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#Hans Christian Anderson Day

gildedbearediting · 2 months

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Hans Christian Anderson Day

Every man’s life is a fairy tale, written by God’s finger. Hans Christian Anderson Hans Christian Anderson is world renown for his imaginative stories for children. Many would recognize his works. These include: The Little Mermaid, The Ugly Duckling, The Emperor’s New Clothes, Thumbelina, The Snow Queen, Little Match Girl, and The Princess and The Pea. His works have been turned into beloved…

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thesummerpetrichor · 11 months

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𝓥𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓸 𝓰𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓼

Dads best friend!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Summary: For years he’d lived in your head like a distant memory. Something too good, too far away to attain. You shouldn’t be so hurt he’d left his old life behind, but how could you not be, when you had been such a big part of it? But you can’t hold a grudge. Not when he’s standing in front of you– doing everything to prove he’s not a stranger.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, dads best friend trope, morally questionable relationship, minor angst, chunky age gap [reader is in her 20s Javi is in his 40s], banter, lotsa sweet moments, explicit language, explicit sexual content, couch sex, inebriated sex, cigarette and weed smoking, alcohol, dom!javi, sub!reader, pet names [cariño, baby, babygirl etc.], dirty talk, major praise kink! [lotsa good girl action iykwim] some over the clothes action, grinding, fingering, unprotected P in V [ do better!!]. Let me know if I missed anything!! <;3

Word count: 12.8k oops

A/N: Oof this took longer than I thought it would but I’m so excited for you to read it. Javier is the man of my dreams here 🥺. lotsa porn for you nasties. morally questionable relationship fr but it’s fiction so we’ll forgive Javi. I hope you darlings enjoy! Mwah 💗

Masterlist

Swinging in the backyard

Pull up in your fast car

Whistling my name

Open up a beer

And you say, "Get over here

And play a video game"

The last time you saw him you remember all but tackling him to the ground as he walked through your front door. He had bought you a special edition copy of your favourite Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale, and DVDs of ‘film noir’ movies– the kind your dad didn’t like you watching. You spent the days reading as he smoked cigars by your pool, and you remember your father joking about his ‘bad influence’ as he poured you drinks in the evenings.

That was several years ago, and now all you had left of him was a hazy memory of that distant summer, a fading image of his golden eyes glittering in the setting sun, and your copy of “The Little Mermaid”. That had been the last that he’d visited you– before his work got in the way, before he decided he’d rather stay in Bogotá than come home.

Your life had gone on, and while every year you wondered whether he’d make his grand appearance, as you grew older you came to terms with the realisation that it would just be you and your old man lounging on the patio on those treasured, warm, golden evenings. At university you were pursuing those dreams you always wanted to, the ones your father wasn’t so keen on you chasing, the ones you’d confess to him when he would drive you around the city– to that faraway ice cream place no one else would take you to.

He was all cigarettes and whiskey and secret promises.

“He’ll literally kill us, it's midnight.” It was too late, he was grabbing his keys and jacket, and despite your better judgement the thought of the fairy lights by the beach as you walked with your mint chocolate chip cones had you giggling as you followed him out the door. It was your 18th birthday. “He doesn’t need to know now, does he, cariño?”

He’d telephone your father once in a while, you knew because your house would fill with laughter only invoked by one culprit. You wondered what adventures he was on, were they like the ones he’d tell you as you sat by his side till the early hours of the morning? You wondered if he even remembered– remembered you.

But now you were in Bogotá, in the sweltering June heat, suitcase in hand, scanning the crowd for a face you barely remembered. You were scared, stupidly so, worried that your physical proximity would do nothing to mend his distance. You worried he wouldn't see you as he did before, wouldn't remember your inside jokes, your mischief, how you’d beg him to take you to that dance bar because your dad didn’t like you going alone. That he had somehow morphed into someone you couldn't recognize. You felt hot all over once again, and this time no thanks to the summer sun.

Your head turned left to right, and you spotted among the crowd families reuniting, couples kissing hello, young people returning home, lone travellers, lonely travellers, and in the hustle bustle a black leather jacket walking briskly towards you. He looked older, and tired, but his eyes still sparkled the way you remembered, still turned golden when they met the sun. From the distance he spotted you, and you watched expectantly as his furrowed brows relaxed into a calm, almost surprised expression. You felt a little short of breath, felt suddenly larger than life, as he neared you, your mind spinning and hoping, praying that he was still the man you knew.

“What have you done with my cariño?”

He was looking down at you with that same smile. Everything about him was really the same. He still smelt like tobacco and cedarwood perfume, still wore the same leather jacket, the same faded, button up shirt– with the first two buttons undone. In a moment you felt your mind's eye reconstruct those waning images of him you once cherished, from the dells of memory. And now you saw him vividly, reclining in his chair, sipping his whiskey, leaning on your porch, hair falling in his face in soft curls as he lit his cigarette.

He was a lot more handsome than you recalled.

“Hi” You were smiling so wide your face hurt, and despite the years of his absence there was a familiarity you found comfort in, a sense of belonging, and maybe naively… longing. His hands moved to grab you by the shoulders, and he stepped back to get a good look at you, almost examining how time had passed. “Lookat’ ya, university girl now huh, smart cookie?” The way he looked at you had your heart pitter pattering– with so much pride, and gentleness, and adoration.

Without any hesitation he pulled you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms, holding your head against him. Waves of calm washed over you, an immediate reassurance you were desperate for. It was his non reluctance, his lack of worry, the way he brought you into his arms like nothing else mattered. With a heavy sigh you collapsed into him, all the uneasiness you felt before melting away as you melted into his touch. He felt warm, and strong, and like you’d remembered.

He was everything you’d remembered.

You felt yourself relax. It had been a long day, a long time getting away from your father, who, despite the fact that you had been living alone for years now, had called you about a thousand times – reminding you to take all your things, to be careful, and importantly to not get into any trouble.

If there was one thing everyone knew about Javier, it was that he was trouble, trouble, trouble.

He was still smiling when he gently pulled away, still looking at you with the same enthusiasm. He was happy to see you. He chuckled as he let go of your shoulders, and you felt your chest swarm with butterflies when he grabbed you by the hand and twirled you around, and in typical Javier fashion produced a white lily from his shirt pocket, and tucked it behind your ear.

“Welcome to Bogotá cariño”

You felt your cheeks heat. For as long as you could remember you pretty much idolised him, and the longer you didn’t see him the more distant and adored he had become. You had worked that distant memory up so much, the memory of that fateful summer, that he’d come to be a symbol of fear and dread in your head. At least until that moment.

You felt silly for ever thinking he’d be different. And there he was, standing right in front of you, putting flowers behind your ear. You mumbled a soft thank you, securing the lily, which was inadvertently an excuse not to meet his overwhelming gaze.

“Your old man give you a hard time on the way up?”

You laughed as you rolled your eyes. If there was one person who knew how much of a stickler for organisation and responsibility your father was, it was him. “He gave me an entire list of things to not do”. Javier’s deep baritone joined your laughter, and he shook his head in faux irritation at the mention of his best friend.

Reaching down for your bags he leaned beside your ear, and you felt your heart race when you turned your head ever so slightly to meet his gaze– at that glimmer in his eyes, his mischievous smile, and raised brow.

“Well, he’s no fun now, is he?”

And with that he was heading towards the exit.

—

I'm in his favourite sundress

Watchin' me get undressed

Take that body downtown

I say, "You the bestest"

Lean in for a big kiss

Put his favourite perfume on

Go play your video game

“He says I'm like you, y’know?” You leaned your elbow on the open window, knees to your chest as you sat curled up in the passenger seat of his car. His eyes were on the road, but his attention remained on you, and you were instantaneously reminded of your trips to the pier, your mint chocolate chip ice creams, and innocent secrets.

You felt warm and fuzzy inside, and your eyes wandered the beautiful Colombian city –the colours, and the smell of summer flowers, and food as it wafted out of the mom and pop restaurants you passed.

“Yeah, you a troublemaker?” He glanced at you momentarily, just in time to catch you rolling your eyes. “”M not, but he thinks Dora’s wreckless for wandering around without her parents.`` His laugh was hearty and he had that smile, that tilt of his head you were sure had all the women around him swooning. You felt your cheeks heat at the thought, especially when he chided you. “Cariño” he dragged out every syllable of that treasured pet name, shaking his head, and raising his brows in your direction, teasingly. “Okay.. maybe I like to have a little fun, but I’m still not like you.”

Letting out an exaggerated gasp his head whipped towards you. “Fuck’s that supposed to mean?!” Your head was buzzing, he's still the same, the same.

“I’m good.” He rounded the corner, and you couldn’t help but wonder who else had been in the passenger side of his car, getting this view you so cherished. You didn’t know why you cared, or why you were even wondering in the first place. It wasn’t any of your business, but somewhere deep down it made your heart ache.

“I know you are honey.. Thought your dad was gonna’ have a fuckin’ heart attack when he called me.” You could only imagine. The poor man. The thought of him persuading Javier to convince you to stay with him for the sake of his peace of mind making you giggle.

“Can you blame him? It was either you or Maria, and somehow you're the better of the two evils.” When you decided to come to Bogotá you originally planned to stay with one of your close friends from university. She had offered you a room in her apartment for as long as you needed. The both of you had applied for the same summer program, and were looking forward to spending your vacation together. That was before you confessed that a certain somebody also lived in Bogotá. A somebody you weren’t initially keen on meeting again. Somebody you had planned to avoid at any cost during your stay.

You weren’t really sure why– if you wanted to keep him away out of spite, or convenience, or fear, but all you did know was that when Maria had practically forced you to ask your dad to give Javier a call you were nothing short of petrified. She would not let it go, even said you’d regret not meeting him, better yet staying with him after how much you’d talked him up in the time you knew her. She was so confident she placed a bet you’d give up her house for his in less than forty eight hours.

“I’m a cop, I’m the obvious choice here cariño” His confidence was charming. He was deceptively charming.

“Yeah. A terrible one.”

“Was a little shocked you wanted to see me..” sometimes you really thought he could read your mind. Not just in that moment, in fact he had a habit of hitting on right whatever you were thinking about, whatever was bothering you, things you felt you couldn’t tell anyone else because they wouldn’t understand. You were not sure if and how you wanted to respond, and if you did honestly whether he would know how much the whole situation had preoccupied you.

“Strictly practical. Wanted to see if you remembered me..”

“‘Course I remember you, been haunting me like a little ghost since I last visited..”. you thought you might just explode at his teasing. You asked yourself if he was being truthful, if he truly thought about you, about how he’d up and left.

“You’re the one that disappeared into thin air!” Undeniably, despite the laughter and banter there was a tension in the air– floating between the two of you heavy and low. But what was he expecting?

Thankfully, the car came to a slow and gradual stop at the side of a small side street, where you spotted a small glass door over which flowers blooming from the floor above had been cascading. “Where are we?”

“Mint chocolate chip” One hand on the wheel, the other grabbing his keys, he looked at you as he spoke, so matter of factly it made your heart flutter. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “No pier, or fairy lights though, and no thrill of running from your papa.”

He remembered.

Heart bursting with love ache, you weren’t really sure what to say. As if he had anticipated your fears he seemed like he was coaxing you into your natural rhythm. Reminding you he wasn’t some stranger whose house you were staying in out of convenience. That you knew him, and that he knew you, remembered you.

“Thank god for the last one..” The memory fluttered between you two– the same thoughts, hovering between your heads. He was opening the door, taking a quick check of the traffic. You stayed put, finding your bearings. With one hand extended he beckoned you towards him, offering his arm when you hopped out the car on wobbly feet. “Oh hush, you loved it, cariño. And he knew, I told him the next day.”

With locked arms you crossed the street, and as if no time had passed you had squished yourself to his side, and had smacked him against the shoulder lightly at his admission. “What?! Traitor!”

“I handled it.” He sounded quite impressed with himself, and when you tilted your head and locked eyes with him you noticed how he looked quite impressed as well. You pressed your cheek against his arm, the leather of his jacket brushing against your warm cheeks.

“You were always the fun one.”

A large ‘OPEN’ sign stared you blank in the face, that was until Javier had gently tucked a finger under your chin, and delicately directed your eyes towards him. “He’s your dad, ‘s not supposed to be the fun one..” he softly remarked, his smile remained, and you felt nothing but warmth, and comfort from his presence.

The moment fell naturally, and he reached forward to pull the door open for you, letting skip ahead of him and into the store. “Feels like my 18th all over again.”

—

It's you, it's you, it's all for you

Everything I do

I tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you

Tell me all the things you wanna do

I heard that you like the bad girls

Honey, is that true?

“You're the boss Peña, give me the word, and it’s done.” You caught Javier’s reflection in the mirror as you sat down to get ready. Fresh out the shower it took about three seconds for the summer heat to get back at you. He liked to keep his place freezing, and at times like that you could only be grateful– the cool air soothing your scorched skin.

Carillo, Murphy– you could recognize the voices as they bounced off the wall, the same men you’d met when they barged into his home unceremoniously at six in the morning. You would have preferred to meet them in actual clothes rather than your pyjamas, and maybe outside instead of infront of your concerningly large cup of coffee, but they seemed to be used to finding unexpected guests in Javier’s apartment early in the morning.

Regardless of the fact that they’d interrupted your quiet breakfast with Javier, they were really nice people. Carillo’s wife even sent some snacks over with him the next time he visited. One because she wanted you to try the local food, and two because “Javier had nothing in his kitchen.”

“I will. soon as that dick Stechner gets out of my fuckin’ way” reaching to put you necklace on you watched as Javier moved out of your field of vision for a quick moment, returning with a glass filled with ice and an ashtray. What were they talking about? You never really asked about his job, you'd tried to talk him out of it many times, but he never budged. One day he hated it, one day he didn’t.

What he was like at work was a point of endless curiosity for you– he just seemed so different. If you were being honest he seemed like an asshole. In the few times you’d seen him interact with his partners he’d barely cracked a smile, trading in his joking and teasing for curt jabs or looks of disapproval. He also admittedly liked ordering people around, telling them what to do. His phone rang about five thousand times a day, and each answered call was punctuated with an air of control, indifference, and the steady and constant confidence of a man who knew what the hell he was doing. And did not like to be questioned about it. The only people who seemed to break the ice were the two he was speaking to at that moment.

