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sienna-writes · 4 years

Text

Butterfly Blood || novel update

chapter three

I initially had a lot of trouble with this chapter. It’s been through about three drafts and it’s still nowhere near perfect, but I’m working on just moving forward with the novel now and am trying to quit obsessing over revising because... it’s unrealistic to expect a first draft to be perfect.

The first draft of this particular chapter, though, was basically all dialogue, and all very poorly executed dialogue. (Dialogue is absolutely the weakest aspect of my writing but I’m working on it.) On my second attempt at the chapter I initially attempted to create an outline, thinking this would help me find a direction. However, in my next writing session I ended up totally ignoring the outline and just winging it, and the second draft was formed. I really liked the events in the chapter now but still wasn’t happy with some of the individual scenes so I reworked it yesterday morning. The argument between Rowan and Karmen still needed revision because Karmen’s character within it was totally inconsistent to his usual disposition. So! The final (for now..) draft is a more stripped back, since Karmen is too disassociated to get as angry as he did as quickly as he did, and I think the tension and the build up is a lot better timed and more... muted? It’s less overt, more subtext heavy, and I'm relieved because that is what I had been trying to achieve all along.

Again, it’s not perfect, but it has evolved and it is definitely better than before.

The chapter is just over 3000 words now, but I am only going to be sharing the main, gritty extract. The other scenes are less exciting, but I also suspect they need the same amount of work till they're even remotely sharable. (I was going through a bad writing slump in this chapter lol.) I really hope you enjoy it? I'm ultimately quite proud of how it turned out in the end :)

excerpt:

[Rowan has missed her GP appointment + her dad uses it as an oppurtunity to also be angry about her slacking in school]

“I’ve booked another for tomorrow morning. You’ll miss some school, but I figured that’d be an incentive since you don’t seem to care about that anymore.” There is now an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.

Rowan visibly flinches, digging her fingernails into the supple skin of her palms. The dents purple then fill with blood. She locks eyes with her father, searching for the reason for his sudden anger. He has struck a nerve and he knows it.

“Miss Phelps called.”

She pushes her toes into the dirt, white sneakers now blotted with dust. “Oh.”

He doesn’t ask for an explanation, simply straightens his back like an ancient scroll unravelling itself and meets her gaze finally. Karmen stands with his chest puffed out and his chin pointed forward. It is apparent that he won't ask her side of things. He’s heard enough, and has his made up his mind about her already.

Rowan pushes past him to get inside. Karmen doesn’t shift as she squeezes by his statuesque stance. His face twitches like a camera shutter, so fast she can barely believe the change in his expression. She convinces herself it didn’t happen and throws her bag onto the couch, almost tempting another lecture. A tamer one. Something he could murmur through his daydream fog before slipping back into his silence and letting everything remain undiscussed. Like it normally is. Her slipping grades. Her laziness in class. Not writing a single word in an entire school day. Talking back for little to no reason.

He turns as her rucksack lands, his footsteps looming behind her. Something sharpens the air between them, but she can’t tell what. The elephant is in the room and it is wrecking the place. They watch the destruction mutely, each waiting for the other to intervene and consequently letting the walls crumble into ruin. The old house audibly creaks, it is so quiet. Finally, Karmen speaks. “What’s the matter with you?”

Rowan runs through all the excuses she can think of. I was dropped as a child. I was a premature baby, so my brain must be under-developed. The content is so easy it feels obsolete. I’m being bullied. I’m just not as smart as you thought, dad, sorry. Teachers are liars and we both should have known this. “There’s just too much.” She says instead, through gritted teeth, moving into the kitchen. “I can’t focus on school and have to be there for everyone.” It is limp and she knows it. It flops between them weakly like a helpless fish. She takes a glass from the cabinet and closes it softly.

He consumes the lie like a starved ghost, though. Proving he doesn’t know her. Doesn’t know how absent a friend she has been of late. How she has become her father at school, numb and quiet. How, secretly, she enjoys the façade because people avoid her, don’t ask difficult questions, don’t tackle her with unnecessary comments about her long-lost mother. “Then stop being there.” He says simply.

Rowan scoffs. “I do enough of that at home.” She studies her dad’s face—clenched jaw and squinting eyes—as if it hurts to look at her. “Everyone’s always telling everything how things must be. I must participate, I must be smart not emotional, I must not slack for exams I know I will pass without a glance at my books”—suddenly an urge to twist the knife into his gut overwhelms her, she draws out the moment as she fills the glass with a thread of water from the tap—"I must deal with a stranger for a Dad and a god knows what for a mother. A shrieking banshee? An abusive fugitive? She’s probably become a social worker just to scorn us.”

He rolls his lips, lowers his gaze and chews on the inside of his cheek, sucking it in. Rowan’s breath catches in her throat. In this moment he looks shockingly hollow. Did she empty him? Wind him with her blows? Spoon out his entrails with an ice cream scoop? Carve him like the roasted corpse of some great beast? Karmen puts two hands on the back of the chair opposite her, clutching it as if he might just fall over. His stare is cold and unsympathetic when he raises it toward her. “Don’t you want to make something of yourself?”

Yes. “What?” She laughs bitterly, placing the tumbler on the counter with a satisfying thud. “Like how you made something of yourself?” There is a terrible moment where he sits in the midst of the cruelty, shrinks into himself as if absorbing it, before his mouth creaks open and he lets out a broken shriek.

“GOD DAMMIT ROWAN!” Rowan flies back, arms sheltering her head instinctively as he reaches for the glass she placed on the counter, spins, and throws it at the wall. One big horrific movement. A cutting arc of his arm through the air and then the shattering. “Are you ever even listening?”

Millions of glittering fragments of her life laid out before her, encircling her bare feet. She thinks of the sneakers she slipped off at the door, wishing she had them now. Something about naked feet look so naïve, so vulnerable. Her toes shrink, curling inward. Her breath quickens and her hands begin to tremble. All this broken glass. All these fragments like a lifeline stretched between them. Her eyes blink away tears in different shards, her reflection is fragmented, her features lost and bobbing about as if at sea.

“Are you, dad?” Rowan asks in an empty voice, staring at him till he flinches. He stares at the glass on the floor in shock.

“I...” He crouches, sifting through it with his bare, shuddering, and unsure hands. “I don’t know why I did that...”

