#kind of a clusterfuck where i still don't want to have to manage all of this messy shit. i just want to be on hrt and feel like a person

[karatekels]

Mediation - Chapter 1 - TIGmas Day #9

Let's keep the ball rolling with @thedeadsingforme's TIGmas request! Sorry for the delay - this is a chatty bunch and writing the scenes is taking far longer than I'd anticipated.

The Prologue is available here, with this story's summary and tw's at the top (I don't want to repeat the same clutter on every chapter, though chapter-specific tw's will be included).

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Mediation

Chapter 1: Deviation

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 – 1996 –

Reader’s POV:

“Where’s the file for the Whitman case?”

Terry wordlessly hands you the file, not looking up from his computer. He’d been on edge all day today, and you’re not sure why. You two have whittled down the number of cases between you, and crime in the city overall had dropped to a somewhat manageable level. You bite the inside of your cheek; the years had taught you when to press Terry about something and when to let sleeping dogs lie.

You continue to work in relative silence, the soft jazz music between you as always. A group of officers comes in from walking their beats, some of the last remnants of the old guard – those that had survived the absolute clusterfuck of 1993. Dylan, Frankie, Devlin… people that had either gone dirty or gotten caught in the crossfire.

You’d been undercover at the time, and hadn’t resurfaced until after everything had gone down, barely being there for the final remnants of the aftermath. Terry had been… well, a mess, really, though that was no surprise. You had left the majority of his healing up to Anna, his girlfriend at the time, knowing that he was unlikely to seek comfort in a police officer considering what had happened. It had given you time to put together the pieces of what had happened without having to bring Terry into it.

Sometimes you’re still half-surprised he agreed to keep working with you when he had come back from his department-mandated vacation.

The officers approach your workspace on their way to the kitchen, and you overhear snippets of their conversation:

“–reduced his sentence when they found out Devlin had put some of his shit on him–”

“–served his time, paid his dues, got out a few days ago–”

“–Ewing called me last night, wanted to see if a bunch of us could get together–”

Your eyes immediately dart to Terry watching his face harden as he glares at nothing. That would certainly explain his mood, then…

“Top up your coffee for you? I’m heading in there anyway,” you say brightly, pretending that you haven’t heard anything unusual. Terry gives you a jerky nod in response, his jaw clenched, and you pick up his mug on your way into the kitchen.

The years had not helped Terry let go of his grudge against Cash Ewing, not even when it had come out that his more severe, violent charges had been fabricated by Devlin to cover his own ass. If anything, his anger had only simmered over the years, to the plot that any reference to the other man was enough to sour Terry’s mood. He had been hurt by Frankie’s betrayal, but somehow Cash’s had hurt him far more deeply. You presume it was because it was the first betrayal, and that the two of them had been best friends in addition to partners.

Kind of like the two of you were now.

“Hey, L/N! You going to Hank’s tonight?” one of the officers asks as you enter the kitchen, busying yourself with making coffee.

“What’s going on at Hank’s?” you ask innocently, though you can guess.

“Cash Ewing is finally a free man! We’re celebrating!”

“You never met the guy, did you Y/N?”

“No, I was his replacement. What’s the deal with him?” you ask, desperate to hear an opinion about the man that wasn’t tainted by anger.

“Well, he looks like McCain, only 10 years older and half as mature,” one chimes in with a chuckle.

“Obviously he can’t come back to work, but he’s moved into a new place in town and is looking for work. Seems like he’s got his life back on track, all things considered.”

You hum noncommittally as you pour the fresh coffee. You’re happy for the man, truly – everyone deserved a second chance, and he had done his time and seemed to have maintained good relationships with his colleagues (with one notable exception).

“Always nice to hear the system works. Hope you all have fun!” You nod to the men on your way out, hoping that you’ve given Terry enough time to recover from the news. He gives you a quiet ‘thank you’ as you place his mug on his desk, so presumably the worst has passed. You take your seat at your own desk, content to leave him to his thoughts. He would come back to himself fully in due time; he always did.

“Do you wanna do something tonight?” he asks you suddenly, and as you look over at him you can see the thinly veiled pain in his expression. Your heart goes out to Terry – for all his bravado, your years working together had taught you that he still had a soft heart buried beneath it, and that he craved affection and connection with others even as he tried to keep people at arm’s length. There was a reason he hadn’t been serious with anyone since Anna, and that was almost two years ago now.

“Sure,” you reply casually, not wanting him to put his walls up; you know he will if he feels vulnerable. “Deja Vu, or what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking Hank’s, actually.”

You do some quick thinking, weighing your options. You know you probably should tell Terry that Cash will be there, and that when you do he’ll call the whole thing off. He’s made his feelings about forgiveness with respect to Cash Ewing very clear over your time together.

…But maybe if he came face-to-face with his former friend, he’d have to deal with all this. You’re not expecting him to make up with the man, or even have an amicable conversation with him, but at the very least, he would have some closure. You desperately want Terry to move past this, knowing how heavily it’s weighed on him over the past five years. Hoping you won’t regret your decision, you give him a warm smile.

“Hank’s sounds perfect.”

Cash’s POV:

He’s nervous as he finishes another beer.

Everyone that had shown up tonight had welcomed him back into the fold with open arms, but he’d expected that. These were the same guys that had returned his letters, given him the benefit of the doubt, even visited him in prison on a few occasions.

But the one he most wanted – no, needed – forgiveness from hadn’t shown.

He can’t say he’s surprised.

Terry McCain had a select set of morals that he stuck to like glue. He saw things in black and white, and refused to look at things more deeply than that. The law was right, crime was wrong. You were either with him or against him; there was no middle ground.

Apparently their years apart hadn’t changed that.

Cash had clung to the memories of two people during his five long years behind bars: His mother and Terry McCain. It was hard to say who his actions had disappointed more. His every waking moment had been spent trying to better himself, to figure out how to make amends, both in the future and while he was still behind bars.

Once his mother had died, three years into his sentence, his need to redeem himself in his former partner’s eyes had become something of an obsession. His mother had gone to her grave before he could look her in the eyes and ask for forgiveness, and he’ll be damned if he lets the same thing happen with the man he still considers a brother.

He twists the silver horseshoe ring on his finger, a gift from the late Mrs. McCain. Terry had brought him around every St. Patrick’s Day, and the older woman had adored him immediately, pleased that her son had a capable man watching his back at work. She was more overtly affectionate than his own mother had been, and had gifted him the ring to welcome him into the family. She’d told him it was a symbol of good luck to keep him safe, a thank you for doing the same for her son.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t saved him from himself.

“Hey man, I gotta get going. It was great to see you again – don’t be a stranger, alright?”

Cash claps the officer on the back, giving him a curt nod by way of dismissal, turning back to his drink. The novelty of his return had apparently worn off, his former coworkers heading home or moving to their own discussions, likely about work. He wasn’t privy to such conversations anymore, yet another consequence for the poor choices of his past.

The front door opens, and through the throng of officers leaving the bar he sees the unmistakable figure of his best friend, tucked away into a long, dark coat, a female officer at his side. The short woman manages to keep his attention as they walk over to a booth, though her eyes glance over at him more than once.

So, you know who he is, and what that means for Terry.

He lets the two of you be for the moment, considering his next move. The presence of a woman could either help or hinder him – Terry’s mother had drilled into him the importance of behaving oneself in front of women, which could temper a potentially explosive reaction. On the other hand, Terry tended to be about overzealous when it came to protecting women, especially those he considered ‘his.’ While he’s uncertain of the extent of your relationship – his eyes look over at the pair of you, and he notes the way that you’re positioned in the booth: close, but with some distance between you, suggesting a trusting but not necessarily romantic dynamic – he thinks he has to risk it. He had the element of surprise, and if he passed up this opportunity, who knows when he’d be in the same room as Terry again?

He takes a seat at the bar, waiting for the bartender to come over.

“Hey, Henry. Do me a favour and send a couple beers to that table over there?” he asks, sliding enough bills across the counter to include a sizeable tip for the man. Henry nods, cracking open a couple of bottles and heading over to the corner booth.

Cash’s hand tightens around his own drink, his watchful eyes following his peace offering to its recipient. The drinks land on the table, and a few words from Henry have two pairs of eyes looking over at him, one cold and the other appraising.

He takes that as his cue.

Taking a deep breath, he braces himself for an onslaught of violence, anger, and accusations as he makes his way over to the duo, stopping just a few feet away from the table. He gives the woman a onceover, noticing the tension in her shoulders, and nods politely to her before turning his attention to Terry.

“Terry McCain. It’s been a long time,” he says softly, trying to ease them into conversation. Terry says nothing, his jaw clenched shut and his blue eyes blazing. He hasn’t touched his drink, and neither has his partner. He bites back a sigh, having expected the silent treatment. He supposes it’s better than a more violent alternative.

He turns his focus to the woman sitting with Terry; he’s fairly certain focusing on you will provoke Terry enough to force him to speak. Running a hand through his grey hair – he’d been out long enough now for it to grow out a little more than his prison-mandated buzzcut – he gives you a sheepish grin.

“Sorry to interrupt. I don’t think we’ve met; I’m Cash Ewing,” he says, extending a large, rough hand for you to shake.

“I know who you are,” you reply bluntly, your eyes flitting over to Terry whose own gaze is glued to the table. He watches you bite your lip, your brow creased in thought, and he wonders what he’s in for. He doesn’t blink as you look into his eyes – not challenging you, but letting himself be vulnerable – and after a long moment, your gaze softens a bit, a hint of a smile visible at the corners of your mouth.

“I’m Detective Y/N L/N, Terry’s partner,” you introduce yourself almost shyly, standing in stark contrast to your initial tone and the way you’re shaking his hand now. You’re an interesting little bundle of contradictions, aren’t you?

“Don’t bother with him, Y/N,” Terry sneers, still refusing to look up at him. It’s an old trick of Terry’s, Cash remembers – a way to avoid his conscience getting the better of him. Terry had always been unable to look at the face of someone suffering without doing everything in his power to fix it. He’d always been too much of a bleeding heart for a cop.

“Maybe we should…” you start, and he thinks he might have an ally in you yet, but your words die in your throat the moment Terry looks up at you.

“We’re not wasting time on this dirtbag. Let’s get outta here,” he says abruptly, sliding out of the booth and shoving past him. Cash manages to catch his shoulder, trying to hold him in place without putting any real force behind the gesture.

“Terry, can I just–”

“No. I’ve got nothing to say to you, and there’s nothing I wanna hear.”

Terry shakes off Cash’s hand and walks away without another word, his back ramrod straight as he storms out the door, you trailing after him at a distance. Good, you knew Terry well enough to give him some space.

He slumps into the now-abandoned booth, picking up one of the untouched beers and taking a swig.

That could’ve gone better.

He’d known this was going to be difficult – the last five years had been proof enough of that – but if Terry was completely unwilling to listen it may be a lost cause.

No.

He can’t let himself believe that; it would destroy all of the progress he’s made to get himself together. Terry would hear him out, eventually.

And he has nothing but time.

