses against you, you shudder at the new sensation.

It's wet and warm and slightly rough, and–

“Oh, fuck!” You cry out. “Fuck, mommy!”

Claire's hands harshly grip at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you whimper, but she continues to lavish her tongue over your clit, and you begin to squirm in earnest.

You've masterbated plenty of times, and have a few toys in your bedside drawer, but that is nothing compared to the older woman’s touch.

Within a few minutes, you're already near orgasm, and you chase the release, fighting the urge to bring your hands back up to tangle into Claire's hair.

And then right when you're about to reach that high, the moment before the waves of pleasure can overwhelm you, she pulls away, and you loudly sob.

“No, please.” You gasp.

Claire smirks, and you whimper at how lustful her gaze is, at how your wetness glistens on the bottom half of her face.

“You want to cum, baby?” She mocks you, pouting. “You want mommy to let you feel good? Then beg for it. I need to hear my cute little doll ask for permission first.”

You whimper.

“Please, mommy.” You can feel tears start to gather with how badly you want this. “Please let your baby cum, I wanna cum for you, I wanna feel good, please, please, please!”

“Hm…” Claire hums.

“Please.” The tears start to roll down your cheeks. “I wanna to cum, mommy. I want you to make me cum, please.”

You let out a sob of desperation when a single digit finds your swollen clit, and lightly begins to circle it.

“Please.” You whisper, your voice getting caught in your throat.

For a moment, you think your boss is going to deny you, and you open your mouth to continue to beg, when instead you gasp, two of Claire’s fingers suddenly stretching you open.

You let out a high pitch noise when she curls the digits, pleasure burning through you, and you buck your hips.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!” You chant, unable to form any other thought, let alone words.

“Cum for me, princess.” Claire softly orders, and as if your body was designed to obey her every desire, you convulse, a scream tearing it's way from your throat as she continues to finger fuck you, the gushing wetness weeping from your pussy causing a squelching noise, and you writhe as you ride the high.

“Fuck, baby.” Claire groans. “I want you to come for me again.”

You squirm desperately, the aftershocks still pulsing through you, but Claire is stronger than your now limp body, and she thumbs at your clit, sending electric waves up your spine, causing your back to arch painfully.

“FUCK!” You cry out, unable to control your volume, and you can barely hear Claire's responding moan over the static in your ears as a new wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

You're gasping for air with how it steals your breath away, and when Claire collapses on top of you, you gladly welcome it, despite how it further suffocates your lungs of oxygen.

She smells so good. You think as you start to come back to your senses.

The scent of vanilla is still prominent, but it's now mixed with the smell of Claire’s sweat.

Somehow, it's more appealing.

The smell of sex still hangs heavy in the air, and you throb as your body unfairly grows more aroused again.

“Mommy.” You whisper.

Claire groans, burying her head further against your neck.

“You smell so good, princess.” She says. “And you look so beautiful when I fuck your brains out.”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat.

Claire finally moves, shifting until she's sitting upright, and you don't think she's ever looked as enthralling as does now.

Her cheeks are flushed, and you can clearly see faint freckles that are usually hidden under a layer of makeup that Claire must have sweated off, and her hair has gone from stick straight to gentle waves, a halo of frizz framing her face.

You lose yourself in her eyes, at how she smiles so tenderly as she helps you up and to the private attached bathroom in her office.

“Let's get cleaned up, doll.” She says, and you grin goofily at her.

Your head is still spinning.

She giggles, a light sound that makes you join in once a light snort causes her to double over.

“You're so cute.” She smiles, and you obediently spread your legs when she taps your thigh.

She gently runs the wash cloth in her hand over the sticky residue of your arousal, and you flinch every time she passes over your clit.

“You’re still so sensitive.” She breathes out. “Did mommy not satisfy you, doll? Do you want mommy to keep going until it hurts for me to?”

“I- ah!” You cry out when Claire firmly swipes the cloth over your swollen bud. “I just want to be good.”

Claire peers up at you, and you hold your breath as she weighs your words.

“Next time then, maybe.” She decides, and you aren't sure if your shoulders slump with relief or disappointment.

She finishes cleaning you up, before moving on to herself, telling you to wait as she does so.

You watch as her back muscles move with her motions, and you can't resist the urge to kiss them, to nip at them.

Who knew the governor would have such fairly well defined muscles?

“Baby.” Claire warns.

“Mmm… Mommy.” You reply, before darting the tip of your tongue out against her warm skin.

“Baby, if you want to go home, you'll stop.”

“But you're so pretty. I can't help it.”

Claire turns around, shaking her head.

“You're adorable, honey. Come on, let's get dressed so we can head home.”

Claire has to help you into your shirt and pants, and you don't notice when she pockets your underwear instead of giving it back to you when she spots it under the couch.

Before you leave, your boss insists on watching you drink a glass of water, predicting you'll be too tired to do so once she drops you off at home, expressing how important it is to her that you take care of yourself.

By the time you get to her car, you're stumbling with exhaustion, beginning to crash as the endorphin high wears off.

You can't keep your eyes open once she starts driving, and when you let out a huge yawn, Claire glances at you.

“Go to sleep, baby.” She soothingly says. “I'll wake you up when we get home.”

You're used to listening when she asks you of something, and so you don't think twice as you finally allow your eyes to stay close, and you drift off, Claire's warm hand on your thigh.

#sky's inbox #sky's stolen ask games #sky writes #sky's anons #sky answers #sky replies #sky's fics #c: claire #claire debella #claire debella x reader #again I am so so sorry this took so long!#also I'm lazy af and refuse to reread this before hitting post so please ignore any errors -- I'll probably go back and fix them #once I have the energy to reread this for the billionth time #also also I might've forgotten Claire was supposed to be a power bottom whoops

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