Rowan gets a sudden urge to have the last word. Except she doesn’t speak. Her eyes settle on the glass and the idea flourishes like a flame in her mind, burning everything rational, everything he might think. To hell with appropriate. To hell with acceptable. One unsteady step. She expects a crunch or a crackle, but instead there is a damp muffle and squelch. Her spine rattles and her teeth prickle in response. A sunrise in her chest warms her throat but she presses against it with her palms, forcing it down. It is a scorching, molten pain. Third degree burns and all she swallows rays of light till she is drowning, gorging. Slipping through furnace tongue flames. Rowan gags. Bile and acid boils her tongue and the bright, burnt out orb slips into her stomach. She gulp, gulp, gulps every atom of the blaze that consumes her. Till she is heavy. She walks across the broken glass as he yells out. Let there be outrage. Let the sky fall. Its clouds embrace her limbs, draining everything fluid from her, letting her grow limp. Letting her rain. Heavy. As she moves away from the kitchen, she feels her footsteps peeling from the floor, warm and wet. And she is so, so heavy. Then she stumbles, splintered feet unable to keep her up—her legs can no longer hold her and her lava—as the pain erupts within her fierce and sharp and sudden. Flashing its ugly teeth. Catching one last glimpse before her vision goes dark, she sees a red ocean seeping into the living room. How could one body hold so much? Fast and gushing the rapids wash her dregs of consciousness away. It was just a few steps...

soo... yeah. Rowan walks on glass because, oh lord that girl has no impulse controls.

I'm not going to lie, although it was a pain to get this scene to the stage I have just shared, I think it's one of my favourites in the book so far. I'm proud of how much it's grown. Also, I love me some dramatic descriptions of pain and characters being nasty... :”)

I hope you enjoyed this update! (if you did, reblogs really help me out, but absolutely no pressure <3) I’m also still looking for people to add to the tag list, so if any of this interested you, feel free to send me an ask, message or comment. :)

Tag list under cut (ask to be added or removed):

@alicewestwater @elaz-ivero @coffeeandcalligraphy @hanwatchingmovies @sirfitzroys @chloeswords @nev-953

#butterfly blood #butterfly blood novel #my novel #novel update #novel wip #writing wip #writing #writing project #writing update #chapter update #writer #writeblr #writing process #novel writing #excerpts #novel excerpt #writing excerpt #excerpts from my novel #excerpts from my writing

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ketsuyuki-hibana-typed · 5 years

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I always portrait Yoriichi as the sunshine version of Giyuu. Looks like an op character but actually a simple dumb-dork and also a big fan of his brother.

Tsugikuni Yoriichi x Reader (Domestic ModernAU)

Yoriichi is a professional in architecture, and you work as biology teacher.

You could say that he's that 'noble family but decided to take normal society path'. But it's actually not really dramatic, he just decided to stood with his own feet and building family from zero with you.

He has unique personality, people at his work really thought that he has undefeatable charismatic, competent, compassionate, kind, equitable, and decisive.

Pft.

You knew the real him and even if you bet ten thousand yen, people would never trust you, despite the fact that you're his wife. He just a dork for you and his brother.

We will soon know, how 'ridiculous' his true self will be.

In the morning, he always wakes up first but never woke you up. He said that he didn't has heart to wake you up when he saw your sleeping face. But sometimes, he'll wake you up if it's really late, which is not really helping.

You're the one who cooked breakfast, but sometimes he helped you but you always ended up tell him to sit back.

"The bacon is screaming", "You cook the child of its mother.", "Bread is just a floated wheat."

"Ok stop, let me handle this before you brought me to existential crisis."

You're the one who comb his hair, chose his suit, matched his necktie with the pin, and elses. He didn't suck at stylings, he just prefers you to do it instead of him.

You usually went to workplace with him, but sometimes if he's busy, you'll choose to ride the train.

His friends often invited him to have lunch at nearest restaurant but since you always made lunch for him, he didn't want to join them and eat your homemade lunch instead. His friends told him that he could ditch his wife's lunch but then he said,

"She made efforts in making this, I couldn't waste it."

But sometimes, you told him it's okay to go with them.

For some reason, Tokitou siblings at your school knew about Michikatsu and Yoriichi. You don't know why but every time you crossed with them, they always told you to be careful of Michikatsu.

But Michikatsu always being nice to both you and Yoriichi, so you just shrugged them off.

Both of you almost didn't have time to meet each other on daily days, so those 'lovely' moments in the drama often didn't happen on your daily life, but you satisfied with what are you now even after years being married. He still made sure to made you happy by buying you cakes, limited edition Pocky, various of KitKats and other foods when he came home.

Also, the main reason why you gained weight fast.

Sumiyoshi, Yoriichi's co-worker, often talked with you.

"(y/n)-san, Yoriichi-san really loves you more than anything else."

"Well... I'm his wife after all."

"Yes, I know! But I've never saw someone who really loves his wife from the bottom of their heart like this. He always brought your handmade handkerchief everywhere, set your photo in front of presentation slide as introduction, made a mini 'place' where he could place his keychains, manjuu doll, mochikororin, rubber straps, pins assembled with you as the model on his desk, plus-"

"Wait, Sumiyoshi-san. I'm concerned. He became an otaku me. I had to talk with him about this."

Yoriichi probably the smartest man in this country, but sometimes he forgot about 'common senses'.

"Hun, what are you doing?" You saw him looked in trouble.

"I'm trying to open the pen cap. It didn't work." He looked confused on the pen.

"Let me see."

"Here, if I can't, you can't-"

"....it's a ballpoint."

"..."

"You just spin it like-"

"I know."

"... sure."

Or when he didn't know how to use common things.

"(y/n), what is that?"

"It's vending machi- WAIT YOU DON'T KNOW VENDING MACHINE?" He shrugged.

"How to use it? Can you open the front glass like refrigerator do? Is it free?"

"No- Geez, you put the money, like this. And then-" You spend your evening to explain him on how to use a vending machine. He was amazed on how its work and how well you present it as what he called 'Future machine.'

"It's superb. We are one step ahead to the future. The distribution of drinks are easy now."

"I don't know why I'm married to you."

Dates? Do outdoor activities such hiking count as dating? The answer is yes, at least for both of you. You often went to the mountain with him for fishing at nearest lake. It wasn't far from your home, so you never complained.

While fishing, you sat on his lap and reading your book. He put his chin on your head.

"Wait, don't flip it yet, I haven't finish the 2 paragraphs."

"I thought you concentrate on the fishing?"

"I could do both task."

"Sure, King. Sure."

When you're lazy to prepare the picnics, he's fine with just staying at home and watched his favourite TV show with you beside him. You usually put your legs or your heads on his laps while doing something or simply watching the TV too.

"Ok, Quizzy Time! I have 2 questions and each answers had to be one and different. The last question will be your true wish!! Now, let's start!!"

Yoriichi slightly bended his body, eagerly focusing on the TV. You eyed him while playing with your phone.