“Javi, think this one through, don’t be fuckin crazy.” The voices drowned out as you put your attention back to getting ready. Maria was right. By the time you called her the evening of your arrival you had abandoned all plans to escape Javier's home for hers. She was in hysterics, endlessly pulling your leg over the whole situation. Your overthinking, your panic, your regret, and most obviously your complete infatuation.

She had picked you up the next morning, and had impersonated you the entire ride to the university. You hoped that you didn’t sound the way she said you did when you spoke of him, that you weren’t all heart eyes. It only made you worried about what you sounded like when you spoke to him.

With your bag tucked under your arm you grabbed your shoes off the floor, heading towards the dining table. “You got work this evening?” you were hoping he didn’t. His eyes lifted off his work to watch you shuffle around the small kitchen. Opening the fridge you grabbed a bottle of chilled water, and leaned against the closed door as you spoke.

“Depends if they call me in, they’re tracking some radio signals so we’re sitting tight till then.” He was leaning back in his chair in absolute exhaustion. Knowing that his day started around seven thirty, and never seemed to end, you didn't blame him. The few days you had been staying at his place he’d join you for dinner and be right back to work in a second. This job of his pretty much consumed him, and judging by his commitment you understood why he had no time for anyone or anything else. The guy was practically married to his job. His job and his co-workers, that is. You wouldn’t be surprised if Murphy and Carillo’s wives were envious of how much quality time Javier got to spend with their husbands.

“So you’re staying up until they get back to you?” You didn't mean to sound so perplexed, but you were. Mostly at how unpredictable his hours were. Did he really want to leave the quiet, laid back life at home for whatever this was? He crossed his arms over his chest, and spoke to you in between puffs of his cigarette.

“Yes, cariño, I'm in my forties, dont got a bedtime.” The man could barely keep his eyes open, and when he lifted his glass to his lips you felt a little better about ditching him for your fun night out. Of course you wanted to sit with him, have him talk about everything under the sun, like he used to, but you didn’t want to be another thing he had to worry about.

You barely got to speak to him outside meal times. If he stayed home, safe to say he’d be preoccupied, and if he didn’t it would be just you, and the white noise in his empty apartment, like it had been for the past four nights you had been there.

The man looked like he needed a cup of tea. You reached for the kettle, pushing it on and leaning against the closed fridge door. “They tell you that at the old people's home?” Grabbing your buzzing phone off the counter you moved towards his surprisingly organised kitchen drawers, in which there was little besides some tea bags, coffee beans, jam, canned fruits and bars of candy. That combined with the eggs, bread and milk in his fridge came to make an almost comical representation of what most people would consider a bachelor's desolate pantry.

Your eyes shifted to the illuminated screen of your phone, an unread message staring back at you.

Maria: Leaving in five <3

As you took the bubbling kettle off the burner you made a mental note, reaching for a cup, and a tea bag from the unopened box of earl grey you were pretty certain Javier did not buy for himself, rather became the owner of thanks to one of the nice old ladies who lived opposite him.

“Somones in a mood today huh?” It was then you realised he had abandoned his work to watch you trudge around his kitchen barefoot in your little party outfit, one hand rested on his chin, one leg crossed over the other as he leant back in his wooden dining table chair.

The teabag bobbed in the steaming water a couple of times, before you were pulling it out and tossing it in the trash. You grabbed his blue mug by the handle– some generic, machine made ceramic devoid of any personality, something you’d probably find in a show home. It looked like it had always been sitting on his kitchen shelf, only seeing the light of day every once in a while when he ditched his liquor cabinet for the coffee machine on the far end of the counter. Knowing him that wasn’t often.

“I'm kidding .”

“Well cariño I was thinking we could go to the dance bar tomorrow, but now I guess I'll have to stay home and rest my old knees.” He looked so surprised when you placed the mug in front of him, rested on a white paper napkin. It was almost like he had expected you to make it for yourself. The chair made a slight squeak against the floor as you pulled it back and took a seat, pulling his glass, now lined with the slight golden residue of whiskey, towards you. He was still surprised, a little taken back even, but not in offence, rather a tender, grateful smile tugged at his lips.

“Since when do you dance?” With your focus no longer split between tasks you turned back to the conversation at hand. Making sure to emphasise you remembered just how uncharacteristic Javier’s little suggestion was.

He took a sip of the earl grey, leaning forward and letting his shoulders fall ever so slightly. The glimmer of a distant memory played in his eyes as he met your gaze.“I don’t. But you do.” Your little reminiscence played in the back of your head like a movie reel, the soft sound of music from the dance bar by your house hanging in the air. As if transported into a distant dream you could see clusters of people twirling and dancing with the beat, like little ghosts behind Javier as he spoke.

“And who am I going to dance with” When you said those words out loud you meant for them to sound a whole lot more utilitarian than they ended up sounding. Whether it was hope, or some odd suggestion you were in no mood to unpack where from deep in your subconscious that had come. All you could wish for is that he didn’t notice.

“Plenty of people at the bar who’d love to dance with my darling.” And there it was, that answer you dreaded, delivered with that signature smile, with that warm, twinkling light in his eyes. “You don't have work tomorrow?” unable to bear the thought you moved along to more practical matters.

He was already halfway through that cup of tea, and like his body was in the middle of some sort of spiritual cleanse you could see him resurface somewhat coherent and with eyes that weren’t half as dead as they were two minutes ago.“‘S friday, need the time off. Besides, I'd kick myself if I didn't make good on your time here. These fuckers still gonna be around when youre gone.” Sometimes you wondered if he was talking more to himself than he was to you.

You felt a little buzzing in your purse, and you rummaged through it to find your phone. A text from Maria reminding you you needed to leave. “Yeah, you're gonna sit at the bar like a senior citizen while I have some fun?”

Rising from your seat you searched the room for the last of your things. Notwithstanding the lack of time he had put into making the place home there were still small elements of him scattered throughout that little two bedroom. The fresh flowers in a glass vase on his centre table, framed pictures and art he’d been collecting over the years, small artefacts he’d brought back from his travels. It was so odd, the whole place stood suspended somewhere between home and a place far from it. Familiar yet distant.

“Hey, they’ve got great drinks.”

He finished the last of his tea, and you picked up his mug and set it in the kitchen sink, running it under the tap water for a quick second to rinse it. Truth be told, you just wanted to sit and chat, and if half heartedly doing the dishes was going to give you a few more minutes with him you’d take it.“Don’t get too excited old man, I'm not driving us home.”

“I can take a few cariño, ‘m not like you.” You travelled to where you’d dropped your heels.

“Slander.” pausing momentarily in the middle of putting on your shoes you lifted your head to find him looking back at you. His eyes had seemingly followed you all the way behind him, and he was still smiling. Had you not had one hand on his couch holding you in place you just might have tumbled over.

“You be careful tonight, and don’t walk anywhere alone, especially if it's past ten. I know you– can't even read a damn map, so no wandering around, call me.” It looked like he had already given up on you, one hand rushing to his face to rub his tired eyes, the other plastered to the table. He was shaking his head the way he did when he caught you sneaking out your house one summer.

“I’ll think about it.” of course you were going to call him, you didn't need an excuse. But you liked to see him all agitated, bossing you around like you knew he liked to do. With everyone, that is.

“No no, you're gonna call me when you get there, and you're gonna call me when you leave, and you're gonna tell me exactly how, and with whom you're gettin back.” You were already at the door, hoping to escape him, but he was yelling your name in that exasperated voice, and you heard him shuffle from his seat to stand up– catch you and drag you back in case that was necessary.

“But-” Turning to meet his peering form over the wall of his living room you parted your lips, attempting to protest, playfully, but still protest, but he wasn't having any excuses.

He was doing that thing where he looked at you with his soft eyes, slightly downturned, and the look could convince you to do just about anything, made you feel like you’d rather die than let them down. Anybody else’s nagging would have got you on your last nerve, but you only felt warmth, concern and care when he did it. Hell he could throw you off his roof and you’d still think the same.

“No buts, no excuses. Thats final” You giggled, half because he sounded so much like a boring old man, and half because he was now leaning against the wall, with the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his hands on his hips, hair dishevelled from when he’d combed his fingers through it.

“You sound like him..” With brows raised you looked at him expectantly, taunting him with your teases, and you nearly jumped out the door when he walked towards you, ready to grab you back to him as you escaped. Any insult was better than being compared to your dad, especially in this context. “Don't you say that, cariño” He was laughing, and you were laughing, and his otherwise quiet apartment building was now singing with an uncharacteristic gleam, a glow, a gaiety.

Your shoes clicked against the floors as you scurried away, turning one last time to see him leaning against his door frame, shaking his head as he watched you skip into the night. “I don't make the rules old man”. You heard him chuckle behind you as you ‘sing songed’ your words, your heart fluttering when you noticed he waited for you to get outside before he closed his front door.

–

It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you

And, baby, now you do

“Thought I told you not to wander around alone, cariño.” You jumped, but it was too late, he had wrapped you up in his arms, and you were pressed up against his chest, and his voice was a low whisper in your ear. And you were dizzy. The alcohol in your system only partly responsible for your petrified squeak, wavering voice, and the way you swayed gently in his embrace. But when he kissed the top of your head ever so gently you could only giggle, recognising that warm hold, that faint smell of whisky on his shirt.

“Psycho, you scared the shit outta me.” He was laughing when you turned around, exhausted, defeated almost, but his eyes were gleaming in the moonlight, and you felt yourself all but swoon at the way he was looking down at you. “You’re lucky I'm the only psycho you ran into” Grabbing your face in his hands each word he spoke was punctuated with hyperbole, and a teasing disbelief. Your own hands shot up to grab his, and your cold palms thawed at the touch. You were sure you felt your heartbeat in your throat when his thumbs brushed the swell of your cheeks, you were sure he could feel the way they grew hot under his rough hands. “Just came out for a smoke, don’t go into cardiac arrest now” your fallen cigarette crumpled under your foot when you stepped on it, and in the midst of your eye roll you watched as he stepped back to look at you in faux disapproval.

“Look at ya’, terrible.” He motioned his head towards the trampled butt on the ground below you. “Me? Terrible?” When you closed the distance between the both of you you stepped on it again, hearing it crush under your shoes, and shoved his shoulder playfully, poking his chest with your pointer finger. “Drinking on the job again old man?” Then he laughed again, this time at your playful yet truthful accusation, and the sound made you feel lighter than a feather. How could one person be so charming, so charismatic, at one in the morning? Like he was divulging a trade secret he raised his brow. “Keeps me awake.”

The blaring music in the club was muffled in the distance as you walked towards the steps of the church in front of you, the quiet and empty street echoing your footsteps. He walked beside you, kept you close on that pleasant summer night. When you turned your head your eyes caught a group of men huddled by a small food stall at the side of the street, hunched over some beers, smoking cigarettes. In the crowd there were two familiar faces. Steve was dressed casually, Carillo and the others in military fatigues. You wondered why he wasn’t walking in their direction, but judging by the look on their faces you concluded there would probably be a better time to do so. Besides, you weren't complaining, he was enough, he always was.

They shot you a half hearted wave, and two strained smiles from across the road.

Taking a seat you pat the stone ground beside you, watching as he looked around, almost willing someone to come into sight, one foot on the steps leading up to the cathedral entrance, wringing his hands. “What’re you doing here anyway?” You wondered what he had done that evening, but you knew you were better off not asking. You were glad to have bumped into him, and the last thing you wanted to do in your giggly half tipsy mood was have him explain something you were sure would keep you up at night. Not when he had that look on his face, his work look.

“Waitin’ on an informant, but someone fucked up and well, we’re back at square one.” he was still searching the street when he bent down to sit beside you, so close your knees bumped.

You felt your heart race a little when he pulled out what looked like a joint he had rolled moments ago from his shirt pocket, when he leaned back on his arm, lit it and looked up at the sky as he took a drag. You wondered if in your little emotional panic, your worry of his disappearance you had blocked out the memory of his striking, handsome face. You wondered if he had always been this beautiful, this captivating, everything he did set you on fire, the way he carried himself.

“Smoke a lotta weed for a DEA agent.”

He turned his head towards you, letting it fall lazily in your direction, and his hair fell in his face the way it did all those years ago, and he shot you that smile that felt like home. “Been a long day cariño”. He was looking back to the sky, but your eyes didn't leave him. He looked so tragic in the moonlight, half lit by its platinum glow. You weren’t sure if it was the liquid courage, or the fact that his shoulder looked more inviting than ever, or the fact that a cool breeze just blew by, and you shivered as it brushed your shoulder, but you leaned your head against him, and you felt your tummy erupt with butterflies when he placed a lingering kiss to your forehead. It was forbearing, and merciful, and you wondered if he had somehow noticed your girlish fawning, your silly admiration, and your heart dropped momentarily, but was soon resuscitated by his soft laughter.

“Remember those cigarettes of mine you'd steal back in the day.” The breeze had picked up, and it’s cool was far more jarring when it kissed your hot cheeks. “‘S’not stealing… you knew.” you closed your eyes, and let yourself get lost in that comfortable memory. “yeah , could've told your papa” He was looking down at you, but you kept your eyes ahead, too intimidated to meet his gaze.

“Didn’t”

“Should’ve” His voice was a mumble beside you, and you found yourself thinking about your dad for the first time in a while, and you were instantly reminded the man you were so taken up by was his best friend, and almost twice your age, and saw you as nothing more than his buddy’s daughter. You stiffened against him.

He took another drag of his joint. “If he was here right now his blood pressure would be through the roof”. A cold breeze tickled your skin, and he rubbed your shoulder gently and despite the murmured chatter in your head you couldn’t help but melt into his touch.

“Darling, I can't believe you've been out this long.” He was laughing, and his horrible impression had you in a similar state. Conflict bubbled in your chest, each word slipping past his lips reminded you of your relationship, of your dad, and what he would think if he could peek inside your head, at your little thoughts. You felt guilty, but how could you hold that feeling? Not when he was shaking with joy beside you, not when he had his arm around you the way he did, not when you were tucked into his side, shielded from the winds.

“You smell like a dingy bar” It felt so natural, your regular routine, the way it had always been, when your dad would say something funny, or outrageous, and the both of you would have a field day. It was well incorporated in your repertoire at that point, but the years apart had the memory sitting on a shelf in your brain, collecting dust. You remember when your dad made a terrible joke the day of your senior prom, and the two of you refused to let it go the entire evening. Javier had a vocabulary of his favourite phrases, and so did you, and you couldn’t help but pull them out every once in a while.

