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Orc Boyfriend - Bash

Oh my gosh guys I just hit 160 followers! I honestly didn’t think I would have nearly this many when I made this blog, and I’m so thankful for all those who read and like my stories! Here’s another one featuring a gifted woman and her orc babe. If you like my work, please consider donating to my kofi, it helps me out a lot <3 Also, sorry if you’re seeing this twice, I had to fix the ‘keep reading’ thing so it wouldn’t be so long. NSFW

 I was a little girl when I heard the siren’s call. My parents were busy doing anything but watching me, and slipping away was never hard. I followed the voice through the forest near my home, the song notes pulling at me like strings tied around my bones. I saw a woman laid out near a creek, sick and dying. She was singing a mourning song for herself, so I sat with her and tried to offer her any comfort I could. She was scared of dying alone; that much I could tell from her pained wails. So I sat there and held her hand for as long as it took, and she thanked me with a gift. I felt the power come over me, blue lights whirled up my arm and through my body from where my hand was grasping hers. I didn't understand what had happened for a while, but it became impossible to ignore. I would whistle a tune and birds would start to follow me, or I would sing and my parents would suddenly want to spend time with me. I didn’t understand the strength of the power until I started school, though. A boy tried to grab at me and lift up my skirt, and the shrill sound that left me was anything but human. He was on the ground with blood pooling in his ears by the time my mouth sprung shut. 

I was more careful after that. Being different in my town is often a death sentence, so I learned to control it and keep this power to myself. I always figured my parents had a hunch, but as they didn’t spend time with me much I was unsure. That was until my parents sold me off, though. Then it was confirmed.

 The men came in the middle of the night. They were dirty and unkempt but dressed in good, although mismatched, armor. They probably had a single set of teeth between them all. I heard the commotion and came downstairs. 

 “Ah good, she’s awake. Go ahead and take her, I have no need for her here.” I heard my father say, his nose upturned and his awful fake accent exaggerated. 

 I watched my father be paid by them while my mother stood to the side. Her lips were pinched tight but she did not speak up in my defense. I looked back and forth in confusion, still half asleep and not understanding what was happening to me. They stood there by the large french doors, draped in their finery while I was sold like a broodmare. 

“She is a monster,” I heard my mother say, “do not be afraid to treat her like one.”

The men went to grab me, but I tried to fight. I squirmed and clawed, and they led me away as I struggled in their grasp. I opened my mouth to scream but I was hit over the back of the head before I could get a sound out.

When I woke up, all I could feel was pain blossoming at the base of my skull. As I got used to the pain, I felt a tender hand brushing the sweat soaked hair off of my forehead. I peeled my eyes open, and as they went into focus I found I was inside of a wooden box, the only sunlight coming in from little gaps between panels. We must have been moving, as I was only slightly aware of the jostling of my head when we hit bumps. The hand was attached to a small orcish girl, still a child. She couldn’t be very old, her tusks were still just nubs peeking out of her lips. It was then I saw her lips moving, the actual words taking longer to get to me.

“Shh are you alright lady? It’s gonna be okay, my papa and uncle are gonna come, I promise. I’m Sheely, and -” her words faded slowly, and I felt myself go unconscious again, her voice luling me out again. 

The next time I wake up is to the screams of the girl being held prisoner with me. I awake abruptly, and while I’m still in pain I move quickly. I see a man is trying to drag her out of the box we are in. She is clawing and fighting him with tears rushing down her face. I do not hesitate, and when I hear men comment about ‘breaking her in’ I let out a cry that has them all on their knees. Blood is running out of all the orifices in their head, like tears coming from their eyes, and a few of them have collapsed. Sheely is unharmed by me and my power does not touch her, which I am thankful for. I grab her and start to run. Everything is blurry for me but I know this is my chance to get us out of this. I don’t want to dwell on the intentions of those men, but I know enough to know we would be better off lost in the wilderness.

 The orc - Sheely is just a child, though, no matter that orcish children are almost as large as a human teenager. She is panicked from the men trying to hurt her, sobs still leaving her despite the running and she catches her ankle on a root. She falls to the ground, but I waste no time in trying to pick her up. I have not known hard labor in my life and orcish children are not easy to carry, though. I feel the panic rising in my chest, and I hold her to me tightly.

 I hear them, then. Some of the men have come after us, and I try to find somewhere to hide the girl. My feet scrape the ground as I try to haul her behind a fallen tree. It is no use, and soon the largest of the men is appearing in front of us. Before I can blink a long whip is wrapped around my arm, bringing us both to the ground. I sing and wail once again but while I can tell he is in pain, it does not stop him. I curse myself now, for ignoring the power I have. If only I had honed it, or practiced more, we could be okay. He backhands me, and I hear a crack.

The pain doesn't knock me out this time, although I wish it had. I am grabbed by the jaw, and I forget all about the pain in my head. Noise leaves me but not enough. and my voice is rendered useless. He glares at me with dark eyes, and all I see is hate in them.

“Are you going to try that again or should I crush your vocal cords too, siren bitch?” Spit flies in my face and I shake my head no to the best of my abilities. He increases his grip on my jaw harder, and if it wasn’t broken before I’m sure it is now. My vision swims with darkness, but I hold on. I won’t leave her alone with them. He lets go and pushes my face away and into the ground. 

“Get the fuck up then,” he tells me, and I obey. 

 We are dragged back to their camp, and I hold onto Sheely. I see several of the men still on the ground before we are thrown back into the wagon. My head hits the wall and I feel the wood splinter into my skin. I manage to position Sheely behind me. I am hopeful that the men are in enough pain to be deterred from their plans with her, but I don’t want to risk not being able to help her if they come back. 

I don’t know how long it has been but I have not had food nor water since I was captured. I had never known this kind of pain, this uncomfortable existence, but I refused to let myself succumb to sleep. Instead I spend my time trying to listen to the men and make sure no one was coming to get us

The words I hear from the men outside all melt together and paint an eerie picture of the life waiting for me. I feel as if I am living in a nightmare and just couldn’t make my screams heard or run fast enough to escape. Scenes play out before my eyes of the ways evil people mean to torture me and throw me away once I am used up. I hear screams and anguished cries, but it all fades into the horror playing behind my eyelids. The screaming dies down into a dark silence, and I can hear Sheely yelling from behind me, apparently awake. 

The last of my strength I spend covering her body with mine, pushing her further into the corner of our dank wooden prison. The door is ripped apart, and the sun has risen. The light blinds me for a moment, but then a large figure blocks it out. I turn my back to the figure and pull Sheely further underneath me. I don’t feel as though I am long for this world in my current condition, and she is so young. I want to give her a chance. 

“Uncle!” I hear Sheely yell this in the back of my mind, and the man yells out for Sheely too. I let go, then. I let go of her, and my will to stay conscious as well. I feel her relief and happy noises all around. I try to soak in her joy as I let go. 

I know enough to know I am not dead. I drift in and out, feeling bumps in the roads and rumbling voices around me. Everything hurts enough that I wish I was dead, though. A wish that refuses to come true, as I am suspended in pain for what feels like an eternity. 

The fog eventually clears and the heavy scent of medicinal steam hangs in the air. The smell is of a healers den, and if I am right then I am relieved. My vision is blurry but I see a shape run into the den, and Sheely’s voice. It’s the sweet voice of a happy and safe child, and I think I manage a smile. I see another shape duck into the tent behind her, as well as a deep voice coming from beside me. A gnarled and old hand comes into vision as well, holding a cloth to my face. The throbbing of my jaw and head is not gone, but muted. I feel bandages wrapped around my arm and feet as well. A small hand takes hold of mine, and when I fall asleep again I feel calm for the first time in days. 

The medicine is strong and leaves me in a daze for a long while, but as I heal they give me less and less, until I am able to understand and remember when people are speaking to me. Ungral, the healer, is a constant companion to me. He explains that Sheely is the much loved daughter of their chief, and I am being honored among the clan. 

“Sheely has painted quite the picture of you to us all, calls you a ‘screeching warrior’” Ungral informs me, his lips upturned in amusement.

“Oh goodness, everyone will be so disappointed when they actually see me. I am no warrior, although I did screech quite a bit.” I jest with him.

“Hush child, no one will be disappointed to see the women who took care of our Sheely,” He sets out food in front of me. It is a thick and meaty stew, and I am in heaven from the smell alone. 

 Sheely visits me everyday before her schooling and often before her bedtime, bringing me snacks and things to do. Her mother and father visited me early in my recovery, but I don’t remember very much. Sheely tells me they are planning a celebration for her return, and that they are waiting until I am recovered since I am an ‘honored guest’. I am grateful for their hospitality, but I feel I have not earned it. All I did was cower with Sheely in a corner while her family saved us both, but I would hate to insult them this way.  

The first day Ungral has me leave the tent to walk is more eventful than I like. The moment I leave the hut, orcs are thanking me and introducing themselves left and right. I am friendly and speak to everyone, but it quickly becomes too much for me. Right before I am going to tell Ungral I need a break, Sheely comes running up to me followed by three other orcs. One of which was a woman, in decorative armor and beads woven into her hair. She grabs my hand with tear filled eyes as Sheely hugs my legs. 

“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe when I couldn’t,” she tells me. My eyes start to fill as well, just looking at her. 

“Of course,” I nod to her, my hands grasping hers back. I am starting to feel dizzy but I dare not disrespect her. One of the orcs with her, the smaller of the two men, comes up to me as well. This is without a doubt the chief. I know little of orcs and their customs, but the beads and armor he wears, as well as the tattoos covering him, seems to indicate this. 

“I am Sheelga’s father, and Chief of this clan,” He tells me, his voice loud and clear. “We are all so thankful for you and that you were able to protect her. You will want for nothing here, nor ever again. Be assured that the men who took you are no longer in this world and as soon as you are fully healed, I will have my best warriors escort you home to your family. If there is anything you need, please, just let us know.” He tells me this, and I am reminded that my family is the one who did this to me. I stutter out a thank you and feel my legs shake. Ungral is by my side quickly, the old man more nimble than I assumed.  

“Leave the girl alone, just because she is stretching her legs doesn’t mean you can all bombard her,” he waves off the chief and his wife, who just chuckle at him. 

“Yes, we will leave you be then. Please, rest and know that you are safe here,” The chief and his wife say goodbye and turn to leave, but Sheely runs into the healing den. Ungral and I follow after her, partially to see what is wrong and partially because my stamina is running too low to do much else. Her parents and the other large orc come into the hut too, and I see Sheely in her usual spot next to the bed with tears running down her cheeks.

Everyone goes over her and when I settle on the bed she hurriedly plasters herself against me. I hold and shush her, and I can make out some words between her broken sobs. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” she bawls out, and I immediately start to hold her tighter. 

Her father has crouched next to her, and his large hand is splayed on her back. “She has a family too, my heart, and we cannot keep her from them,” he tells her, but I speak up. 

“I don’t actually. Well, I suppose I do but they’re the ones who sold me to those men,” my voice wavers as all the eyes turn to me, mixed looks of anger and pity look back at me. 

“Then you have to stay here,” Sheely says, her voice firm. I smile at her, but I do not wish to impose on these kind people. 

“Now little one, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” I try to sound cheery, but it really just comes out sad. 

“I think I speak for everyone here when I say you should stay,” the other orc speaks up, and I no longer argue. He is the largest being I have ever seen, with dark green skin and long black hair in a single shining braid down his back. He has black swirling tattoos covering a great deal of his arms, and his deep brown eyes lock onto mine. His beauty stops the words from leaving my mouth. 

“Yes, brother,” the chief nods at him and turns to me. “You will stay then, it is settled.”

His wife comes to sit by me and I open my mouth but no sounds come out, I just nod and squeeze her hand. 

Not soon after this I start to heal more quickly. I am sure this has something to do with the lack of stress I currently have. I am surrounded by kind people who want to help me, and I get to stay. A large feast is held to not only celebrate that Sheely is back, but also to welcome me to the clan. It is loud and boisterous, and copious amounts of ale are consumed. Balo, the Chief, drinks so much in celebration that his wife Lorka is rolling her eyes at him. He is telling old war stories and spinning his daughter around, taking intermediate breaks to remind Lorka how in love with her he is. When he hears me laugh, though, he sends a large grin my way and starts a toast for me. I am embarrassed, but flattered as they raise their glasses to me. I drink some too, but Ungral warns me not to do much since it could interfere with some of the medicine he has given me. 

Sure enough, I feel the effects of the alcohol much more strongly than I would have thought, so I go outside to get some space from the crowd. I find a pretty tree nearby and stumble my way over to it. I see Sheely’s uncle leave the great feast hall not long after I do. He looks around until he finds me, then struts toward me. 

“Oh, hi! I’m sorry but I don’t think I ever got your name,” I squeak out the words as best I can, hoping I’m not sounding over eager or over drunk. He is large and powerful, and I cannot look away. He makes me feel so small, and it excites something deep within me. My head spins, and I am unsure if it is due to his presence or simply the mead. 

“My given name is Rhugro’bash, but Bash is just fine little songbird,” he nods at me and settles onto a stump next to me. He offers me a smile and hands me a plate stacked high with food. “I saw you leave and wanted to make sure you would still eat.” 

“Thank you, everyone is so friendly but I’m just not used to such big crowds,” I take the food eagerly, moaning at the flavors. I feel spoiled here, with a beautiful orcish man bringing me delicious food. I open my eyes to see Bash staring at me as I eat, and I almost choke at the look on his face. “Sorry, it’s just so good.” 