Sighing, he pulls the other abandoned bottle over to him even as he continues to nurse the first. No sense in it going to waste.

“I thought you bought that for me.”

You’ve come back into the bar, your small body leaning up against one end of the booth as you give him a nervous smile. He finds himself straightening up, looking at you with interest. Had you come with a message from Terry? It wasn’t as good as the man hearing him out himself, but he’ll take what he can get at this point.

“These drinks were for two people sitting in this booth,” he says, nodding towards the seat across from him. There is only the briefest moment of hesitation before you join him, surveying him from across the table. He slides the other bottle over to you, trying to get a read on you as you snatch the bottle up and take a long drink.

Small, cute, and he gets the sense you’ve got quite a mouth on you… it would come as no surprise to him if you were more than just Terry’s partner. He’d always liked having a firecracker he could tame and protect.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, trying not to let his discomfort show. He doesn’t know what you want, you’re already biased against him, and his years locked away surrounded by nothing but male criminals had really impacted his conversation skills, especially when a beautiful woman was involved.

But he would stay focused, keep his eyes on the prize.

“I’m here to talk to you.”

“Don’t tell me McCain is sending his girlfriend in to do his dirty work,” he teases, wanting to see how best to rile you up. It usually sped the communication process along, often with a bit more truth to it.

“Girlfriend?” you echo incredulously, your nose scrunching up in distaste at the suggestion.

“No? What are you then, just his work wife?” Cash jokes, looking at you with twinkling eyes as he takes another sip of his drink.

“Yeah, well, his last ‘work wife’ apparently had something on the side,” you reply pointedly, arching an eyebrow at him. He snorts out a laugh, the beer threatening to come out his nose, and you snicker as you watch him struggle to breathe. You’re quick, he’ll give you that.

“Touche,” he wheezes, and you offer him a pleased, smug smile in return. Once his breathing is back under control, your smile fades into a stern expression.

“Look, I care about Terry. He’s not just my partner, he’s my best friend, and I’ve had to watch him go through a lot – first with you, then the whole Frankie and Devlin fiasco…”

Cash immediately starts to see red and has to fight to calm himself down. He clenches his fists under the table, blunt fingernails digging into his palms as he struggles to regulate his breathing. He would always hate himself for leaving Terry to go through that without him…

When he is able to regain his composure, he looks up to see that you have slid closer to him in the booth, looking concerned but not pitying, for which he is grateful.

“You alright?” you ask quietly, and again, there is a comforting lack of judgement in your tone. He nods in response, gesturing for you to continue.

“Right. The point is… Terry’s trust in people is at an all-time low. I’m surprised he hasn’t turned his back on me after everything he’s been through. Like it or not, you were the beginning of a long line of people he thought he could trust fucking him over.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Cash grumbles with a heavy sigh.

“He’s just as mad at himself. I think it’s clouding his judgement.”

That certainly makes him perk up, and you clearly notice, one side of your mouth curling into a smile at his visible hope.

“I think he blames himself for not being able to stop you doing what you did, not that he’d ever admit it. I mean, you know Terry, he’s a little –”

“Paranoid? Obsessive? Utterly unable to stop once he’s set his mind on something?” Cash offers, a pleasant warmth coursing through him as you let out a laugh. He’s missed casual conversation, and feels like something is clicking with you in particular. Maybe it’s your proximity to Terry, or the fact that he is actually able to talk about his best friend with someone other than a therapist for the first time in years. Either way, he finds himself warming up to you quickly.

“Something like that,” you agree. “The point is, he’s not going to make this easy on you, but I don’t think you should stop trying to get through to him.”

He cocks his head at you. “Do I seem like the type of guy who gives up on things?”

“I don’t make a habit of judging people before I get to know them, Mr. Ewing,” you say meaningfully, and he takes solace in the implication that you intended to judge him on his own merit rather than going off of Terry’s opinions of him.

“But based on what I’ve seen, you’re just as stubborn and thick-headed as our friend.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t be too optimistic about you.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been out with a woman; is that what constitutes as flattery nowadays?”

He sees your lips twitch in amusement, but you don’t take the bait.

“Do you want my help or not, Ewing?”

“And what help exactly are you offering me, little lady?” he asks, immediately leaning away from you as your hand squeezes your drink in a death-grip.

“Do not call me that again,” you growl. He contemplates playing with fire – you seem like the type of person that’s fun to get a rise out of – but pushes past that desire, for now, at least.

“I apologize, Detective L/N,” he says, laying it on a bit thick. “Would being on a first name basis be acceptable to you?”

“As long as you don’t try pushing your luck with me… Cash.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Y/N,” he says innocently, looking up at you from beneath his lashes. Just because you were going to help him reconnect with Terry didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun with you, especially if you had been honest about not being intimately involved with your partner. It’s been a long time since he’s been with someone, and perhaps Terry would finally face him – not bad for a ‘two birds, one stone’ sort of outcome…

But the look you give him lets him know he’s not fooling you.

“I’ll do my best to convince Terry to give you a chance, but you’ve got to be patient. No more accosting him in public!”

The scolding tone you use to give him the warning nearly makes him laugh; it was adorable, really…

“Yes ma’am. Any other instructions for me? I can be quite accommodating,” he purrs suggestively, leaning towards you across with booth. You roll your eyes, polishing off your beer.

“You can cut that crap out right now,” you reply, sliding out of the booth, though he detects a clear lack of vitriol in your words – you’re rebuffing him to keep up appearances. “Otherwise we’ll be testing whether or not Terry is more amenable to hearing you out if I’ve beaten that pretty little face of yours to a pulp.”

“I’ve got a pretty face, huh?” he leers, unperturbed by your threat.

“Try not to get yourself into any trouble, alright Cash? That includes with me,” you say, ignoring his flirting and buttoning up your coat as you prepare to head out into the cold Chicago winter. “I’ll do my best with Terry, and I hope it all works out for you both.”

“Can I get your number? Just to check in on how things are going,” he tacks on hastily, seeing a stormy expression start to steal across your face. You sigh, looking up at him with a critical eye.

“No offense, Cash, but I can’t risk Terry seeing that we’re communicating before he comes around to the idea of talking to you himself. I may want the two of you to get over your issues, but he is my top priority. Understood?”

He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he slides out of the booth, looking down at you as he throws on his green jacket. To your credit, you don’t flinch or back down under his piercing gaze. He knows he’s intimidating; he’s had the last five years in particular to hone his ability to get people quaking in their boots. After a prolonged silence, he reaches his hand out towards you again.

“Do what you have to do, Y/N,” he says, pleased when you shake his hand. Your skin is soft, but your grip is firm.

“I’ve got nothing but time.”

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Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

[Future chapters added here]

#Thomas Ian Griffith #Cash #Cash Ewing #Black Friday #Black Friday 2007 #The Kidnapping #The Kidnapping 2007 #Terry McCain #Excessive Force #TIGmas #12 Days of TIGmas #Smut #Romance #Suspend your disbelief please and thank you #Cash x Reader #terry mccain x reader #terry mccain x reader x cash

[followmybones]

Encounters at the Blooming Inn

Blooming Panic's four love interests in a Fantasy AU 

headcanons + drabbles *male reader/mc intended 

I don't usually write for Blooming Panic, but I wanted to do something special to celebrate @godlyaffection and his 1000+ followers! Congrats my friend! If you don't know his blog go check him out, he makes some awesome male reader content, and I hope he enjoys this clusterfuck of a post! I'll probably expand on this idea later! Enjoy!

Quest as a fighter

 Came from a rough background after hanging out with the wrong crowd and being forced to take the blame for the actions of others, he turned his life around and began trying to right the wrongs he did, he felt had to prove himself, even if that meant using his unsavory skills to make the world safer. 

 Immediately after being released from imprisonment, he avoided using his fighting skills at all, he wouldn't even defend himself if someone started getting rough with him. It wasn’t until he saved a young child from being attacked that he realized he could use his skills to help others.

 Often accepts the bounties and quests no one wants because they come from those who can't offer much, he doesn’t do that kind of work anyways, he manages the Blooming Tavern and Inn for an old man who helped him turn his life around.

 Running the inn is a large comfort for him, he dislikes being alone but all the personalities who find refuge at the inn and tavern help ease him.

“Oh, hello there angel. Just a room tonight?” He looks up from a guest book and reaches to grab a set of keys.

“As long as you pay and don’t cause any trouble, feel free to stay for as long as you like.” His smile widens, and he lets his hand linger as you grab the key to your room.

“You look tired, let me get you something to eat before you head to your room, on the house, of course. If you ever need anything, even just some company, feel free to ask for me, I go by the name Quest.” 

Nightowl as a bard 

 He came from a noble family, and against his family’s wishes, became a bard.

 He snuck out when he was young only to befriend a bard who began to teach him how to play the lute and eventually suggested that he attend college and learn how to better wield his musical magic, which he did.

 While trying to find his own path, he ended up making friends and finding his way in the world without relying on his parents’ names.

 Lives at the Blooming Inn where he works and performs in trade for lodging. He rarely accepts quests or bounties as he’s still focused on honing his magic abilities and mastering other instruments.

 Definitely focused on string instruments, prefers the lute, and honestly kind of hates the lyre (he thinks it ruins the vibe he’s going for).

 Loves to use his magic to enhance his performances, he absolutely loves to show off and have fun whenever he sings or plays his lute.

 His favorite songs have always been love songs, even if he rarely had someone in mind when it came to love, there was just a special magic to it.

“I saw you watching my performance,” the bard grins, leaning down to press a kiss to your hand, “anything I can help you with, cutie? Perhaps another drink.. or a private show?” 

His confidence and sultry grin makes it obvious what he’s implying, but there’s a warmth and charisma to him that you can’t help but be drawn to. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” he pauses to look at someone who seems to be calling him. 

“Find me later if you decide you’re interested,” and with a wink, he leaves you with the words: “goodbye for now cutie.”

NakedToaster as a wizard 

 Came from a long line of magic users, but his parents turned away from magic, and he had to teach himself. He began hiding away in his room, teaching himself magic at a fairly young age. 

 At first, magic was a way to rebel against his parents, but it very quickly became something he was invested in, and he wanted to practice magic to be one of the best.

 He hopes to expand the understanding of magic and the things he can do, he’s talented with magic, and he knows that, and he hopes to find out what else magic can accomplish.

 He never received any formal training, so his practices are very unorthodox, but he’s still just as powerful and incredible as any formally trained wizard.

 Travels around on quests, but he typically stays at the Blooming inn since it's close to multiple libraries and sites that he’s eager to keep close to for his research. 

His room at the Blooming Tavern is an absolute mess, there’s research and books everywhere, and he's taken down the cheap paintings to hang parchment with his handwriting sprawled messily on there, the room is Quest’s worst nightmare.

(in a D&D world setting would probably dual-class into an Artificer)

“Excuse me, just grabbing a book from above you real quick,” a voice calls startling you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, just trying to grab so- that’s a good book.”

The wizard's face brightens as he notices the book you were skimming through. “What do you need that book for? If you’re doing research I have a better book for that. I stay at the inn a few minutes from here, if you want to join me, I could help you with that research at the inn’s tavern!” he rambles, “You can call me Toaster by the way.” 