“How am I going to survive you?!” You spoke in tandem, each letter dragged out with faux frustration, an uncanny similarity to your dad’s tone ringing in the air as your blended voices formed a familiar melody. It hung between you as he laughed heartily, and you wanted nothing more than to frame the moment, keep it tucked away where it would be yours, only yours forever. The starry night, a twinkling sky above you, the chirp of the crickets, and perhaps your most treasured person, holding you against him.

You wondered why he left, why he left you behind. Did he feel the same as you did in that moment? Was he happy to be there? To have caught you on your night out? After he’d called off his wedding all those years ago he’d become a rarer sight. You were too young to remember, and it wasn’t long after your parents got married. Growing up in your little town you’d heard he always had a reputation with women, but you never believed a word of the neighbourhood chatter.

They were not the same person– the guy everyone talked about, and your Javier. While you’d never give him a break from the teasing, bringing up all the times you’d run into women in the streets, asking if you’d seen him, you could never really imagine him as the man everyone made him out to be. He was reckless, sure, and impulsive, and insolent, and a hardass, but he was also gentle, and thoughtful, and gallant.

At least he was to you.

As if he could hear your thoughts, and they were so loud in your head you wouldn’t be surprised if he could, he broke the silence. “I wanted to come back cariño, but-”

“But you couldn’t, I know '' There was no point going over what had happened and why, and while you incessantly wondered you knew it was a fruitless exercise. It was just how he was, he liked to up and leave, disappear, keep his distance, and you wondered if that had anything to do with you. But you didn't want to kill the moment, more for yourself than for him.

“Glad you decided to come, cariño” It was like he was trying to convince you, of what exactly you weren't sure, but he sounded so earnest, so true.. and you felt deep down he was trying to make amends for his absence. Not just from you, but from the life he left behind. Were you an exception? Or a way to right his wrongs? mend all that had been pushed aside? You didn't know, but you’d worry about that later.

The winds had picked up, and the sky was gleaming, and for the first time in a long time you felt at peace.

“I like it here, it's nice.” When you spoke he was almost surprised, but your words seemed to only widen his grin. He squeezed your shoulder gently.

“Me too baby, me too.”

—

Singin' in the old bars

Swingin' with the old stars

Livin' for the fame

Kissin' in the blue dark

Playin' pool and wild darts

Video games

He holds me in his big arms

Drunk and I am seeing stars

This is all I think of

“Looks like they knew you were coming.” You swivelled the bar stool in your direction, hopping up on the seat. It was early in the evening, around seven, but the music was already going, and there were people on the dance floor, moving to the beat of retro spanish tunes. Javier took a seat beside you, still in his suit from work, shirt haphazardly tucked into his dress pants, tie loose around his neck.

“Why?” the bartender placed your drinks on the counter, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the fact that he’d stuck to his whiskey on the rocks. “They got the oldies on”. You were giggling, and while he wanted to pretend like he was far too tired to care about your antics he couldn’t help but crack a smile. There was a charm to it– catching a break at the end of the work week, the tranquillity of the weekend enveloping you like a safety net. One of you that is.

Friday night was busy at any joint, buzzing with nightlife, food and drink. Somewhere along the way you’d gotten up from your seat and headed to the large empty space in the middle of the bar, where tables and chairs had been cleared to create a somewhat makeshift dance floor. Javier was right, while he sat sipping his whiskey you found plenty of dance partners.

It was all easy, getting passed from one person to the other as the group formed a large circle. It was like you had disappeared into the crowd, bodies moving left to right in the dim green glow, only occasionally giving you a glimpse of the man sitting at the counter– face rested in his palm. Ask him to dance. These urges of yours were momentary, little private lapses of judgement that would only remind you of what was just not possible.

When he’d take you out back in the day he’d have some minor injury to blame for his lack of participation on the dance floor, and when he didn’t he was “a terrible dancer” or “had too many drinks”. After a while you stopped asking. You realised you’d never really seen him dance.

You had grabbed the hand of a stranger, letting them twirl you around– Javier was looking in your direction. For how much fun he liked to have you had come to recognize hardly any of it involved other people. Weddings, birthdays, barbeques. He was there. However, you’d always felt he looked at it as an obligation. A hi to the bride and groom, a bouquet of flowers, some meaningless small talk and he would disappear out the door. When he stayed it was solely in the company of a few familiar suspects– your dad being one. While he was often the subject of conversation, he was a pretty reluctant conversationalist.

It was hot, and muggy, and if someone asked you where you were in the room you surely couldn’t place yourself. Forcing yourself out of the chatter in your head you looked up, noticing finally that your partner hadn’t changed in the past 10 minutes.

He was looking down at you quite sweetly, he was actually quite handsome, your age, but he didn’t have a white button up on, didn’t have that sideways smirk. He wasn’t Javier. And unfairly, for that reason alone you didn’t want him. But who were you to say no to pretty green eyes, soft, delicate looking light brown hair, a black button up that wasn’t very buttoned up. Neither of you had the confidence to speak up, so you let him sway you side to side, one hand firmly planted on his chest.

You wondered what he really thought of you, if after this little visit he’d be more compelled to come visit, at least spare you a call. Would he disappear once again? Call your dad once in a while and ask him to deliver some impersonal message like ‘say hi to her for me’? You wished you could care less, but you knew you couldn’t, and something inside you told you he knew too.

A firm arm wrapped around your waist, spinning you in the opposite direction, faces turned to motion blur as you turned on your heel. “Looks like a saved you, cariño.” He was twirling you, holding your hand in his and pulling you into his chest. He hadn’t really saved you but at the same time he had. He could pick you up from a field of lilies and drop you in a medieval torture chamber and he’d still be your knight in shining armour.

What the fuck are you doing here? You wanted to ask, but you held back. You wondered what had prompted him on the dance floor. Did he think some weirdo wouldn’t let go of you? Had seeing you dance with someone else accomplished a task years of your coaxing couldn’t? You turned back, but the stranger had already disappeared, and Javier was directing your gaze towards him.

As you had always suspected he was a great dancer, and he sure as hell liked holding you close as you moved along the dance floor. The songs ran over the decades, and he’d often sing lines to you– smiling and pulling you towards him. He looked so handsome, lights reflecting off his face, his smile tired, but earnest, and wide. You almost couldn’t keep up.

“Danced your energy away?” Picking up the pace once again you twirled around him, unwilling to give in. “No! Why? your back needa rest?” You watched him laugh– shake his head and grab you by the hips. “Sure you didn't cariño.. Can't keep up with an old man?” Voice raw from yelling over the music, you pulled his leg. “Think I heard your knee pop.” His raised brow only aroused suspicion. “Oh really?” Before you could even respond his arm had hooked under your thighs, and his hand was on your back and you were being lifted into the air. “Oh my god!” Your own arms flung around his neck, both your laughs floating between you as he spun around.

It felt different and not because something in his head had dragged him out onto the dance floor. The way he was looking at you, the way he just couldn’t let go. It hurt your heart more than anything you’d ever experienced. The pain was conflicting– the love ache and the hurt. Did he know how much he meant to you? Did he even care? Something in your heart told you he did but you chalked it up to innocent hope.

The music slowed down, and you heard emerging from the stereo a familiar tune.

You’d hum it all the time, so much so it would drive your father nuts. In the kitchen, while doing chores, sometimes as you read by Javier’s side. On the weekend when you woke up early to help cook breakfast it’d be the first song on the playlist. You recall how he’d watch you dance around the kitchen, truth be told rather ungracefully in the mornings– spatula in one hand, kitchen towel in the other.They played it at some wedding once, and your friends had bounded to the dance floor with you just to ensure you didn’t miss a note. You were running so fast you all but collided with him, and he had to catch your falling form as you stumbled towards your best friend, shouting a quick “sorry” as you bounded in her direction.

He remembered.

Words were useless when you looked at him the way you did. An expression of surprise, confusion, realisation, all at once, a smile tugging your lips, your doe eyes gazing into his soft brown ones. And his arms were around you, and you were pressed against his warm chest, and you were gently swaying to the beat of the music.

“Looks like they knew you were coming.”

It felt like a blip in time, but it would’ve been hours. People came and left, all around you groups of twos and threes and tens, but you stayed, and he stayed. Smiling down at you, holding you tight. You were a little light headed from it all, feet fighting the urge to take a little break. You just couldn’t let go.

Plopping down on the bar stool you let your cheek hit the cool marble of the counter. Your legs felt like wet noodles, trembling when you finally sat down. You weren't really sure where Javier went, but it felt like an eternity he let you lay there with your eyes closed. Every second was one hundred times longer when he wasn’t holding you. His arm was firm around your waist when he finally helped you out of your seat. You realised he’d been standing only about two metres away the entire time.

“Let’s get you home, ‘s late.” He had picked your shoes up from where you’d abandoned them, his own blazer draped over his arm– the one you weren’t hanging on to. With closed eyes you let him lead you out into the night, all your weight firmly supported by his broad shoulders, your stumbling feet only stabilised when he tucked you into his side.

Unintelligible to anyone but him, and muffled by your yawn and cheek pressed against his upper arm you slurred your words as you spoke. “Past your bedtime?”

He chuckled to himself, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice a faint murmur– the last thing you really remember hearing. “Yes cariño, past my bedtime…”

—

It's you, it's you, it's all for you

Everything I do

I tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you

Tell me all the things you wanna do

I heard that you like the bad girls

Honey, is that true?

“You been drinkin’ my whiskey….” He was leaning on the table, waving the glass you left out in the air, holding it between two of his fingers. He wasn’t upset, rather looked quite amused. You rubbed your eyes, making out his smile from a distance. “Couldn't sleep.” Peering into the room you were staying in you were sure he saw your blankets bunched up on the bed where you had been tossing and turning for hours. Your eyes caught the clock on the wall.

1am.

It had been a long day. Being assigned to a new supervisor proved to be a real curse. He was quite a piece of work. Patronising, condescending, everything in between. If that wasn’t enough he rejected your proposal, and asked you to submit a new one in two days. God knows you had a lot on your mind.

The kitchen cabinet swished when he opened it, bringing you back to the present. “God, you really are like me huh?” He still had his jacket on, but judging by the look on his face he needed a drink first. The couch dipped as you threw yourself on it, and you turned over its back rest to watch him move around the kitchen.

“I had like one shots worth, with like a whole glass of water, so not like you.” Curled up under his plush throw blanket you sank into the cushions, eyes following him as he sat down beside you. With a deep sigh he leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index. “Fuckin’ hell”

“Long day?” He picked up the joint he’d just rolled from the side table, groping for the handle of the drawer to grab a lighter. “Can say that..” It was just another night for him. You were lucky you heard him pull up outside, and had got yourself to look somewhat presentable so you could see him at least once that day. Granted that involved nothing but putting on a bralette.

Maybe it was the fact that it was late, or that you had such a shitty day, or that you just couldn’t help yourself anymore, but you leaned against his chest, snuggling into his side as he took a drag. “I would try and talk you out of this job, but I think I've exhausted all my arguments..” You twiddled your fingers, just wanting to melt into him and disappear.

“I don’t think there’s anything else I could do.” You shivered, his fingers tracing shapes on your upper arm. “Couldn’t do whatever it is you’ve been doing…” redirecting your gaze from your lap you looked up at him. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t either” He was looking ahead, voice low and rumbly, and just what you needed to hear.

“You’ve got time, got one’ve my lifetimes ahead’ve you” He pulled you closer, head resting against yours. “Don't say that” You poked his side lightly, hearing him chuckle beside your ear. “Oh yeah, now those jokes gettin’ to you?!”

Stewing in a comfortable silence you let yourself ease into his embrace, willing your mind to shut up for the time being and enjoy his company. The way he was holding you– so much more delicately than he ever had before had your heart clenching. “Tell me your day was better than mine.”

His words cut through the chilled air, and your heart soared at the thought that it even mattered to him. “No, sucked.” to anyone else you would have responded with a simple ‘it was good’, some white lie to avoid further questions, but you couldn’t lie to him, he’d figure it out one way or another. “My supervisor’s an asshole..”

Nothing was more comforting than the kiss he placed to the side of your head.“‘m sorry honey” He offered you his joint– seemingly having deserted his agenda of being a good influence in favour of apparently celebrating your mutual disappointment. You felt your cheeks heat.

“I've never smoked before.”

Gasping comically he whipped his head towards you. He tapped your nose with his index, pinching your cheek and giving you possibly the most suspicious look he could muster. At least he tried, because his smile peaked through the interrogative exterior. “You little liar.” The gesture had you jumping to defend yourself. Shifting to meet his drooping eyes you almost knocked him over as you plopped on the couch, letting him wrap his free arm around your waist to steady you. “No, promise!” You leaned your forehead against his, your eyes gazing into his in an attempt to convince him. Despite his disbelief you were indeed telling the truth.

“Oh really? Been drinkin’ too, trouble.” his hand snaked up the nape of your neck, cupping your jaw. It was then you realised just how close you were to him. Your eyes flickered to his lips momentarily. When you realised he had beat you to the task you were convinced you were hallucinating, or had somehow gotten high off the second hand smoke. In pain, you were in utter pain, unveiled and unprotected– subjected to his piercing gaze.

Painfully aware of the tension that had settled like a thick cloud over you, your voice came out small and strained, but also hopeful. “‘M not trouble….could be though”

The tightness in his jaw was something you couldn’t ignore. “Yeah, I know” In a moment of bad judgement, or in hindsight good judgement you decided you knew what you needed to do. You were exhausted of having to wonder. You were exhausted of asking questions, exhausted of his absence. You slung your leg over his thighs, lifting yourself onto his lap Leaning against his firm chest you peered up at him through your lashes.

“Baby, careful” You knew this time those words were not for you, you knew he was fighting the urge to gather you in his arms. You could see that look in his dark eyes– hungry, and hot. You could feel him, hard against your cotton panties. He bent down to press his forehead against yours, your noses bumping. “Cariño, you don't know what you're doing.” His actions were in direct contradiction to his words, his large hands cradling your soft cheek, pleading you to put him out of his misery. But you were selfish, like he had been all those years ago, and you needed him to put you out of yours.

“You don’t want this, Cariño” He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. He was doing that thing again, where he was talking more to himself than to you. But couldn’t let him decide what you wanted, because for years you’d let him convince himself you’d wanted to keep your distance to maintain his own conscience– to make him feel better about how he’d disappeared from your life.