He throws his head back and lets out a guwaffing laugh. “Well then I am happy to have pleased one as lovely as you.” 

He reaches over and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, and I’m sure he can feel the heat coming off of my face. He stands and leaves quickly after, wishing me a goodnight in his deep rumbling voice. Oh gods, I think to myself, I am going to get myself in trouble with him. 

The next morning I wake up to a large breakfast and a flower set out for me. I ask Ungral about it and he laughs, shaking his head at me.  

“It seems you’ve caught a certain someone’s attention,” the old man gives me a wry smile, apparently amused by my confusion. He sits across from me with his herbal tea, and passes me a note. It says nothing on it but ‘From Bash’, so it does little to clear things up.

“But...why?” 

“The man wants to cook for you,” he shrugs, “wants to see to it you’re fed, and brings a flower? I think you can figure it out,” he chuckles at me then, and leaves me with a meal that was composed of more food than I would be able to eat in days. 

 Bash comes to visit with Sheely later in the day, who hugs me then promptly goes to hang out with Ungral instead. I thank Bash for breakfast and he goes from a warrior to a puppy in an instant. He lights up and breaks out in a breathtaking smile, the gold bands on his tusks shining brightly. The two of us sit down, and he sees the flower sitting next to my bed. I clear my throat, feeling much more nervous in his presence than the night before when I was emboldened by alcohol. 

“I hope it wasn’t too forward of me, songbird. I wasn’t sure how things like this are done where you are from.” He speaks so casually and directly, I am not used to that. 

“What kind of things do you mean?” 

He reaches over and folds my hand in his, his calloused palms brushing against my skin in the sweetest way. “Romantic type things. I want to court you.”  

“Can I ask why?” 

He laughs a bit and schooches his chair closer to me, a playful look on his face. He leans closer to me as he speaks, and his proximity makes my head spin. “You are strong, and brave. I like the way you look when I bring you food, and how beautiful you are. You love Sheely, and were ready to lay down your life for her. I cannot think of better traits for a mate.” 

My mouth is in an “o” shape, and he leans back with a satisfied look on his face. Sheely comes barreling back in and I am grateful for the distraction. 

Bash continues to send food to me, along with little gifts or trinkets. He gives me clothing too, as well as a homemade chest to put everything in. I appreciate it and everything he does makes me feel so special, but I hardly feel as if I deserve it.

 One day he comes to take me for a walk, and I voice this to him.

“I really do enjoy everything you do for me, I just feel like I am undeserving of all of it. You spoil me.” He finds a log to sit on, and pulls me to sit on one of his thighs. My arms wind themselves around his neck with his behind my back. The closeness is so effortless for him, it seems, while I feel my heart is going to pump out of my chest.

“Now don’t go feeling guilty, pretty bird. I like doing things for you.” He frowns at me, and makes everything sound so simple.

“I just feel bad I can’t give you anything in return.”

“You give me plenty,” he scoffs, “you gift me your time.”

You huff and adjust yourself on his knee, turning to face him more. 

“You give me that too though. I want to give you something and yet all I have are things you have gifted me.” I frown at this realization. They have welcomed me in but I’ve really just free-loaded. 

Bash taps a finger to my forehead, startling me out of my thoughts. “I don’t know what’s going on in here, but cut it out. You wanna give me something?” I nod, of course I do. He smiles, almost wicked. “Sing to me, bird. I want to hear it.” 

My eyes grow big. Of all things, I was not expecting this. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says, playing with my hair with an exaggerated pout on his lips.

“I’ll do it for you, I’m just not used to singing nice things. It’s always been a bit of a defense mechanism.” I try to think back to when I was young and would sing to the birds and the flowers. I think about the feelings I have for Bash, the look in his eye when he sees me and the happiness he brings me. I concentrate and let my abilities take over. It’s natural for me, like taking a breath of fresh air after being underwater too long. 

My voice sings of a new life, of a gallant rescue. I sing of new feelings and new family, how much more beautiful life is for me now. I sing of new beginnings, of spring. I let my emotions well up then pour out, and I am unsure how long I sing but when I stop he has tears in his eyes. 

I reach up to wipe them away, noticing how out of it he looks. He has pulled me much closer to him while I was singing and I am thoroughly pressed against him.

He whispers “thank you.” Bash presses his lips to my brow and we stay like this for quite some time. Once we hear crickets chirping he takes me back to Ungral’s.

The courting gifts start to increase and get larger after this encounter. He insists on cooking almost every meal for me, and I try to squash my feelings of being unworthy. I sing to him occasionally too, since he says it’s one of his favorite things. We often have the healers den to ourselves, since Ungral lives in a separate building behind it. I haven’t been to his house yet, as he said he is in the middle of building onto it.

The first time he kisses me, it is while he is cooking for me. I move to the kitchen to peek at what he is making, and he just leans down and pecks me on the lips. He pulls back and looks shocked at his own actions, and I get to see my great warrior flustered. I give him no chance to apologize. I lift up onto my tippy toes and pull him down, slanting my mouth over his. He holds his arms out awkwardly to the side at first, but soon drops the wooden spoon and kisses me back. 

He’s vocal and does not bother to hold in his groans. I pull at him until we are on the cot together, kissing and petting at one another. He moves to my neck, placing wet open mouthed kisses under my ear. The feeling of his tusks brushing against my neck sends chills up my spine. All too suddenly he rips himself off of me, running to the kitchen. The sound of soup boiling over registers and I hop up to help clean up the mess. Bash’s cursing turns into laughter when we look at one another, and I peck his lips again but the heated moment has passed.

I am adamant about giving Bash an actual tangible courting gift, and I ask Ungral about it. 

“It’s not frowned upon, if that’s what you mean,” he tells me, showing me how to blend certain medicines. “Not required either, but after one courts you a while giving a gift back is a way to accept the courting or encourage them that you want it to advance.” 

Winter is around the corner and Bash told me he has a lot to prepare for with his home, so I try to think of something good to get for him today. I talk to Ungral about this too, but it feels odd talking to him about my romantic life. He is more of a father than mine ever was, and I sense it’s a bit awkward for him as well. 

“Take this,” Ungral says, trying to shove a bag of coin in my hand. I push it back at him. 

“What, no! What for?” I ask him, “I already live here for free!”

He gives me a flat look in return “You help me with my work and Bash feeds the both of us with his excessive courting meals. I should still pay you for all the work you help me with. Go buy a courting gift and stop fawning, girl.” He turns around and leaves no room for me to argue. 

I do want to give something nice to Bash so I take it, but I vow to help Ungral even more to feel as though I earned it. I walk along the shops in the center of the village, and one tent catches my eye. Inside are glittering beads, hair ties, and bottles of oils and soaps resting on shelves. Bash’s hair is beautiful, and he knows it, so this would be perfect. I look along the beads and one instantly catches my eye. It’s a pretty blue bead and dangling on it is a bird. It’s absolutely perfect. I go to pay for the bead and the shop owner wraps it up in a nice box for me. I can’t wait to give it to him, and I hate that I have to wait. 

The hours could not go by any slower, but eventually Bash comes by to tell me goodnight. He walks in and kisses me, but I can tell he is tired.

“How was your day songbird?” 

I cannot help to smile in excitement, I probably look crazy to him.

“It was good,” I tell him, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh really? And what may that be?” 

“Sit here and close your eyes! I’ll be right back.” I sit him on the bed and get a sleepy smile in return. I go to get the bead and a snack for him as well. I’m only gone a moment, but when I return he is snoring. My disappointment is fleeting, he looks so sweet like this. I set the box on the table and get to work. I gently peel his shoes off and his more uncomfortable looking clothing as well before tucking him in. The bed is small so I decide to snuggle in, hoping he doesn’t mind the liberty taken. 

Bash is warm, and I find it was one of the best night's sleep I’ve had in awhile. We are tangled together in the morning and he is awake before me. A hand is petting my hair, and I just sigh and shove my face more into his chest.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” he whispers to me, and I have never thought him more attractive than now, with his groggy voice in my ear. 

“Shh, m’still sleepin,” I mumble into his chest, and get a laugh in return. We bask in the moment before I remember how excited I am, so I just roll over and hand him the box, jolting up to give it to him. 

“Open it,” I encourage, and he purposefully goes slowly. 

When he sees it he gasps, and I feel like I’ve done well. I realize why he enjoys doing things for me so much now. His excitement and happiness when he holds it up is my new favorite look for him. He has me braid the bead into his hair, and the blue is a stark contrast to his dark hair. 

“I have something for you as well, my songbird,” Bash gestures to his satchel, and I hand it to him. He digs around, and then presses a key into my hand. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up. I look at the key then back at Bash for a minute before it sinks in. 

“You want me to...live with you?”

“Yes, I can’t think of anything I would want more,” he admits to me.

“I don’t need an answer right away,” he continues, one of his large hands caressing the side of my face. “Just...come by tonight if you decide to, otherwise I will see you in the morning and we can take things as slowly as you wish.” He kisses my stunned face and goes to walk away, apparently nervous for your reaction. 

I grab him before he makes his way out.

“Bash!” I stop him, and pull him down near me. “I’ll see you tonight,” I whisper in his ear, planting a kiss underneath. I can practically feel the chill that runs through him, but I usher him out anyway. I’ve never been to his house before, and wasn’t even sure where to go. I talk to Ungral a bit before I pack up my things. I leave most everything there for now, as my chest and other things are too heavy for me alone. I then go to visit his sister-in-law’s house for a bit of help. 

Later that night I walk up the cobble pathway in nothing but the silk nightdress Lorka has given me. My hair is down, and I feel every bit the siren I have been accused of being. The home is beautiful under the moonlight and the colors seem vibrant bathed in the blue of the night. Fireflies dance over the pond and the stone house is reflected in its depths. I open the heavy door and all the breath leaves my body.

Bash is waiting for me in the home he has built for us in nothing but his loincloth.  He stands proud and tall in front of me. Deep rumbles of desire come from his chest and mix with the sounds of the crackling fire; it is the most beautiful melody I have ever been lucky enough to hear. The fire gives his skin an otherworldly gleam and he looks every part the formidable warrior he is known to be. My formidable warrior, now. I walk toward him as if I am a newborn deer and I fear he can hear my knees knocking together, but one of his hands reaches out to steady me. 

His hand moves up my arm while his other goes around my waist, pulling me against him. His warm skin quells a shaking chill I didn’t know I had, and I let myself melt into him. He has barely touched me and I feel as though I’ve run miles. 

“Let me take you to our bed, my songbird,” he says, and I nod my head. My eyes are wide gazing up at him and Bash smiles down at me. He bends down and lifts me up a bit to close the gap to place a soft kiss on my lips. His tusks brush against my cheeks and I gasp. He suddenly places his hands on my bottom and pulls me up with my legs around him. I squeal out a laugh and the nervousness is broken. 

He gives kisses and raspberries all over my neck and chest as he walks me to the bedroom. I squirm and laugh, and my hand ends up in Bash’s hair. I give it a tug and am rewarded with a playful growl as he tosses me onto the bed. The bed he has crafted is beautiful, and I am once again lost in his duality. He is a powerful warrior who can wield his warhammer like no other, and yet he created and carved the delicate wooden features adorning our headboard. He seems hard on the outside, so intimidating and yet he kisses me so softly. 

He climbs up with me and pulls my legs on either side of his hips, perched up on his knees. My hand splays across his stomach and I feel the muscle there, covered in a layer of softness that makes me find him all the more appealing. I gawk at him, tracing the tattoos and scared planes of his body. 

“See something you like?” His large hands run over my thighs, the fingertips dipping under my nightdress on each pass.

“I see a lot I like,” I quietly admit,  finally lifting my gaze to meet his. A pleased sound leaves him. He kisses me and pulls me even closer, so much so that the heat between my thighs settles on his manhood. I can’t help but grind myself into him. 

“I want to make you sing for me,” He tells me, and he slinks down the bed. I push myself up onto my elbows and watch his broad shoulders push apart my thighs. I can feel a deep throbbing in my core, and I gasp when his fingers trace the lines of my underclothes. His other hand moves upward and settles on my stomach before he pulls my underwear aside. 

His warm breath washes over me, and he places the gentlest of kisses around the apex of my thighs before licking a broad stripe along my folds. I fall back onto the bed writhing , my hands digging into the sheets. He starts to lick and kiss at my clit, and a strong finger finds its way to my entrance. My back arches and a moan leaves me at the pleasure he is giving. His other hand wanders up the bed to meet one of mine, untangling my fingers that were clutching the sheets. As his finger pumps into me in time with his mouth moving on my clit I cannot hold in my noises. 

“Bash, please,” I moan out to him, unsure what I am asking him for. His answering rumble vibrates through me and his tusks start to dig into my soft flesh. He adds another finger and I feel myself quickly tighten around them. The crooking of his fingers and the pressure on my clit increases and a knot builds in my stomach. The noises leaving me increase as well, but everything quiets the moment that I find my release. Fireworks go off behind my eyes, my legs tighten around his head and my hips jerk. He sounds like a man feasting, grunts and groans leaving his mouth. He does not relent until I am jerking away from the stimulation with a whimper, the ecstasy too much. 

“Bash, c’mere,” I pull at his shoulders, my request coming out a breathless whine. When he looks up at me he is debauched. His eyes are full of desire and my wetness covers his mouth and chin. As he moves up my body, he pulls my underclothes off of me as well. 