XYX as a rogue

  He didn’t come from the most well-off family but they lived comfortable lives. Growing up it was easy to see he could charm anyone he came across, and he had a tendency to be a troublesome child, stealing and taking things from the kids who made nasty comments toward his siblings

 He figured he could put his charm and talent to good use, with the right employer he could use his skills for more than just petty thief, and that’s when he started taking on quests

 Seeing as he had a talent for getting whatever he wanted from people, he began looking for a group of adventurers to join and ended up finding himself at the Blooming Inn 

 Totally found the Blooming Inn on accident he said the words “I’m looking for a quest” to the wrong person once and ended up meeting the fighter, Quest, who took care of the Blooming Inn and Tavern 

 He often goes on quests with some of the other inhabitants of the Blooming Inn, even if his personality could be insufferable at times, they couldn't deny his talent.

“Mind if I join you?” Taking your shrug as an invitation the rogue with odd facial piercings sits next to you.

“I’ve come to properly welcome you to the Blooming Inn and Tavern by buying you a drink and providing you with some lovely company. I promise to keep my hands to myself,” he winks.

“What brings you to these parts anyways? Great adventures, searching for your gods, simply looking for some company?”

Before you get the chance to answer someone yells, “Xyx!” and the man next to you sighs, “well that’s my cue, I’ll buy you that drink next time doll.”

This post was done in association with @/godlyaffection & others for 'Adventure Awaits' fantasy themed event

#blooming panic #blooming panic x reader #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #xyx x reader #nakedtoaster x reader #quest x reader #nightowl x reader #event post

[curionightshade]

I have reached the point where 1am is an early night apparently. anyway if someone were to send me things (funny/not funny/serious/amusing) while I am asleep I would be mildly surprised and bemused when I awake !

#terrible night btw. rantjng in the tags because i guess fhat helps #ive had weird kinda upsetting conversations with two different friends now jn the last few weeks and thats been not great! #even when my reaction to a situation has been the cause of it. just a really unpleasant sticky feeling that doesnt go away #prolly doesnt help ive been jn a fog all week. sleeping at 5am waking at 1pm writing for hours and sometimes producing something good #uhhhh what else #medical shits been whack. not that i have a lot to complain about in comparison to other people but every week that goes by where I'm not #on estrogen makes me feel. i dunno. desolate. not a real person. my mom asked me if i wanted her to start using my new name instead of my #deadname (as in i don't use it online anymore) and it terrified me how uncomfortable it made me. no issues with my mom. just #kind of a clusterfuck where i still don't want to have to manage all of this messy shit. i just want to be on hrt and feel like a person #and get antidepressants again before i even think about how other people see me. like what use is being a person to other people when my #own self image fails me #haven't heard back from uni acceptance stuff yet and i have the feeling I'll be rejected. i dunno. worst case i guess i apply again next #year and use the spare time to make more movies #but wow yeah i always forget how silently this mental illness shit sneaks up. my lack of self image kinda means that i don't check up on #myself a lot. so I'll just have moments after weeks of dullness where I'll go 'oh huh i feel fuckin terrible' #sleeping earlier tonight at least! i hope i make meaningful connections that aren't stained by my jealousy and resentment. a hug would be #nice too #oh well. Jeff Rosenstock will suffice #FUCK. dvsvvixdbshcosbscocbskxdbdkcbschdkdbdicndjcdnfudneufneiddndifbdiddndjdksbshfksbavdosnwbrjeornebrkffldhebdlfjddbdkfjdbdkdfjdbekeiehdmd #fbdvrdicbd rdbcicdddkcjssvajKhfbsoBajhvajJvvbj£7374;£9 #hdbedshshxix #goodnight <3

[bookofmirth]

How exactly did SJM derive the name Morrigan right from the Irish goddess Morrigu with the hints of "speaker of truth" and "queen" with her, put her in the Night Court, and still manage not to make Mor's powers clear? She has an entire mythology to derive the character, the backstory, the theology from... how do you manage to make her the most divisive character identity wise still? Don't mind me, I just keep getting pissed at this habit of SJM's that seems to show only with the ACOTAR series where she dangles something in front of the readers like she's testing waters with both herself and her readers (the way serial fiction usually works), and then not deliver after building up all the expectation. I know, it's been so long since WAR came out that it's ridiculous to broach this topic again now, but I was rereading my notes on Morrígu and I just went back to those early days. I mean, she had "Dagdan" in WAR, right? Another Irish connection, the god Dagda, who...literally owned a cauldron, coire ansic! And he was an intriguing character, far, far more than King Hybern who's just...a gimmick, really. Dagdan was playing mind games with Feyre, there was a spark in the plot--so much potential...Feyre-Lucien could have teamed up more (ugh, I've so many complaints about the "Lucien kneeling to Feyre the Cursebreaker" scene - it could have been so much more, Lucien knowingly undermining Ianthe...so delicious), they could have circled around Dagdan and Brannagh playing politics (Lucien) and mind-games (Feyre) - it could have led up to Dagdan, the daemati, manipulating the drab-villain Hybern, aiming for The Morrigan from the start like it was implied at the end of MAF. Not to be a Theorist but Morrigu could even have had a decent (maybe flimsy, because the witchcraft and magic thing isn't exactly Morrigu's sphere) connection to the Three-Faced Goddess of TOG too...

Just...ugh, crying over spilt milk, yes, but I'm just sad at the lost opportunities. Sorry for this rant in your poor inbox.

acotar is thousands of pages of "what if I did this cool thing and then never think about it again".

The potential is *chef's kiss* and a lot of it is squandered. So we fill in all the blanks that could have been. She writes 800 pages and still manages to have a mangled mess of a plot in acosf and just forget about a ton of potential that she dangled in front of the reader, all those things that you noticed, for what!!! For the ~aesthetic~ I guess???

It's... kind-of a good example of how people can write a lot without saying much. I am still convinced that that's why I am stuck in this cursed website. She set up something really great and we're all left wondering where the fuck the rest of it was. Sorry I'm thinking about this today but I literally just taught a lesson on concise writing and precise language and asdlkjaldsjad

I know, it's been so long since WAR came out that it's ridiculous to broach this topic again now,

No it's NOT ridiculous because everything from the series is still relevant, right? Even if it had come out 20 years ago, the mess that was acowar is still glaringly apparent. If anything, I'm thinking more and more about how much of a clusterfuck acowar was, even though I tried really hard to like it when it came out.

You sound like @rayonfrozenwings with your theories and notes though, the two of you would get along great. 😂

I'm curious how much of Morrigan's story is like the character from The Wicked and the Divine? Because she was one of my favorite characters in that graphic novel and she did have three forms and was just great. Unlikeable but I still would let her step on me. I haven't looked into the source for her name, partly because I don't want to accidentally stumble on something that will spoil me for a future book, and partly because I now realize that sjm never uses those references with any deeper meaning other than "heh, pin from my board on Pinterest was cool looking".

It does feel like she's testing the waters, but that's... not something to do in a revised, edited, and published work, call me crazy! I guess she really can do whatever the hell she wants because ToG was not like this.

It borders on slightly offensive, given how many cultures she casually takes from without thought about the significance of those references to the culture or religion or clothing or beliefs etc. It really became apparent in acowar (I probably have posts from 2017 complaining about it lol). I wish she would just stop and deal with what she has in the here and now.

#sjm critical #acotar #ask #anon

[morgynemberisagenderfluiddaddy]

Guess who's back with another oc!!!! Guys please meet...

Jared D. Quinn

AKA: Jer, Jer bear, Pretty "boy", Rad, Quinn, and interestingly of all Gerharde

Age: 27 (It varies)

Date of birth: 1/1/1980 2/29/1980

Birthplace: Philadelphia, PA

Current place of residence: Trenton, NJ ( Seattle, WA later on)

Sexuality: Asexual (panromantic)

Assigned at birth: Male

Gender: Non-binary

Pronouns: He/Them

Height: 6'0" (182 cm)

Occupation: Bartender

Theme song: Brother - Gerard Way

Learn more below the cut! 🔽🔽🔽

(⚠warning: content may include mentions of: abuse, running away, PTSD, and foster care⚠ I'll do my best to warn you but if I missed any please let me know!!)

About: Hi, I'm Jared. I'm Nicky's older brother and I'd like to just publicly apologize for everything he's done or is going to do. I'm sorry. I'd like to say it's not my fault but... I don't exactly have anyone else to blame. Anyway, I'm sure my brother effectively talked as much shit as he could before I got here so I'll try to keep this short.

We're originally from Philadelphia, from a very... Abusive house, we'll just leave it at that. I was a child, I didn't know how bad it truly was until my brother was born. Our parents couldn't have cared less, he was so small, a couple of months early and sick, and if I wanted him properly taken care of I had to do it myself. The second I realized I didn't need help anymore, I took advantage and left. Armed with the wisdom well beyond my ten years thanks to what I had been subjected to, and only one bottle of formula and a box of goldfish crackers and the few dollars I had managed to scrounge up thanks to the few kind people that took pity on me I managed to get us on a bus to New Jersey. It wasn't as far as I had liked, but it was the best I could do, not that our parents ever bothered looking for us, but I did take precautions.

We ended up in the foster system in New Jersey where we bounced around families and group houses for eight years. In comparison, it wasn't all bad, I had a roof over our heads and I didn't have to worry about Nicky while I was at school, of course, I did anyway.

When I was in elementary school, I had a teacher (Mrs. Hart) who found out about my situation and went out of her way to become a kind of surrogate mother to us. Soon she treated us as her own but wasn't in a situation to adopt us so we stayed in foster care but we still had her and her daughters (Courtney and Andrew) who also became our surrogate sisters. I even ended up going to high school with them, and they introduced me to my best friend (Vince) and my on again off again boyfriend (Wyatt) who I think is probably the only reason I haven't turned into a full-blown serial killer yet... He's one of the few people that knows ALL I've been through, and has never taken pity on me but is still there whenever I need him... Like when I turned eighteen and came up with an entire mess of a lie to legally get custody of my brother, he helped me out and just went along with it, he's helped me raise Nicky and kept me from murdering him and probably thousands of other people. Of course, I owe most of that to my wife (Jayne) as well. I met her when I was working at a shady bar when Wyatt and I were on one of our breaks. We're together for three years before we decided to elope. Not that it was much of a thought with her visa expiring and a clusterfuck of the "incident" on our horizon, we went ahead with it, and she stuck by me through it all. Through every insane episode, when I decided to adopt our daughter (Grace), through the handful of times she thought for sure I was dead, when I questioned her and she questioned me, she stayed. God, she's such an amazing woman. I truly couldn't be happier and I owe it all to her... And to Wyatt, as well. I wouldn't be here without them.

Okay, well, I've taken up enough of your time and have gotten to the sappy heartfelt place that makes me uncomfortable so I'm going to leave it there. Goodbye.

- Jared

PS. If you haven't checked it out yet here's my brother's, I'd appreciate it. Okay, now I'm gone. Bye.