'Is being cute legal for my husband.'

"Who is the person you wanted to protect most?"

"Big Brother."

"Who is the person you loved the most?"

"My wife."

You snorted.

"And last, if you had to choose one person between those two who will you choose?"

He started to sweat and looked at you. You looked at him while smiling, "Is there something bothering you, hun?"

"Uh, uhm-"

"Now, tell that person, you love them!!"

He fidgeted, looking at you again. You just wanted to bursting out laugh. He became panicked, between dilemma if he should call Michikatsu or tell you.

"(y/n), I know you're my wife, but-" He started to push his brother contact on his phone. "I also wanted him to know."

"Oh, so you choose him over me." You started to tease him.

"No! You got this wrong!!"

"Oh now you yell at me."

He became frustrated. Before he started to break down, you sat down and hugged him, "Haha, just kidding!! Don't sweat it, it's a dumb TV program- Oh my God, don't cry!!!"

Yoriichi didn't want you to be far away from him at home, especially when he did works. He will call your name and told you to stay in the same room with him. Even though his face didn't say too much, you immediately knew that he'll be sad if you're not there when he was at home. Like that one time.

Michikatsu was calling you when you're shopping for dinner.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. Uh, are you divorced with Yoriichi?" His statement made you dropped a can of tuna from your hand.

"What? No!! What do you mean?!"

"Yoriichi said it. He said that you leave him."

"I'm??? Going to the supermarket??"

"...I'm sorry, my brother is being a troublesome for you." He cut the phone.

When you're home, you found Yoriichi laid down on the sofa. You called his name, and he looked at you.

"I was being scolded by brother."

"Of course you are, geez." You sat beside him. "I'm just going for errands. I'm not ignoring or leaving you."

"You didn't leave message."

"I do, look at your phone."

"..."

You let out a long sigh, but then you hugged him. "Do you want me to stay when you did your work on your laptop?" He nodded.

"Fine, but help me with the dinner, and don't say anything. Just obey what I told you to do." He nodded again happily like a puppy.

He likes to spooning you. He always asked if he could kiss you even though you've been married for a long time. He's often saying that kissing you on your lips is really felt good, and became a little bit 'addicted' about it.

He didn't say much about himself, he never confide you how his feelings unless you asked him. But he loves to hear your stories about your works and students on random occasion like bathing, eating dinner, sitting on sofa, and even casual walks.

And do not start about how many times he said that he didn't deserve you when both of you are about to sleep and cuddling on bed.

"I am man of no wor-" You clasped both of his cheeks and pinched it.

"Say that again, and I will end your life for real."

"But I already end up with you."

"You have no rights to say negativity and flirting at the same time."

He probably had that unchanged expression on daily basis, but when you're by his side?

A content smile will always formed on his lips

#kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu anime #kimetsu no yaiba scenarios #kimetsu no yaiba headcanons #kny #kny x reader #kny imagine #kny imagines #kny headcanons #kny scenarios #tsugikuni yoriichi x reader #yoriichi tsugikuni x reader #tsugikuni yoriichi #yoriichi tsugikuni #kimetsu no yaiba yoriichi #kny yoriichi

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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Soft-Shoe Shuffle - Ch 6

Chapter: 6/12 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Any formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: Derealization, general depictions of illness Excerpt: "But he asked," Patton said. "He never asks for anything, he just kinda… talks around it until you figure it out on your own." It occurred to Janus, briefly, to defend himself, but there was no judgement in Patton's tone. There was only a heavy sorrow.

They call me Starburner, but they don't know me none They say I'm burnin' up the galaxy Starburner? Ha, what a travesty I'm just seekin' out amnesty (No one can save your soul) Oh, no (No one can save your soul) Oh, no! If I am damned, what will become of me? And furthermore, what about your souls?

Awareness. Heat. Nagging soreness in all of his joints. Janus sat up slowly, unsure of what time it was or exactly what he was doing.

He had woken up on the couch again, so… Had they been watching a movie? He didn't remember.

He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. He'd have to find his hat at some point. The living room lights made halos in his vision, gentle edges on harsh corners. Was this a dream? His mind felt too hazy for it to be anything else, but he never dreamed like this. Unbearable heat raged inside him, pulsing from his chest to his limbs to his extremities; he ripped off his gloves and lifted his shaking hands to undo the clasp of his capelet. He tried for some of his shirt buttons too, but only succeeded in scratching the tender skin of his neck and throat.

Maybe… Water? At the very least he could stand in front of the freezer while he got himself sorted.

Standing made his head spin. When it died down into a gentle, floating sensation, Janus started to walk. It was only a few steps to the kitchen; he just had to weave around the dining room table, turn the corner. It shouldn't have worn Janus out the way it did, but his movements were slow and took effort. Maybe this was a dream.

Patton and Logan were already in the kitchen when Janus arrived: Logan was washing the dishes while Patton sat at the bar. That wasn't right, they shouldn't be out here this late at night. Janus blinked hard and glanced between them. The light flared in his eyes and the water from the sink roared in his ears.

"Janus! You're up!" Patton said, his voice reverberating strangely. The smile slid from his face when Janus met eyes with him. "You don't look so good." He hopped off the barstool and placed the back of his hand to Janus' forehead, then to his cheek. "Oh, honey, I think you're running a fever. Did you take any medicine yet?"

Patton had yet to withdraw his hand from Janus' cheek. Janus touched his fingertips to Patton's palm. His gloves… Had he taken them off? He must have. And now, he traced his bare fingertips across the lines of Patton's palm. "I like that," he mumbled.

"My hand?" Patton asked.

Janus nearly shook his head, but he caught himself. He didn't want to break the spell. "Honey."

"Oh," said Patton. "Oh." He turned away and his hand shifted a few millimeters across Janus' cheek. Janus wrapped his fingers around Patton's, scratching at his own irritated skin with his nails. "Logan," Patton said in a low, hurried tone. "He's burning up."

Janus nodded slowly, unsure of how exactly Patton knew. When he looked up, he caught Logan's eye. When had he finished at the sink? Time passed strangely tonight. Janus thought he should be worried about that.

"Patton, I need you to move, if you would," Logan said.

"He won't let go of my hand," Patton whispered, his face still turned away from Janus.

"Ask him," Logan said.

Patton turned his face back to Janus', and how badly Janus wanted to lean in! Just one chaste kiss, delivered reverently to Patton's lips, nothing more. Why shouldn't he? He had never cared about the effects of his actions on others before. He didn't even know if this was real.

Patton's voice cut through the haze. "Janus, honey, can you let please let go of my hand?"