“Did you enjoy me, my songbird?” He inquires, laying kisses up my arm as sparks continue to dance on my skin. I give a breathy yes in response to him. I reach my hands out to pull him down over me, and his arousal is evident as it presses into my stomach. I arch into it and my desire is reborn. I reach down and run my fingers along his shaft over the loincloth still covering him. I pull at the edges of the cloth and it falls down, releasing his heavy cock. 

I feel my mouth water at the sight of it. It hangs beneath its own weight, and I bring my hand up to hold it. The hot flesh pulses in my hand, and I feel my entrance pulse in answer. It’s an even darker green than the rest of him, and more tattoos swirl near the base of it. Fluid leaks out of the tip, and I run my fingers over it, coating the head. When I look back at Bash’s face, I am not disappointed. His eyebrows are knitted together and his eyes are dark with want. I hold his gaze and give a tentative stroke, letting his hips jerk into my hand. My other hand comes up to caress his heavy sack, gently massaging him in time with the strokes. 

“Fuck, I’m going to come from your hands alone if you don’t stop that, woman,” he snarls out, but I only slow down my efforts.

“Don’t you want to?” I ask him sweetly, leaning up to kiss his neck. 

“Minx,” he scolds me in good nature, then leans down to snarl darkly in my ear. “I want to feel you come around my cock when I release. I want to fill you up so much you leak my seed for days, and any Orc who comes near you will smell my claim on you.”

His words alone cause a whimper to leave my mouth. “Please,” I breath out, wanting nothing more than for that to come true. He strips me of my nightdress, and I take his hands in mine and pull him back with me on the bed, curling one of my legs over his hip. His cock runs through my folds, my wetness coating him, before he notches the head at my entrance. He sucks and licks at my tits before smoothly thrusting into me, my nails coming up to dig into his back. My cunt is tightly wrapped around him, every vein of his cock pulsing inside me. He is so much bigger than me in every way, and I’m surprised he fits inside of me without pain. The stretch is uncomfortable at first, but soon fades as my pleasure crests. 

“Look how well you take me, songbird. Will you sing to me again?”  He punctuates this with a hard thrust, and I let out a long moan. I feel my power imbed itself into my voice, but I cannot help it. Tendrils of my magic reach out and touch him, caressing his skin and coaxing out more desire with my noises. His movements speed up, and I hear grunts leave him. Bash brings his face to my chest, growling into it. Pleasure builds in me again, and as I wail out my climax Bash follows me. He buries himself deep within me and pumps me full of his seed as he promised, his hands holding tight to my sides. 

Fucked out mewls escape my lips and Bash coos down at me, praises passing through his lips. He gently rolls off of me and lays beside me. 

“You’ve conquered me, my songbird. I don’t think I can feel my legs,” he teases, petting me sweetly as I come down from my high. He manages to clean us up before he throws blankets over us both. As I’m drifting off, I feel a kiss to my forehead and Bash mumbles to me.

“I can’t wait to cook for you in the morning, my love.” 

Falling For You

I am participating in @wackydrabbles​ Prompt # 94 courtesy of @rookie-ramsey​  “I’m giving you one last chance.” which will appear in bold.

This is also chapter 4 of The Meet:  To catch up on what you’ve been missing, please click:  The Meet

The Book:  TRR

Pairing:  Liam x Jilian (Liam x F!OC) / Leo x Bebe? (Leo x F!OC)

 Warnings: profanity, I think.   Fluff.  I really think Drama Whore is locked in a basement somewhere.  

Leo, Liam and Maddy belong to pixelberry.  Jilian belongs to my friend @queenjilian​ , and all others are my own characters to help support our story.

Summary:  Jilian and Liam celebrate their six month anniversary.  Leo shows up to Bebe’s apartment unannounced.  

A/N:  This took a different turn than originally anticipated.  Thank you @dcbbw​ for giving me an idea to rework a section, and @queenjilian​ as I feel we talk about this series daily.

This keeps taking a turn on me guys.  I’m sorry I don’t outline.  But I guess that is part of the magic here too.

Word Count: 1496

ORIGINAL POST DATE: 05/11/21 at 12:15PM EST.

He couldn't help but stare.  She was so beautiful, even while she was sleeping.  

"Liam, don't be creepy."

Jilian opened her eyes looking at him.

Liam’s mannerisms turned incredibly bashful.

"I can't help it.  You're a vision.  I am completely enamored by you, Jilian Winchester. Happy six month anniversary.   I have something for you.”

Jili gasped. Her work schedule the past few weeks had been so hectic she had totally forgotten the date. That night was the first time in several weeks they had actually been able to see each other.

Jili was panicked.  

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t realize the date.. Work has been so crazy. I know that’s not an excuse.”

He held out his gift for her.  She felt guilty.

“I don’t have anything for you Liam. I’m sorry.”

“That’s not the reason you give a gift to someone Jili."

He pulled the small perfectly wrapped jewelry sized box out of the dresser.

Jili sat up in bed, the covers drifting a bit revealing bare skin, to which Liam's eyes quickly fell upon.

"Jili, your body is present enough for me.  You are absolute perfection."

She opened the box.  Inside was an adorable charm bracelet.  

The charms on the bracelet were all medical inspired.  There was a medical bag, a stethoscope, a little ambulance, and she took particular time with the caduceus.  

“This is a beautiful gift.”  

“I see you’re staring at the Caduceus. Did you know….”

“It’s Greek.  The symbol goes back to Greco-Egyptian mythology.”

Liam’s eyes flashed in interest.

“Greece has always been on my bucket list, Liam.  I’m going to make it to Santorini someday. What I’ve seen of it in movies and in books,  I have to see that in real life.”

“And you will.  Maybe I’ll make it there with you.”  

“Maybe. Thank you for the beautiful gift.”  

“Anytime love.”

His lips met hers again in a sultry kiss.  Jili melted in his arms, falling back into the pillows. 

 She could be late for work once.  

Liam at dinner that night couldn’t be more sweet and romantic.  The flowers, the music and the dancing.  He just made her feel like she was the only woman in the world when he looked at her the way he was at that moment.      

“How do you do it Liam?”

“Do what?”  He questioned her.

“Make me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world?”

“That’s easy Jili.  You are.”

Liam paid for the check and Jili booked the rideshare back to her place.   While Liam was in the restroom she got a text from the driver saying they had arrived.

“Shit!”  Jili ran out of the restaurant, texting Liam “Silver Honda accord “

She jumped into the honda.

“I’m sorry!  My boyfriend will be out in a second.”

“Jaiden Brooks?”  

“No.”

Jili glanced at her phone.

“I was sure it said silver honda accord.”  

“It is.. But there’s also one behind us.”

“And you’re not Chloe.”  

The man chuckled.  “I’ve been called a lot of names in my life,  Chloe is not one of them.”  

Jili jumped out of the vehicle barreling head first into a guy.

“Whoa, moonlighting as an offensive lineman?”  

“It’s how I went pro.”  Jili flexed her muscles.

He laughed, his soft brown eyes twinkled.  

“You take it easy now.”

“Likewise.”  

She smiled as she walked to the second Silver Honda Accord.  

Still in earshot she heard a woman come up next to him.  

“Are you serious Jai?”

“What?”  He seemed genuinely confused.

“You’re flirting and looking at some random chick right in front of me?”

Jaiden looked exasperated.  “Carmen, I wasn’t looking at her!!!!!  She ran into me, I was polite to her, that’s all.”

“You would say that now that you’ve been caught.”  

She pointed her manicured finger at him.

“I’m giving you one last chance.”  

“I WASN’T LOOKING AT HER!!!!  Carmen, you're my girlfriend!!!!”  

They climbed into the car, and Jili was sure their argument was far from over.

Liam joined her a few moments later, pulling her into his arms.  

“I’m glad we have such a healthy relationship.”

“What brought this on?”

“I just saw this couple.  I ran into the guy by accident.  The girl immediately accused him of cheating.”  

“Well…. Maybe he gave her a reason to, in their past.”  

“He really didn’t seem like the type.  He cracked a corny joke.  Seemed really kind.”

“We’ll never know Jili.”  

Author’s note:  Ohhhh But we will.  We’ll know all about Jaiden Brooks at a later date…

Bebe was out in the bar with Leo.  Something they did from time to time.  They have been a wing man/woman for each other  several times now.  That night  she had been a wing woman for him. He was chatting up a cute blonde.  Things looked to be going well for him.  He gave Bebe a wink.

She gave him a thumbs up, studying the two continuing to flirt.   The girl was cute and petite, and appeared to be hanging on Leo’s every word. He seemed interested, and they looked cute together.  

Her stomach grumbled.  Was it the foreshadowing of her monthly monster coming to wreak havoc on her life for the better part of the week rearing its ugly head early?

Bebe winced at the pair.  Tears filled her eyes.

What was that feeling?  She didn’t like it.  Had to be the cramps. She shrugged it off.

Her work was done for the night.  Leo had settled her tab, and would be leaving shortly with Ms. Blondie.  

Bebe headed for home herself, the weird feeling still tugging at her heart, her stomach still feeling a mess.

She didn’t hear from Leo for a few days.  

Until he texted her late that afternoon.

‘Sup Girl?’

‘Nothin’ much.’

‘Can I come over?’

‘Not in the mood.’

‘I didn’t ask for that. You know we have emojis for that.’

She laughed.

‘Not tonight Leo.’

Thirty minutes later there was a knock on her door.  Bebe dragged herself off the couch.

Leo had two bags of goodies.

“I got you your favorite.  Mint chocolate chip, some chocolate syrup, and your white chocolate kit kats you love, and there’s a meat lovers pizza on the way, and I got root beer and Funjuns.”  

“Leo?”  

“How did I know?  As much as I’m around, I kind of know when you go M.I.A, and why. So can I come in?”  

Bebe glanced down at herself.   She was in a pair of dark gray sweatpants and a Hartfeld Heels tee shirt.  

“You look fine, now let me in! This ice cream is going to melt.”

It was the first time Leo had been over to her place, not for sex.  

“So what are we watching?”

“The Time Traveler’s Wife.”  

“Ahhh chick flicks. Bring it on.  I’m going to put this in the freezer unless you want it now?”

Bebe took the mint chocolate chip ice cream, and syrup away from him.  

“We’re doing dessert first, I can dig it. So am I.”  

Leo liked butter pecan and had brought himself a carton as well.  He put the rest of the items on the table until the pizza arrived.

“I’m getting comfortable then alright?”

“That’s fine.”  Bebe shouted when he walked into her bedroom.  

Leo came back after a minute in her pink leopard print robe.  

She shook her head at Leo.

“What?!?!?!  I see why you bought it.  I like the way it feels on my skin.”

Leo was truly something else.

“That’s probably the pizza.”  He went to the door in the robe zero fucks given. Bebe roared in laughter.  Leo just didn’t give a damn about anything.  

Bebe found herself fishing for details.  “So I thought you’d be hanging out with Miss blondie.”

“Meh. Maddy was alright.  But she really didn’t have much of a personality.  I won’t be seeing her again. Why were you jealous?”

Bebe shrugged it off in a nonchalant way.  “No. Not at all.”  

“Trying to keep Mr. not all of him is fun sized for your own personal enjoyment?”

She hit him laughing.   She nudged his shoulder.  

“Thanks for coming over and hanging out with me.”  

He nudged her back.  “Anytime.”  

He put his arm around Bebe and both focused on the movie.  Later she relaxed to resting her head in his lap.  He softly played in her hair.  

She heard Leo sniffling towards the end of the movie. 

She glanced up at him.

“Leo, are you crying?”

“No.”  He quickly wiped his eyes.  

"The tin man really does have a heart."

"It's a sad story okay. Why couldn't they just live happily ever after?"

"That's not the way life is."

"It should be. You should be able to be with the one you want.  That wants you."

She sat up looking at Leo.

Bebe giggled. "When did you become such a hopeless romantic?"

Leo softly stroked her cheek.   

Bebe stopped giggling abruptly as she gazed into his eyes.  

There was so much fire and passion in Leo’s eyes, that Bebe gasped.

Leo’s signature smirk crossed his face, as he leaned in and claimed Bebe’s lips that were in a seductive pucker for his own.  

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F*ck a Cheater - Chapter 1

In which you get cheated on, and the Pogues help you through it, and a certain blond seems to be there for you the most. 

Warnings: swearing, cheating. 

Word Count: 2k

Authors Note: I have never been cheated on so I apologize if some of the feelings and emotions are a bit inaccurate to how it really feels to be cheated on. And if you have ever been cheated on let me tell you real quick hunnys you deserve so much better than someone who doesn't love you 100% unconditionally, so truly, fuck a cheater.

not my gif

JJ was never a huge fan of the tall brunette that you called your boyfriend, and he could never quite pinpoint an exact reason. He seemed like a good guy, he treated you well, he got along with all of the Pouges, and he made you very happy. Despite those facts, the blond had a disliking for him. John B would tell him that it was because JJ had a crush on you ever since you met, and still wasn’t able to let go. Deep down JJ knew that his feelings were disrupting his getting along with your boyfriend, but he had a hunch that he was simply up to no good. 

After an afternoon out on the HMS Pogue, you announced that you were heading to his house. He had called you this morning, telling you that he had been feeling sick all night and could not make it for the day out on the Marsh. He insisted however that you went and had a good time with your friends. You pushed back of course, wanting to take care of your sickly boyfriend, but he wanted you to have a good day, so to appease his pleads, you went out on the water with the Pouges, telling him that you would call him when you came back to shore. 