#tw abuse #tw abusive parents #tw runaway #tw ptsd #tw foster care #my characters #my ocs #my kids #do not steal or i will lose my whole fucking mind #my sims #jared #ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4 edit #sims #sims4 #simstagram #simsart #sims edit #sims 4 edit #the sims #the sims 4 edit #ts4 cas #s4 edit #s4 #s4 simblr #long post #morgynemberisagenderfluiddaddy #izzys baby ocs

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Eighty-Five [PT. 1]

Part Eighty-Five [PT. 2]

Words: 5.5k

Warning(s): explicit language, explicit sexual situations, mentions of drug abuse

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NIKKI

My lawyer looks completely unimpressed with my lack of shoes, shirt, and dignity as he leans back in his chair behind his desk, rubbing his temples. 

"It doesn't work like that, Nikki, I'm afraid." He informs me finally, sitting up and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. 

"I was declared dead for two minutes. I died. My wife's technically a widow." 

"You can't annul a four year marriage on the basis of 'I died for two minutes.' Some cases of actual death, it can take an act of congress for widow or widower to have an annulment for a marriage where their spouse is no longer alive, legitimately." He explains and I roll my eyes. 

"So, what, I just get some divorce papers or something?" 

"Unless I declare mental incapacity given that you went through a traumatic series of events within the last twenty-four hours and this could possibly be a very serious lapse in judgement." He argues and I stare at him.

"Stop pulling my dick." 

"I'm not 'pulling your dick.' I just don't want you to make this decision and then regret it when your head clears." 

I managed to wear him down and by the next morning, he left the papers by Tommy's door after Vince mentioned to me that Viv stayed over there with Tommy and Heather.

When I get home, Karen opens the door and looks at me, wide eyed and confused. 

"H-Hey?" She says as I push past her and go to the phone, opting to change my answering machine. 

"Hey, it's Nikki." I say. "I'm not here because I'm dead." 

Karen just looks at me, astounded, and I go to my room, slamming the door. 

I was good and tired and glutton for punishment because I got home that night and loaded up the biggest shot of smack I could muster and pulled the trigger.

I wake up with a sharp pain in the crook of my arm, a needle still in my skin as blood trails my forearm to collect in my palm...Jesus fucking Christ, I've officially lost it. 

I take the needle out and force myself up to trudge to the living room to check my messages. 

Things like, "You're an asshole," and "that's not funny," tend to be the common theme. 

I guess I need to change my answering machine. 

I comb through to see if I have anything from Viv. 

Now would be a good time to hear her bitch me out for almost making her kill herself--because, lets face it, she's gonna blame it on me, anyway. 

Nothing's found, though. 

"Fuck, Vivian." I sigh out, sitting on the carpet in the living room, rubbing my forehead as a new message comes on…

"You fucker, you would be the one to fucking OD and die and then get up right after and file for divorce as if she doesn't have enough shit going on, already." 

I furrow my brows at the voice. 

"Axl the Twat?" I say aloud, confused, as he finishes with, "fuck you, you fucking fuck." 

He hangs up and I raise my brows. 

Did I die and wake up in a parallel universe? Axl defending Vivian? 

Is this hell? 

It cuts to the last message. 

"Hey, umm...I don't know if you'll get this or not or if…" Vanity. "...I don't know what's going on but I heard something terrible on the radio and I suppose it was true--well, kind of, um…" she sighs. "We're not together anymore and I get that I just hope you're o--"

"Fuck that." I grumble, hitting delete. 

I fall back and I look up at myself. 

It's fucked that I bought this fucking house for Viv, and she's not even staying in it anymore. 

I feel like I promised her so much and haven't given a damn thing to her except reasons to want to throw herself off of balconies.

I look down at my arm, dried blood still on my skin. 

I'm fucking tired of this shit. 

I let my complete exhaustion of being sick fuel me to dig through everything I own and throw out all of my rigs, any other drugs in my path, and even pour everything to get drunk off of down the sink--even the fucking cooking-wine. 

Vivian's somewhere catching the holy spirit, probably, just sensing I'm finally fucking done. 

Or she's somewhere in tears over me finally taking the final step to end our relationship. 

I feel like it's dead in every way aside from legal. 

Whisky's laying by the door, whining when I step over him to go throw the big garbage bag out. 

I'd get down there and whine for her, too, but I know this is what needs to be done. 

Our entire relationship has just been one giant clusterfuck, and I don't want to put her through the bullshit of having to try to forgive me and trust me, again. 

I think I've already stolen enough of her peace of mind. 

She'll be happier with Duff, anyway. He's a good guy. A hell of a lot more suited for her than I am. 

My hand rubs the back of my neck and I realize I'm still wearing the small crucifix of her's. 

I'm tempted not to give it back. 

I just sigh and throw the trash out and get back in the house, getting in the shower. 

When I get out, I ruffle a towel through my hair, seeing the light blinking on my answering machine. 

I go over and try to keep myself from getting too excited at the thought of it being Viv before I hit play on my messages. 

"Nikki, it's Doc. I know you feel like horseshit right about now but I need you to come down to the office at 5:00p.m., we're getting you guys together because we need to talk. See you then--preferebly kinda sober and coherent." 

Turns out I'll have my ass chewed by Doc before Viv, after all. 

I know he came down to the hospital and tore Slash and the guys new ones while I was unconscious. 

I'm digging in my garbage for a couple pills to dull down my future shakes that I just know are gonna be coming before sundown. 

Despite being not in shape to fucking drive anywhere, I still go because I know if I don't go, Doc will come here and I don't need him here. 

It's morbid walking into the office to see Vince, Tommy, and Mick sitting and waiting for me while Doc sits behind his desk. 

"Fuck me." I complain out loud, dreading what Doc's about to go on about. 

"Sit." Doc tells me and I plop down beside Tommy, sighing, and Doc waits a minute before saying, "I canceled the European tour."

"What?" Vince asks and Mick furrows his brows. 

"What the fuck, Doc--"

"--Shut the fuck up and listen." He cuts me off while Tommy nervously shakes his leg. "If you bastards go to Europe, one of you will come back in a body bag. And I'm not gonna be the fucking manager that runs Mötley Crüe into the ground." He states harshly. 

"That's a fucking first." I laugh out, meanly, and Doc glares at me. "Guess dead rockstars don't make as much money as alive ones, huh? I coulda told ya that after Razzle--"

"--Nikki." Mick states. 

"Where's my wife?" I snap next. 

"Oh, the one you so stupidly filed for divorce from without giving me a heads up first? Probably with her friends that haven't put her through the ringer and fucked her over time and time again." He states. 

"I didn't know I needed permission to make decisions in my personal life--that have nothing to do with Mötley Crüe." 

"Are you two just gonna argue or are we gonna actually talk about why we're here because I have things to do." Vince grumbles. 

"Tommy came to me and told me he's thinking about rehab." Doc tells us and I glance at Tommy, who's avoiding looking at anybody. "I'm not taking Mötley Crüe on tour again, in a studio, whatever, until you guys get your act together." 

We all look at each other, exhaling, and I rub my lips together. 

"Fine." Vince sighs, and Doc looks at Tommy.

He nods. 

"Nikki?" Doc asks and I just stare at him. 

The guys are gone in a few minutes, leaving just me and Doc and I stand up. 

"I wanna see Viv." I tell Doc as he digs through some files, and he looks up and blinks from behind his desk, 

"She said she's not seeing you until you get help." Doc states. 

"She says that but I bet I could find her tonight and still get her under me in less than three minutes." 

"Assuming she's not still under Duff." Doc says and I tense up. "You think I didn't notice how questionably close they got on tour?" He adds. 

"She's going through a crisis." I reply. 

"Can't imagine why." He mumbles. 

"Just tell me where she's at, Doc." I snap. 

"You look like shit. You need to go home and get some fuckin' rest because you're all checking in tomorrow afternoon." He adds. 

"I'm not going anywhere until I see my wife."

"You mean the wife you filed for divorce from?" He questions and I roll my jaw. "Your wife is resting. You should, too."

1981

I fumble for my key to the apartment, cussing under my breath when I can't get the door opened. 

"Motherfucker." I hiss, finally getting it unlocked and shoving it open…

I slam it shut and toss my keys across the room, hearing Tommy and Vince's room door creak open. 

Vivian crosses her arms, a scowl on her face, her hair tousled from sleep. 

"Could you be any louder?" She snaps, shutting the door behind her, going to the kitchen.

My eyes run up and down her long legs as she heads that way, only in one of Tommy's t-shirts and panties. 

Fuck. Me. 

I go to grab the bottle of Jack on the counter, taking a sip as she gulps some water down, a droplet escaping the glass as she drinks, rolling down her chin to her neck and I watch it, my burning throat getting dry as I try to pull myself together, my prick starting to push against my pants. 

Damnit. 

It's like the sane part of myself is trying to slap the hopelessly horny part of me. 

She's fucking evil, dude, fuck off, I tell myself. 

She's hot. 

You hate each other. 

I wonder what weird shit she's into in bed. 

She's a bitch. You know she's a bitch. Leave her alone. 

Oh, I forgot she's supposedly a virgin.

Go to bed, dumbfuck. GO TO BED. 

That means I get to watch her experience stuff for the first time.

I end up chuckling, amused at the thought of seeing her pretty eyes roll in her head as pleasure bombards her for the first time. 

"What?" She snaps, and I realize I've been staring at her. 

I'm about to answer until I get caught up at the sight of her nipples peering through her shirt...fuck me. 

"Nikki," she shoves at my shoulder, making me take my eyes off of her chest.

She just scoffs. 

"Go touch yourself in the bathroom or something. Jesus." She puts the glass down and walks past me to go back to Tommy's room.

See? Evil. 

I ignore the voice of reason and I catch her wrist and stop her, yanking her closer to me. 

She looks like a deer in headlights for a minute before I'm grabbing at her hair closest to her neck and pulling her to me, kissing her. 

It's a pretty clean kiss, no tongue, no mess, just testing the waters. 

She doesn't push me away or beat me up like I always thought she would do, instead, when I pull away for a moment, she takes a breath, wide eyed, before grabbing me by my jacket, pulling me back in. 

I'm surprised but I don't let it get in the way, taking lead a little to guide her. 

For someone who's never been kissed before (again, allegedly) she's not awful at it like I expected--well, I didn't expect her to be awful because she's never kissed anybody, I expected her to be awful because she's so mean to me. 

Her hands push my jacket off my shoulders and I push my tongue past her lips, coaxing a quiet moan from her. 

Holy shit. 

My hands go to her ass and she grasps at my hair as I pick her up, her legs wrapping around me. 

Just to see if we're on a standard starting basis of common interests, I lift one of my hands and bring it back down, not too hard, but hard enough, and she hums, fucking biting my bottom lip and grinding into me a couple times. 

I have to keep from creaming my pants just by her moving against me. 

You're being stupid, I tell myself, but I can't bring myself to leave her alone now. 

She's been the forbidden fruit or whatever for months now and I just gotta have it. 

I take her to my room and kick the door shut with my foot, taking her to the shitty mattress on the floor. 