Janus didn't want to let go, so he didn't. "Come to bed with me," he said to Patton. "That's all I want." The naked honesty slipped for too easily past his lips for this to be anything but a dream.

Patton laughed, high and nervous. "L-Logan? What do I do?"

"Hold still for a moment, please." Logan stepped forward and, leaning awkwardly around Patton, pressed two ice-cold fingers to Janus' neck. Janus released his grip on Patton's hand. The dream ended, even if the white vignette lingered in the corners of his vision. Shame ran hot through his veins.

"Janus." Logan's eyes stared deep into his own. "Do you know where you are?"

"Kitchen," Janus said. Logan's touch had shocked the sleep out of his system and now horror seeped in to take its place. His pride lay in shattered pieces at Patton's feet and Janus winced at the realization of what he had done.

He had let them see him weak.

He had to find a way back now. He had to think fast. But the fever fogged his mind, and he couldn't think of anything to do.

"I…"

His knees buckled and he fell and fell and fell until the gentle touch of his pillow met his cheek.

"Do you really want this, Janus?" Patton asked.

Before Janus could even try to make sense of Patton's question, Logan's voice cut in, "Patton, I advise against sharing a bed with Janus in his current condition. He could be contagious, or the added body heat could increase his current state of discomfort."

"But he asked," Patton said. "He never asks for anything, he just kinda… talks around it until you figure it out on your own."

It occurred to Janus, briefly, to defend himself, but there was no judgement in Patton's tone. There was only a heavy sorrow.

"Do you think he meant it?"

"Hm?"

"He said he liked it when I called him 'honey.' Do you think that was a lie?"

"At present, Patton, I don't have enough data to draw a conclusion on that. I may go speak to Remus to see if he has any insight to offer on the situation, although I don't wish to upset him."

"Oh," said Patton in a voice so small it made Janus' heart wrench beneath his ribs like someone had physically squeezed it.

"But," Logan said, "if…" He sighed and continued in a slightly louder voice, "If you want to know how I feel about it, it seems like an unusual thing to lie about."

"Thanks, Logan." The smile was audible in Patton's voice.

"You're welcome. Now, I'm going to go try to speak with Remus. I don't recommend you stay long; Janus needs to rest."

"Okay, Logan. See you."

It was quiet for a moment. Then Patton's hand came to rest on Janus' cheek. Janus sighed in response, but couldn't bring himself to speak. He didn't even know what he'd say.

"I guess you're probably asleep and can't hear me right now," Patton said. "And I guess I don't really have anything important to say." A pause. Patton's hand withdrew. Paper crinkled and a pen clicked; he was evidently writing a note. "Just… Get better soon, okay? And then we can have a real conversation about whether you want me to call you 'honey.'"

I do, Janus tried to say, but his treacherous tongue refused to move.

Patton sighed and turned out the light.

#spicywrites #spicywrites soft-shoe shuffle #song featured: starburner - steam powered giraffe

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the-mad-starker · 5 years

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Starker Smut: Homemade

Length: 8.2k

AO3 Link

Prompt: Omega mommy Tony and alpha son Peter who finally starts his rut. Tony ends up pregnant, and Tony loves feeling the life inside him, that feeling amplified by knowing that the pup(s) have part of Peter in them. When Tony starts lactating, Peter likes to nurse while he fucks his mama, caught between the safe, warm, feeling he gets from drinking from his momma and the desperate, near-frenzied mindset he gets fucking him.

Ive been MIA. Lack of motivation + IRL stuff = one very sad mads. So I finally finished this mommy kink fic yayy. Also using this as a fill for Starker bingo, X-ing out my Incest square 😱 anyone curious about my card can see it in the AO3 post.

Notes: ABO Dynamics, Incest (normalized sex setting), Omega Tony, Alpha Peter, intersex, marathon sex, knotting, breeding, impregnation, pregnant sex, lactation, ruts, lingerie, and so much mommy kink

Note 2: Not explicitly stated but throwing in the underaged warning here.

Also before anyone jumps me for breast feeding info/correction, I was too lazy to do a thorough research into this so I'm tweaking it in this omegaverse lol

💗💗💗

Tony's actually in a meeting when he gets the text.

It's from Happy, his loyal but too serious bodyguard slash chauffeur.

Boss, i just dropped the kid off at the house. He literally begged me not to tell you, but he isn't feeling too well. - HH

Tony frowns at the message and thinks for a half second before he shoots a text to his son.

Hey, kiddo. How's class going? - TS

There’s silence for a few seconds before his inbox is flooded in Peter's usual lightning fast but short sentence texts.

…

...Happy told you, didnt he

im sorry, i wasnt feeling good

They said I should just go home

And I told Happy not to tell you

he promised but I guess he lied

I'm fine, really just need to nap.

Sorry, mama.

It's the last line that gets him because lately, Peter has been trying to stop calling him mommy or mama. he wants to be more formal, more grown up and just call Tony mom, but it slips when he's feeling particularly vulnerable.

Meaning his baby needs him right this instant.

Tony excuses himself from the meeting and texts Happy to bring him home. Smart man, the beta is already waiting for him when Tony strolls out of the building.

He makes it to their home in Queens in record time but doesn't text to let his son know. Peter, despite being a clingy child, has some guilt about pulling Tony away from his job. The omega doesn't know where it comes from since he has always reassured his boy that he would move mountains for him.

Tony loosens his tie, slipping off his shoes when he enters their home.

There's a scent neutralizer in the air so the omega can't tell from scent alone if his son is in distress. Scent neutralizers in the ventilation but the walls aren't soundproof. The only ones that are soundproof are Tony's bedroom for… reasons... Not that he needs it. The omega hasn't had a partner for heats or otherwise since Peter was a baby.

He approaches Peter's bedroom and pauses when he hears sounds from inside.

A soft moan. His hand stills on the doorknob before he decides to knock.

He gets a soft yelp and the sound of something crashing on the floor. Tony raises a brow but schools his expression when Peter cracks the door open.

"Mama?" Peter whispers incredulously. He licks his dry lips and blinks too rapidly. "Aren't you supposed to be in a meeting…?"

Normally, Tony would have a sassy reply instantly but something… It's… It's hard to pinpoint really, but the scent is familiar and it makes Tony's insides clench and his legs feel weak. He hasn't responded like that in so long and the last time–

Tony's eyes widen when the realization hits. It's all processed in less than a second and his instincts surge to life inside him.

"A little birdie told me you aren't feeling well," Tony says coyly, leaning closer.

He gets more of that scent, spice and musk… Knows by the way Peter's lips quiver that he's catching his omega mother's scent at the same time. Peter's eyes dilate, the pupils expanding and eating up the brown of his irises. Brown eyes that he shares with his omega parent.