You drove your beat up jeep through to his neighborhood, picking up some of his favorite foods for him. Upon pulling into his driveway, you found car that you had never seen before. It was a newer model vehicle, making your old car look worn and wasted. You assumed that his parents had company over as they often did.

However, entering the house you found it absent from parents and company. You made your way up to his room, calling out for him softly twice. He must be sleeping, you thought to yourself. You crept up to his door and knocked gently, pushing it open. 

You found him sleeping as you suspected, however what you didn’t expect to find was lying next to him. Lying on what you had claimed as your side of his bed was a naked, raven haired girl that you had recognized from a few parties. 

You gasped at the sight before you, dropping the bag in your hand. This woke him. 

Rubbing his eyes of sleep, he found you in his doorway. He stared at you blankly for a moment, muttering a string of swear words under his breath, not making any effort whatsoever to even beg for your forgiveness. You turned quickly on your heels. “Y/N wait” You heard him grumble as you flew down the stairs, tears stinging in your eyes. You paid no attention to his attempt to chase you and made your way to your car. You harshly started your car, throwing it into gear and nearly crashing into the other girls car on your way out. You watch him stumble out the front door as you pull away, yelling for you to hear him out. You did nothing of the sort, and you didn’t plan on it. 

You were hesitant to go back to the chateau, not wanting to face the reality of what you witnessed. You had been cheated on, how pathetic. You were crying profusely, even more pathetic. You felt stupid, pathetic, angry, worthless, and everything in between as you drove with blurry eyes around the island. 

You landed at John B’s, like you knew you world eventually, and considering that you nearly crashed twice, you felt you were no longer okay to drive. You found the group of friends sitting around the porch as the sun began to set. They noticed that your car had pulled in the question was why you were back so soon. They got worried when you didn’t exit your car right away. They watched as you sat in the driver's seat. You had no idea what to do with yourself. 

Rather than going to greet the group like you would usually, you hopped out of your car slamming your door with raging force, and walked to the end of the dock. You stood there for a moment, hearing rustling behind you as your friends watched your movement. 

“Y/N?” You heard John B’s confused voice call out as you stood at the edge. 

“What is she doing?” Pope asked the group as they all stared at your back. 

“Should we go out there?” Kie thinks out loud. 

“Maybe just give her a minute, she didn’t come to us right away for a reason” JJ tells Kie, knowing that sometimes you prefer your time alone. All of the sudden they heard your booming yell. 

“Fuck!” You screamed out to the open water, drawing on the word until you ran out of breath. “Fuck.” You say again as a whisper to yourself, trying your hardest to blink back the tears in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry in front of the Pogues, not about something as pathetic as this. You got cheated on, you shouldn’t be upset, you should be angry, you should be pissed. But how it stood, you were both, caught in between seething with rage and cowering in tears and depressive thought. Your hands ran through your hair, pulling at the roots as you knelt down to sit, your breath no longer supporting your standing. 

By this point, the Pogues were running to you. You leaned back against the post of the dock, tears falling to your lap. 

“Y/N what's wrong?” JJ was the first to reach you. 

“What happened?” Pope questioned. 

“What in the world was that?” John B refers to your screaming in a joking manner before realizing that you were breaking down in front him. “What the fuck Y/N whats wrong?” 

“Guys cool it.” Kie waves them back as she sits down next to you, pulling your head to her shoulder. “Give her a second.” 

The three boys quieted down, Pope deciding to sit next to you in silent support. John B and JJ backed up, leaning on the rail across from you, giving you a moment to cry it out with Kie. 

“He fucking cheated.” Your voice was scratchy from the screaming, so Kie was the only one to hear your confession. 

“Oh my god.” She sighs. 

“What?” Pope asks, not hearing your low voice clearly. 

“He fucking cheated!” You exclaimed, anger taking back over. “I found him in bed with some fucking kook!” Your tears continued to stream as your watery tone sounded loudly to the boys. 

“Motherfucker” John B mutters, pulling at his hair and slumping to sit against the post. 

“Oh, Y/N” Pope was at a loss for words. He couldn’t tell if you were more sad than angry, so he elected to rub your back instead. “I’m so sorry.” Was the only thing he could come up with. 

“What a fucking douche bag!” John B exclaims. “Y/N he’s a piece of shit,” He states. “He’s a piece of shit and you deserve so much better than that son of a bitch piece of fucking trash” By the end of his sentence his voice had risen in volume due to his anger. He was pissed, and increasingly so. It wasn’t until Kie gave him a subtle sign to stop that he had noticed his words were not as helpful as he thought. You were back to crying on Kies shoulder, more upset than you were mad. “Sorry” He whispers, backing off once again. 

“It’s okay.” You sniffle. “I just don’t know if I’m at angry yet. I mean I am but,” Your words trailed off and Kie squeezes you into her shoulder. You peer upwards realizing that JJ has yet to comment on the subject at hand. He stands quietly with his arms cross, eyes ignited with pure resentment. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

And with that short sentence, he walks towards shore with the intent of assault glinting in his eyes. 

“JJ wait-” You weakly call after him, however your voice falls short of how you intended, coming out as an odd whine, and turning into a sob as you watch John B chase after your blond best friend. 

“JJ” John B starts. “JJ stop” 

“Unless you’re coming to help me, I don’t want to hear it John B.” JJ groans. 

“Don’t make this worse” John B reasons. 

“Make this worse?” JJ bursts at his friend. “He cheated on her! On Y/N! Our Y/N!” 

“JJ I’m right there with you buddy, and if you wanna bash his face in I’m in but, we gotta give her some time to process this. She needs us to be here right now and us going on a rampage is not going to help her.” 

“Fuck.” JJ mutters, knowing that John B was completely right. “So what the fuck do we do?” 

“I don’t fucking know dude, she says shes not angry yet, so maybe we should just like, let her be with Kie for tonight and, yeah I have no idea I’m so pissed off how is she not pissed bro?” John B rants as he thinks about what you’re going through. 

“She won’t stay down for long, and if I know Y/N, I know she’ll get mad real soon.” JJ huffs. “God what a dick. She can’t be upset for long right? She’s smart she’s gonna realize that hes a good for nothing son of a fucking bitch and shes gonna bounce right back.” The blond talks to himself, pacing the porch in front of a now sitting John B.  “How could he do that to her? How could anyone do that to her? Does he know that he just lost the best fucking thing that he’s ever had?” His arm swings out gesturing to you still sitting on the dock with Kie and Pope. 

“At least now, you can actually tell her how you feel.” John B propositions slyly. 

“What the fuck are you talking about man?” JJ shrugs his friend off, not wanting to think of his feelings for you. 

“You know what the fuck I’m talking about.” 

JJ thinks for a few moments. 

“Even if there was something there,” He pauses, knowing that there indeed was something there, at least for him. “I couldn’t tell her. Not now, she's dealing with way too much for me to just drop something like that on her.” 

“You’re right.” John B agrees with him, happy that he finally admitted to it, and slightly proud that JJ knew he couldn’t ambush you with all of that right now. The two angry boys knew that they had to do everything that they could to be there for you, even if it meant that they couldn’t bust that prick's face. 

That night, you had fallen asleep with Kie in the spare bedroom of the chateau. You didn’t talk to the boys all that much, however they made it clear that they were here for you whenever you needed them. You woke up feeling numb. Your cheeks felt tight as you had fallen asleep crying. Kie wasn’t next to you, so you assumed you had slept decently late. 

“Okay so, what are we gonna do?” Pope asks as the Pogues minus you stands around the kitchen. 

“I think that she just needs to feel normal. We should just try to make today as normal as possible.” Kie explains to the boys. 

“Is she gonna wanna go to the Kegger tonight?” John B scratches the back of his neck. 

“Maybe, it might be a good distraction, but there's a chance that he could be there.” Kie ponders the idea. 

“Okay so what if we find something else to do to distract her?” JJ injects. As he says so, the door to the spare room creeks, stamping out the conversation. You drag your feet out of the room to find your four friends looking at you expectantly. 

“Um, morning?” You state more as a question, not loving the confrontation. “What are you guys doing?” You raise a brow. When they all state different answers, you knew they were talking about you. “Subtle” You mumble. “I’m gonna shower.” 

After spending a good hour in the bathroom, you felt somewhat normal. Your eyes no longer burned from crying and your face was no longer stained with makeup. You looked tired, but nothing more than a late night could explain that. 

“Y/N!” You heard your name being shouted from the front of the house. “Y/N!” 

“Fuck.” 

It was your ex.

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Things Are Lain Out- Differently

it really didn't seem like he'd be the one to break the silence first... so when he does, it honestly catches them off guard.

"so one failure wasn't enough?" the words are offered quietly, 'calmly,' despite the bitterness behind them. "he needed to make another one?"

((Violence! And long Post! Below the cut!))

to their credit, Bells shows no reaction to being deemed 'another failure.' even if they are mildly annoyed by it. "if it helps, I'm pretty sure I made him wish a few times that he hadn't."

hearing them speak for the first time, in all fairness, had roughly the same effect on him that it'd had on Bells. a brief shock, shown in the brief widening of his eyes- so briefly that it could've easily been missed.

they? didn't miss it. just watching him, waiting for all this to sink in for him a little more.

...it was almost like they could see things slowly clicking into place, piece by piece. and he was quiet.

even as the last piece does, he regains his footing with surprising speed, now giving them an openly dubious look. "right. he regrets it. but somehow you're still left to wander his tower, doing... whatever the hell it is his bidding is now."

"..." Bells finally rises from their crouch, claws slipping back into their magic. straightening, with a slow exhale as they regain something like composure, they meet his gaze with unsettling eveness. "it's not his tower anymore." the words are offered quietly, but with a sterness that left no room for argument. "it's. mine. now."

at this he goes completely still, just staring, no word to break the silence.

after what seems like eternity, Bells sighs, running their fingers through their hair. "it's mine now," they repeat, a tiredness touching the words that did more to support their words than any fierce declaration or threatening glare.

...theirs, and hard won. and theirs.

After a seeming eternity, he pulls his hands away again.

His gaze though, never falters. Cold and depthless, through one the void and all its eternity burned within his eye- and despite the seeming deadness of the other, they were certain that it watched them too.

Again, without warning, his hand slams hard against the barrier!

...this time, the lich doesn't react.

"...so. he's dead." The words were maybe a bit more bitter than they'd expected. "So that makes you his heir, and me his inheritance, is that it?"

"Why bother feeding me? Do you really expect to fool me into believing I'm anythijng but a meal for you? You've clearly already claimed everything else of his-"

They swallow, hard, before managing, with an unsteady, largely forced humor. "As far as I can tell? that makes you my brother-"

"-and I didn't know you considered yourself 'his.'"

if the first words drew open disbelief from him, their second added only scorn. "don't toy with me, lich-born." lich-born, their first time hearing the words, but they knew them just the same, "our line doesn't have family. just tools and future meals- so which am i?"

"..." a slow hiss of annoyance, finally rising back to their feet. "let's go with 'surprise.'"

that was putting it lightly. they had their family, they'd built their family- not like that- and they'd finally shaken their damned maker's shadow! why, why now? why...

"Right, 'surprise.'"

...a long quiet... and then he started laughing. a harsh sound, bitter and amused... he laughed hard, loud, and showed every sharp tooth- and every tooth was sharp. he didn't have some delicate little fangs like theirs, no. he leaned hard against the barrier they'd made, flashing a wide piranha's grin to his 'new' sibling, blatantly testing their control over it as he glared with a cold blank gaze.

"you- you killed him..." still he's laughing, his grin becoming more and more a baring of teeth. "you actually killed him!" there was a wild joy in the words, and a cold fury at the same time. yes, yes the fucking bastard was dead... and how dare they manage to do what he'd failed to? how dare they take that away from him!?

... ... but he's gone... no more threat...

except the one still standing in front of him... the one still caging him... the one strong enough to take the kill that should've been his!

Bells can barely breathe, faced with the half deranged killer on the other side of the unseen wall. they could feel him, trying to worm his magic into it, trying to wrench it from their grasp. it was like roots trying to force their ways into the gaps between their magic, and that of the tower...

...they didn't budge, still half crouched like a feral cat ready to fight- and despite the chills that seemed to claw at their spine, and crawl under their skin? they showed no expression, and took no effort to stop him.

because there were no gaps. they were the tower, and the tower was them. and as his efforts continued to fail, they held his gaze without flinching. somehow.

...there was no point where his laughter became a growl, it was always there, but it definitely became less hidden as he tried again and again to dig and wrench and claw control away from them.

still, they did nothing, just waiting for him to realize the futility.

he didn't. instead he dug his fingertips directly into the barrier, doing his damnedest to dig straight through the slender, invisible, unyielding wall, and growing more and more furious as he continued to fail.

finally they'd had enough, and uttered the barest growl, throwing him away from it, hard. too hard, in fact, and their magic ran cold as they heard the solid crack of skull against stone. they almost, almost let their control waver-

it was enough, and he was already tearing at the barrier again, this time managing to work the barest tip of his claws into the tightly woven stuff they held. now they were shaken, hard, as much as the sight of him there, an utter lack of any light in his eyes as he grinned, wide and deranged, and-

-and for an instant, they saw their sire in him...

again, they threw him back, then did it again, again, throwing him away, hard, every time his broken form again touched a point their magic could react.

it wasn't planned, it wasn't, it was gut reaction, it was animal fear, but they didn't stop until he'd gone silent and still, until all the determination in the world couldn't have lifted him back onto the shattered bone.

he wasn't dead, he wasn't dead, he was like them- he was like them-

they fled the room, and their broken brother, bashed and bleeding and-

-and Bells ran away...