I drop her onto it, seeing her in the glow of streetlights. 

"Take your shirt off." I say, lowly, and she rubs her lips together and slowly pulls it over her head, her bare chest exposed and my dick's practically throbbing at this point. 

I take her crucifix in my hand, and she looks down at it as I lick my lips. 

She unfastens it and throws it aside. 

I lean down and kiss her again, trailing down her neck, my tongue against her skin and she gasps out a sharp breath, her hands pulling at my shirt. 

I take it off and she's sitting up and running her palms over my shoulders, down my chest, and I grasp her around her throat, pushing her back to the mattress and I feel a little shiver go up her spine. 

My tongue circles one of her nipples and she lets out bated breaths as I take it between my teeth. 

She moans, loudly, and I move my hand to her mouth. 

"Shh!" I say. "You're gonna wake them up." I add and she nods. 

I do the same to her other breast, with my hand over her mouth, but then I get an idea. 

A glorious, completely selfish idea. 

I take my hand off of her mouth and smirk before kissing the middle of her chest, one of her top ribs, biting into it, hard, making her scratch at my shoulder while covering her own mouth as a sharp moan is forced from her.

I run my tongue over the bite mark and continue down her stomach, stopping at the top of her panties, glancing at her. 

She's still breathing heavy, hands covering her chest, tilting her head to see me. 

I run my hand over her clothed core, a little noise coming from her throat, feeling a big wet spot over her cunt. 

She lifts her hips and starts pulling them down and I take them and discard them, running my fingertips up the inside of her thigh before I rub my thumb around her clit that's slickened wet. 

Her hands jolt to mine between her legs, her back arching, trying her hardest not to be loud. 

I tug her to the edge of the mattress, and grab one of her hands, replacing mine with it before I'm looming over her for a moment. "Touch yourself." I tell her, my lips brushing against hers and I can tell she's blushing under the dark of the room. "C'mon, it's hot, just do what feels good." I add, my lips pressing against hers for a moment before I feel her hand move, a delicate gasp coming from her and I pull my lips from hers to watch her face. 

Her eyes close, her head tilts back while her other hand tangles in her hair. 

I stand up to take my pants off, grabbing at my painfully hard cock when she bucks her hips against her frail fingers. 

"Nikki," she says, eyes still shut, head back, and I rub my hands down my face. 

We haven't even fucked yet and I can already tell she's gonna make me a fucking idiot. 

I get my pants off and run my thumb over my tip and get some precum on it, leaning down and holding it up to her lips. 

"Hold your tongue out," I tell her and she opens her eyes and looks at me, before doing as I say. 

The pad of my thumb rubs it over her tongue and she lets out a satisfied sigh, looking up at me as I lick her spit off my thumb. 

I get back up on my feet for a moment and she gets up and crawls to the foot of the bed, her eyes on my prick, hunger in her eyes…

Nice try, evil bitch, you're not stealing my soul by sucking it through my dick. 

I grab her hair and make her look at me. 

"Lay down." I tell her and doesn't argue, eyes still ravenous…

I kiss up her kneecap to her thigh, sliding up and up until--

"Oh, fuck!" She whimpers out when my tongue swirls her clit around, getting the first taste of Saint Viv. 

My eyes are the ones to roll back, now. 

Holy shit. 

It's good because she's Satan and needs something to trap you with, that little voice comes back. 

Her hands find my hair, her lips find my name and if I don't get ahold of myself, I'll be finding God based on this experience alone.

Apparently she's finding him right now because all she can muster out is, "oh, God." 

I find a good rhythm with my tongue, her pussy starting to grind against my face as teasing, little sultry moans flutter through the room. 

After a minute I feel her body tense up, and I pat myself on the back as she comes, my tongue lapping at her entrance to get drunk off of her, my hands running over her stomach and thighs. 

Vivian claims we just went right into sex without doing anything aside from making out before hand but I distinctly remember going down on her. She must've blacked out once she realized we were about to fool around or something but I remember that happening because it was something I'd dreamed up doing ever since I met her, creepy but honest.

I pry myself from her to grab a rubber behind the head of the mattress, the both of us pulling ourselves up there.

I get it on and turn over, getting on top of her. 

She's already hooking her legs around me before I even line myself up with her. 

She looks like she's high or drunk, eyes nearly shut, her lip between her teeth, her head tilted slightly, exposing her neck. 

I lean down and kiss her neck, her skin damp with sweat and she sighs. 

I rub my tip against her opening and she closes her eyes. 

I push into her, having to coach myself through because fuck her pussy is tight, and she winces, her mouth opening but nothing coming out. I'm about to ask her if she's alright when she speaks first. 

"Take it off." She tells me. 

"What?" 

"The condom, take it off." 

"Are you trying to trap me or something?" I snap at her. 

"I wanna feel you." She tells me softly, and I guess it's kinda sweet, or primal, whatever. 

I pull out of her and take the condom off, dropping it by the bed before I'm pushing back into her. 

We both moan, and I can feel her body stretching to accommodate my entrance, her face showing pain. 

I pullout again, but before I can get out completely, she pulls me back in with her legs, letting out a high pitched breath. 

More of her juices coat over my cock. 

"Fuck, Vivian," I say it, thrusting into her again and she wraps her arms around my back, hugging me to her, and my lips find hers as I push into her again, and again, roughly, the feeling of heaven washing over me each time I go back inside her. 

I make her take every inch, forcing myself to fit the last inch and a half despite her body not having room, and she writhes underneath me. 

"I think I'm bleeding." She tells me breathlessly and I think she wants me to back off or get off her, but when I go to, she says, "No, keep going, it feels good." 

The look on her face is a clear indication that she's into it. 

I'm kind of shocked that churchy Vivian is into the same shit I'm into, and I grab her throat, again, and kiss her, our tongues moving together. 

"I wanna get on top next." She tells me through moans. 

"Why?" I ask. 

"I wanna see it." She says and I furrow my brows for a second before I catch on. 

I'm rolling off of her and onto my back, my hands running up her thighs and waist when she gets on top of me, and I grab myself as she straddles me, pushing it against her before my hands pull  her down onto me. 

She screws her eyes shut, as she sinks down to the hilt, her thighs shaking, and I hit her ass cheek as hard as I can and she gets so tight around me I can't pull out until she relaxes. 

"You can't do that shit." I tell her harshly, biting back my urge to go ahead and come, and she relaxes a little more as my hands hold at her waist, guiding her movements since she's never done this before. 

"Does it feel good?" I ask her, her little moans and whimpers getting me even more hot and bothered. 

"Yes," she nods, tipping her head back. "So good."

I look between us, clear view of her pussy taking it, and I sigh. 

"It looks good, too." I tell her and she leans down over me, her forehead against my chest as she watches me fuck her for a moment before looking at me, kissing me sloppily, her chest pressing against mine making her sigh when her nipples brush against my skin. 

When she pulls away, I'm sticking two fingers in her mouth, taking her by surprise but she starts sucking on them in a second, and I force them down her throat, making her gag, as I start pounding into her, making her nearly shriek out but I gag her with my hand around her throat. 

"You're so pretty." I tell her, spit all down her chin from choking on my fingers, eyes nearly shut, my hand around her throat, and I glance down between us, licking my lips. "That pussy's pretty, too." I add and she cries out when my other hand starts rubbing at her clit. 

I take my hand from her throat and she gasps for air. 

"Nikki, I'm--" 

She can't finish. 

I roll onto her again, getting on my knees and lift her hips, continuing to hammer into her roughly and her eyes go to the back of her head, as her cum soaks the both of us. 

Why the fuck didn't she tell me she can come like that? 

I feel myself reaching my own end and go to pull out but she tugs me onto her, kissing me, her legs snaking around me. 

At first I don't think she realizes I'm about to blow my kids everywhere, then when I try to pullout, she says, "do it in me, I've heard it feels good."

I look at her like she's crazy because it's something I'd never expect her to say. 

"Please, Nikki, let me have it." 

I don't have time to argue because I'm finishing with a grunt and a satisfied smile at the sight of tears of pleasure in her eyes before her lids screw shut, her mouth open as a moan leaves her, her body sparking off with shivers. 

I let her have it.

"You're a slut." I tell her, thrusting into her a couple more times and she hums at my words. 

"Shut up." She says next and I kiss her one last time before rolling off of her. 

She pulls the covers over her chest and closes her eyes, tired, and I watch her for a moment. 

Okay, she may not be a slut, but I know she's gonna be able to get away with murder and I'm gonna let her because she's fucking Vivian. 

I ran myself into my own grave, but heroin and Vivian were major catalysts, but I know I was a catalyst for her own rock bottom, too. We were just too fucking young to know better, I guess. We fell in love and got hooked on playing house without actually stopping to think what all it would look like. Of course, neither of us expected me to be on smack, neither of us expected me to reach the level of stupidity that I reached with Vanity, and neither of us expected her to be conceiving a lovechild while I was next door dying, and I certainly didn't expect to file for divorce first, if at all. I remember that first night together in that shitty apartment got me hooked on her. Not just sex, I actually started listening to what she had to say after that, and wanting to have conversations, and hangout...I fell in love and she made it easy for me to. It was like boiling a frog. Things got worse and worse slowly overtime until BAM! I had Vanity, crack, and junk, and Vivian had Duff and a secret savings account she didn't think our lawyer would get record of. I was pissed, but I knew it was my fault. 

All of it was. 

I had promised her the world and instead stole everything from her like a life-sucking demon. 

She wasn't the evil, manipulative bitch. 

I was.

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction #gateway drug

[the-mykie-show]

After your night with Negan you have to make an important decision, meanwhile your ex struggles to accept that your relationship is over and after he takes things too far Negan comes up with a plan to teach him a lesson once and for all. 

*rating* explicit 

*warnings* rough sex, multiple sex positions, semi public fingering, blow jobs, unprotected sex, dirty talk, kind of stalking. 

In your dazed, half asleep state you almost mistake Negan's arm still wrapped around your waist for your ex's, before memories of last night flood back into your consciousness. You let out a contented sigh, remembering how Negan touched you, the way his tongue felt between your legs, how his cock filled you.

“You awake, darlin’?” he asks, his fingers brush your hair off your neck for him to press a soft kiss under your ear.

“Yeah.” you whisper, rolling over on the plush pillows to face him.

You're both still naked, and you feel the unmistakable ache that only really good sex could leave between your legs.

“You sleep alright?” he asks.

“Like a rock.” you replied.

“Yeah, couple of good orgasms will do that for you” his signature cocky smirk lights up his face.

You smack his shoulder playfully.

“You want to shower before you go?” he asks.

“That would actually be great. You joining?”

“Nah I got some shit to take care of.” Negan shows you to his personal bathroom, it's just as lavish as his bedroom, a large tub sits in one corner, a glass shower stall in the other, with plush black rugs,and matching fluffy towels. You could almost forget the apocalypse even happened in here.

He gives you some shampoo and soap, and leaves you to it.

You notice in the floor length mirror that you have several hickeys on your neck and inner thighs, and a bruise shaped like Negan's fingers on your hip. You don't mind them though.