Does Peter even know what Tony's scent means?

If he's presenting today, the deeper notes in Tony's scents might still be a mystery. In that case, his body would be responding but Peter wouldn't know, consciously, why he's so aroused. Why Tony's scent is turning him on so much when just yesterday, his nose only registered comfort and security.

"I told Happy–" Peter groans, "Mom, I'm okay, I just need a minute."

Tony smirks but when he tries to nudge the door open, Peter holds it steady, a soft whine of, "Mama, p-please–"

He abruptly stops talking when Tony caresses his cheek, subtly posing his wrist right next to the boy's nose. He's feeding his presenting boy the scent of a viable omega. It's a dirty trick but he just wants to help and possibly ease his son's suffering.

"Baby, I can smell it," Ton says gently, "You're becoming a man… An alpha."

"Mama…" Peter groans, breathing the scent in with greedy lungfuls of breath.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Tony encourages his son to speak honestly.

Peter swallows, so unsure, but he whimpers when Tony continues stroking his cheek, soothing and arousing at the same time.

"It does," he admits, "but… but… I…"

Tony's poor baby is struggling.

"Do you want Mama to help, darling?" Tony coos to his son. "I can make the hurt go away."

"You can?" Peter looks at him with wide eyes, full of trust and innocence.

It makes Tony's heart beat so harshly against his chest. His body responds too, but he's already been dripping slick since he smelled his son's arousal. The scent of an alpha in entering a rut. It's even more potent for a first time presented. It's even more arousing that it's his baby boy, his sweet Peter.

"Open the door, baby," Tony encourages, "I'll help you feel better."

Peter's breathing escalates, his body practically vibrating with unspent energy. Tony can read all the signs and more slick drips out of him when he does.

His sweet Peter is going to be such an amazing, good alpha.

His son opens the door and Tony almost sinks to his knees right then and there. If he thought Peter's emerging scent affected him before, it sends his head spinning. It's intoxicating.

Alpha… alpha…

Tony breathes it in and takes a few seconds to acclimate himself. Then, belying the struggle he's feeling, Tony saunters into the room and promptly sits on his boy's bed, crossing his legs. It helps to hide the trembling and the urge he has to just lay back and offer himself as a rut toy for his son.

Peter, sensing the change in his omega mom, hesitates when he turns.

It's obvious why. His erection is tenting the soft pajama pants he has on and he's trying to hide it behind his hands. There's a light flush on Peter's cheeks, such a pretty pink that Tony wants to snuggle the boy close.

"Well," Tony smiles and it's a sultry thing, an expression that Peter's never had directed at him. It makes his son push out even more pheromones, trying to lure in the omega teasing him. "We're not gonna solve your problem with you all the way over there. Come closer, baby."

Peter does step closer then takes another until he's standing right in front of Tony. The omega gently eases his son's hands away.

"Need to see what I'm working with here, kid," Tony tells him.

Slowly, he tugs his boy's pajamas down, letting the fabric drag over the erect length. His son's flesh is uncovered, slowly, like a grand reveal and Tony's mouth fills with saliva with every inch he exposes. He guessed the size a bit, just from the outline, but that doesn't compare to what he sees.

Tony knows right away that Peter has a pretty cock. The flesh itself is flushed a gorgeous pink, just like the blush on his cheeks. The girth isn't something to scoff at. It looks like his presentation hit Peter like a truck, giving him all the tools needed to be an alpha stud despite still being Tony's baby boy.

The omega eyes the loose skin around the base. For a kid who hasn't popped his first knot, Tony can already tell Peter's knot will be massive. When the band of his pajamas finally slips over the tip, Tony's breath catches when the entire thing is freed. It's so hard that it springs up but the weight of it is too much to curve up against Peter's belly. His son's cock bobs in the air, all flushed and needy, drooling for his omega mama's touch.

Tony takes a moment to admire it. A soft sound catches his attention and he looks up to see Peter's embarrassed face. The blush has only deepened and the color has crept down Peter's neck and chest, disappearing beneath his shirt.

"You've grown to be such a big boy," Tony murmurs, rubbing circles on the hard jut of his hip.

"Mama…" Peter whispers, a tiny bit embarrassed. But there's a hint of pride there like he can't help being happy that Tony compliments him so.

"It's a good cock," Tony assures him, "You'll make plenty of omegas cry on this thing…"

Another soft embarrassed sound then his sweet son admits, "I don't… don't really want any other 'mega, mom…"

His son is such a sweet boy. Tony feels his heart twist because Peter's always been such a good boy, always thinking about his omega mama, always so sweet and kind. Some young omega will steal Tony's sweet boy away and that's… that's life.

Tony doesn't say such things though. They'll come in time. For now… He'll take what he can get and teach his son what he wants to know.

"What do you think…?" Tony says casually while he wraps his hand around Peter's cock. "Think you can hold out for me, kid? Or are you feeling sensitive…?"

He gets his answer as soon as he gives the firm cock a single stroke. It twitches wildly in his hand, drops of precome beading up quickly at the slit. It drips down the flushed head and just as quickly, another drop forms. It keeps going, fat cloudy drops that gather and overflow so that it drips steadily.

"I…" Peter whines, hiding his face behind his hands again. He peeks through his fingers, "I don't know…"

Tony tries to be gentle but his baby isn't too far from his first orgasm by another's hand.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Tony tells him as the boy shuffles closer. His hand works over Peter's erect cock, jerking him off with firm but quick strokes. "Let it out, little alpha… Let it out for mama…"

It doesn't take more than a few strokes before Peter's body grows taut. His cock twitches and pulses in Tony's grip, balls drawing up quick. Tony doesn't stop and soon, his son is bucking up his hips, soft gasps and a cut off "Mmph…!" before Peter spills all over Tony's hand.

The load his son releases is so much…

"Fuck, baby," Tony says, astonished at the sheer amount of come, "you were really backed up, hmm? You should ask for mommy's help if you need it... Don't want my baby getting so frustrated…"

Tony milks it all out of Peter, massaging and encouraging the soft little baby knot at the base of his cock. He ignores the fact that his son's come makes a mess, some of it getting on his designer suit and dripping all over.

Peter slumps against him, sinking onto the bed. His head falls on Tony's shoulder and he buries his face against his Mama's arm.

"Isn't this wrong, mama…?" Peter asks softly.

In that quiet, whispered sentence, Tony hears all his boy's doubts and fears. Tony can't bear to have his kid upset, so he tips Peter's face towards his and gently, lovingly, kisses the boy on the lips.