“I know what I want..” You didn’t mean to, but you were pouting, and despite your best efforts to speak with conviction you couldn’t help but come off a little pleading, “show me, please.” surely he knew you weren’t just talking about the weed.

His lips ghosted over yours, and you could just about burst into tears the way he was looking at you. He probably noticed the way your chin wobbled, the way your doe eyes blinked away from his. Because in a moment you heard him sigh heavily, painfully, and apologetically all at once.

And he was kissing you. Soft and slow, and gentle, and benevolent and like everything you’d ever hoped for. He tasted how you’d always imagined– like whiskey and cigarettes and everything in between. Like home. His thumb stroked your cheek gently until you pulled away, glossy eyed and wobbly on his lap.

“Want me to show you what?” And here you thought his eyes couldn’t get any darker. He mumbled into your lips, voice commanding and steady– everything you weren't. He grabbed the back of your neck and guided you back towards him. Threading your fingers through his hair you let yourself get lost in the shelter of his hold. You felt as though he could pretty much eat you alive, the way his lips were moving against yours– suddenly hot and soft and needy.

Heart racing you chased his lips with your own, but he steadied you with his hands, amused at your zeal. “Gotten all worked up now have we?” You couldn’t help it, you tried, tried to sit steady in his lap, but you just couldn’t, not when you felt his cock, twitch against your clothed pussy.

You rolled your hips against his, watched as his head fell back against the couch. The crease between his brows only persuaded you to continue. “Shit baby, tryna kill me?” barely audible, his rasp had you bracing yourself with your hands planted firmly on his chest. You dragged your hips again, leaning down and tugging the fabric of his shirt. He reached for the joint he’d abandoned on the side table, bringing it to your lips.

He observed you greedily. “That's it, good girl.” His voice had never sounded more strained than it did in that moment, watching you take a drag, eyes glossing over. The praise had your heart fluttering, you’d do just about anything to hear it again. Smoking wasn’t helping either of your causes, because it only made you press your pussy harder against his clothed crotch. This time his hips rose slightly to meet you, and he cursed lowly under his breath. Already unable to maintain control.

Taking another drag he leaned back, letting you rub yourself against him, eyes screwing shut every once in a while, just like your own. He’d bring the joint to your waiting mouth every now and then, revelling in the sight of you getting more and more desperate with each puff.

“dirty little girl..” you whimpered at his words. “rubbin’ that drippy lil pussy all over my lap.” You looked down, only to find a dark spot on his grey jeans, for where you pressed yourself against him. Incapable of stopping your movements you continued, relishing how the friction eased the throbbing between your legs. “Yeah? few drags got you all achy cariño, got you squirmin’?”

He was watching you, and you could make out his intense gaze through your fluttering lashes, his eyes scanning you up and down, then fixing on your face of strained pleasure. “Tell me how good it feels, Cariño” His palms smoothed up and down your thighs, harsh and slow, and exercising all the self control he could muster. It was difficult to answer, a response bubbling in your throat before you were incoherently blurting it out.

"Feels so good..” whining, you grabbed the fabric of his shirt in your fists, bouncing on his lap lightly to feel just anything against you, you wanted more, lust and intoxication clouding your judgement. “Please, need it, need it so bad” Losing all sense of restraint one of his hands reached for your hips, squeezing and gripping firmly.

He dragged your already rolling hips against him, sliding you against his clothed crotch to the point you couldn’t help but let your legs fall limp, your forehead press against his shoulder. “Need what?” You could feel the tick in his jaw where it was pressed up against your cheek.

His hand slipped between your bodies, moving your soaked panties aside to feel your wetness. You shuddered when you felt him against you, grinding down on his hand. “Fuck, look at that. So fuckin’ wet for me babygirl.”

“Need you inside me, please.” Nosing his neck you pressed a kiss there, mouth falling agape as he rubbed your clit, fingers teasing your entrance, just barely pushing into you. “Like this?” If your laboured breaths were any indication you couldn’t take it much longer.

You wiggled your hips, trying to bear down on his digits, but he pulled away only to squeeze the inside of your thigh. ““Gettin’ to you already? use your words baby” he was taunting you, your little ‘no’s making him smirk against your shoulder as he went back to sliding his fingers along the cut of your pussy. “What do ya’ want me to do to you? Tell me babygirl.” You knew the sweet talk was only meant to encourage you, and while it worked you couldn’t help the way your cheeks burned when you replied.

“Want your cock inside me. Want you to fuck me.. please … need it”

Now that he listened to, fingers pulling away and tapping at your lips. When you gazed down at them you could see how wet you really were– having drenched them in the little while he’d had his hand in your panties. Obeying you parted them, letting him slide them into your waiting mouth, sucking gently, the taste of yourself heady on your tongue. “Good girl.” Even though he looked quite composed on the outside you still noticed the way he swallowed thickly when your tongue ran along his digits.

“Want me to fuck the cute lil pussy?” you shook your head vehemently, and he chuckled at your enthusiasm. “That's my pretty baby.” he kissed you like he wanted to devour you, frantic, and urged, voice so rough it came out almost like a growl. His hands roughly grabbed your hips, flipping you to lay back against his couch. In a moment your sleep top and bralette had been discarded, in a pile on the floor alongside your shorts and his own clothes.

Slotting himself between your legs you looked down to where his fingers were tracing the inside of your thigh. You gazed up at him, upper body lit by the dim orange light of the side table, broad shoulders slumped as he admired the sight of you– on your back, in nothing but your panties, all for him. As he slowly pulled them down your legs, he sure seemed to relish the way the fabric of your cotton panties clung messily to your wet pussy.

“Poor thing, just need someone to take care of you don’t you?” It was less of a question and more of a declaration, and undoubtedly it made you feel open and weak. How could you not feel that way? There you were laid out in front of him, every part of you exposed, his toned torso being the only part of him you could really see thanks to the half lit room. It felt like if he looked just a little closer he’d be able to see right through your naked body– and into your scrambled thoughts.

His index teased your dripping hole, briefly dipping into you and coming back to rub soft circles on your clit. Gasping, your fingers flew to grip his wrist when you felt him slide his cock against your cunt, tip teasing your sensitive nub ever so slightly. “Relax babygirl, be good for me.” Bringing your hand to his lips he peppered your knuckles with kisses, willing you to ease into the cushions as he draped himself over your body. He grasped your face in his palm, kissing his reassurance against your forehead as you felt him line himself up with your leaking entrance.

You mewled at the stretch of him, at how hot you felt against him as he eased himself into your soft pussy. “Shit- so fucking tight-” his stopped for a second, like he was willing himself not to split you open with one quick snap of his hips. “can barely fit my cock in this lil pussy.” Leaning in your lips searched for his. He let you melt into him, fingers brushing against your side as if to calm you down.

It was so much– his weight on top of you, his hips slotted between your thighs, forehead pressed against yours. You could feel every pulse, every throb, every ridge of him inside you, nudging those spots you could never reach yourself– and he wasn’t even moving yet.

When he did start moving you couldn’t help the whimper that slipped past your lips. Your fingers digging into the flesh of his biceps, pulling him closer. You needed him, pressed up against your rising chest, holding you. “I know cariño, I know.” His right hand squeezed your waist, “Feels so good doesn’t it? Yeah feelin’ all full?”

His voice was so sweet, like honey, warm and sultry in your ear. You nodded a quiet ��yes’. He cradled your face in his palm, nose nudging yours gently. Mumbling his own rhetorical “yeah?” he kissed the underside of your jaw. For the first time he felt as close as he physically was, big and thick inside you.

You were drowning in his arms, enveloped by them, cocooned in a bubble of heat, and low breathy sighs, and his lips ghosting over yours as he thrust into you– hard, but slow, and deep. “That’s it, just like that–” he picked up his pace ever so slightly. “Such a good girl.” His words were gruff, and stuttery and his breath tickled your ear whenever he spoke.

Feeling the drag of his thick cock against your pulsing walls your eyes struggled to focus on him above you. He on the other hand seemed to have no trouble fixing his gaze on your trembling form. “Makin’ me feel so–” he brought his thumb to brush the swell of your cheek, “fucking good, baby”. Your head buzzed at his praise, burning face turning to rest in his palm.

With your back lifting off the soft cushion you reached to pull him impossibly closer, wiggling your hips to meet his thrusts. “More, please, please.. Want it” you couldn’t recognise your voice, not when you were begging him, watching his eyes twinkle. “Yeah? Need me to fuck this pretty pussy harder?” you nodded– feeling embarrassed enough at his smirk of surprise to hide your face in his neck, but not enough to stop begging. Another soft “please” barely falling from your mouth.

Rising slightly he grabbed your hips, holding your thigh against his side. Your tilted hips granted him a whole new angle, and before you knew it you were throwing your head back, letting it fall against the upholstery. “You want that, don't you baby? Need me to stuff you full of my cum?” You could only respond with your sounds of pleasure.

He pushed you against the cushions, hovering above you to drive himself deeper, watching you turn into a moaning incoherent mess– your whimpers and whines bouncing off the walls and only exhilarating his pleasure. “That's right cariño, I gotcha’” one hand squeezed the flesh of your hip, then travelled up to brush against the exposed column of your throat– fingers tracing your skin before he was leaning down and placing sloppy kisses against you.

“gonna fuck this pretty pussy till she’s dripping with my cum.”

He must have noticed that dumb, hazy look in your eyes when propped himself back up, still fucking you till your hips pressed into the sofa’s cushions. “Fuck, nothin in that head of yours huh?” You made out his smirk of pride as you jostled around, trying your best to keep your eyes on him as he moved above you.

It was far easier said than done. Not when you could feel his cock against your throbbing walls, could hear his scruff groans whenever he felt you clench around him, not when he was looking down at you with his furrowed brows, and sweat gemming his hair– which’s curls had been ruffled out of place from when you’d ran your fingers through them.

Especially not when he shifted ever so slightly, and you felt his tip brush that sensitive spot inside you you didn't even know you had. Javier cursed above you, feeling you squeeze his cock. “that the spot huh babygirl?” he watched the way your eyes fluttered shut, face scrunching in pleasure as he hit it over and over and over again.

Your head lulled from side to side, your body in overdrive and completely overwhelmed at the sensations. That was until he was cupping your cheek in his palm, tilting your face in his direction. “Use your words for me.”. But you couldn’t, parted lips struggling to form anything coherent besides soft, little whines.

His hips snapped in a deep, slow thrust. “Say it..” Your eyes were barely open, and you reached and tried to grab him closer, but he stayed above you, unwilling to budge as he slowed to a complete stop– waiting for you to voice your needs. “Yes-”

He mumbled against your lips, nipping, and kissing. “Good girl, my good girl.” To that you nodded, back arching as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. Every part of you singing at his touch– how he kneaded and squeezed your hot flesh.

The coil in your belly only tightened and tightened, and you suddenly felt too vulnerable, too exposed to meet his hooded eyes. Turning your face to the side you let the plush throw blanket hide your hot cheeks, burying your face in it. “Look at me, wanna see your pretty face.” It was an instruction. One he expected you to follow like all the others.

You didn’t think he’d notice that hitch in your breath, the way you did the opposite and smashed your face against the soft fabric. It was all too much, and he was fucking into your soaking pussy, and his hands were roaming your body, and you could feel his skin brush yours, and you were dizzy, and overwhelmed and you could scream and–

And he was slowing down again, just enough to where he kept you on that edge, to where you could savour every bit of him inside you. – “Cariño, look at me..” God he sounded so tender, coaxing you out of your daze just enough to the point you shook your head ‘no’, whimpering and turning only further away from him.

He kissed your cheek, cooing at your overwhelm. Not to mock you, rather he sounded quite endeared, prideful even. “Baby” Nudging his nose with yours you felt his thumb rub soothing circles against the apex of your cheekbone, urging you in his direction ever so slightly. Your eyes fluttered open, just barely, only to find him smiling down at you.

“There’s my girl.”

“Need you to look at me when ‘m fuckin’ you.” He held your face in place as his hips met yours, slow and languid. No part of you was left untouched, his kisses adorning every inch of your exposed skin, lips coming to press against yours every now and then. It was like he could see through your nakedness, and the thought terrified you to no end, made you feel small and defenceless, and had your sensitive cunt squeezing his cock.

“You close honey?” When you nodded your nose bumped his, and he laughed before he was kissing you gently. He brushed the sweat from your brow, voice so mellow yet in control. “Cum for me baby-” You felt him deep inside you. So so so close. ”Wanna feel you cum all over my cock”

It rolled over you, slow and intense and deep, in waves. He held you close, cooing at your trembling frame, holding you against him. “'M here cariño, I gotcha, just like that.” Groaning, he watched your eyes struggle to remain open, rolling back into your head as he fucked your throbbing cunt. “That's my pretty girl.”

His own hips stuttered, thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared his release. Still experiencing the aftershocks of your orgasm you felt him fucking into your warm, pulsing pussy. You felt his cock twitch inside you before he was filling you up with his cum, a strained curse slipping past his lips.

Ears ringing you registered him catching his breath above you, but it was all too hazy for you to make out. All you really knew is that he hadn’t let go of you, hadn’t abandoned you on the couch to smoke a cigarette or pour himself a drink, instead he was peppering your face with little kisses. “ ‘m so proud’a you cariño– did so well for me.”

Pulling out he slid his hand under your back, flipping you over so you were snuggled into his chest. The cold air from the open window could barely touch your skin before Javier was throwing the blanket over you– keeping you warm, close.

You were still in your daze, but even as you lay on top of him, drifting in and out of a deep slumber you couldn’t shake the worry that when you opened your eyes he would be gone.

That he would have traded you in for the comfort of his bed, or worse would have disappeared into obscurity once again. The thought only stung more as you felt his cum leak out of you, mixing with your own to drip down your thighs obscenely.

You never really knew if he regretted it, if he wanted you for sure, if he liked having the weight of your body against him. Flinging your arms around his neck you tugged him impossibly closer, burying your face in his neck. A silent plea to stay where he was. You didn’t care if you seemed needy, or clingy or pathetic.

It was like he knew somehow, like your thoughts floated to him after you’d thought them. And as always there was no explaining to do, no questions to answer, nothing to say. His embrace was safe, and secure, and unwavering. “close those eyes for me cariño mìo” He planted a soft kiss to your nose, his arms tightening around you, palms rubbing soothing circles on your back. “‘m right here babygirl, not goin’ anywhere….”