Once you've showered and wrapped yourself in a towel you leave the bathroom to go find your clothes wherever they were scattered last night. You expect Negan to be long gone, off attending to whatever the Sanctuary needed today, but instead he's waiting for you by the bed. He's already gathered your clothes and put them into a neat pile on end of the bed, next to them however is nice set of lingerie accompanied by a short black dress.

“What's this?” you ask looking between Negan and the dress.

“It's a proposal of sorts. If you want to say no you can, no questions asked, but I was hoping you would be my wife.” you're stunned by him yet again, you thought last night was a one time hookup, you weren't expecting him to ask you to join the six other girls he called his wives, you'd never given if you're opposed to the idea or not any thought. You'd never had reason to having been what you thought was a happy relationship.

“I don't know. Can I think about it?” you ask sheepishly.

“Yeah, of course. Regardless of what you decide, I'd fucking love to have a repeat of last night.” he says, pulling to him and planting a kiss on your lips. It starts to heat up right as someone knocks urgently on his door.

“What the fuck do you want?” he breaks the kiss to shout at the person on the other side of the door.

“We have a problem, sir.” Negan rolls his eyes.

“If you'll excuse me I have some clusterfuck to fix.” he leaves you to make your choice on your own. In the end you decide to keep the back dress but wear your own clothes for now.

You make your way down to the cafeteria for breakfast, loading your plate with your favorites, shooting the grumpy lady in a hairnet who always serves your morning meal a friendly smile which quickly fades once you remember that you no longer have a boyfriend to eat breakfast with.

Your steamy fling with Negan was enough to make you forget all about your lying scumbag of an ex for one night, but now in the cold light of day you're forced to confront the fact that you're alone now.

The little black dress laying upstairs in your room begins to look better and better as you find an empty table and settle in for your morning meal alone. You watch Negan's wives as you eat, they've always intimidated you since you arrived at the Sanctuary, but watching them now they seem nice enough. You watch as a pretty redhead throws a rolled up napkin at a tall dark skinned women sitting across from her and all the girls laughed together.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by an unfortunately familiar voice “Y/N! I've been looking all over for you all night. Where were you?” your ex stands in front of you.

“None of your business.” you snap.

“Come on, don't do this babe. I made a mistake, and I'm so sorry. Can you please give me another chance?” he pleads.

“No. You can go fuck yourself.” you take an angry bite of your breakfast not even bothering to look at him.

“Are those hickeys? Are you already fucking someone else?” he's angry now, he grabs your arm yanking you to face him suddenly.

“Who the fuck is he? You little whore getting with another guy the night you break up with me!” his grip on your arm gets bruising tight on your arm.

“I broke up with you because you cheated on me you stupid prick!” you try to jerk your arm away from him but he won't let you go. You start to get a little scared.

“You're hurting me, let me go.” he does, but you're certain it's only because people are starting to stare.

You feel sick to your stomach, you don't even want your breakfast anymore.

You managed to make it through the rest of the day without another run-in with your ex, you do run into Negan a few times but he doesn't ask if you've made a decision yet, just shoots you a knowing smirk and winks at you on his way by.

That night when you go back to your room you notice a small wicker basket by your door, it's filled with fresh wild flowers, a stuffed animal, and a bottle of wine that someone had to have spent a shit ton of their points on. At first it makes you smile, you think it must be from Negan, an attempt to win you over and get to say yes to being his wife no doubt. Then you see the card attached to the basket and realize it's from your ex.

“I'm so sorry, please forgive me. I need you. I love you.”

You stuff the stupid note back into the basket and shove it aside.

You don't care if he spent all his points on this apology basket, you don't care how much he wants you back, it isn't gonna happen.

The next morning there is yet another basket outside your door, this time with chocolates, a heart shaped necklace, and a bottle of whiskey.

After lunch another one arrives. At this point you start to fear that your ex is turning into a stalker, and people on your hall are starting to notice the heap of gifts outside your door, you hope someone will steal them so that you don't have to deal with them, but Negan has rules against such things that he enforces harshly when necessary so no one dares to.

That night when you returned to your room your door is unlocked. You know you locked it, your heart beats violently with fear, but you open the door anyway, your hand wrapping the knife at your hip.

You recognize the figure standing at the end of your bed seconds before you stab him. It's your ex.

“What are you doing in my room you psycho?!” you yell at him, flipping on the light, still branching your knife. You notice that he's spread rose petals around the room, as if a sappy romantic gesture was enough to win you back.

“I came to prepare a romantic evening for us.” he says, turning around slowly “Instead I found this.” he holds up the black dress Negan gave you.

“So you fucked Negan huh? And he asked you to join his little whore house. Can't say I'm surprised, that is his MO. Just like he did to Dwight. You gonna have him burn my face off too?” he laughs bitterly. “Just at least answer me this. Did you sleep with him when we were together?”

“No of course not. I was loyal to you, even though you cheated on me, lied to me, ignored me, treated me like shit. I was loyal. That night was the first time I've slept with anyone that wasn't you in years. In fact it'd been so long I'd forgotten sex is actually supposed to feel good until Negan.” you know you're playing with fire but you just can't help yourself.

“Come on Y/N you can't possibly mean that. We had good sex, you loved me. It's not too late, we can still get it all back.” he's pleading with you again, desperation in his eyes.

“I don't want it back. I don't want you back.” you say matter of factly.

“Please don't say that Y/N! I love you, I need you back.” you shake your head gesturing to the open door.

“I said no, now take your shit and get out of my room.”

“It's our room. Please just let me make it up to you. I could fuck you so much better than him.”

“No you really can't, not that it would matter if you could because we're over, and tonight I'm saying yes to Negan.” you hadn't even completely made up your mind about Negan's proposal until that moment but you know you're making the right decision.

“No! You can't, you belong to me, you're my girl.”

“I don't belong to anyone, I'm a person you shit head! Not a piece of property. But tonight I will be a married woman and you're going to have to accept that.” his eyes burn bright with anger, and for a moment you fear you're going to have to use your knife, lucky for you your neighbor across the hall, a sweet older lady who works in the gardens, comes home at the right moment.

“Are you okay, dear?” she asks, poking her head into your room. Your ex shoots you a dirty look and throws the black dress at you on his way out with a growl of “This isn't over.”.

“I'm fine, thank you.” you assure your neighbor before closing the door and going to work cleaning up the rose petals all over your room.

It takes forever to get them put into a pile on the floor, and before you can finish you hear a knock on the door. You freeze, you fear its your ex back to harass you more, but then Negan's voice speaks from the other side of the door.

“You in there babygirl?” you open the door, he sees you're wearing the little black dress and grins from ear to ear.

“You're saying yes?” he asks.

“Yes.” you returned his grin and he yanks you into a tight hug and presses his lips against yours in deep kiss. When you both come up for air he sees the mess of petals and gifts spread around your room.

“What's all this shit?” he gestures to the room with a leather clad hand.

“What do you think?” you sigh “my ex wants me back. He's trying very hard.”

“Of fucking course he does, you're a goddamn catch.” he smirks, playfully slapping you on the ass.

“Yeah, well he should have thought about how much he loved me before he did what he did.” you shake your head with disappointment.

“Yeah, he sure as shit should have. Do you want me to talk to him?” Negan offers, picking up the bottle of wine the idiot had left and examining it.

“I think that might make it worse, he thinks I belong to him.” Negan places the bottle down with the rest of the unwanted gifts and pulls you to him, his gloved hand sweeping your hair back to press his lips against your ear.

“Well then, maybe we just need to show that little prick who you really belong to.” he nips your ear lobe and your knees go weak.

Negan explains the rest of his plan, all while letting his hands wander all over your body, gently kneading your breasts, and eventually working your dress up over your ass, feeling you up and admiring the way your ass looks in the lingerie he gave you all the while.

You're unsure about his plan, you worry it will make the situation worse, not to mention it's a little intrusive and awkward, but in the end you decide to trust Negan.

You wait in Negan's office with him while he sends a Savior to find your ex, “you look nervous. Don't be,” he reassures you “it's not like this is anything either of us hasn't seen before.”

“I know, it's just I feel weird about this.” you admit.

“You don't have to do this if you don't want to, we can call it off.” you knew Negan would let you stop this whole thing on a moment's notice with no questions asked, that was a big part of why you trusted him with this. If anyone else had suggested this idea to you, you would have laughed in their face and told them to go fuck themselves. But this was Negan.

“No, let's do it.” you say.

Negan lifts you onto his desk, standing between your legs, he pulls you into a kiss that starts soft but soon turns rough, his tongue slipping into your mouth, the ache between your legs already stirring up again.

His lips move to your neck, “You sure you're good with this? You feel a little tense.”he says against your skin.

“Yeah, I'm just nervous, what he reacts violently?” he keeps kissing your neck, softly sucking in the sensitive spots, and pulls you closer to the edge of the desk.

“Do you realize who you're talking to?” he asks “He wouldn't dare. Now spread your legs for me, baby.” you do as he asks, opening your legs to reveal your bare sex, this plan requiring you to take off the lace panties.

He presses two fingers to your lips, “Get em nice and wet,”

you take them in your mouth and suck on them softly, wetting them so they'll slide inside you easier.

“Damn I can't wait to feel that mouth around my cock.” he groans pulling his fingers from between your lips and sliding them between your thighs, you feel them press against your already wet entrance.

“You ready?” he asks, and you nod. His fingers fill you all at once in one smooth flick of his wrist, your thighs clamping around his hand.

He easily finds your sweet spot and slowly drags the pads of his fingers against it, your body clenching around him. Footsteps approach outside the door and his fingers still inside you, giving you the chance to change your mind. But you shake your head.

“Good girl, let me feel that tight little pussy come.” you can't hold in the moan when the heel of his hand rubs against your clit at the same time his fingers rub something deep inside you.

The Savior Negan had sent to get your ex knocked on his office door, you fidget nervously as Negan orders them to come in, his fingers still buried deep inside you.

You feel your ex’s shocked stare as realizes what Negan is doing to you. Negan holds up his unoccupied hand, signaling him to wait.

“C'mon baby, I know you like it when I fuck you real slow, but I got business to attend to.” his fingers feel so good inside you it isn't even awkward, you hands involuntarily grip his shoulders, moans falling from your lips as he makes you come. Your core tightening around him as you come, a warm wet rush coating his fingers in the evidence of just how good he made you feel.

You lean back on your elbows on his desk, feeling drunk on pleasure despite your ex standing there dumbfounded by what he'd just witnessed.

Negan turns to face him, licking the arousal and come from his fingers.

“Sorry about that, man.” he says with a smirk “gotta keep my girl satisfied, not that you'd probably know anything about pleasuring a woman” he laughed.

“What the hell is this?” your ex says. “I thought you wanted to talk to me?” he's pushing his luck with Negan.

“I sure as shit do. You got any ideas why that might be?”

“Not really, but is guess it has something to do with her?” he looks at you with disdain in his eyes, maybe even disgust.