...again.

Koi no Yokan

Koi no Yokan (Japanese) - The feeling of knowing that you will soon fall in love with the person you have just met.

The moment he reaches the edge of the town, he knows something is wrong.

It's not often that Leo goes into town - his status of being a witch often makes the townspeople weary of him. He has enough out at his little cottage to keep himself sustained, but every so often, he needs social interactions and the people of Braila may be weary but they're never cold to him. But coming into town is often a day's trip (another reason he rarely goes - he's just too drained or tired to make the trip) and he comes in from a quieter side of the port city. His first feeling of dread is then, when he first steps into the quiet side of the town.

The late afternoon light peeks over the tops of the buildings as Leo makes his way down the stone path, his basket in hand filled with medicinal herbs and small rolls of bread. He pauses for a second and pulls his heavy cloak’s hood from his head, looking around. This may be the quiet end of town, but this is much too quiet. Dread fills his body, it's icy hands around his stomach and throat. He quickens his pace.

His second warning comes soon after entering Braila. Turning a corner to get on one of the main streets to the centre of town across the river, Leo is greeted with the ruined remains of a large portion of the town.

Buildings are flattened, fragments wood and stone and shards of glass littering the area. Sections of the ruins seep a dark red and in the distance, near the other side of the destruction, an arm sticks out of the rubble, the hand limp and bone shining in the dying afternoon light.

Leo feels bile raise up his throat and he chokes it back, stumbling away from the scene. His stomach lurches and he slaps his free hand over his mouth. He can feel his heart hammer against his ribs.

Part of him wants to run back to his home and hide, to forget what he has seen and to never leave his little cottage again. It screams at him to move, to leave, to escape. Yet, he finds himself moving in the opposite direction - towards the river. He starts to run, his feet hitting the stone path and wooden debris the only sound in the formerly lively town. Something calls to him, louder than the part of him screaming to run away.

It's a feeling he's only felt a handful of times, enough to count on the fingers of one hand. He felt it once when his first friend died and once when his mother died - a surge of energy hitting him deep in his bones.

Someone important in his life is in danger.

His mind clouds out the scenery, making him focus only on the pulsing energy. The destroyed buildings blur and the rubble becomes barely noticeable.

When he was young - shortly after his friend had died - his mother explained what the feeling was.

“It's a surge of life energy. Us witches will feel it when someone important to us is in danger. It's a defense mechanism of sorts,” Her soft voice explained, petting the small boy's head.

“But why does it hurt so much, why do we have it?” The young boy's eyes were wide and glossy, red rimming the edges from hours of crying.

“To warn us. Sometimes it's someone dear to us, someone we've known all our life. Sometimes it's someone who will become important but is not yet. Someone who is meant to be in our lives. We're tuned into these threads of lives and relations much more deeply than humans.”

“Threads?”

The older woman nods, her eyes fluttering closed, “Witches, people like you and I, have a deep rooted connection to every form of life. In a similar manner to how you can communicate with nature, we can feel people who will be loved by us. It’s what draws us to them in the first place. Humans have this as well, but never notice it nor do they feel it as strongly as we do.”

“So what do you do if you feel it?”

His mother smiles, a hint of sadness pulling at her lips, “You do everything in your power to save their life.”

Leo finds himself at the edge of the river, panting heavily and heart beating wildly. He feels a pull towards a group of building off to the side. His mother's words echo in his head. It's been a while since he felt this type of energy and his mind runs through everyone he's spoken to in Braila, trying to think of who could be causing this as he scrambles over ruined buildings and fallen walls.

He slows his pace, trying not to accidentally impale himself on a stray snapped house frame or knock himself unconscious by tripping and bashing his head into the stones. The sound of talking makes him pause. He holds his breath.

Two figures talk amongst themselves by an open door of a building that remains standing - one, a pale woman in a black and red evening gown with long, thin, white hair, the other a tall, young man with grey hair and tanned skin. Faintly, Leo can see a thin, shimmering line running across the ground to the two people and wrapping up the legs and torso of the young man.

He is the important person and he is in danger.

Two sets of hands reach out from the darkened doorway from behind the young man and latch something around his neck before grabbing onto him as he struggles. A few more people, in some sort of armour, appear and form a half circle around the two, blocking Leo's view partially. He waits, watching, straining to form some sort of plan.

The woman raises her hand and a loud smack echoes around the empty square. Leo feels his heart jump.

She continues to beat on the poor man, and Leo finds himself tearing his cloak off and leaping over the rubble, words spilling from his mouth before he can even think.

“Leave him alone!”

Everyone freezes. The armoured people turn towards Leo standing in the middle of the clearing, raising their weapons. Leo’s hands tremble, one clenched in a fist by his side, the other in his pocket, grasping his small grimoire with all his strength. The woman stops mid-strike and turns her head, her bloody fist still in the air. The man lay on the ground, curled up slightly and covering his head.

“What's this? A pesky little human thinking he's brave enough to stand up for another little human.”

Leo immediately knows he's in deep shit.

This is not a human woman nor the soldiers human soldiers. They're vampires. That's why the town is so fucked up. Cold panic grips at his throat and chest. He yanks his grimoire out of his pocket.

“I'm no human. Step away from him.” His voice shakes.

The woman moves, standing upright and sauntering forwards, “Oh, a magician. You're still just a human.”

Leo unties his grimoire and lets it fall open to the page he needs. He holds his arm out straight, forcing himself to keep from trembling “I am not a magician.”

The book opens to a page on a fire spell. If he can just distance the vampires away from the young man, he can encase them in a barrier of fire and buy him enough time to grab the young man and run. The cover of night will help them get away and no townsperson knows where his cottage is. Even if they did, he has so many barrier and protection spells on it and the land surrounding it that they would both be completely safe.

The pale woman steps forwards and in a second she's right in front of the witch, her hand reaching to grasp his neck. Leo jerks back and drops himself, letting her hand go right above his head. He stumbles away, trying to get some distance between them, hoping to lure her away some more.

Two of the armoured soldiers move out to try to surround him. Leo risks a glance towards the young man. He's sitting up, holding his cheek, his eyes wide. There's only one more soldier near that needs to be lured away. He goes to attack the final soldier when he has his leg pulled from under him.

Leo crashes down, the impact making him whine and lose his breath. He keeps a tight grip on his grimoire as the vampire woman leans over him, grabbing him by the chin, digging her nails in his cheeks. He feels blood drip down his face.

“Hm, a witch. Haven't seen one of you in a long time. Last one I met, I killed her easily. You won't be any different.” Her voice drips with venom.

“Yes I will,” Leo hisses through clenched teeth.

He closes his eyes and rips his head back, grimacing at the feel of her nails tearing through the skin of his cheeks. He slides under her, stumbling to his feet. In a moment of pure relief, he sees the final soldier had moved just enough. Raising his arm once more and holding his grimoire open to the fire spell, he begins to chant. He feels the energy build in his shoulder, trailing down his arm and twisting around his fingers. He pictures the form he wants the fire to take, where it needs to be and within moments, he feels the heat of the flames.

A soldier shrieks, having stepped back into the fire and the putrid stench of burning flesh fills the air. Leo gags and covers his lower face. He pockets his grimoire and rushes over to the young man, grabbing his arm and tugging him to his feet.

“C'mon! That's not going to hold them long, we need to get moving.”

The young man allows Leo to drag him off, the two of them running through the bare streets. With his spare hand, Leo gathers more energy. His hand glows a faint light green, a simple healing spell he's long since memorised. The first touch to his cheek stings and he pulls away slightly before pressing his full hand against his face, feeling the cuts stitch together.

“What's…?”

Leo's companion doesn't get any more out, so he tries to fill in the blanks as they race through empty, destroyed streets, “I’m Leo, I'm a witch. I live outside of Braila and I came to get some supplies. Witches have an ability to sense when someone who is or will be important to us is in danger. So here we are, running to my home away from that vampire I just saved your ass from. Any other questions, I'll answer when we get home.”

The young man doesn't say anything else.

In the distance, Leo can start to make out the tree line against the darkening sky. Just a little farther and they'll be in the home stretch. He can see where the forest starts, where the little, beaten path is that guides him partially home.

“Do you know the way through the woods?”

Leo laughs a little, “No, I'm just running into them. Yes I know the way to my home, don't worry. Just focus on keeping your footing.”

Feeling the path change from stone to dirt nearly made Leo want to cry. Part of the path to his home is hidden, protected by another spell of his. After the death of his mother, he made sure to stay well hidden from any hunters or churchmen. He plans to keep the promise he made his mother as she died.

Finally, the huge oak tree, the oldest one in the forest comes into view. His hidden pathway.

“There's a tree,” the young man says, something akin to panic in his voice.

“Don't worry. Close your eyes and trust me.”

Leo's hand around the young man's arm slides down to his hand and he gives the taller a gentle squeeze. He gets a squeeze in return.

Taking a deep breath, Leo runs full force right straight through the tree and into his hidden pathway. A trick his mother taught him years ago. No one but him or another witch could go through that unless they were accompanied by him. Any human or other who tries to find the path, only finds an old tree.

He slows his pace after a while of running down hidden path, his chest heaving. He doesn't let go of the young man's hand.

Leo turns to face him, craning his head up to look at the much taller man. His eyes are the loveliest shade of blue.

“Are you okay? We're safe now for the rest of the walk home.”

His face is beaten badly, dried blood cakes his upper lip around his nose and his bottom lip is busted. One of his eyes is swollen slightly and seems to be bruising.

The young man nods, almost dazed, his hair bobbing with the motion, “I am… alive.”

Leo smiles gently, “I'm glad. Let's get you home, I can heal you better there.”

He goes to turn when the young man reaches up and places his other hand on Leo's cheek, his thumb rubbing a line down his face, “She hurt you.”

“She hurt you too. Don't worry, it's healed up decently enough. She could have followed us with the fresh blood. Vampires are terrifying.”

Leo turns down the path and gently tugs at the young man's hand to guide him along.

“You know of them?”

“Yeah, I know of them all,” Leo gestures his free hand out in a vague swing, “Vampires, werewolves, the fae, all of it.”

“How?”

Leo looks up at the young man, “I told you in my introduction. I'm a witch. I'm not human.”

“Like a magician?”

“No, like a witch. Magicians are types of humans more attuned to magic and energies. Witches, like me, are completely different from humans. We're born with these abilities naturally and can do much more than any ol’ magician can. They usually can only work with the elements, I can work with much more,” Leo explains, swinging his free hand around as he talks.

“What do you plan to do with me?”

Leo stumbles a little, “What? Nothing. Nothing other than heal you.”

“Then why did you save me?”

Leo stops, a smile on his face, “Did you really not hear that whole spiel I gave you as we were running through Braila?”

The young man scratches his head, “You'll have to forgive me, I wasn't exactly focused on that.”

“No worries,” Leo laughs a little then starts to walk again, lifting up some overhanging branches to duck under, reminding himself that he needs to come and clear up the path a little at some point, “I'll start from the top. My name's Leo and I live way out here because I'm a witch and I'm overly paranoid about anyone finding where I live.”

He pauses, his smile dropping from his face as he looks up at the young man, “I saved you because one - us witches have an ability to sense when someone who is or will be important to us is in danger and two - I would have no matter what because I'm not going to stand around and watch someone die.”

The young man's eyes widen, “But I don't even know you.”

“And I don't know you. But our fate is meant to be close to one another's. You were in danger before our time was meant to come together, so to protect that bond that we will have, I got a surge of energy - a cry for help from the Earth Mother herself to protect what will form - to come to save you.”

Leo resumes walking, “C'mon, it's still a ways further. It takes me a good two hours walking to get to that tree. I wish Apophis could carry another person on his back.”

“Who?”

“Oh, right. If you don't know about witches, then you wouldn't know about familiars. Every witch is born with one familiar. As we grow older, we accumulate more of them. Familiars are animal companions but they always look slightly off from other animals of their kind.

“My first familiar was Sabi, a giant, bright coloured gecko. Then Ananse, a three headed black rabbit; Apophis, a large white stag; Nerio, a rat with stars in his fur and finally two black cats, Jaunus and Oberon. Their eyes are their weird thing. Can't really explain it well.”

“They are… pets?”

Leo laughs a little, nudging some overgrown fern out of the way, “I guess so. They're a little different, but I guess that's the best way to explain them to a non-witch.”

There's a jangle of chains and a hiss from the young man who jerks to a stop. Leo turns, eyes wide, “What happened?”

“This damned chain. I'd near forgotten about it,” the young man tugs at the metal around his neck, “It got caught on a branch or a rock.”

Leo trails his fingers along the chain, letting go of the young man's hand. Behind him, the chain indeed got stuck between two rocks. Leo heads around to the young man's front.

“Crouch down for me, I can get you out of this in a moment,” Leo says, pulling his grimoire out.

The young man kneels down, looking up at Leo. The witch smiles at him.

Leo unties his grimoire and lets it find the page he needs. He's not completely sure what he needs, but it'd be either a metal-work spell or an unbinding spell. Either should work. The unbinding spell is flipped to first.

“Here, hold out your hand. I need both of mine to do this but I haven't mastered the floating book spell yet.”

The young man's eyes widen as he raises his hands up to hold the small grimoire, “There's a spell like that?”