You did. And he didn’t.

It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you

And, baby, now you do

Now you do

Now, now you do

Now you do

I would also like to add that we are engaging with this concept solely in the realm and interest of fiction. This type of situation is a huge red flag. While the reader is seemingly consenting and enthusiastic there is a huge power imbalance between her and Javier. He has also known her her whole life and has been a significant part of her childhood. Engaging sexually or romantically in a relationship like that is creepy gr*omer behaviour. I used their past as a narrative device because this isn’t real, but please be aware of your media consumption, and that dynamics between characters in fic are vastly different from what is healthy, and ethical in real life. 🫶🐝💗

I really hoped you lovelies enjoyed it!! Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear it! Thank you to everyone who reblogs my work, you keep me writing. Dividers and banners by @ saradika 💗🐝✨

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narrans · 21 days

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My Borrowed Son | 19 | Weirdness in the Walls

Chapter Nineteen | Weirdness in the Walls

For the past two weeks, persistent thoughts continued to nag at the young teen. Everything he did seemed to bring up the most peculiar sensations and odd thoughts. Something about that lunch with his mom continued to bother Parker.

Why did she seem nervous?

Where had that drill bit come from if not from her tool kit?

Did Parker really see a shadow that night when the power in his miniature house started flickering?

The whole thing felt surreal. Confusion clouded every thought and made everything feel off. The entire time, the little boy found himself drawn to the curiosities of the wall.

Parker knew as well as any young boy how houses were constructed. There was drywall and support beams and load bearing walls as well as dozens of cords and electrical connections along with pipes that filled the spaces a normal person couldn’t see. Like the veins and arteries and organs in a person, there was a lot in a house that was unseen.

What else might be unseen?

Mice, for one, were like viruses of the body of the house. They were unseen and could cause a lot of damage when left unaddressed.

But even Parker knew that mice didn’t know how to draw and write.

Try as he might, Parker’s scouring of the internet provided no reference to the sketch he found along the baseboard just inside of the electrical cover when he went poking around two weeks ago. There were no carpentry marks that he could find that looked like the mark he found, though he learned quite a bit about architecture and construction shorthand.

Parker concluded it was either something the previous tenant left or something that was an in-house design for whoever built his family’s home.

Because, deep down, Parker found himself wanting to discount a third option – that someone else made that mark; someone like him.

It was impossible.

Parker knew his condition was rare and that there were practically no reported cases about it. He knew because he spent a lot of time trying to research it on his own late at night when his mom was sound asleep. It was a move of, what he considered, desperation to find someone else to talk to about why he was the way he was.

Being small was hard…

And Parker wished he could talk to someone about it from time to time – someone who was like him who would understand. Someone to compare notes and experiences with.

Perhaps, in the back of his mind, he wanted someone else to be there so he could talk to them.

But the thought of some strange person who was small like him living in the walls sounded like something out of a fantasy book. Parker had heard of stories like the “BFG” by Roald Dahl and “Thumbelina” by Hans Christian Anderson, but those were fiction stories meant for kids.

On the other hand, Parker did exist.

He was alive.

And he was approaching four inches tall now with all of his recent growth spurts.

So… didn’t that mean that those stories could have pulled from a realistic source?

Was it really so far of a stretch to think that these stories might have been pulled from true experiences with someone his size?

These thoughts were keeping Parker awake at night and distracted during the day. It was really bothering Parker. What was worse was that his friends were noticing his absent stares as his mind whirred and worked the same problem over and over. It felt like kneading the same ball of dough as it deflated only to rise again.

Parker tried deflecting the issue continually, making the excuse that he was tired after finals and that he had a bunch of projects he was working on, but it felt dishonest to keep something like this from his friends.

What made it worse was that Parker didn’t feel like he could bring it up to his mom. Her reaction before was enough of an indication that something was off, and Parker didn’t want to bring it up. It felt weird talking to her about it now if he was being honest with himself.

Parker’s friends were really thoughtful and considerate, especially Selina who was calling more frequently to check up on him. It was a nice distraction. Sadly, it wasn’t enough to draw Parker away completely from the nagging sensation that he was missing something – something important.

So, finally, he had enough.

Parker needed to know.

He needed to know why the darkness of the wall felt alluring.

He needed to know why these sensations were infecting his mind.

He needed to know if he was missing something.

So, nearing midnight when his mom was asleep, Parker decided he needed to act.

He forced himself out of bed and pulled on some already dirty clothes, so his mom didn’t suspect he was up when he wasn’t supposed to be. There were a few tools that Parker just felt were necessary that he shoved into his backpack like a spare thumbtack, string, a safety pin, and a spare battery for his flashlight that he pulled onto his shoulder.

Trembling with anticipation, Parker tiptoed out of his little space to the line affixed to the back of the table. It took moments to slide down the line, the fibers making Parker’s slightly sweaty hands burn. Touching down on the ground felt like landing on an alien planet in a dream.

Nothing felt real.

And yet it did at the same time.

Parker approached the electrical cover and heaved a few times before managing to wiggle it free from its place. It slid off to the side and made a slight cracking sound as it fell a few inches, leaving a nice little hole for Parker to slide into.

Once again, the sensation overcame him. The vertigo of the room overwhelmed the small boy while the darkness of the wall beckoned him forward.

This time, however, Parker didn’t resist.

He cautiously hoisted himself up onto the ledge and slid down onto the other side of the wall. Parker hit the ground and immediately found his eyes adjusting to the pitch black darkness in front of him. He couldn’t see clearly by any means, but Parker could better make out outlines of the beams when he was close.

The young teen flicked on the flashlight on his shoulder, readjusting the elastic band he used to keep it affixed to his shoulder and arm, and decided to take an extra precaution to make sure he didn’t get lost. On a nearby exposed nail, Parker fished into his pack and pulled out some of the thread he had placed in his pack and tied it onto the head of the nail.

It was a camping trick his mom told him about so he wouldn’t get lost.

When the thread runs out, I’ll go back. I just have to see.

Parker took a deep breath and closed his eyes before daring to venture forward into the darkness, the light on his shoulder leading the way.

There was something reassuring about this narrow passageway in between the walls. Every towering beam that the nearly four inch tall boy passed didn’t produce the same sense of vertigo that being outside of the walls gave him. The smell of the undisturbed wood between the walls brought with it a sense of nostalgia.

The sense of familiarity washed over him.

But why?

This was only the second time he had dared to peek inside the walls, and this was the first time he ventured forward into that darkness.

Every step felt amplified, like the noise itself of his footsteps could bring down the walls themselves. The thumping in his chest, however, made the little crunch of dust and debris under his feet seem like a whispering wind.

Nauseous and shaking, Parker dared to press forward around the corner and along the next portion of the wall.

Every few inches, Parker paused and looked around for any additional markings or signs of something – anything – that would’ve caused that shadow. Every nerve and fiber of his being felt electrified, buzzing with anticipation. Parker didn’t know if it was fear or excitement that was making his body tremble and shake.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been in the walls. Probably an hour? Maybe more? Perhaps it was less. Every step further brought curious thoughts and sensations to Parker’s mind that felt familiar and alien all at once. Where were these sensations coming from? And why was it happening now while exploring the weird space between the walls?

Nostalgia was the general sensation that filled Parker, but it didn’t last for long. His nerves were completely and utterly on edge. Every little sound he made by rustling his bag or crunching over long cut drywall made his heart skip a beat.

It wasn’t until he felt a little tug on his line that made his heart jump into his throat. He whipped around and pointed the flashlight back toward the path he just left from. Some weird form of hyperventilation took over his breathing as Parker continued to shake.

Did that just happen?

Did his line just jolt on purpose?

Did something just pull on his line?

“H-h-hello?” Parker called as he dared to take a few steps back along the path he just walked. He glanced down and noticed that there were no footprints behind him. Just the line extending into darkness.

“Hello!” Parker called again, this time a bit louder. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. It was dry and ragged. Fear was starting to take over.

Wait. Calm down. Check your thread. You might be out. That might’ve been the yank.

Parker crouched, not breaking eye-contact with the darkness and the line right behind him, as he reached into his backpack and felt the spool of thread he brought with him. His hands were shaking terribly as he pulled out the cylindrical piece of plastic.

To his complete and utter relief, Parker saw that the little knot he tied in the end was the only thing left on the spool of empty thread. The sigh of relief that came out of him made his shoulders collapse in on themselves as he hung his head in disbelief.

It’s out. That’s all. The yank was the end of the thread.

Parker knew his promise to himself and now that the spool was out he realized he needed to return. While the darkness in front of him compelled the young teen forward, Parker felt his mind beginning to tire and his reasoning return.

He gazed out at the darkness and felt something deep inside him stir. It was the same place in him that flinched away when his mom reached down the pick him up off of the floor. It was the same place that compelled him to climb and jump from high places. It was the same place that urged him to hide when he felt the ground tremble with the footsteps of his mom.

It was some strange part of him that, for one reason or another, wouldn’t be quiet.

It wasn’t logical.

It didn’t make sense.

And that was what Parker decided to believe.

All of those strange sensations had to be because of his condition, and the jumpiness of his mother had to be related to stress from her work.

It had to be.

It was ridiculous for him to believe someone would be living in the walls.

How could they live in the walls? How would they cook and store food? What would the use to sleep if they didn’t have beds?

Also, if they had his condition, wouldn’t they be with someone who could help them perform everyday activities?

Parker chuckled to himself as he hoisted the pack back onto his shoulders and began reeling the thread back onto the spool while retreating back to the original electrical cover. He felt completely foolish that he even considered someone living in the walls, especially undetected.

The drill bit he found must’ve been tucked away in his mom’s kit.

Surely that was the answer.

The stress of finals and his imagination running away with him had to have been the culprit. Deciding he needed a little more sleep and a bit less exciting television and stories before bed, Parker ventured back outside of the walls and shimmied back up the line toward his home.