Peter's brown eyes, so like his own, widen but he doesn't scramble back. If anything, he melts into it, hands twitching at his sides, wanting to touch but unsure of where to place them.

"I love you, baby," Tony tells him. Then he smiles a bit wryly, "You love me too, don't you…?"

For a second, Peter looks a bit offended at the question before he eagerly nods, replying, "Of course, I do, mom."

He nuzzles Tony's cheek then brushes his nose against his jaw and then his neck…

"You're perfect… my perfect mama…" Peter tells him, "I love you so much… There's no one I'd love more than you…"

Tony melts and tugs Peter down onto the bed with him. The young alpha curls up against his side while Tony kicks off his ruined pants. Since those are already gone, he strips off his suit jacket and the vest beneath. As he's unbuttoning his shirt, he feels curious fingers trace along his underwear.

He looks over his shoulder, raising a brow at his touchy feely son.

Peter gives his mama a shy smile, "It looks nice on you…"

Tony looks down, grinning at the hot red lace underwear he's wearing. He hasn't had an alpha in years but he still likes to feel sexy beneath his clothes. He's also glad he wore something nice since Peter seems to love it.

"Thank you, baby," Tony says leaning down and kissing the top of his head.

He leaves his shirt on but it's entirely unbuttoned. Tony is, perhaps, a bit eager but Peter certainly appreciates it. He tilts his face up, lips puckering a bit in expectation. Amused but not willing to turn down the request, Tony takes Peter's lips in another sweet kiss.

He's practically leaning over his son when he feels Peter's cock swelling against his thigh. The joys of having such an eager and young alpha…

Peter had just started getting into the kiss when Tony pulls away.

"Mama–" Peter protests but Tony shushes him with a finger to the lips. When his boy pouts, Tony takes his finger away and pecks him on the lips.

"There's no rush, sweetheart," he tells Peter, "But hmm… How about we make you a real alpha, hmm? Would you like that…?"

Peter's wide but eager eyes are answer enough and yet, he seems conflicted.

Tony reads him easily and kisses him softly.

"Still think it's wrong?" He raises a brow.

Peter's eyes are wide and even though he shakes his head rather enthusiastically, there's still that tiny bit of doubt that shadows his face.

He wraps an arm around the boy's shoulders and gently eases Peter down on top of him. His legs spread to accommodate his son, knees cradling the boy's hips.

Peter's cock presses between his legs, firm flesh poking and dragging along his clothed pussy. It makes Tony shiver in anticipation.

He reaches between their bodies, leading his son's cock where he wants it… The tip nestles against the fabric, precome wetting the lacy material.

"Pete… You're my baby," Tony says. Their eyes lock, alpha and omega, mother and son, as Tony teases him. He rubs against his son's cock, dragging the wet tip up and down along his slit. Even with his panties in the way, it's such an intimate feeling.

He nuzzles against the boy's cheek, purring, "Part of you should always be inside me… So, do it, baby, it's okay… Put your cock inside mommy."

He wants to do badly, Tony could see it. His eyes are hooded and his lip caught between his teeth. Tony only knows he's breathing because they're pressed close.

Peter's so close to getting his first taste of omega pussy.

"...What if I'm bad at it…?" Peter mumbles then, the last thing holding him back.

He can't take his eyes away from Tony though and the desire is there… Oh God, Tony hasn't felt this kind of mutual attraction in years. His baby alpha is just so eager but so worried about disappointing Tony… It's just so sweet, so typical of Peter.

"You're a Stark, aren't you?" Tony gently teases, "Being great is in your blood."

Then Tony smirks, a confident grin that trembles when he feels Peter's hips shift forward, seeking the warmth of his body.

"Besides…" Tony murmurs as he pulls Peter closer. "I'll teach you, baby… Don't worry…"

He squeezes the alpha's cock, stroking along heated flesh. It's dripping again, so much precome and fluid, his son's cock naturally providing lubrication so it could penetrate any tight hole.

Tony's pussy clenches, slick and wetness just dripping right out of him. This entire time, he's been so focused on Peter that he's been holding back his own wants. But this… He knows it's going to be amazing.

He's so wet and his own little omega cock is stiff and aching. It's nothing compared to how his insides clench in anticipation, eager to be split apart and seeded thoroughly.

Screw the fact that he hasn't bothered with birth control in years, there's always the after morning pill. Unless…

"You wanna be safe and use a condom, baby alpha…?" Tony asks. He hates it though, loves knowing his partner is bare inside him, but if his son wants it…

Peter looks torn and says forlornly, "Do I have to…? I haven't…"

"You really should but since it's your first time…" Tony gives in easily and then, pulling his panties aside, exposes the tight little hole of his pussy for penetration. He notches the wet tip right there and murmurs, "Push in a bit, Pete…"

His boy complies and oh… Tony groans at that initial stretch, his son's fat cock nudging its way inside…

"Mama…" Peter gasps, a strangled sound as he gets his first taste of Tony's omega pussy.

His hands fly down to Tony's hips, fingers clamping down. Once the tip is swallowed down, Peter's control frays and splinters, coming undone as his hips buck up. It's harsh and uncontrolled as the alpha tries to shove into Tony's tight body.

"Mama… mama .." Peter almost pleads but Tony's a bit distracted himself.

The omega is caught in the sensation of his pussy being split apart. In his younger days, sex was easy and he was used to it. It's been… years and Tony's definitely not used to it. His tight little pussy struggles to even take Peter's cockhead and Tony breathes through the stretch.

It's not unpleasant, it's just a lot… Especially with Peter trying to greedily fuck the rest of his length inside without giving Tony time to adjust.

"Mama… I can't… gotta…" Peter's words are incoherent babbling but actions speak louder than words. With a sob, Peter forces the rest of his cock inside his omega mother's pussy.

To Tony, it feels like the breath is punched out of him. He grips his son's broad shoulders and his entire body shudders, clenching down tight on Peter's cock.

It feels so good after the initial push that Tony's body goes limp. His son covers him, dark ravenous eyes staring down at him from above.

"It feels… so good…" Peter groans, eyes rolling back, and yet… he's staying so perfectly still like he can't move. Or refuses to.

Tony gazes up at his son with hooded eyes. His pussy clenches on the thick length, tiny little hole tight from lack of use. As he lays there panting, split open on his boy's cock, Tony has a feeling that he won't be left empty now that Peter's had a taste… He knows how alphas get and the look in Peter's eyes tell him the same thing.

There's this dazed look in Peter's eyes. His mouth trembles in pleasure and his entire body strains with the need to move.