Leo bites a laugh back, “No, there's not.”

The smaller man slides his hands around the metal collar. With a short chant and a burst of energy in his fingertips, the collar crumbles and fades to dust, the chain following shortly thereafter.

Leo throws his hands out, a bright smile on his face, “There you go! No more chain and no evidence it was ever even there!”

The young man passes the grimoire back to the witch and rubs at his neck in awe, “I truly owe you.”

“Yeah, I want your first born,” Leo laughs, holding his hand out to help the young man to his feet, “Don't worry about it. Just having conversation is nice. I don't get to talk to too many people. No one’s really fond of witches after all the fear-mongering the church gives out of us.”

They reach a bend in the path, the darkness of night nearly starting to make the surrounding forest disappear. Leo can hear the young man begin to say something, likely about the dark, when dozens of small, blue and green lights float up into the air around the path, dancing on the gentle breeze.

“Not much further. These little guys only show up near my home.”

“What are they?” The young man.sounds completely awestruck.

“Will-o'-the-wisps. They're drawn to my energy and know that I offer protection for mystical beings.”

“You do?”

Leo nods, “No one else is going to. Besides-” He holds out his hand and several land on his palm, floating just barely above it- “They’re cute little shits.”

The young man points a finger towards one, going to poke it before it dances out of his reach. Leo smiles, watching as the wisps float around the newcomer curiously. The wisps playfully bounce around the young man as he turns around in a circle, following the movement of the wisps.

“C'mon,” Leo jerks his head in the direction of the path, “Just a little more.”

The young man nods, still slightly distracted by the little lights, and follows the small man down the now (slightly) illuminated path. A small creek can be heard through the trees and as they walk deeper down the path, more and more wisps appear.

Finally, a small clearing comes into view.

The trees surrounding the clearing loom high and their branches encase the clearing like protective arms, blocking the majority of the sky from view. Only a small ring of the stars in the very centre can be seen. The cottage itself is small, and not many details can be seen in the dark - the only lights being the wisps and four floating lanturns near the door. As the two enter the clearing, a large white stag lifts its head, a chiming sound following the movement.

“This is home. Not much at night, but it's pretty in daylight. You can stay here for tonight and in the morning you cam decided what you want to do,” Leo says, stepping down some old, stone stairs, “Watch your step. The stairs have seen better days.”

The young witch walks across a small stone circle and then up some more old, stairs. He holds his hand out towards the stag, who lumbers closer and rubs its muzzle against his arm, the icicle like jewels hanging from its antlers jingling softly. Leo smiles at the young man as he meets him on the stairs, completely entranced by the stag.

“This is Apophis, one of my familiars. He's very gentle but makes everything a little colder around him. You can pet him, he says he trusts you.”

The young man goes to reach out but pauses midway, “You understand animals?”

Leo nods, watching Apophis sniff the young man's hand and bump it with his nose, “Yeah, it's a special thing that I have. Witches are always born with some special power that many others don't have. My mum could see bits of the future and I can communicate with nature.”

“That's incredible,” the young man breathes, gently trailing his fingers up Apophis’ snout.

Leo blinks, take aback. He feels a jolt in his chest and his cheeks heat up a little.

“No one's… ever said that before…” Leo near whispers, “Most people call me a demon or delusional.”

The young man turns his head briefly to Leo, “That would make two of us then.”

Leo swallows the lump in his throat and slaps a smile on his face, “It's getting cold, let's head in. I'll get a fire started and get some medicine to help any injuries you have.”

The young man nods, giving Apophis one last pet before following Leo into the small cottage. Inside is cramped and busy - dried herbs and flowers hang from the ceiling beams and along the tops of windows, full bookshelves line the walls with books spilling onto the floor once no more could be shoved in the shelves, crystals and plants are shoved onto any flat space avalible while more hang from the ceiling. The kitchen and living area are merged into one space with a fire place at one end and some cleared counter space at the other. A door is tucked to the side and some rickety stairs twist up in the far corner.

“Sorry for the mess, I don't get visitors often. Go sit near the fireplace,” Leo says as he heads through the other door into a small bathroom

He hears the young man settle into one of the two chairs. Leo starts to rummage through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, hoping to find some alcohol to stop any infection. He finds the small, brown bottle after a while and a clean cloth.

Coming back out, he's surprised to see the young man with Ananse in his lap, petting the heads of the rabbit gently with both black cats on either side of him. Leo feels a smile pull at his lips at the scene.

“Most people aren't too found of that little guy. They get scared of his two extra heads,” Leo says softly as he makes his way to the young man, flicking his wrist to the fireplace to get a fire going.

The taller smiles, running his fingers under the middle head's chin, “He's sweet. They all are.”

Leo bends at his waist, “They all enjoy the attention. Here, lift up your face.”

The young man pulls his gaze from Ananse and looks Leo in the eye. Leo bites his lip as he pours some of the alcohol onto the cloth. This man is awfully attractive and Leo can't help to blush a little.

“Don't you have magic you can use for this?”

Leo laughs a little, gently dabbing the cloth at the rougher spots on the mans’ face, “I do, but it hurts a little more and I've used a lot of magic as it is today. I haven't had to fight in five, six years maybe. I forgot how draining it is.”

He pauses, a look of realisation crossing his face, “I… never got your name.”

The young man blinks, then laughs. His eyes crinkle at the corners and a slight blush dusts along his tanned cheeks. Leo instantly knows he must hear more of this sound.

“My name is Hector,” he says after he slows his laughter, “It is nice to meet you, Leo.”

Leo smiles, pressing the cloth back to Hector's face, “And you as well, Hector.”

AO3

La Belle Dame Sans Merci Ch. 3

Castiel x Reader

Summary: Based off the John Keats’ ballad La Belle Dame Sans Merci

Warnings: Forest Sex, Violence, Threats, Bad Injuries, Unprotected Sex, Angst

Catch Up Here: Chapter One , Chapter Two

Authors Note: Pretty much this chapter is all smut, so yeah... I wanted to finish this and get it out since no one really took an interest to this series I figured I’d just post the chapter and the rest of the series.

I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love, And made sweet moan

Soon it was springtime, and Castiel was yet still with me. He’s like my Guardian Angel I sometimes thought to myself, knowing that I love this man, yet remembering sometimes that he’s not actually human. During the spring we went out more often and took small adventures in the wood, we even had a picnic once and sat where the flowers bloomed.

I pulled out two sandwiches, lying them on the blanket as Castiel fumbled with some random twigs, as well as a pile of other various materials he’d acquired: ferns, flowers, leaves, blossoms. “Y/N... I don’t eat” Castiel stated not even looking up as I sat the sandwiches down. “I’m sorry- I don’t mean you any offense. If I take a bite of the-” Castiel picks up the sandwich and inspects it, “mayonnaise chicken sandwich? Will it make you happier?” Castiel asks blankly as I laugh a little. I put his hand holding the sandwich down.

“Well, first of all- it’s a chicken salad sandwich. Yeah, it’s made out of chick and mayonnaise but we don’t call it that cause it’d sound gross. And no, it wouldn’t make me happier. If you don’t want to eat it, don’t eat it. I remember what you said it was like when I force fed you chicken noodle soup when you were injured- you said human food only tastes like molecules to you, so... I’m good.” I laughed as Castiel went back to fumbling with his various natural materials. I ate my sandwich as I looked down at the lake, admiring the fact that we sat having a picnic- on a date- in the spot we’d first met.

“What’re you doing, anyways?” I asked Castiel, still watching the scene around us as he stopped fumbling and looked up. He blushed a little before finishing something and looking back up at me.

“Here- it’s for you” he said as he held out a garland. I smiled and blushed as I took it in my hands, admiring the crown as I turned it in my hands.

“It;s beautiful Cas, thank you, I love it” I gave it back to him and told him he should put it on my head, to which he obliged and placed it atop my head. He smiled as he admired his creation upon me.

As we spent more time there he made bracelets and a garland for himself as well. I thought about things and eventually started to ask Castiel about our relationship and Heaven and how all of it was intertwined. “Could I ask you something?” I say hesitantly as I scoot over to him and sit really close. I’ve been thinking of asking this for a while, but I didn’t know how to approach it.

“Of course Y/N, you know you can ask or talk to me about anything- at least I hope you know that” Castiel says as he drops his bracelet and looks up at me, sensing the seriousness in my voice. I look him in his beautiful blue eyes as I try to piece together a thoughtful form of the question.

“I- I don’t really know how to ask it, so I’m just gonna try but if it doesn’t come out right then I’m sorry... I was just wondering, what would you say... uh, okay- what if I asked... Do you want to make love to me?” I ask, looking down at the blanket before looking back up at him. He’s blushing I notice as I inspect his reaction intently.

“Y/N- I, I- yes. Of course I want to make love to you in the human sense. I just, well, as humans put it, it’s ‘frowned upon’ in Heaven. Is that how you would use that?” Castiel asks for reassurance still trying to get idioms down.

“Y-yeah, that’s how you would use that Cas clothes.” I stutter as I try to come back from the answer he’s given. “So... what if I said I want you to make love to me Castiel?” I whisper as I feel once I’ve spoken the words I’ve gone too far. Crap- what if he doesn’t want to?

“Are you sure you want this?” Castiel asks me as he scoots a little closer to me so that he’s practically on top of me. I affirm his question and he kisses me gently, bringing his hands to turn my body so that I’m fully facing him.

The process is slow and graceful... he takes his time to build up the excitement, eventually only starting to take off my clothes. I push his trench coat off his shoulders as he pushes me to lie down on the blanket. Before I know it he’s kissing me passionately as he’s pushing into me carefully, not wanting to hurt me. I think about the times I’ve done this before, but none of those times have felt as good as this. I take my mouth away from his to moan out as he seats himself fully in me.

I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long,  For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery’s song.

As Castiel set a faster pace in his thrusts I thought about the fact that he was making love to me in a forest- the fricking forest! I couldn’t think about how cool it was for long because he kept making me cry out in ecstasy at the euphoric feeling of him filling my being.

Castiel let me command him as I guided him, every once in a while telling him to go ‘faster’, ‘slower’, ‘harder’. He was a careful lover, as well as passionate... granted the angel didn’t sweat under most situations, though this situation seemed to make him sweat, and I swear it’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. I feel myself even more on the edge by just watching him as he thrusts into me, filling me with his heavy, hot, long length over and over and over again and again. I hear him whisper my name in my ear as he comes closer and closer to the edge, amplifying my need for him to fuck me harder as he makes me feel the best I’ve ever felt. 

She found me roots of relish sweet,  And honey wild, and manna-dew, And sure in language strange she said- ‘I love thee true’.

Castiel followed suit in my begging for him to fuck me harder and faster as I cried out his name, feeling myself grow close to tipping over the edge. I rake my nails down his back, surely leaving marks before moving my hands to his shoulder, and eventually to tugging on his hair, making him groan. Fuck I think to myself as his groans send me over the edge. He slams into me with passion and love as I wrap my legs around him, toes curling as I cry out his name repeatedly. I curse but he doesn’t seem to mind as I clench around him, bringing him over the edge, feeling his length swell in me, bursting and surging forth a flow of his hot seed into my womb. “I love you” I whisper in his ear as I brush a few strands of loose hair out of his eyes.

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She took me to her Elfin grot, And there she wept and sighed full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four.

Walking back to the house that afternoon we were stopped in the middle of the road. Time seemed to stop and no one seemed to roam, which scared the living depths out of me. A man stood in the middle of the street: black shaggy hair, fierce brown eyes and a small goatee “This is enough Castiel- I shouldn’t have to tell you that!” the man yells from a few yards away. “I told them you were trouble and you’d cause more, but to hell with that, I knew I’d have to kill you myself!” My eyes grew wide at this statement, what?! Kill him?! I feel fear surge within my gut as I go to step in front of him, but not getting the chance before Castiel walks forth to the man, meeting him the middle.

They argue for a minute before the fightings starts... fists and strange jointly blades are swung about in many directions, almost scraping their targets but missing by a few centimeters. I gasp and try to think of what I can do. Can I fight an angel? Should I? I mean I can’t just let Cas get hurt I think to myself as I try  to jog towards the fight but am pulled back by my shirt. Someone drags me backwards, scraping the backs of my knees against the concrete streets as Iyell in pain as they pull me by my hair. My head is dropped to the street after a minute and then bashed onto the concrete, then again. I cry out at the pain and feel tears start to well in my eyes.

“Is this what it’s come to Castiel?” the man shouts, as I try to process and think about how he got behind me so quickly. I begin to cry silently as the man drops me, focusing his attention back on Castiel.

“Stop it Ishmael” Castiel’s tone tells me without even looking at him that he’s threatening something. I try to sit up but fail, collapsing onto my elbows; I trip the man behind me as he tries to charge Castiel... once that man falls I kick him from the ground as my head feels like it’s pounding. I start to feel woozy as I continue to try and beat up the man. Castiel eventually beats me to it and stabs him with the pointy blade- “Look away!” Castiel shouts to me as I cover my face with my arm due to a bright light emanating from the stabbed man. A burst of energy makes my hair fly back as the bright light begins to fade.

“You can look now, it’s okay” I take my arm away from my face, my arm scraped and bloody as tears soak my shirt and drip down my face. I feel the world around me star to shift as blackness starts to cloud my vision. I feel Castiel pick me up with both arms and carry me bridal style.. I try to see where he’s going but blackness soon takes over and I’m no longer conscious.