The bed the awaited him was a welcome sight. So, after slipping off his dusty clothes from his misadventure, Parker slid into bed and let his mind quiet for the first time in the past few weeks.

~~~^*^*^~~~

Perhaps it was better Parker didn’t venture beyond the furthest corner. Perhaps it was best he didn’t look up into the rafters and ridges far beyond. Perhaps it was better the young teen didn’t find what he wasn’t meant to find.

Kers knew it while he walked along the beams. He was on his way back from the kitchen after borrowing some sugar, salt, and a few other odds and ends for his personal stores. It was in that darkness that he noticed a light far below him walking along the walls.

Kers immediately extinguished his own light and followed along the path, realizing immediately that the form below was Parker – the Borrower boy who thought he was a human.

For a while, the experienced Borrower debated on whether or not now was the time to introduce himself to the young teen. He was in the walls after all; and hearing Parker calling out “hello” made Kers stop completely in his tracks as he was terrified Parker might’ve seen him.

Parker eventually turned back and left the relative safety of the walls to return to his home in the human’s domain. The seasoned Borrower watched the young teen inch up his line and vanish back into the dollhouse.

Kers sighed as he crouched and gazed down at the home.

He understood a little of what Parker’s mom must be going through. Parker was old enough to know; but was he old enough to understand?

Parker needed to know the truth, but was it too late? Or was it still too soon?

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Beginning

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murfeelee · 27 days

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IWTV INSP - MerMay Pt2: Siren Nature

"Something was very wrong with Louis. No one else would have noticed but the three royal Pointe Du Lac children had been tuned to each other and Grace could read the tightness in Louis’s walk, the note of falseness in his smile and eyes, and the subtle press of his lips that meant that he was in pain. Louis’s new friend, Mr Lioncourt, had disappeared a few days ago and Louis had been like a ghost ever since. Paul had noticed too, knocking on her door last night, and his theory was that Mr Lioncourt had stolen away Louis’s soul. Grace didn’t believe that, but something was deeply wrong and Louis had rebuffed any gentle attempts to find out what..... "But when Louis had been at family breakfast the other week, days before Mr Lioncourt’s disappearance, Louis had been scratching and Grace had caught his arm. A bronze scale had come off his skin and Louis hadn’t noticed. Grace had palmed the scale discreetly, so that no one else would see...."

-- Excerpts from Part of Your World, by @weather-mood

MY THOUGHTS & CC CREDITS

MY THOUGHTS

A [FREE SPACE] entry for @vamptember's MerMay VC event!

Just a heads up for those familiar with PoYW: for my gameplay, I've moved ALL of the siren scenes from the fic to Louis' official transformation at the end of the story, into Tidelines; so some of my next posts actually take place out of order from the fic itself.

What I really like about WeatherMood's PoYW fic is how clearly you can see the parallels between siren!Lestat's "deal" with Louis, and vampire!Lestat's "wedding vows" pitch. In PoYW, Les is the Sea Witch who makes a deal with the naive & lovestruck Little Mermaid--it's largely based on Hans Christian Anderson, but with a slight Disney twist. Louis knows Lestat is evil (he massacred Louis' whole ship crew), but Lou also has garbage taste in men. 🤦 But Lestat's deal throws Lou for a loop; it sounds too good to be true, cuz it is. Hans' Sea Witch is more forthcoming about their deal highly likely ending in utter doom; while Ursula deliberately withholds information (her plans to sabotage Ariel & keep her (& King Triton) as a polyp/slave).

Likewise, vampire!Lestat knew good & dang well that Lou had no idea what vampirism really was or entailed; going in blind as a bat into a damned eternity off of nothing but a few "tricks" he'd seen Lestat do (and ofc he compartmentalized seeing Les eat the priests). He turned Lou & babytrapped him so Lou would/could never leave him; just like siren!Lestat traps Louis in a bad deal he knows is anything but temporary/amphibious enough to let Lou to survive on land.

Lestat loves Louis, undoubtedly, but he's also a bonafide monster, ("Is my very nature that of the Devil?"). It's effed up, but Louis loves him, so what can you do. U_U At least Les isn't like Hans' Prince, who treated The Mermaid like trash & loved someone else entirely, only for The Mermaid to willingly die for him anyway, like GIRL. 🤦🤦🤦🤦🤦 Take that knife & go crazy! 🔪

CC CREDITS

- Stained glass windows by @deniisu-sims & Abuk0

- Toe claws & eel tails in beta by me

- (If anyone's wondering, I put Loustat in scale-patterned swimming briefs cuz in the fic they don't actually wear clothes. But my blog's PG-17 goshdarnit! 😅)

#sims 3 loustat #vamptember #sims 3 disney #sims 3 island paradise #sims 3 gameplay

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sheloves-toomuch · 3 months

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Introductions

The very beginning of this work in progress. This is a bit of a session zero, if you will. Introductions to Baldur's Gate 3 characters, which, are already known by most and can likely be skipped by many.

Zenosyne, the Bhaalspawn Siren makes her first appearance.

As always I'm open to suggestions, feedback, and thoughts.

(image not mine)

TW: blood and scary themes. Some language. The story will grow darker as it will borrow from elements of the game itself as well as the Grimm's fairytales, Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Mermaid, and dark folklore. These elements of the story will be evident later on.

Zenosyne had endured quite the day.

First, she had fallen limp from a smelly pod aboard an Ilithid ship- buckling at the knees as the hatch hissed with the release of pressure. Gravity brought her down with no effort, and she took several minutes to readjust her vision and her senses to the new environment. She knew only two things: one was her name- Zenosyne. She said it aloud to ground her thoughts. The other was that she had no memory of who she, Zenosyne, was. A sling of glass beads over her chest- some jewelry, sandals that were rubbing blisters into her now slimy ankles. Was that… Ilithid slime?.... A skirt fashioned from silk and the same glass beads that remained a theme throughout her attire. Very, very long curly hair of a deep, dark green that looked black in these dim shadows.

No, she knew three things. She also knew that her head was pounding with skull-splitting pain. It almost matched the loud clamor that was all around her. Pods were crushed, opened, tossed around in every direction as she felt her stomach elevate into her throat- her whole body suspended in the air for what felt like an eternity as the ship fell from the sky. A scream of terror that felt melodious in a twisted, dark way. The scent of blood mixing with the unfamiliar scent of Ilithid slime was still enough to leave her senses overwhelmed and her mouth watering.

Is that… normal?

She attempted to rise to her feet- struggling with her balance as she swayed with the forceful heaving of the crashing vessel. She rushed towards the exit of the dark room- towards any light she could see.

It was through the twisted, oddly fleshy and oozy walls of this ship that she was threatened- and then joined by a githyanki warrior- Lae’zel of Creche K’liir. Together they found a half-elven woman, a priestess of Shar known only as Shadowheart.

Zenosyne thought that perhaps she liked introductions and conversation- if she could make a guess about herself, she would have guessed in that moment that she was a very personable woman… but now was not the time to engage in frivolities. With their help, she managed to grab hold of the control panel of the ship. Both of her arms were jolting with the overpowering force of these foreign steering mechanisms that had lost all control. She felt helpless as the ship plummeted faster and faster, spinning out as she braced both feet to the console and held fast in a vain attempt to regain altitude. That was the last thing she remembered of their eventful descent to the beach. That, and a flash of light as she lay on her back- the sand scratching her bare skin as she looked into the night sky.

And the scent of blood- leaving her comforted.

Zenosyne’s head had pounded for days as she began to “collect” a band of survivors from the Ilithid vessel.

Lae’zel, the Githyanki warrior and Shadowheart begrudgingly made temporary allyship in order to figure out what had occurred. All they knew is that they had been infected with Ilithid tadpoles- their minds connected to one another telepathically. It felt intrusive.

Neither of them knew why Zenosyne had no memory of who she was. She decided at first to leave out the part where she was drawn to the scent of blood and the sound of broken bones. That didn’t seem appropriate for a first meeting. Then again, she didn’t know. So, she asked,

“Are you feeling any… pull to the violence? The carnage?”

“No more than usual” The githyanki answered plainly.

Shadowheart, the Sharran preistess had looked Zenosyne up and down with piercing green eyes- her long, black braid somehow perfectly intact despite their eventful trip. She crossed her chainmail laden arms and tilted her nose upwards in a judging fashion.

“You look like a worshipper of Umberlee.” She sneered. “And you are elven. Some kind of elf, anyway. Not like any that I’ve seen. You fit neither sun nor moon elf traits.” She added, her voice elegant and sure.

True, her skin wasn't pale like the moon elves, and her eyes were not golden like the sun elves. She must have spent much time in the sun- and in the ocean. The trinkets, beads, and shells she wore made this evident.

Umberlee….. Umberlee… yes, the “Bitch Queen.” Wavemother, they called her. Zenosyne tried to collect any memories of this- but beyond rudimentary knowledge of who the goddess was she was left empty.

“I see you worship Shar” Zenosyne said, her voice soft and quiet-- singsong even. It sounded calmer than she felt. She noted the silver and purple armour that adorned the woman with clear admiration of the fine craftsmanship. She stepped closer to have a look- but Shadowheart leaned back from her eager approach.

“A false goddess” Lae-zel hissed with judgement. Her armour was less covering- furs and leathers over heavily scarred green skin. The breastplate she wore studded with gems that made Zenosyne envious. She clearly felt she was dexterous enough in battle to forego a full suit. That pride alone made her intimidating.

This comment from Lae’zel, however, devolved into an argument between the two women which only stopped when they cleared the hill over the smoky wreckage. Zenosyne held up a hand- the beads of her attire were louder than she had hoped they would be. It caught the attention of the one whom she had hoped to assess from afar. A glowing figure stood in the sun, posture upright and proud as the figure turned quickly towards them.

This man was elven- that was for certain- his skin was whiter than lusted pearls, and his curly, voluminous hair even whiter. Zenosyne gasped as his red eyes met her own under concerned brows. His face was the most beautiful she had ever seen… although, she had only seen three now that had not been mangled upon the shore beyond recognition.

Suddenly, she wondered how she looked as he beckoned her over with a finger pressed to his lips. She smiled, stupidly, approaching him.

“Hello, are y-”

“Ssshhhhh” he quieted her. “There’s something in the brush there…. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others?”

She nodded, eager to help him. She inched her way towards the brush. A rustle of leaves and dry, singed branches were followed by a dashing boar. She cried out in a startle- but before she could say a word she was pinned to the ground- struggling with a dagger to her throat. She held it with surprising strength from her skin and looked at the perfect elf with disdain and fear. She thought to herself that he looked like the princes that were painted so beautifully in fairytale books. If he were not so scary.

“Shh… Shhh, shh.” His voice was low and calming. His actions were not. “Not another sound, not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours…” he spent a long time drawling the term of endearment. “You were on the ship, weren’t you?... Nod.”

She nodded.

“Very good.”

He was about to go on about the tadpoles, surely, when suddenly their minds collided. She saw him lurking in the shadows, beckoning people into the dark with him. Baldur’s Gate. She knew the streets. Somehow.

With a force that popped her ears she was flung out of his mind.

“WHAT WAS THAT?” He demanded, his previously soothing tones now ferocious.

“The tadpole. The illithid mindflayers implanted them into all of us.” She said, hurriedly.

He eased his grip in a few moments. He seemed to be thinking this through. In what looked like a fit of madness, he bent forward in a roaring laugh that just as quickly as it had come, vanished. “Of course it would turn me into a monster” he said, sighing. “You aren’t one of them, then.”

“Absolutely not!” she cried, defensively. His sudden break of emotion made her suspicious.

“Well, what a relief.” His voice was proud once again. His enunciation impeccable. “And to think I was going to decorate the ground with your innards… My name’s Astarion” he said, drawing out his name with poise and respect for each syllable. The thought of entrails on the shore consumed her mind for a few moments. Rubies splattered across the sand. She disregarded the thought.

“Oh, what a beautiful name. I’m Zenosyne. And it’s alright… I might have done the same thing were I in your position.”

Lae’zel disapproved of her statement, hoping for bloodshed.

He seemed confused by her name- but nodded nonetheless.

“More than just a pretty face, then” he added flirtatiously.

Zenosyne giggled, “Oh, you think I am?” Her voice was uncomfortably loud, betraying her susceptibility to his charms.

Shadowheart interrupted their discourse-

“Enough of that. We need to figure out where we will make camp, and where the nearest skilled healer is before we become mindflayers”

___

The next of their companions was met first only by a hand reaching out from a broken portal by the cliffs. Someone had cast a powerful spell to transport themselves somewhere, but had failed miserably.

“A hand? Anyone?” A nervous voice echoed as though it were inside empty halls, and his breaths were muffled by the electricity of the spell.

Zenosyne stood there, the others awaiting her reaction. She was thinking long and hard about what to do. She could cleave the hand from his wrist right there- a part of her wanted to…

No, no, she pushed the image from her brain and reached out to pull on the hand to no avail. She looked at each her companions one by one as if to ask for help, but none came to her aid. She waited.

Astarion sighed and rolled his eyes, “Alright” he said, clearly peeved. Together, they both tugged at the flailing hand. Astarion’s skin brushed up against hers- and it was ice cold. How… nice. Corpse like.

A man tumbled out of the portal. Handsome, tall, enrobed in purple and brown. His wavy brown tresses rested on broad shoulders, and his smile was framed by a well-kept beard. Eyes twinkling, he introduced himself as Gale, Wizard of Waterdeep.

“Forgive me, normally I’m much better at this kind of thing”

“What kind of thing is that?” Zenosyne asked.

“Introductions. But, before you think me most rude, allow me to make amends for our rushed acquaintance.” He took her hand, bowing deeply.

She smiled happily.

“Marvelous! You should join us as we attempt to rid ourselves of these parasites.”

And so it was, the party continued on to the Druid’s Grove, where many had already fled the chaos and bloodshed that had been inflicted by the followers of a new, terrifying cult that terrorized the local lands. It was here that the clang of swords rung out, and training commenced as the children tried to learn what they could. Zenosyne decided it was all too much to take in at once, instead asking around for a healer and for help.

But in the golden afternoon light that peeked through the rocks that towered overhead they would meet their next companion. A man stood poised to teach swordsmanship. His footwork was elegant and every movement was calculated. He was not only well trained, but he was very graceful. It was as though his feet moved of their own accord, separate from the quick movements of the blade. His free hand upturned, as though he were waiting patiently for someone to take it.

Zenosyne spoke up, “Excuse me?” her vice timid. When their eyes met the familiar crackle of energy met her brain- and their minds opened to one another. She saw visions of the hells. He saw the ship crash and the joining of strangers. He pushed her quickly from his thoughts. “You were on that godsforsaken ship yourself…” He whispered.

“We’re looking for a healer and some rest. It seems you are preparing to make haste away from this place, though, sir.”

“We are, in fact. Preparing these young ones so that they may stand a chance when the time comes…” his face turned dark before he eased his demeanor and introduced himself.

“Wyll Ravengard. Blade of Frontiers, at your service” he said warmly.

“THE Blade of Frontiers? Son of Duke Ravengard?” Astarion asked incredulously. “This day keeps getting more and more interesting.”

“You should join us” Shadowheart volunteered. “As we intend to survive this.”

“I will, gladly join you to rid us of this godsdamned infection…” he eagerly spoke. He then went on to say more. “However, before anything I must find one Karlach, a Tiefling that escaped Zariel’s rule. It is my imperative to kill her before I do anything else.”

One adventure led to another. They agreed to find this Karlach to gain the trust of this formidable ally.

___

In the damp forest well beyond the grove, and well beyond the ruins of a now abandoned village overrun with goblins- they found the Tiefling.

In a most odd turn of events, upon approaching her all of their minds collided with the now familiar pulse of psionic energy that connected them all. The tall, imposing Tiefling towered over them all as she explained with teary eyes that she had been forced into the blood war- and now that she had escaped the hells she would never return. She certainly looked the part- leathers torn to shreds over her terrifyingly strong body. The smell of sulfur and smoke was heavy on her skin.

“Zariel, the archdevil herself, gave me this-” Karlach thumped her fist to her glowing red chest- “an infernal engine as a heart. So hot that it burns with hellfire. So hot, in fact, that I’ve not touched a soul in years. I can’t.”

It made Zenosyne’s heart sad to see such a ferocious creature so heartbroken. The vulnerability of this Karlach was evident- and Zenosyne knew all too well what that felt like right now.

“I was nothing more than her favorite pet, really.” Karlach’s voice shaky.

“Karlach, join us!” Zenosyne said, touched by the tale. “We will do what we can to help you fix your heart.”

And so it was that this band of adventurers would begin their journey. Truly, a band of strange and unusual misfits.

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yeoldontknow · 2 years

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Fermata ❧ jhs ❧ M+

⤕ as part of the Once Upon A Fantasy collab with @jamaisjoons @yoonia @inkedtae @kookdiaries @kth1 and @opaljm | banner by the lovely @jamaisjoons | thank you to @xjoonchildx @inkedtae and @sugaurora for reading this over and being so incredibly encouraging. every single word of praise helped me get through this. i cannot express how grateful i am for you! ⤕ Pairing: Emperor!Hoseok x Court Musician!Reader (inspired by The Nightingale by Hans Christian Anderson) ⤕ Genre: fantasy retelling; fantasy au; soulmate au; romance, angst, smut, horror, angst with a happy ending ⤕ Rating: NC-17 ⤕ Summary: Hoseok has spent his whole life promising and swearing that one day he will marry you. After rejecting an arranged marriage with the High Princess from a neighboring kingdom, the scorned Princess uses her dark magic to curse Hoseok into falling in love with her in an effort to usurp the throne. Heartbroken, you flee the empire. When the world is plunged into permanent night, you start to know it is down to Hoseok's curse. When you receive word Hoseok has fallen deathly ill, you start to wonder if anyone can save him at all. ⤕ Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; graphic depictions of violence; graphic depictions of blood; discussion of death; graphic depictions of murder; depictions of hoseok dying; vaginal fingering; cum play; semi-public sex; loss of virginity; virgin sex; pain kink; size kink; impreg kink; impregnation; blow jobs; hand jobs; pregnancy kink; body worship; breast play; nipple play; creampie; dirty talk; unprotected sex; manipulation; betrayal; arranged marriage themes; crying; begging; marking; scratching; biting; politics; blood; cum swallowing; teasing; passionate sex; wedding night sex; depictions of ptsd; depictions of depression; loneliness; sadness ⤕ Word Count: 60K

Hoseok was born at the first crest of new dawn.

In the Emperor’s quarters he was placed into his mother’s waiting arms, the rich crimson slivers of morning light breaching the boreal curtains at the same moment her tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. Kneeling anxiously at her bedside, his father pressed his fingers to his lips in nervous silence.

A passing sensation of greed claimed him entirely, wanting the entire world, and all the light inside it, for the small bundle who only cried in the same instant he took his first breath. Words evaded him; too much rapture, too much pleasure, too much love and, all at once, the terrible, insurmountable fear the comfort of his family’s existence would soon disappear.

Hoseok’s mother, so content and at peace as her newborn son settled into the valley of her breasts, did not find any cause for worry. She had been blessed with an angel, and angels ride the wings of sunlight. Instead, she smiled at her husband, casting a reassuring glance as she pressed a kiss to the soft tuft of hairs at his head where his crown would eventually rest.

READ MORE ON AO3

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pigeonwhumps · 3 months

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The Little Android

Everything taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

My entry for the Once Upon a Blade anthology by @thewhumpyprintingpress (which is really good btw, you should buy it if you can) which I've been meaning to post for months.

An android whump retelling of The Little Matchgirl by Hans Christian Anderson.

1.2k

CWs: android whump, torture, dehumanisation, slavery, denial of basic needs, threats of death, implied major character death