"It's okay, baby," Tony encourages, wrapping his legs around the boy's waist. "C'mon, Pete… Move… I can take it… was made to take it…"

"Mama…"

It's breathed out like a prayer before Peter shudders. He squeezes his eyes shut but starts to move, hands clamped down bruisingly tight on Tony's hips as he chases after his own pleasure.

He fucks his mama with clumsy but eager thrusts. Tony welcomes every single one, moaning into his baby's ear and encouraging him with filthy words.

"Your cock feels so good, baby…" Tony says breathlessly. "Tilt your hips like– oh, fuck, yes… Like that, baby. Oh– yes, just like… that…"

Peter tries his very best to please Tony, but being so inexperienced, he can't help but come fast. He tries to warn his omega mommy but the words get caught in his throat.

"Mama…!" Peter shudders as he empties himself inside.

He unloads with a groan, pushing deep inside and spilling so carelessly into his mother's unprotected womb. The body under his grows so tight that it steals his breath.

"You're knotting, Pete, oh… oh, fuck–" Tony groans when he feels his son's knot start to swell.

It happens quickly, the knot filling and rubbing against Tony's insides until it's too large to pull out. His son is lost in the pleasure, completely overwhelmed as he dumps a nice thick load inside.

The realization that he's knotting comes as a surprise even though Peter knows that it logically happens. His mama feels so impossibly tight around him and it's hard for him to formulate a thought, much less words.

Thoughts about pups and the dangers of unprotected sex don't even register to the rutting alpha. All he knows is the amazing feeling of his come rushing out of him and shooting out… The way it leaves his mama so wet, he could feel it… His come crowding around his sensitive cock as the knot keeps it all plugged inside.

Tony shivers when he feels his son's cock pulse inside him. His eyes slip closed for just a moment and he images it… Peter's alpha cock inside him, white spilling everywhere as his son breeds him.

He's not on birth control and the omega shudders at the terrible thought. His son knocking him up. His hand trembles as he pets Peter's back, fingertips grazing up and down as the young alpha continues to pant against his neck.

"Mama… I'm sorry…" Peter groans when he finally realizes what he's done, "I came inside…"

That dirty wrong feeling grows and his pussy clenches down, milking every drop from his son's cock.

"It's okay, baby," Tony tells him. He turns Peter's face towards his and kisses him to show he's not mad or upset. "I've always wanted to give you a little brother or sister…"

It's said mostly as a joke, as something to show Peter that he isn't mad about it. But then Tony feels Peter's cock twitch violently inside him and he wonders…

"You like that idea, baby…?" Tony says out loud, eyes searching his boy's face. "Like the idea of knocking up your omega mommy?"

The sound Peter makes would be embarrassing any other time but Tony finds the high pitched whine cute. It tells him how badly his baby wants it… Wants to knock his omega parent up.

Tony sighs, feeling deliriously happy that their desires are in sync. He's been holding back, worried that Peter would just want some practice… But now…

"Move your hips, Pete…" Tony instructs. "You got your omega caught on your knot… Gotta keep rutting… Even if it's sensitive… Keep– Oh…"

His son obeys and moves flawlessly, burying his face in Tony's neck. The knot holds true and Tony groans when he feels it tugging against his hole but it's… It's so good…

Peter's youthful enthusiasm comes through. Even though they're still tied, he fucks Tony relentlessly. The knot only allows him an inch or two to move but that's all he needs. His thrusts are harsh and deep as he ruts into Tony's pussy, churning up all that good potent come that he's deposited inside.

Then without instruction, Peter pulls up to his knees, his strong hands dragging Tony's lower body with him so that the knot doesn't get tugged too harshly. Tony's back arches to get that perfect angle and he's seeing stars when Peter starts to hammer inside him..

His son's loud pants and cries of "Mama…!" continue as fucks Tony stupid in his childhood bed. Tony doesn't even need a hand on his own stiff little cock before he's spilling all over his stomach, clear useless drops of omega come spurting out. Peter continues to fuck him, rutting wildly in a way only newly presented alphas can.

Distantly, Tony realizes that the knot has softened… But then Peter whimpers, unhappy when his sensitive little knot slips out and is followed by a flood of his come.

"Baby–" Tony groans but Peter turns him onto his stomach before he shoves back in.

"Again," Peter growls. His cock spears right in, fucking into the sloppy wet insides of Tony's pussy. Then he murmurs, as though apologetic for his tone, "Please, mama… I need it… need mommy's pussy…"

Tony groans, pushing up onto his knees.

"Go on, P-Pete," he allows it, his entire body shaking from the force. "Go ahead, baby… Take what you n-need…"

"Thank you," Peter groans, "Thank you… It's so good, mama… So good… Wanna come inside again… Gonna do it… Gonna come inside mommy's pussy… Get every drop..."

"Do it, baby," Tony urges. "you can, you can… Come inside…"

It becomes clear that Peter isn't thinking of making it good for Tony, not when his thrusts are so rough and uncontrolled. He's just chasing after his own pleasure, hips rabbiting against Tony's ass as he roughly fucks in and out.

He's utilizing his strength, his speed… His youth that allows him to keep him. His cock is just a blur of motion with how fast he's fucking in and out. It feels too good to stop...

Tony can only imagine just how pink his ass and thighs are from how harshly Peter's fucking him. The sloppy wet sounds make it all the worse… There's come dripping down his thighs, come being fucked back into him, come ruining the sheets beneath them…

Alphas come so much and Tony's son wasn't an exception.

Tony can feel his son's knot again. The initial knotting happened so quickly and Peter had settled deep in his body when it happened.

Being fucked like this… Even while the knot's too small, he can feel it. It pops in and out, pushing and pulling against his hole and it's a sensation unlike any other.

Tony feels every tug as it grows and grows. He relishes the sensation, knows when his son is ready by the way the thrusts shorten… It's Peter using his freshly fucked hole… Using Tony's body to stimulate the knot so he can come again.

Unrefined and unused to sex, Peter doesn't realize that he's let the knot grows too big until he tries to push in and it's– It's too big.

Tony wouldn't let any other alpha do this, but it's his son and he wants Peter to just enjoy it. H wee can handle a bit of pain, he tells himself.

"D-do it," Tony groans and has a second to brace himself when Peter complies. He pulls back so that the very tip is settled against his opening then he shoves in with a snap of his hips.

Peter grunts while Tony whines, the knot being forcefully shoved in. Another load is deposited and he feels the way Peter spurts inside him, that thick alpha cock pumping away load after load… Trying it's best to fill him up so he gets knocked up.

Tony lays there flat on his stomach, his son pressing him down as Peter purrs, content and satisfied after coming inside twice.