I’m barely conscious... I don’t try to bother opening my eyes as I know it’ll take at least three times the effort that I simply don’t have. I hear Castiel near me, speaking to himself I’d suppose. “It’s all my fault, I should’ve never let it go this far... I, she wouldn’t be hurt because of me Father. I just” Castiel sighed and shuffled- his brown leather shoes squeaking against the floor.

“Y/N, I know you’re awake my love.” I use my effort to open my eyes, even if it’s just to see him for a second. His eyes are red- I didn’t know angels could cry I thought to myself as he seemed to be internally conflicted; battling himself was the duty he was tasked as of now.

I try to speak, to tell him I love him and nothing could ever change that, but my voice comes out as nothing but a groan of pain, which makes me feel weak and somewhat hopeless as I can’t communicate to him. “I can read your thoughts, you don’t need to speak. It does take effort on my part, though I love you so it is irrelevant.” Cas speaks softly, explaining everything as he starts to bring up a new topic.

“I need to heal you Y/N, I know it might not be the most gentle experience, but I need you to stay still and close your eyes. Once I heal you I want you to go to sleep, you need the rest to finish healing yourself. I can heal most of the damage but not all of it.” Castiel explains this to me as I oblige to his commands, partially too weak to even try keeping my eyes open any longer.

“I love you Y/N,” I feel a warm sensation, as if I’m taking a shower that’s a nice warm, almost at the verge of burning. As the warm sensation fades I feel not one, but four kisses lied upon my forehead in sets, along with a few teardrops= this is what I feel before I fall asleep.

And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dreamed- Ah! woe betide!- The latest dream I ever dreamt On the cold hill side.

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When I wake up I’m cold and alone- the window is open, letting a chilly breeze waft in. I rub my head, as it feels a little achy. Something feels wrong an I don’t know what it is, I can’t put my finger on it, I can’t place it or even try to explain but something feels different, wrong. I feel out of place...

*10 years later*

“Y/N, I have to go, my girlfriend’s having the baby!” My coworker Todd throws his apron messily on the hook and runs out the door.

“What tables did you have?!” I yell as he rushes out the door, trying to cover for him.

“Thirteen and nineteen!” he shouts as he jogs out the door, leaving m to cover his tables for him, sometimes I hate food service I think to myself as I figure I might as well go check on those tables for him. 

As I walk to the tables I feel a different energy around the diner... it starts to feel like the world is buzzing a little, which concerns me but I continue on with my work. As I approach the table I take out my little notepad to write down and take orders, along with a pen I keep in my bun. “Can I get you guys some drinks?” I spit out the usual lines as I fix my apron and look up.

I freeze, looking into the eyes of the man sat before me I feel my head start to hurt; I gasp, dropping my pen and notepad.

“Wanna go down to the lake tonight?

“What’s your name?” “Castiel”

“You don’t need to-” “But I want to”

“I can help you- and I will”

“I’ll race you to that tree!”

“It’s for you-” “It’s beautiful Cas, thank you- I love it”

“Are you sure you want this?”

“Is this what it’s come to Castiel?” “Stop it Ishmael”

“You can look now, it’s okay”

“I love you Y/N”

“Castiel” I stand shell-shocked as the man-angel- disappears in front of me. I look to the two other men sitting at the table, not seemingly shocked at all by their faces. “Do you know him?” I ask quickly, worried I’m getting left behind and won’t be able to find him ever again.

“yeah, do you?” a man with dirty blonde hair and green eyes speaks up to me with a look of skepticism.

“I did,” I sigh as I feel tears start to well up in my eyes. “A long time ago... I just thought I’d never see him again.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll help you find him” the second man says from the booth, long brown hair and chocolate eyes. “We’ll find him” he promised.

I’ll find you Castiel- I swear it.