The android sits down against the wall of a crowded metal walkway, box of batteries in its hand. One arm is made up of loose wires and artificial nerve endings left when the attachment was ripped from its socket, and as they brush against the wall they send a jolt of pain through its systems, almost causing it to drop the box. If only its owner had deactivated its pain circuits after the experiment was completed, but he thought they would be useful to control it. And as a synthetic life form, it does not have the right to deactivate them itself.

It needs to sell these batteries. Oh, they look so tempting, they could power it for the day it’s sure, it would have constant heating and a properly working voice and its power wouldn’t flicker out so often. But it’ll get credits if it sells them, and it’s therefore less likely to end up on the scrap heap.

It tries for eight point seven hours, but it doesn’t make a single credit. Passers-by barely give it a second glance. If it’s lucky. Some step around it with a wide berth, giving it dirty looks and whispering behind their hands (sometimes not even whispering, it doesn’t matter, it’s not a human after all). A few teenagers make a game of tugging at its exposed nerve endings to see who can make it scream the loudest, and nobody stops them, they just look annoyed at the noise. It’s moved on by security more than once.

Finally the lights in the station switch to night mode, dimming and turning slightly orange, reducing the blue light. Usually the android would adjust its vision to compensate so it could keep working with ease but that function no longer works.

The place it was last moved along to, where it is now, gets almost no night traffic. There’re no shops or clubs or living hubs, there’s no reason to come here unless you’re maintenance staff, who can’t, or won’t, buy from it anyway. There’s no point staying.

Except if it goes back to the shop with no credits again, it will be deemed useless and stripped for parts. Maybe even without its pain circuits being deactivated first.

Its power flickers out for a few seconds. When it restarts, the android is on the floor. It doesn’t know how long it was out, which is unnerving but common recently.

Maybe just a little boost of battery power. Just to keep it going.

It chooses a battery, unwraps it with stiff, creaky fingers, and plugs it into a port on its side.

The power zaps around its body and it feels a simulation of warmth for the first time in so long. It’s almost comfortable.

In the distance, it sees its makers’ workshop. They’re laughing and joking together as they start up the charger, preparing to test parts that the android knows are custom-made. It used to help with the more dangerous parts of the job, before they ran out of money and were forced to sell it.

It feels so warm and cosy, and as the light envelopes it, it opens its mouth to speak.

The light disappears. The warmth disappears. The android tries to hang on but it must have had a power surge in its decision-making module.

It feels even colder now. Any warmth is gone, any semblance of care from someone else. What does it have in its life, really? No-one does anything except order it around and stimulate its pain circuits. Nobody even interferes when the pain is malicious. Not anymore.

It takes out another battery. If it’s going to be scrapped anyway it might as well make it worth it.

As soon as it’s plugged in, the station disappears. It’s inside a charging station, one of the ones for VIPs and their androids. It had a job cleaning these, once. Mobile charging packs, as much premium oil as the android can drink, oiled joints, comfortable places to stand or sit… it has dreamed about them, sometimes. It was allowed to drink the last dregs of oil and it really was premium.

This one is busy with humans in fancy clothes and the latest models, so much more advanced than itself. No-one is paying attention to the android, and it walks through the central aisle, approaching a serving station. It reaches out a hand for an oil can, wires jittering in anticipation at the taste, the feel of its body afterwards—

The illusion fades.

The android is left cold and alone on the floor of the space station. There’s not much use for softness for androids but oh, how it wishes. It’s been so long since it had oil, only getting just enough lubrication to stop it from rusting entirely. It doesn’t deserve anything more until it starts to be useful. But it won’t be, and it just feels empty.

It’s startled out of its reverie by a beep beep beep of warning. Its power is depleting even faster than normal. If it doesn’t get to a charging point soon it’ll power down for good.

Surprisingly, the android finds itself not caring overly much anymore. What does it have to go back to, after all?

The android plugs in another battery.

It’s on a starship deck in night mode. The observation deck. It’s always wished to be stationed on one of these. It’s charging against a wall, sitting down, and it can see the stars.

They’re bright spots against the darkness, mostly, but in the distance it can see nebulas, colourful clouds of dust and stars. That’s when it realises its vision is fixed. It can see properly, for the first time is years. Who bothered to fix that?

Then reality hits it. Nobody did. The android here, the one with the fixed vision and someone who cares and such a good posting, it doesn’t exist. This is a dream. An illusion. Something it’ll never get.

It touches its reflection in the glass, feeling a pang from somewhere inside that shouldn’t exist. It’s been fixed, like a patchwork, different colours and textures of paintwork, but it’s more than it will ever really have, more than it deserves. Engine oil leaks slightly from the edges of its vision sensors. Good quality oil too. It really is getting the best on this dreamship.

It can feel itself fading. Its consciousness is fading. And it’s nowhere near a power socket really, so it’ll deactivate permanently this time.

But it doesn’t have anything to lose. There’s no-one who cares, no-one who won’t take it apart for scrap as soon as it returns with no credits and barely any batteries. No-one will mourn it if it stays here. Someone will take the batteries and someone will take its parts and they’ll sell both but they won’t care. What’s the point?

The android sinks back down, leaning back against its comfortable charging wall. It closes its eyes for the last time to an exploding supernova.

The science doesn’t really make sense. But it’s far too tired to care.

#whump #whump writing #android whump #android whumpee #robot whumpee #robot whump #scifi #science fiction #the little match girl #fairy tale retelling

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the-gay-disney-games · 5 months

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Round 1A: The Little Mermaid (1989) vs. The Great Mouse Detective (1986)

Propaganda:

The Little Mermaid:

“It's an allegory about transitioning under the Benjamin Standards actually.”

“Like. c'mon. the original fairytale its based on was literally written by a closeted gay man as a metaphor for how his love for another man was doomed. also ursula is a drag queen”

“She's trans-human, or something. The Queer experience of wanting to know what else is out there, if there are people like you, like you in your soul, put there. Of wanting to go to a place where you are safe to ask everything you want to ask and be whatever way you want to be.”

“any movie howard ashman writes lyrics for is gonna be pretty gay”

“The trans metaphor is right there, guys!! Plus Ursula being based on a Drag Queen. And most importantly: Howard Ashman.”

“The original story is about Hans Christian Andersen being in love with a man but knowing he could never be with him. And the movie itself is very queer. You could read queerness into Ariel’s fascination with the human world and wanting to be part of that world rather than the one she “belongs” in. Being willing to cut off contact and move far away from your family because you’ll never be accepted by them, especially after a parent violently rejects something important to or about you. Ursula.”

“a lot of ink has been spilled on why the little mermaid is a metaphor for internalised homophobia, with hans christian anderson's own thoughts regarding his bisexuality coming through in the character of the princess (ariel) who wans to be a real woman so she can be with the man she loves. this also lends itself ot trans readings in the mdoern day. of course, the 1989 film was written by howard ashman, himself a gay man, and it is possible to read the alternate, happier ending to this film adaptation as a hopeful retelling for gay people towards the end of the 20th century. its gay”

“Part of Your World??? Ariel literally transitioning from a mermaid to a human. bYE”

“Girl have you Seen or Heard the behind the scenes of Ursula”

“Ursula literally being based on the drag queen Divine”

“The whole plot is a trans allegory imo. Ariel feeling like she’s be happy with “just one day on land” screamsssss trans person wanting to be seen as their gender. Plus she literally got “bottom surgery” lmao. (Tl;dr: I’m trans and it’s my fav so I say so. /j)”

“hans christian anderson wrote the little mermaid as an allegory for being gay. therefore these films are literally gay. disney swept it under the rug but i will not. also that "i can't believe we're both goth and trans" post”

The Great Mouse Detective:

“The protagonist, Basil, and antagonist, Ratigain, are practically bitter exes. Basil literally has a giant photo of his “”””enemy”””” above his fireplace, come on!”

“Vincent Price as Ratigan is so obviously over the top queer coded, but this is one of the few Disney movies where the protagonist, Basil, is also queer coded. It’s more subtle, but all Sherlock Holmes type characters are queer coded. Also the movie ends with Basil asking Dawson, this movie’s Watson, to stay and live with him so yeah”

“As per usual, Basil (Holmes) is V queer. Confirmed bachelor, immediately ready to play happy homes with Watson, Ratigan is Basil's flamboyant ex.”

“i can't explain it but basil the mouse is gay and so is the vincent price rat”

“It’s based on Sherlock Holmes so right away the Basil/Dawson relationship is. Very queer. Also Ratigan is a queer-coded villain.”

#polls #queerest disney movie tournament #round 1a #disney #the little mermaid #the great mouse detective

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mythicalgeek · 3 months

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My thoughts on the little mermaid live action...

The little mermaid was one of my favorite movies growing up, and even though the live action was not perfect and had the same problems as a lot of remakes, it was better then I expected and even with it's flaws, at least the movie carried the themes of the original tale and had some heart. The second half is really where the film starts to pick up and I like some of the chances to the land arc.

The ending acully made me a little emotional because even though it's a happy ending there was also a sence of melancholy. Ariel has everything she ever wanted and is following her own path, but she has a moment to mourn the live she is leaving behind. It's a part of growing up and I like how film show how the little mermaid is a young woman's coming of age journey, both the joy and sadness of it.

And the part where Jodi gave Halle the fork, passing down the magic of Ariel got me right in the feels.😭

I like all the references to the original fairytale by Hans Christian Anderson like the quote in the beginning of the film and the joke about killing the prince.

Ariels mermaid tale is everything I hope it would, it's just so beautiful and magical. I also love how they styled Hailey Bailey's hair, the dreadlocks with loose strands of hair made her look like a sea goddess and I love it.

Halle Bailey was perfect as Ariel and so was Jonah hauer-king as Eric, and there honestly the best part of the film.The chemistry between them was adorable and reminded me of Ella and Kit from Chinderella 2015. I also love how the film highlights how Ariel and Eric are kindred spirits, both longing for freedom and to be understood.

Honestly it's nice to have a romantic fairytale again and I'm glad this movie embraced the love story and even improve it from the original movie. (not that OG Ariel and Eric where necessarily bad or anything but the romance was updated in a way that works for the modern-day without disrespecting the value of the love story.)

I really enjoyed the film and even though there are things I didn't like, the film got enough right and at least understood the core of this tale and had some sincerity, as a fan of the original that's all I could have ask for.

#the little mermaid #halle bailey #jonah hauer king #disney #princesses #romance #disney princesses #disney plus #the little mermaid ariel and eric #hans christian andersen #princess ariel #mermaid #romance movies #ariel #ariel and eric

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thenoeyebunnynobunsusmaingallery · 1 month

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[Limbus Company Oc] : Anderson The quiet type sinner. Anderson rarely to speak to people, mostly uses sigh and body language to talk to people. Does she mute? Or she just rather not to speak?

Sinner No. 13 Gender : Female Age : Around 25 years old Height : 162 cm. Literary source : The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen

[Warning : Using google translated to help the writing]

Anderson is the youngest daughter of the owner of MR Corp (Marine Researching Company), an organization that researches marine life and the environment. Ann doesn't have much talent in research. So she chose to work as a singer for a seaside theater and became famous because of her beautiful voice. Her family did not object at all. However, when Ann lived on land, she has met Hans, a man who was a worker in a seaside theater. While everyone looked up at Ann as being different because she has a position that is many times higher and will put pressure on her and have expectations of her. But Hans saw Ann as his friend and always giving encouragement when she has problems, which makes Ann fell in love with Hans very much. But she knew that her family would never accept him because he was just a worker. So she refused to tell the truth.

One day, a new manager came to work at MR Corp, named Vanesia. She is talented and can handle problems. along with discovering new energy during the researching. This made Ann's father trust her to do a lot of work and that gave Ann the opportunity to get to know her and become close.

One day, Han had an accident at work, both of his legs are broken. As a result, he needed to be hospitalized for many years. Ann's mental state didn't improve under pressure and Hans was not here to help her. It was causing her to vent to Vanesia instead. She promises to help poor Ann and she can make medicine that can heal Hans's legs back to normal. But the ingredients for make the medicine required Ann's voice. Which Ann accepted the deal in order to save the man she loves. When she got the medicine and brought it to Hans, the result turned him into an Abnormality before attacking people in the hospital. Ann quickly flees back to MR Corp, only to find out that Vanesia has tricked her into using her voice to unlock the voice code her father set up to keep the company's secret information.

Ann lost everything: her family, her career, her lover, and her voice. She ran away from it all until she found the Limbus Company and later became a sinner.

#oc #limbus company oc #limbus company #Anderson #Limbus oc

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iuteamstarcandy · 8 months

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IU’s book recommendations

There are lots of books IU has recommended in recent years. Links have been provided for the ebooks that you can legally read for free online.

Fredrik Backman - A Man Called Ove

L. Frank Baum - The Wonderful Wizard of Oz [Shoes, NOT Red Shoes*]

Lewis Carroll - Alice in Wonderland [Twenty-three]

Lewis Carroll - Through the Looking Glass [Red Queen]

Paulo Coelho - Brida

Osamu Dazai - No Longer Human

Fyodor Dostoyevsky - The Brothers Karamazov

Gong Ji Young - Very Light Feather

Kaori Ekuni - Falling Into the Evening

Hermann Hesse - Demian

Hwang Sun Won - Rain Shower [The Shower]

Hwang Jeong Eun - 파씨의 입문 Introduction to Paschi/Passy

Hwang Jeong Eun - Savage Alice

Im Sol Ah - 최선의 삶 The Best Life

Jonas Jonasson - The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared

Byron Katie - Loving What Is: Four Questions That Can Change Your Life

Kim Hye Jin - 딸에 대하여 About my Daughter

Kim Sung Jong - 계엄령의 밤 The Night of Martial Law

Kim Young Ha - 오직 두 사람 Only Two People

Kwon Yeo Seon - 레몬 Lemon

Lee Hye Rin - 열정 같은 소리하고 있네 You Call It Passion

Lee Kyung Hye - One Day I Died

Lee Seok Won - 보통의 존재 Common Being

Milan Kundera - The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Haruki Murakami - Hear the Wind Sing

Guillaume Musso - Will You be There?

Friedrich Nietzsche - Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Ito Ogawa - Have Some Warmth~

Ito Ogawa - The Restaurant of Love Regained

Park Min Gyu - Castella

Park Min Gyu - 죽은 왕녀를 위한 파반느 Pavane for a Dead Princess

Mirjam Pressler - Bitter Chocolate

Françoise Sagan - Do You Like Brahms?

Leo Tolstoy - Ivan the Fool [Glasses]

José Mauro de Vasconcelos - My Sweet Orange Tree [Zeze]

Virginia Woolf - Jacob’s Room

Virginia Woolf - Mrs. Dalloway [Black Out]

(*Note: IU’s The Red Shoes did use the Hans Christian Anderson fairytale as a motif, but IU didn’t write that song, therefor it was not included above)

Sources: IU’s fancafe, news etc.

#IU #book recommendations

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thefloatingstone · 1 year

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I love your post about the origin of the animated The Little Mermaid's music. That does explain why Part of Your World feels like a coming out song.

It's also believed that The Little Mermaid was written by Hans Christian Anderson as an allegory for falling in love with another man. But I'm not sure if that's confirmed to be true or not.

Ah yes! I have heard that as well! i don't know if Hans Christian Anderson wrote it with such a delibirate intention or not, but it IS a pretty certain fact by scholars and such that he was DEFINITELY gay himself. And as such, it's impossible to read the original Little mermaid, a story about an "other" creature falling in love with a man only to see him fall in love with a human woman and then DYING out of sadness, and not take it as the gayest little story ever written.

The Disney Little Mermaid is the same story but written with an optimism that the American gay community desperately needed in the late 80s and early 90s. One where Ariel's father not only changes his mind about who his daughter loves, but in the end the only reason she is able to stay with Eric is because her father gave her his blessing and allowed her to be who she really was. Which meant she could marry the man she loved, live happily ever after, and humans and merpeople could coexist.

There's a reason the movie ends with the lyrics

Now we can walk! Now we can run! Now we can stay all day in the sun! Just you and me, And I can be, Part of Your World.

It's a giant wish fulfillment film not only because Ariel and Eric end up together, but more important because Triton accepts his daughter at the end.

#C-Puff answers

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aralezinspace · 1 year

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You said that you were taking Sandman fan fiction requests. I hope this one is a good idea: Reader is a preschool teacher who plans to read the Hans Christian Andersen story "Ole Lukoie" to her class, which she mentions to Morpheus since the titular character seems to be a bit similar to him. The day this happens, Morpheus shows up to visit the class to surprise the Reader and answer some of the kids' questions about him.

Storytime

A/N: omg you have NO IDEA how giddy I was to get this request! I work with toddlers and this is TOTALLY the kind of thing I'd do if they were older than 2 or 3 xD my 4 year olds from two years ago would have loved this. Thank you for sending this, hope you enjoy!

Here's a link to the full story of Ole Lukoie

~~Requests for Morpheus and the Doctor (9-13) are open!~~

The floor of my living room looked like a classroom exploded. To be fair, it was kind of true- I was working on my lesson plan for the upcoming week, and all my papers were spread out on the floor around me, my laptop perched on my legs. A mug of black coffee was on the table behind me.

It was almost midnight.

I felt the hairs on my arms stand up along with the rush of air that announced my boyfriend had arrived- as if “boyfriend” could encompass everything that came with being in a relationship with Dream of the Endless.

His eyebrows flew into his hair as he took in the pre-K lesson carnage. “Beloved,” he began slowly, “It is rather late, why are you still working?”

“My lesson plan is due tomorrow for observation. I’m almost done, I just have to get everything organized.” Dream watched me close my laptop and stack the papers in their specific order. No doubt he was ready and waiting to make me rest the minute I zipped up my bag.

I walked back into the living room, where Morpheus immediately pulled me onto the couch next to him. Exhaustion settled over me like a blanket as I curled into his side. “I admire your dedication to your work and your students,” he purred, “But you need rest. I refuse to let you burn yourself out.”

I pouted at him, my mind still whirling with everything I needed to do. “What do you have planned for the little ones?” he asked softly, gently rubbing my back. A smile touched my face.

“We’re learning about different fairytales.” I giggled somewhat nervously as I realized I was about to explain my fairytale lesson to the Prince of Stories. “Do a different one every day for the next two weeks- all the usuals, Goldilocks, Three Little Pigs, Rapunzel…” I giggled again.

“I found one I hadn’t heard of, by Hans Christian Anderson. Ole Lukoie.” It may have been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw a knowing smirk touch Dream’s face. “The main character sounds strangely similar to someone I know- a magical being that controls dreams and helps people fall asleep with sand… You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “What ever do you mean, my love?” I gave him a playful smack on his firm chest; the fact that I didn’t break my hand on his immovable form was a sign of just how relaxed he was. “You know exactly what I mean, oh inspirational Dream Lord, he who puts ballads and epics in peoples’ brains.” Morpheus laughed again, this one full and beaming. God he was so beautiful when he laughed.

“And when do you plan to share this tale with your students?”

“Thursday.” I paused, a suspicious little thought taking hold. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” was his almost immediate response. I could see the wheels turning in his mind behind star-dusted eyes. He stared straight ahead for a moment before giving me another mischievous smirk.

“Alright,” I huffed playfully, settling back into his chest with a yawn. “Keep your secrets.” He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead as my eyes fluttered closed.

“Sleep well, beloved.”