“Well looks like you're not as big of a dumbass as I thought, because you are right. My wife here tells me you won't accept that she's over your ass and leave her alone.” his eyes dance between you and Negan, looking rather afraid now.  He knows he should be nervous, even if you weren't Negan's newest wife he wouldn't take kindly to a man harassing, borderline stalking a women. He probably thinks Negan has a much more severe punishment in mind, like the iron or the cells, or maybe even the fence.

“It's not like that…” he stammers “it's just… I.. I wanted to apologize and ask for her back. I wasn't gonna hurt her!”

“The thing is you already did apologize and ask for her back. It became concerning after you grabbed her and screamed at her in the cafeteria, and it became creepy after you you broke into her room. I'm not going to ask you to justify your shit ass choices, but I am going to have to insist that you apologize to the lady and swear on your nutsack this shit won't happen again.” Negan explains.

“I did nothing wrong, in fact that little whore should be thankful someone even wants that used up cunt enough to fight for her at all.” his words feel like a slap in the face, how could he say that about you? You thought he cared about you at least a little even after everything he did to hurt you.

Negan's whole demeanor changes, his eyes becoming dark and cold, almost murderous.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he growls, and before you know what's happening your ex is thrown against the wall and Negan's hands are around his throat.

“You don't fucking talk about my woman like that, you hear me you little fucker?” your ex struggles to breath, trying to push Negan off him. Negan doesn't budge until his face turns blue, finally letting him go and throwing him to the floor.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything Y/N! ”

“And?” Negan growls.

“And it won't happen again, I'll leave you alone.” he looks almost in tears.

“Good, now get your ass out of my sight.” he scrambles to his feet and hurries from Negan's office.

“You okay babygirl?” he asks once the office door slams behind your ex.

“Yeah, I just feel like an idiot.” you stare down at your feet in shame.

“You're not an idiot, baby.” he wraps his arms around you. “and you aren't a whore either. You can't let that shit get to you, he's just an asshole who didn't see what a beautiful, smart amazing woman he had, not to mention hot as fuck and awesome in bed.”

You smile a little at his words. “I'm pretty sure you don't hear this often enough, but you're a good guy, Negan.” you pull him down into a kiss, which he gladly reciprocates. “now why don't we finish what you started?”

“That's my dirty girl,” he smirks. “How about you get down on your knees for me?”

You gladly drop to your knees, reaching up to open his pants and pulling them down his legs with his boxers all at once, his manhood already hard. Staring up at him with the most innocent, doe eyed expression you can muster, you grip him by the hilt, you pop his tip in your mouth, sucking on it and curling your tongue around it, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

“Damn baby!” he groans. You can already taste his precome, so you tongue his slit making his hips involuntarily twitch and slide his cock against the back of your throat. You gag a little, not expecting the sudden thrust.

“Sorry sweetheart, I just couldn't help myself. You don't gotta deep throat me if you don't want to, this feels fucking amazing on its own.” you respond by slowly swallowing him all the way until you feel his tip at the back of your throat, you somehow managed to swallow him almost all the way to his balls, not leaving much of his shaft for you to stroke so instead you cup his balls kneading them while you suck. You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, and he lets out a deep moan.

Slowly pulling off, you suck his tip a little harder this time and then swallow him “Shit baby,” he groans “keep sucking my cock like that and you're gonna be my fuckin’ favorite in no time.” his hand twists in your hair, pulling gently as you bob your head up and down on his shaft. “Oh fuck yeah, just like that.” you feel his balls tense in your hand before he even warns you that he's going to come. You heed his warning by sucking his tip while he comes with a load groan. You swallow as much as you can before letting his half soft member slip from between your lips.

“That's my good girl.” his hand strokes your hair “Now that I've made that pretty little mouth mine, why don't you go bend over my desk and let me take you from behind?”

You stand up, and bend over his desk like he asked, he comes up behind you, his hand pressing your top half down while the other pushes your dress over the curve of your ass exposing you to him.

“You loved coming on my fingers in front of that prick didn't you?” his hand dipped between your legs.

“Yes.” you moan, admitting the truth that you'd gotten off on Negan pleasuring you in front of your ex, showing him how a real man gave a woman pleasure.

His fingers find your core, easily sliding inside you.

“Oh darlin’ you're fucking soaked. Did sucking me off get you this wet?” you nod.

He's already hard again and lining himself up with your entrance, his tip pressing into you.

“Ready babygirl?” he asks.

“Yes.” you moan. Your voice is so full of lust you barely recognize it as your own.

He enters you with one hard but smooth thrust, your body spasming around him as he lets you adjust to his size. At this angle it's even more obvious that he's a lot bigger than you're used to, once you're adjusted to the feeling of being filled so deeply you push your ass against his hips, pressing his cock deeper inside you.

Once he knows you're ready you feel him withdraw slightly and snap his hips forward with enough force to shake the desk, the angle is perfect, each thrust hitting that little spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

“You like that baby? You like my cock filling you up?” he thrusts roughly again. You'd never liked rough sex before Negan, but now it felt amazing, you figure maybe you'd just never had it done right before Negan.

“Harder.” you found yourself moaning the command after a few more rough thrusts, even Negan seems surprised by it, but he does it anyway. The force of his thrusts rattle the whole desk, knocking a lamp over and sending some books crashing to the floor.

You feel your core tightening with your building orgasm, each thrust increasing the intensity, and making your walls squeeze him.

“Damn you're so fucking tight.” he groaned.

“You gonna come for me… again.” you can practically feel the smirk in his voice, and I want to say something snide back, but then his hand reaches around, his fingers finding you clit. He teases the sensitive bundle of nerves with a maddeningly light touch, the complete opposite of his rough, hard thrusts.

You feel your walls start to flutter and throb around him, your orgasm finally over taking you, he drags your pleasure out with slow but hard and deep thrusts, his fingers still working your over stimulated clit, while your toes curl in your shoes and your hands hang onto the edge of the desk for dear life.

Your core is still spasming with aftershocks of your orgasm when Negan finds his release, his body going rigid behind you as you feel him spill inside you. He keeps thrusting as hard as he can until he's spent himself completely and his cock starts to soften.

In one dizzying movement he pulls out and turns you around to face him.

“Fuck, I am a lucky man! I'm glad you said yes, babygirl.” he kisses you, this time it's soft and lazy. And you've never felt more content than you do in his arms, that somehow still pleasurable freshly fucked ache deep inside you and his come on your thighs.

#negan #twd negan #negan's thirst squad #negan fic #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd reader insert #negan reader insert #negan requests #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic

[bewareofchris]

I don't actually trust you to write a strictly happy story or commentary or any kind of writing. However I enjoy your stories and writings too much to leave unattended and I do want more information. So, on to the obvious year, 2017.

1. rude (but true.  I mean, I wouldn’t trust me either).

PG-13?/R | Altmal | sexual situations off and on, mostly fluffy baby-related things

2017 is the year Kadar gets married (in June) and the year that Maria would be pregnant with Jaida.  It’s a good year.

(April)

“All I’m saying,” Maria slurred in the space between her mouth and the glass of liquor she was holding, “is that I’m about to commit myself to nine months of hard physical labor with a list of agreed upon restrictions, I should get some compensation.”  (At least, Malik thought that was what she was saying.)  It was hard to know with the English accent and the drunkenness if that was exactly correct.)

“Like what?” Altair asked.  He’d tried arguing her into taking money and she’d countered him every single time, saying that he’d done her a favor and she wanted to repay them.  (When pressed, she would admit that she liked the idea of a child but she didn’t want to be bothered with the care and feeding of one.)  “More booze?”

“Sex,” Maria countered.

Malik laughed (bright and loud, and a little tipsy) at that.  “You’e a lesbian.”

“So?” was indignant.  “Look,” and she slid out of her chair to come sit next to him.  Her drink spilled on his shirt as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders.  Her voice was close and warm.  “We can share, you can go first.”  Her fingers were working their way through the spaces between his shirt buttons.  Her nails scratched across his skin in a way that wasn’t anything but promising.  

Altair leaned forward to glare at them, working up to being offended about Maria groping his husband (most likely), but Malik said, “you should give us head,” because those ideas Maria was whispering into his ear were practically perfect.  

There was his husband, all but stripping off his clothes in joy, staring down the offer like working out how much it would cost him.  Thinking it through didn’t stop him from easing off the couch, or pulling his shirt off or dragging Malik forward so he could get easier access to his dick.  But once he was there, warm and real and comfortable between Malik’s thighs he said, “this counts as something off your list.”

“Fine,” Malik said.

Maria was delighted with soft little kisses against Malik’s cheek.  “Can I kiss you?” she asked, and then louder, “can I kiss you husband?”

“You can try.  He gets mouthy when he gets head,” Altair said.

(May)

It wasn’t that Altair had forgotten.  Because he didn’t forget things that Malik remembered (although it was hard to know what Malik would choose to remember and at which time).  In fact, he had been standing in the kitchen spinning his wedding ring on his finger while he considered doing some sort of landscaping with the muddy hellhole of the backyard when he very suddenly was reminded that he needed to remember:

“So,” Malik asked across the kitchen island.  He had appeared with bedhead and a surly frown, as if summoned from the discontent Altair felt about the dirt that refused to grow grass staring him down through the back windows.  Dirt was not a proper substance on which his child could play.  It would have to be replaced.

“So?” Altair repeated.  (He began the mental review of important dates and arguments they may have had recently to see what he’d misplaced.)

“So, its our anniversary,” Malik prompted.  “The anniversary of the day we were married.  The first anniversary.”

“Are we celebrating that?” came springing right out of his mouth before he could think.  “I thought you said we couldn’t celebrate more than one anniversary a year and I already made you go with me to London for our we finally met again anniversary.”

Malik was glaring at him.  “You’re cute.”

“I would prefer the term gorgeous, I’d settle for handsome.  I don’t have the right face for cute.  Kadar’s cute.”

“What is it?  What did you get me?”  Malik didn’t sound like the sort of person that should receive a present or even the sort that would enjoy one.  He sounded much more like Lucy who was still working through the notion she was wealthy beyond reason.  Malik started drumming his fingers on the counter top to really punctuate his point.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Altair said.  “You told me that I couldn’t buy or make you anything.  You said if I tried to celebrate more than one anniversary a year that you would divorce me and take half my net wealth.”  (Those were, in fact, Malik’s exact words.)  “I like the we met for the first time anniversary.”

So when his husband smiled at him, it was a surprise.  Malik reached behind his back to pluck an envelope out of the waist band of his sleep pants.  “I got you something,” he said.  He set the envelope down on the counter but didn’t push it forward where Altair could get it.  “The first wedding anniversary is paper and I wanted this to be meaningful.”

“You did?” Altair said.

“Yes, so, here.”  Malik slid the envelope forward and then just stood there watching him (very carefully) as Altair opened it.  The paper inside looked like any other folded over sheet of printer paper.  It was otherwise entirely unremarkable.  When he flattened it out, it took him a few tries to fully understand what he was looking at.  

“Maria’s pregnant?” 