QUEERS READ THIS         A leaflet distributed at pride march in NY              Published anonymously by Queers                         June, 1990   How can I tell you. How can I convince you, brother, sister that your life is in danger:  That everyday you wake up alive, relatively happy, and a functioning human being, you are committing a rebellious act. You as an alive and functioning queer are a revolutionary.   There is nothing on this planet that validates, protects or encourages your existence.  It is a miracle you are standing here reading these words.  You should by all rights be dead.  Don't be fooled, straight people own the world and the only reason you have been spared is you're smart, lucky or a fighter.   Straight people have a privilege that allows them to do whatever they please and fuck without fear.  But not only do they live a life free of fear; they flaunt their freedom in my face.  Their images are on my TV, in the magazine I bought, in the restaurant I want to eat in, and on the street where I live.  I want there to be a moratorium on straight marriage, on babies, on public displays of affection among the opposite sex and media images that promote heterosexuality.  Until I can enjoy the same freedom of movement and sexuality, as straights, their privilege must stop and it must be given over to me and my queer sisters and brothers.  Straight people will not do this voluntarily and so they must be forced into it.  Straights must be frightened into it. Terrorized into it.  Fear is the most powerful motivation. No one will give us what we deserve.  Rights are not given they are taken, by force if necessary.  It is easier to fight when you know who your enemy is.  Straight people are your enemy.  They are your enemy when they don't acknowledge your invisibility and continue to live in and contribute to a culture that kills you. Every day one of us is taken by the enemy.  Whether it's an AIDS death due to homophobic government inaction or a lesbian bashing in an all-night diner (in a supposedly lesbian neighborhood).               AN ARMY OF LOVERS CANNOT LOSE   Being queer is not about a right to privacy; it is about the freedom to be public, to just be who we are.  It means everyday fighting oppression; homophobia, racism, misogyny, the bigotry of religious hypocrites and our own self-hatred. (We have been carefully taught to hate ourselves.)  And now of course it means fighting a virus as well, and all those homo-haters who are using AIDS to wipe us off the face of the earth.  Being queer means leading a different sort of                                                            2 life.  It's not about the mainstream, profit-margins, patriotism, patriarchy or being assimilated. It's not about executive directors, privilege and elitism.  It's about being on the margins, defining ourselves; it's about gender- fuck and secrets, what's beneath the belt and deep inside the heart; it's about the night.  Being queer is "grass roots" because we know that everyone of us, every body, every cunt, every heart and ass and dick is a world of pleasure waiting to be explored.  Everyone of us is a world of infinite possibility. We are an army because we have to be.  We are an army because we are so powerful.  (We have so much to fight for; we are the most precious of endangered species.)  And we are an army of lovers because it is we who know what love is.  Desire and lust, too.  We invented them. We come out of the closet, face the rejection of society, face firing squads, just to love each other! Every time we fuck, we win.  We must fight for ourselves (no one else is going to do it) and if in that process we bring greater freedom to the world at large then great.  (We've given so much to that world:  democracy, all the arts, the concepts of love, philosophy and the soul, to name just a few gifts from our ancient Greek Dykes, Fags.)  Let's make every space a Lesbian and Gay space. Every street a part of our sexual geography. A city of yearning and then total satisfaction. A city and a country where we can be safe and free and more. We must look at our lives and see what's best in them, see what is queer and what is straight and let that straight chaff fall away!  Remember there is so, so little time.  And I want to be a lover of each and every one of you.  Next year, we march naked.                           ANGER   "The strong sisters told the brothers that there were two important things to remember about the coming revolutions, the first is that we will get our asses kicked.  The second, is that we will win."   I'm angry.  I'm angry for being condemned to death by strangers saying, "You deserve to die" and "AIDS is the cure." Fury erupts when a Republican woman wearing thousands of dollars of garments and jewelry minces by the police lines shaking her head, chuckling and wagging her finger at us like we are recalcitrant children making absurd demands and throwing temper tantrum when they aren't met.  Angry while Joseph agonizes over $8,000 a over for AZT which might keep him alive a little longer and which makes him sicker than the disease he is diagnosed with.  Angry as I listen to a man tell me that after changing his will five times he's running out of people to leave things to.  All of his best friends are dead. Angry when stand in a sea of quilt panels, or go to a candlelight march or attend yet another memorial service.  I will not march silently with a fucking candle and I want to take that goddamned quilt and wrap myself in it and furiously rend it and my hair and curse every god                                                            3 religion ever created.  I refuse to accept a creation that cuts people down in the third decade of their life.   It is cruel and vile and meaningless and everything I have in me rails against the absurdity and I raise my face to the clouds and a ragged laugh that sounds more demonic than joyous erupts from my throat and tears stream down my face and if this disease doesn't kill me, I may just die of frustration.  My feet pound the streets and Peter's hands are chained to a pharmaceutical company's reception desk while the receptionist looks on in horror and Eric's body lies rotting in a Brooklyn cemetery and I'll never hear his flute resounding off the walls of the meeting house again. And I see the old people in Tompkins Square Park huddled in their long wool coats in June to keep out the cold they perceive is there and to cling to whatever little life has left to offer them. I'm reminded of the people who strip and stand before a mirror each night before they go to bed and search their bodies for any mark that might not have been there yesterday.  A mark that this scourge has visited them.   And I'm angry when the newspapers call us "victims" and sound alarms that "it" might soon spread to the "general population." And I want to scream "Who the fuck am I?" And I want to scream at New York Hospital with its yellow plastic bags marked "isolation linen", "ropa infecciosa" and its orderlies in latex gloves and surgical masks skirting the bed as if its occupant will suddenly leap out and douse them with blood and semen giving them too the plague.   And I'm angry at straight people who sit smugly wrapped in their self-protective coat of monogamy and heterosexuality confident that this disease has nothing to do with them because "it" only happens to "them." And the teenage boys who upon spotting my Silence=Death button begin chanting "Faggot's gonna die" and I wonder, who taught them this? Enveloped in fury and fear, I remain silent while my button mocks me every step of the way.  And the anger I fell when a television program on the quilt gives profiles of the dead and the list begins with a baby, a teenage girl who got a blood transfusion, an elderly baptist minister and his wife and when they finally show a gay man, he's described as someone who knowingly infected teenage male prostitutes with the virus. What else can you expect from a faggot?   I'm angry.                       QUEER ARTISTS   Since time began, the world has been inspired by the work of queer artists.  In exchange, there has been suffering, there has been pain, there has been violence.  Throughout history, society has struck a bargain with its queer citizens:  they may pursue creative careers, if they do it discreetly.  Through the arts queers are productive, lucrative, entertaining and even uplifting.  These are the clear-cut and useful by-products of what is otherwise considered antisocial behavior.  In cultured circles, queers                                                            4 may quietly coexist with an otherwise disapproving power elite.   At the forefront of the most recent campaign to bash queer artists is Jesse Helms, arbiter of all that is decent, moral, christian and amerikan.  For Helms, queer art is quite simply a threat to the world.  In his imaginings, heterosexual culture is too fragile to bear up to the admission of human or sexual diversity.  Quite simply, the structure of power in the Judeo-Christian world has made procreation its cornerstone. Families having children assures consumers for the nation's products and a work force to produce them, as well as a built-in family system to care for its ill, reducing the expense of public healthcare systems.   ALL NON-PROCREATIVE BEHAVIOR IS CONSIDERED A THREAT, from homosexuality to birth control to abortion as an option. It is not enough, according to the religious right, to consistently advertise procreation and heterosexuality ... it is also necessary to destroy any alternatives.  It is not art Helms is after .... IT IS OUR LIVES!  Art is the last safe place for lesbians and gay men to thrive.  Helms knows this, and has developed a program to purge queers from the one arena they have been permitted to contribute to our shared culture.   Helms is advocating a world free from diversity or dissent. It is easy to imagine why that might feel more comfortable to those in charge of such a world.  It is also easy to envision an amerikan landscape flattened by such power.  Helms should just ask for what he is hinting at: State sponsored art, art of totalitarianism, art that speaks only in christian terms, art which supports the goals of those in power, art that matches the sofas in the Oval Office.  Ask for what you want, Jesse, so that men and women of conscience can mobilize against it, as we do against the human rights violations of other countries, and fight to free our own country's dissidents.                      IF YOU'RE QUEER,   Queers are under siege.   Queers are being attacked on all fronts and I'm afraid it's ok with us.   In 1969, there were 50 "Queer Bashings" in the month of May alone. Violent attacks, 3,720 men, women and children died of AIDS in the same month, caused by a more violent attack --- government inaction, rooted in society's growing homophobia.  This is institutionalized violence, perhaps more dangerous to the existence of queers because the attackers are faceless.  We allow these attacks by our own continued lack of action against them.  AIDS has affected the straight world and now they're blaming us for AIDS and using it as a way to justify their violence against us. They don't want us anymore.  They will beat us, rape us and kill us before they will continue to live with us.  What                                                            5 will it take for this not to be ok?  Feel some rage. If rage doesn't empower you, try fear.  If that doesn't work, try panic.                         SHOUT IT!   Be proud.  Do whatever you need to do to tear yourself away from your customary state of acceptance.  Be free. Shout.   In 1969, Queers fought back.  In 1990, Queers say ok. Next year, will we be here?                         I HATE ...   I hate Jesse Helms.  I hate Jesse Helms so much I'd rejoice if he dropped down dead.  If someone killed him I'd consider it his own fault.   I hate Ronald Reagan, too, because he mass-murdered my people for eight years.  But to be honest, I hate him even more for eulogizing Ryan White without first admitting his guilt, without begging forgiveness for Ryan's death and for the deaths of tens of thousands of other PWA's --- most of them queer.  I hate him for making a mockery of our grief.   I hate the fucking Pope, and I hate John fucking Cardinal fucking O'Connor, and I hate the whole fucking Catholic Church. The same goes for the Military, and especially for Amerika's Law Enforcement Officials --- the cops --- state sanctioned sadists who brutalize street transvestites, prostitutes and queer prisoners.  I also hate the medical and mental health establishments, particularly the psychiatrist who conviced me not to have sex with men for three years until we (meaning he) could make me bisexual rather than queer.  I also hate the education profession, for its share in driving thousands of queer teens to suicide every year.  I hate the "respectable" art world;  and the entertainment industry, and the mainstream media, especially The New York Times.  In fact, I hate every sector of the straight establishment in this country --- the worst of whom actively want all queers dead, the best of whom never stick their necks out to keep us alive.   I hate straight people who think they have anything intelligent to say about "outing."  I hate straight people who think stories about themselves are "universal" but stories about us are only about homosexuality.  I hate straight recording artists who make their careers off of queer people, then attack us, then act hurt when we get angry and then deny having wronged us rather than apologize for it.  I hate straight people who say, "I don't see why you feel the need to wear those buttons and t-shirts.  I don't go around telling the whole world I'm straight."   I hate that in twelve years of public education I was never taught about queer people.  I hate that I grew up thinking I was the only queer in the world, and I hate even more that most queer kids still grow up the same way.  I                                                            6 hate that I was tormented by other kids for being a faggot, but more that I was taught to feel ashamed for being the object of their cruelty, taught to feel it was my fault.  I hate that the Supreme Court of this country says it's okay to criminalize me because of how I make love.  I hate that so many straight people are so concerned about my goddamned sex life.  I hate that so many twisted straight people become parents, while I have to fight like hell to be allowed to be a father.  I hate straights.   WHERE ARE YOU SISTERS? I wear my pink triangle everywhere.  I do not lower my voice  in public when talking about lesbian love or sex.  I always  tell people I'm a lesbian.  I don't wait to be asked about  my "boyfriend."  I don't say it's "no one's business." I don't do this for straight people.  Most of them don't know what the pink triangle even means.  Most of them couldn't  care less that my girlfriend and I are totally in love or  having a fight on the street.  Most of them don't notice us  no matter what we do.  I do what I do to reach other lesbians.  I do what I do because I don't want lesbians to assume I'm a  straight girl.  I am out all the time, everywhere, because  I WANT TO REACH YOU.  Maybe you'll notice me, maybe we'll  start talking, maybe we'll exchange numbers, maybe we'll become  friends.  Maybe we won't say a word but our eyes will meet  and I will imagine you naked, sweating, openmouthed, your  back arched as I am fucking you.  And we'll be happy to  know we aren't the only ones in the world.  We'll be happy  because we found each other, without saying a word, maybe  just for a moment. But no. You won't wear a pink triangle on that linen lapel.  You won't  meet my eyes if I flirt with you on the street.  You avoid me  on the job because I'm "too" out.  You chastise me in bars  because I'm "too political."  You ignore me in public because  I bring "too much" attention to "my" lesbianism.  But then  you want me to be your lover, you want me to be your friend,  you want me to love you, support, you, fight for "OUR" right  to exist.                       WHERE ARE YOU?  You talk, talk, talk about invisibility and then retreat to  your homes to nest with your lovers or carouse in a bar with pals  and stumble home in a cab or sit silently and politely by while  your family, your boss, your neighbors, your public servants  distort and disfigure us, deride us and punish us.  Then home  again and you feel like screaming.  Then you pad your anger with a  relationship or a career or a party with other dykes like you  and still you wonder why we can't find each other, why you feel  lonely, angry, alienated.                 GET UP, WAKE UP SISTERS!!                                                            7   Your life is in your hands.   When I risk it all to be out, I risk it for both of us. When  I risk it all and it works (which it often does if you would  try it), I benefit and so do you.  When it doesn't work, I suffer  and you do not. But girl you can't wait for other dykes to make the world safe  for you.  STOP waiting for a better more lesbian future!  The  revolution could be here if we started it. Where are you sisters? I'm trying to find you, I'm trying to find you.  How come I only see you on Gay Pride Day? We're OUT, Where the fuck are YOU?                                                            8   WHEN ANYONE ASSAULTS YOU FOR BEING QUEER, IT IS QUEER                      BASHING. RIGHT?     A crowd of 50 people exit a gay bar as it closes. Across the street, some straight boys are shouting "Faggots" and throwing beer bottles at the gathering, which outnumbers them by 10 to 1. Three queers make a move to respond, getting no support from the group.  Why did a group this size allow themselves to be sitting ducks?   Tompkins Square Park, Labor Day.  At an annual outdoor concert/drag show, a group of gay men were harassed by teens carrying sticks. In the midst of thousands of gay men and lesbians, these straight boys beat two gay men to the ground, then stood around triumphantly laughing amongst themselves.  The emcee was alerted and warned the crowd from the stage, "You girls be careful.  When you dress up it drives the boys crazy," as if it were a practical joke inspired by what the victims were wearing rather than a pointed attack on anyone and everyone at that event.   What would it have taken for that crowd to stand up to its attackers?   After James Zappalorti, an openly gay man, was murdered in cold blood on Staten Island this winter, a single demonstration was held in protest.  Only one hundred people came.  When Yuseuf Hawkins, a black youth, was shot to death for being on "white turf" in Bensonhurst, African Americans marched through that neighborhood in large numbers again and again.  A black person was killed BECAUSE HE WAS BLACK, and people of color throughout the city recognized it and acted on it.  The bullet that hit Hawkins was meant for a black man, ANY black man.  Do most gays and lesbians think that the knife that punctured Zappalorti's heart was meant only for him?   The straight world has us so convinced that we are helpless and deserving victims of the violence against us, that queers are immobilized when faced with a threat.  BE OUTRAGED!  These attacks must not be tolerated.  DO SOMETHING.  Recognize that any act of aggression against any member of our community is an attack on every member of the community.  The more we allow homophobes to inflict violence, terror and fear on our lives, the more frequently and ferociously we will be the object of their hatred.  Your immeasurably valuable, because unless you start believing that, it can easily be taken from you.  If you know how to gently and efficiently immobilize your attacker, then by all means, do it.  If you lack those skills, then think about gouging out his fucking eyes, slamming his nose back into his brain, slashing his throat with a broken bottle --- do whatever you can, whatever you have to, to save your life!                                                            9     reeuQ yhW     Queer!   Ah, do we really have to use that word?  It's trouble. Every gay person has his or her own take on it.  For some it means strange and eccentric and kind of mysterious.  That's okay, we like that.  But some gay girls and boys don't. They think they're more normal than strange.  And for others "queer" conjures up those awful memories of adolescent suffering.  Queer. It's forcibly bittersweet and quaint at best --- weakening and painful at worst.  Couldn't we just use "gay" instead?  It's a much brighter word and isn't it synonymous with "happy?" When will you militants grow up and get over the novelty of being different?                         WHY  QUEER   Well, yes, "gay " is great.  It has its place.  But when a lot of lesbians and gay men wake up in the morning we feel angry and disgusted, not gay.  So we've chosen to call ourselves queer. Using "queer" is a way of reminding us how we are perceived by the rest of the world.  It's a way of telling ourselves we don't have to be witty and charming people who keep our lives discreet and marginalized in the straight world.  We use queer as gay men loving lesbians and lesbians loving being queer.   Queer, unlike GAY, doesn't mean MALE.   And when spoken to other gays and lesbians it's a way of suggesting we close ranks, and forget (temporarily) our individual differences because we face a more insidious common enemy.  Yeah, QUEER can be a rough word but it is also a sly and ironic weapon we can steal from the homophobe's hands and use against him.                       NO SEX POLICE   For anyone to say that coming out is not part of the revolution is missing the point.  Positive sexual images and what they manifest saves lives because they affirm those lives and make it possible for people to attempt to live as self-loving instead of self-loathing.  As the famous "Black is beautiful" slogan changed many lives, so does "Read my lips" affirm queerness in the face of hatred and invisibility as displayed in a recent governmental study of suicides that states at least one third of all teen suicides are Queer kids.  This is further exemplified by the rise in HIV transmission among those under 21.   We are most hated as queers for our sexualness, that is, our physical contact with the same sex.  Our sexuality and sexual expression are what makes us most susceptible to physical violence. Our difference, our otherness, our uniqueness can either paralyze us or politicize us. Hopefully, the majority of us will not let it kill us.                                                            10                        QUEER SPACE   Why in the world do we let heteros into queer clubs?  Who gives a fuck if they like us because we "really know how to party?" WE HAVE TO IN ORDER TO BLOW OFF THE STEAM THEY MAKE US FEEL ALL THE TIME!  They make out wherever they please, and take up too much room on the dance floor doing ostentatious couples dances. They wear their heterosexuality like a "Keep Out" sign, or like a deed of ownership.   Why the fuck do we tolerate them when they invade our space like it's their right?  Why do we let them shove heterosexuality --- a weapon their world wields against us - -- right in our faces in the few public spots where we can be sexy with each other and not fear attack?   It's time to stop letting the straight people make all the rules.  Let's start by posting this sign outside every queer club and bar:            RULES OF CONDUCT FOR STRAIGHT PEOPLE     1. Keep your display of affection (kissing, handholding,  embracing) to a minimum.  Your sexuality is unwanted and  offensive to many here.  2. If you must slow dance, be as inconspicuous as possible.  3. Do not gawk or stare at lesbians or gay men, especially  bull dykes or drag queens.  We are not your entertainment.  4. If you cannot comfortably deal with someone of the same sex making a pass at you, get out.  5. Do not flaunt your heterosexuality.  Be Discreet.  Risk  being mistaken for a lezzie or a homo.  6. If you feel these rules are unfair, go fight homophobia in straight clubs, or:  7. Go Fuck Yourself.                      I HATE STRAIGHTS   I have friends.  Some of them are straight.   Year after year, I see my straight friends.  I want to see them, to see how they are doing, to add newness to our long and complicated histories, to experience some continuity. Year after year I continue to realize that the facts of my life are irrelevant to them and that I am only half listened to, that I am an appendage to the doings of a greater world, a world of power and privilege, of the laws of installation, a world of exclusion.  "That's not true," argue my straight friends.  There is the one certainty in the politics of power: those left out of it beg for inclusion, while the insiders claim that they already are. Men do it to women, whites do it to blacks, and everyone does it to queers.  The main dividing line, both conscious and unconscious, is procreation ...  and that magic word --- Family.  Frequently, the ones we are born into disown us when they find out who we really are, and to make matters worse, we are prevented from having our own.  We are punished, insulted, cut off, and treated like seditionaries                                                            11 in terms of child rearing, both damned if we try and damned if we abstain.  It's as if the propagation of the species is such a fragile directive that without enforcing it as if it were an agenda, humankind would melt back into the primeval ooze.   I hate having to convice straight people that lesbians and gays live in a war zone, that we're surrounded by bomb blasts only we seem to hear, that our bodies and souls are heaped high, dead from fright or bashed or raped, dying of grief or disease, stripped of our personhood.   I hate straight people who can't listen to queer anger without saying "hey, all straight people aren't like that. I'm straight too, you know," as if their egos don't get enough stroking or protection in this arrogant, heterosexist world. Why must we take care of them, in the midst of our just anger brought on by their fucked up society?!  Why add the reassurance of "Of course, I don't mean you.  You don't act that way." Let them figure out for themselves whether they deserve to be included in our anger.   But of course that would mean listening to our anger, which they almost never do.  They deflect it, by saying "I'm not like that" or "Now look who's generalizing" or "You'll catch more flies with honey ... " or "If you focus on the negative you just give out more power" or "you're not the only one in the world who's suffering."  They say "Don't yell at me, I'm on your side" or "I think you're overreacting" or "BOY, YOU'RE BITTER."   They've taught us that good queers don't get mad. They've taught us so well that we not only hide our anger from them, we hide it from each other.  WE EVEN HIDE IT FROM OURSELVES. We hide it with substance abuse and suicide and overarhcieving in the hope of proving our worth.  They bash us and stab us and shoot us and bomb us in ever increasing numbers and still we freak out when angry queers carry banners or signs that say BASH BACK.  For the last decade they let us die in droves and still we thank President Bush for planting a fucking tree, applaud him for likening PWAs to car accident victims who refuse to wear seatbelts.  LET YOURSELF BE ANGRY.  Let yourself be angry that the price of our visibility is the constant threat of violence, anti- queer violence to which practically every segment of this society contributes.  Let yourself feel angry that THERE IS NO PLACE IN THIS COUNTRY WHERE WE ARE SAFE, no place where we are not targeted for hatred and attack, the self-hatred, the suicide --- of the closet.  The next time some straight person comes down on you for being angry, tell them that until things change, you don't need any more evidence that the world turns at your expense.  You don't need to see only hetero couple grocery shopping on your TV ...  You don't want any more baby pictures shoved in your face until you can have or keep your own.  No more weddings, showers, anniversaries, please, unless they are our own brothers and sisters celebrating. And tell them not to dismiss you by saying "You have rights," "You have privileges," "You're                                                            12 overreacting," or "You have a victim's mentality."  Tell them "GO AWAY FROM ME, until YOU can change."  Go away and try on a world without the brave, strong queers that are its backbone, that are its guts and brains and souls.  Go tell them go away until they have spent a month walking hand in hand in public with someone of the same sex.  After they survive that, then you'll hear what they have to say about queer anger.   Otherwise, tell them to shut up and listen.