~~~

The week passed normally, both in the waking world and the Dreaming, and I had almost forgotten my conversation with Morpheus about fairytales. I was too preoccupied with writing my kids’ report cards and handling the daily chaos. One kid went home with a stomach bug, another was absent with pink eye, they ran wild on the playground, it never ended.

Thursday came, and I woke feeling especially well rested, no doubt Morpheus’ doing. His scent still lingered on my blankets; he must have spent most of the night in the waking. I went through the motions of my morning routine, putting my coffee in a travel mug so I could get to my classroom a little earlier.

My kids started coming in about an hour after I did- time always got away from me when I started prepping and organizing my room. Only a few were home sick, and the rest seemed in good spirits, coughs and runny noses aside.

They played until morning snack, when I usually read a story. All eleven of them sat at the table with a small cup of pretzels, eating and talking loudly to each other. I pulled out a copy of Ole Lukoie I had printed. “Alright my friends!” I called. Eleven pairs of eyes looked up at me, at least for a second before going back to their pretzels. I was about to go into the story when there was a knock on my door. “Oh! I wonder who that is!”

I opened the door to my principal… and my boyfriend, smiling no less. “Hello!” she began with a wave, “This young man said he was visiting your room as a guest reader!” Morpheus stepped into the room and hovered awkwardly by the cubbies.

I choked on my snort of laughter at “young man”; the coughing fit gave me a moment to think of a response. Poor Morpheus looked concerned that I was about to hack up a lung. My principal left with another cheery wave. My kids stared at Morpheus with wide eyes, trying to make him make sense in their four-year-old brains. I took a breath and feel back on the age-old pre-K advice: just roll with it.

I beckoned him to the front of the room and said, “Yes, I forgot to tell you I was bringing in a guest reader today. This, is Mr. Morpheus. Let’s say hello!” He gave them a nod as eleven versions of “Hello Mr. Morpheus” came from pretzel-filled mouths.

I passed him the copy of the story with a beaming, slightly unhinged grin. “Mr. Morpheus is going to read our story today, so let’s show him your best listening ears.” I pulled out one of the tiny plastic chairs and sat with my kids, mirroring their eager anticipation.

Dream looked uncomfortable for only a moment before the Prince of Stories arrived in full glory. He cleared his throat and began to read:

“There is nobody in the world who knows so many stories as Ole-Luk-Oie, or who can relate them so nicely. In the evening, while the children are seated at the table or in their little chairs, he comes up the stairs very softly, for he walks in his socks, then he opens the doors without the slightest noise, and throws a small quantity of very fine dust in their eyes, just enough to prevent them from keeping them open, and so they do not see him.”

His soothing, rumbling voice had them instantly spellbound, hanging on to his every word, pretzels long forgotten. My kids were never this comfortable or well-behaved with guests, but some part of them must have known Morpheus to be the one from their dreams, keeping watch over their sleep.

I was just as entranced, staring at him with a dopey, love-struck smile as he worked his magic. He would occasionally glance up from the page and make eye contact with one or two kids before his gaze landed on me, then returned to the page. He was relaxed, at ease, and dare I say, enjoying himself. His deep blue eyes were practically glittering.

The kids all clapped when he was finished- I have no shame admitting that I did as well. “Right friends, what do we say to Mr. Morpheus for reading us a story?”

“THANK YOOUUU!!”

I laughed and glanced bashfully at Dream as he closed the book. Both corners of his mouth were lifted in a small but genuine smile. I could tell he had that glowing warmth in his chest, the kind that only came from being openly adored by a gaggle of toddlers. He practically glowed under the fluorescent classroom lights, reminding me in that moment that gods and Endless thrived on being shown love and kindness as much as humans did.

I sniffed and got a hold on my emotions that were yelling for me to wrap Dream in my arms and shower him in praise, affection, kisses and adoration. Listening to his voice for ten minutes straight and watching him with the kids I loved like my own had gotten me kind of worked up. “Now then, does anyone have questions for Mr. Morpheus about our story?” A few raised their hands. “Yes, Cody.”

“Mr. Mow-ee-us, guess what! My brother has a sandbox like in the story!” Dream looked perplexed; I stood next to him as backup.

“That’s really cool!” I responded for him. “Sarah, what’s your question?”

“Teacher is Mr. Morbus your boyfriend?”

I froze, feeling his eyes on me. I should have seen this coming. I let out a small sigh. “Yes, Mr. Morpheus is my boyfriend.”

“Are you gonna be married? My mommy’s married-“

I stopped them before that line of inquiry could go any further. “Okay, David you had a question?”

“Do you have a cat? I have two cats at home.”

“No,” Dream began somewhat haltingly. “I do have a raven, a bird. His name is Matthew.”

“That’s a silly name!” one kid shouted. A cup of pretzels clattered to the floor.

“Okay, one more question before recess. Elena?”

“Why do you have a really long coat?”

“Because… I find it comfortable, and it’s part of my job.”

Before another kid could shout a question, there was another knock at the door and Mike, our hall monitor, stuck his head in. “Who’s ready to go outside?” he called with a smile.

“Alright friends, get your coats and go with Mr. Mike, have fun!” A stampede of four-year-olds thundered to the door, some of them shouting goodbye to Morpheus as they left.

Silence descended as the last child left. I took a huge breath and sat on the table, smiling at Dream. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and the gleam in his eye was positively devious. I laughed and said, “You look entirely too pleased with yourself, love.”

Morpheus sat next to me on the table, our shoulders lightly brushing together. His warmth was comforting and helped calm my spike of adrenaline from the transition to recess. He murmured, “Your students are certainly… precocious.” I snorted at his choice of words. “I can see why you love them so much.”

“Yea,” I sighed with an adoring smile. “They drive me up a wall sometimes, but I really do love them.” I gave him a little nudge. “Thank you for coming, the kids really enjoyed it. I enjoyed it, listening to you read.” Dream pressed a kiss to my temple and my whole body glowed with warmth.

“It was my pleasure,” he breathed, “And I would be glad to read to you any time you desire.”

“I just may take you up on that.” I heaved myself off the table and started picking up empty cups. “I need to get ready for the afternoon; you can stay if you want, I’ll just be working. But, you know what that’s like.”

Morpheus chuckled and headed to the door. “I would like that very much, but I must return to the Dreaming. I have some work of my own to finish before I see you tonight.”

“Fair enough.” I grabbed his hand and gave him a deep kiss before he could leave. “I love you, see you tonight.”

He took my hand and ghosted his lips over my knuckles, the gesture sending waves of tingles up my arm to my entire body. “Until tonight, my love.”

#The Sandman #The Sandman fanfic #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #Morpheus fanfic #my stuff

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swagreecrow · 2 months

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Yo Stefany

@inspiredwriter @kawaiibunga @hedgehog-dreamer @luna-tmnt @dai-su-kiss @levana-art @razzy-zaz @raphy-the-turtle @raphaelsrightarm @donatello-writes @donnies-fake-eyebrows @rainbow-squirrels-7 @raisans-art @akarihamato04 @wolfroks @another-tmnt-writer @angel-of-the-redacted @android-cap-007 @androgynousenemydetective @lordfreg @psiquic-a-blog @imaginashon @imababblekat @imthegreenfairy86 @angelicdavinci @all-things-tmnt @red-knight-raphael @kathaynesart @rexim-djm @reptile-eye @red-knight-raphael @reddenedsais-inactive @lazyafgurl @theroachsalad-blog @thelostandforgottenangel @mikey-angelo-hamato @mikeyshulagirl @miss-andromeda @mishacakes @mishajeans @venisdemilo @baraturts @foulbonkcolorempath-blog @dragonfairy19 @tmnt-life-of-a-terrapin @tmntvenisxleo @nomonoma @notjustdragonspages @lyzuka @coffeestation @donnies-the-encyclopedia @rl800

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monstergirlgang · 7 months

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Monster Girl October (tarot deck) day 20: The Little Mermaid from Hans Christian Anderson's fairytales as the Star card!

The star card is associated with hope, spiritual rebirth, transcendence, and wish fulfillment. In the original story, the little mermaid needs the prince's love in order to gain a human soul for herself. The spiritual, courageous, and transcendent nature of her plot line makes her our wishful star card!

#the little mermaid #hans christian andersen #fairytales #inktober #tarot #mermaid #the star #tarot card #tarot cards #drawtober #artober #drawlloween #monstober #ink #traditional art #sketchbook #monster girls #monsters #fairy tales

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