Malik was smiling at him from the other side of the island, as if he hadn’t masterminded the deception that the doctors Altair had been paying (for too much) for hadn’t just been ignoring his inquiries.  As if the bastard hadn’t literally, two days ago, been telling him that it might not work the first time.  Fertility was a touchy thing and neither him nor Maria had ever tried to have a child before.  And the bastard had known.  “Congratulations,” Malik said. “You’re going to be a Dad.”

There were simply no words.  He went around the island and pulled Malik into a hug and kissed him and held onto him while he reread the whole paper again (most of it was medical jargon that he didn’t understand) and Malik leaned against his body.  “We’re going to be parents,” Altair repeated.

“Yeah,” Malik said.  He kissed Altair again, “we are.”

(June)

Malik was just as happy to erase the entire clusterfuck that was the month of June from his memory as to try to recall any series of events from that month in order.  It was easiest to refer to it as ‘Kadar’s wedding’ and not thing about how they had been stuck in Delaware (the first state to ratify the Constitution) with half of Italy for almost an entire fucking week.

The only good thing to come of it was his stupid brother’s decision to gift every close male relative with single pack Viagra.  Not just for the obvious reason, but also because Kadar had somehow managed to fill an entire bowling bag with the stupid little packs and snuck it into Altair’s luggage.  So Malik had the absolute delight of watching his husband freak out about trying to hide his unwanted stash of dick drugs for three straight days.

The rest of the wedding was shit, Altair panicking and protesting how he hadn’t bought the Viagra had been the only memorable event.  (Never mind Malik had been laughing too hard to participate in the conversation.)

(July)

Altair was good for frightening statistics.  He’d memorized all kinds of numbers about how pregnancies could go bad and when and how they shouldn’t make plans or make purchases before a certain point because it was bad luck.  He wasn’t superstitious by nature.

Malik was good at pushing his fingers through Altair’s hand when he wandered off in his head, “if I tell you that it’ll be okay, will you believe me?”

“Will you make it sound believable?” Altair asked.

There was a pause, Malik moved so he was standing right in front of him.  They were out-in-public (shopping with Peyton, meandering past the baby section).  “I do not believe any rational argument could counter an irrational fear.  What if I promised that we can have completely filthy sex when we get home?”

Altair shrugged, “I like filthy sex.”  

“I know,” Malik agreed.

But the baby section was just staring at him.

Malik looked over his shoulder at it.  “What if I promise you that I’ll let you drag me to every single unreasonably priced baby store in the country to buy far more supplies than can ever be used for our first child?”

Altair stopped staring at cute outfits and bibs and looked at Malik’s perfectly patient face.  He was smiling at a technicality long before Malik realized what he’d said, “first?” he repeated.

“If you survive this ordeal, we’ll talk about having another.”

“You said first,” Altair repeated.  “Deal,” before Malik could take it back.  

(August)

Maria looked distinctly uncomfortable.  Pregnancy had not given her (what Malik would consider) a glow but exaggerate the paleness of her skin.  She had a bag full of snacks (fully approved to be healthy for the baby) at her side that she was picking at now and again while they waited, but mostly she shifted in her seat and grumbled under breath.  

“Is there anything I can do?” Malik asked.

“At this juncture, I do not believe there is,” Maria snapped back.  She didn’t look even slightly repentant about it either.  In fact, when Altair was not there, she was more or less a fire-breathing demon.  

Malik didn’t fight her.  His Mother would have shown up just to slap him if he’d tried.  Instead he said, “it’s only a few month months.”

“Yeah, I’ll shove a watermelon up your ass and tell you it’s only a few more months.”  She shifted again and found that it did nothing to make her more comfortable.  “Is Altair going to show up?  I don’t like these clothes.”  She plucked at the dress she was wearing.  

“Yes,” Malik said.  

Maria let her head fall back and mumbled something under her breath.  When she turned to look at him, she said, “this is just more uncomfortable than I thought it would be.  I’m not unhappy to have your baby.  I just,” and there was the important bit, “I feel like it means to much to the idiot.  You understand, I say I hate you, I mean I’m uncomfortable and you understand.”

Malik nodded.  “I do.”

“Altair would think it meant I don’t want to have the baby.”

That was true.  “It’s okay.  You can vent all your anger at me.”

Maria smiled and (thank God) that was the moment Altair chose to walk in.  He sat in the chair between them, falling into a conversation about any updates he might have missed and somewhere in the middle of Maria saying everything was good (again) and being called back to to the ultrasound (at last), Altair remembered Malik existed long enough to kiss him.  

(September)

They were having a daughter.

“What are we going to name her?” felt like it had been punched straight out of his chest.  They were sitting at the breakfast table, Malik sipping coffee and looking over the morning paper as if life could continue to be so mundane in the wake of such news.  It felt like they’d been whispering ‘the baby’ for months, ever since Maria was confirmed to be pregnant and all that time it had been an abstract notion.  A baby.  A formless sort of thing, devoid of personality or future, just a notion.  It shouldn’t have mattered, and who cared about the sex of the baby, but it seemed to drown him regardless.  

They were having a daughter.

“I’d prefer not to name her after a fruit or vegetable,” Malik said.  He even looked up from his paper long enough to join the conversation in progress.  (Not that there was much of one.)

“So, Cucumber Jane is a no go?”

Malik narrowed his eyes at him, like he did when he didn’t want to smile, and then said, “why not name her Michelle?”

That was a callback, one might say, to a previous argument.  About the girl in Paris that had done her very best to flirt with Altair in open view of the whole world (and her parents who disapproved of the whole thing almost as much as Malik).  It had been a friendly argument over an absurd but delicate matter of extracting himself from the lovesick gaze of a teenager mooning over him.  (And that, Malik said, is why you shouldn’t go to the pool shirtless.)  “I’d prefer we not name our daughter after our affairs.”

“I suppose Leona is out then,” Malik said so very calmly one might have mistaken him for being serious.  But his lips were coiled up in a sly grin.  

“Lenora isn’t a bad name,” Altair said.  “Although if you name our daughter after the guy Ezio is still fucking, it’ll make Christmas more complicated.”

Malik snorted at that.  “Heaven forbid.  Alright,” was serious, “I’m sure you have a list.”

“I’m sure you have one,” Altair countered.

“Of course I have a list.”  And it just so happened, he had that list on his phone.  As it happened, so did Altair.  

(October)

Malik was not annoyed by how easily Altair was distracted by baby things.  It was charming.  When he seemed annoyed by it, it was only because they were trying to shop for Peyton’s Halloween costume while the girl in question was two and a half breaths away from a full meltdown.  Her Mother, Lucy, and her Uncle, Altair, were over in the baby section of the costume aisle, awwing over babies in sheep costumes.

“LIttle Baby Jaida can be a sheep and you can be Little Bo Peep!” Lucy was saying.

Altair was delighted, full of light and laughter and love, “I’d have to get a longer skirt though.”

Peyton was filled head to toe with hateful spite, glaring at them while she held onto Malik’s hand.  She turned her face to look at him (accusingly), “who is baby Jaida?”

“Oh!” Lucy said, “look at this one, it’s an owl.  Look at how cute this.  If she comes out with Malik’s skin it would be adorable on her.”  And she let her hand move away from the costume to add, quieter, “and if she comes out with Maria’s she can be this,” and she held up a baby vampire costume complete with exaggerated black widows peak.

Altair cracked up.  Peyton started making the noise that preceded a fit.  Malik cleared his throat to call back Lucy because he loved his niece well enough, but it was his last Halloween before he was obligated to dress small children in colorful costumes and he was going to spend it not consoling a screaming child.  He traded Peyton for his husband.

Altair slid an arm around him when he was close enough and said, “the sheep is cute.”

“It is,” Malik agreed.  Because it was.  All the baby costumes were cute.  (And would be made cuter by the addition of their child.)  “But you cannot wear the sex costume outside.”

Altair smiled with pink all in his cheeks and pulled Malik in so he could kiss him.  “What if I wear it tonight?” was whispered very quietly against his cheek.  Malik pinched him (but he didn’t say no) and Altair laughed again.

(November)

Maria had shown up at the start of November looking like she had finally reached the point at which she could no longer pretend not to be uncomfortable (for his sake, he understood).  She dropped her bags at the front door and slapped her purse on the table and said, “make me a fucking apple pie or I’ll have to cannibalize someone.”

Altair had not had the things to make a pie in his house because he did not usually make them except at Thanksgiving but he went on a brief trip to the store and returned with what he felt was plenty of supplies.

That was before Maria asked for another two days later, and then another two days after that.  By Thanksgiving he had gotten so practiced at making the pies that Desmond (who liked his pie before he was an expert) remarked, “this is amazing.  Did you do something different?”

Maria was dangerous enough even without a knife in her hand but as she happened to have one in her hand when Desmond asked, Altair just smiled, “nope.  Same pie as always.”

(December)

Maria cornered him (literally, in a corner) to say, “we need to throw your stupid husband a baby shower.  I know he has everything he thinks he needs but my understand of baby showers is that it’s not about gifts.  Find a way to make him go to the mansion, I’ll take care of the arrangements.”

Malik had only said, “you need his permission to hold any sort of gathering at the house, it’s impossible to get anyone to go there if he hasn’t agreed to it.  Not the family, but caterers and event planners also won’t go near it.”

Maria smiled at him, “you’re his husband.”

“I don’t own his Grandmother’s house,” Malik countered.  (Because he didn’t and it was simply one thing he had no interest in ever challenging.  Altair owned the house, Malik visited it once in a while.)  “I could maybe get him to agree to a Christmas party there?  An early one in case you have the baby early?”

“Good,” Maria said.  “So do that.”

–

Altair had been dragged to the mansion under false pretenses.  He had been dressed in a holiday sweater, shoved in a car and driven to the mansion under the guise of early Christmas. 

But the ballroom in the back was filled with tables covered in pretty pink table clothes.  Maria met him at the door with a baby bottle on a string that she offered to him and said, “if you say the word baby, you have to give up the necklace to whoever catches you.  Whoever gets the most at the end of the party gets to keep this baby.”  And her smile was pure evil.  (That couldn’t possibly be the real reward.)  Then Malik threw a T-shirt at him that once unfolded said ‘new Mom’.  

“It’s your baby shower,” Maria said.  “Eat cake, open presents, watch the morons try to chug alcohol out of baby bottles.  I found a lot of games, I couldn’t decide which I liked.”

Altair hugged her and Maria hugged him back.  “Thank you,” he said.  She shoved him back when she was tired of being held onto (because she got hot, she said, all the time).  “Who’d you invite?”

“Everyone,” Maria said.  

(January)

Malik had thought, despite what he was told, that there was simply no way to love anyone on sight.  It was as impossible a notion as any, but there he was, leaning up against his husband’s body, the pair of them looking down at their brand-new-daughter.  She was discontent at her living conditions, surly as her Mother had been all through labor, pink and healthy and beautiful.  

“I love her,” Altair whispered.  Like a revelation, like he hadn’t thought it was possible.  There were tears in his eyes as he smiled and Malik ran his finger down her perfect little cheek.  “This is our daughter,” Altair whispered.  “We have a daughter, we’re fathers.”

#Sass Verse