The rut is in no way over but there's some downtime.

Tony grunts as he tries to nudge Peter onto his side. His boy is affectionate and acts touch starved like he can't get enough. He runs his hands over the omega's sweat damp body.

"Can we do it again…?" Peter asks, kissing the back of Tony's neck. His knot is probably ten minutes away from softening and he already wants to fuck his omega mommy.

"As many times as you want, kiddo," Tony says despite wondering if he'll survive his son's rut. "Do you wanna try my ass…? You might like it better."

Peter goes quiet for a moment but Tony doesn't notice. He's too caught up in the afterglow, relaxing in his son's arms as he considers taking the next few days off.

He shivers when Peter's fingers slip between his legs. It's a curious touch, exploring Tony's body in a way he's never had a chance to.

Tony remembers being that young and curious so he lays there, humming whenever a particular touch feels good. Peter's hands on him are almost reverent and it's so feather light when he skims over his omega cock.

Those same fingers skip south, so hesitant, as though Tony would scold him at any moment. They grow a bit more confident when he doesn't, but to Tony's surprise, Peter just rubs around the swollen flesh where his knot is locked.

"Wanna keep doing it here…" Peter murmurs, "If I can… If mama lets me… Wanna keep doing it here…"

Maybe it's not all talk, Tony thinks when Peter mouths against his neck. Tony tilts his head, sighing in pleasure when the alpha runs his tongue over the sensitive skin there.

His natural inclination is to tease the boy with his new obsession but instead, Tony trembles in excitement. He presses his hand over his alpha son's curious fingers.

"Okay, baby," Tony permits, "Mama will let you do it."

----

He should've remembered that his son was very much like him. If he had, Tony may have thought twice about giving Peter free reign over his body.

Paired with a newly presented alpha's determination to breed, Tony finds himself in quite a predicament.

He's not as young as he used to be and he realizes this when Peter shows himself to be quite insatiable. Peter doesn't even bat an eye after going three rounds.

It helps that those rounds are short. The kid has a crazy amount of stamina in the sense that he can keep going and going and going… But he doesn't last very long during those times. At least, not yet. Peter has plenty of time to build up his experience and by the fifth time, the sensitivity had dulled so he lasts a bit longer.

The rut is harsh and demanding. Tony feels every thrust, every desperate attempt to knock him up. The amount of seed that Peter spills inside him in obscene and so much of it spills from Tony's leaking hole when the knot softens and his son pulls out.

No matter how much is wasted against the sheets, Tony knows there's more than enough left inside him. He wonders if it'll kickstart his own cycle but the thought is a fleeting one. Peter consumes all his time and attention.

It's a fuck fest. A marathon. A full blown alpha rut. And rutting alphas only have one thing on their mind. Fucking and breeding an omega.

Lucky Tony, he's the one who volunteered and gave permission. He loves his son, how could he not?

Tony doesn't regret it, not even when he feels like he's full to bursting. He marvels at the noticeable bulge Peter's come has given him, but this… Letting Peter run wild, it isn't sustainable. Tony would become an incoherent mess, fucked out and his son would probably still rut him, still keep fucking him until the urges were sated.

The omega switches tactics.

In the shower, he redirects the alpha cock to his ass instead of his sore pussy. Peter whines at the change, wanting another chance at his pussy but Tony is firm.

The thought is forgotten either way when he feels Tony's insides grip his relentless cock. It's a different kind of heat, but it's still Tony, still his mama gripping him tightly. He hammers in with stuttering breaths and gasps that echo in the shower stall.

Peter takes control. He pushes his omega mama against the slick shower tiles and fucks his ass with rough jerks of his hips. To his rut crazed mind, a hole is a hole and he's already dumped several loads in his omega's pussy. He could enjoy this for now...

The newly presented alpha finds he's as enamored with Tony's ass as he is with his pussy. The water washes away what they've done but It doesn't lessen Peter's urge to breed his own omega parent.

Unsurprisingly, the next attempt is shortly after.

One moment, Tony's reaching for something in the bathroom cabinet, the next, he's bent over the counter. His son grips his hips and a nice thick cock slides inside him. By now it's familiar and even though it aches, Tony grips the counter. His back arches into an enticing curve and it shakes with every harsh thrust.

All efforts at cleanliness are ruined when Peter comes inside him again. His fist is wrapped around his knot, preventing it from slipping in and at the last second, he pulls out. Warmth spurts of semen spill over Tony's ass and his lower back and even the omega feels his face grow warm at the claim.

The next two days pass in a blur.

Tony's meetings are canceled and Peter's first rut absence is accepted by his teacher.

His instincts run wild and Tony indulges him, taking the role of a mate and letting the alpha sate his urges in any of his holes.

And when the rut ends…

They're both exhausted and utilize the hot tub to soothe their sore muscles.

What occurred between them doesn't end when Peter's rut finally ebbs away. That's made clear when Tony slips into his son's lap, groaning in part pain and mostly pleasure when Peter's cock stretches him full once more.

They haven't used a condom once during the entirety of Peter's rut. It's not surprising to Tony when weeks later, a pregnancy test proves that he's carrying.

He wasn't even in heat when Peter knocked him up.

Tony takes his son out to dinner and surprises him with the news.

"Pregnant?" Peter's eyes grow wide with disbelief, "but you weren't even in heat, mama…"

Tony pecks him on the cheek.

"That's right, kid," Tony says with a proud smile, "Who knew that my Peter was such a stud? Knocking up his mama out of cycle."

He winks at the abashed alpha but there's a glow that sparks inside his son. Pride. Happiness. A mix of the two.

He touches Tony's flat tummy through the suit.

"I'm going to have a little brother or sister," Peter says in awe.

"A son or daughter," Tony adds. "It is your pup."

"It's my pup…" Peter echos, a bit dazed. "Mama…"

"Maybe you should start calling me Tony," the omega encourages but Peter's lips pucker a bit at the thought.

"You'll always be my mama though," he protests.

It makes Tony smile and he pats his son's hand.

"Aren't I your mate now too?" Tony teased, "Or are you going to leave your poor mom to do all the baby stuff?"

Of course, that brings so many protests and stuttering denials that Tony has to admit he was joking. He soothes his son and tells him, "You'll be a great daddy, Pete."

The alpha is in a daze for the rest of the dinner. There's a goofy but endearing smile on his face and he treats Tony with so much care and gentleness.

Tony makes sure to put an end to that. He's newly pregnant and his libido shoots up. There's no room for gentle, not now, and he convinces Peter of this in the car ride home.

The alpha doesn't need much convincing. Knocking up his omega mommy does things to his head, strokes his alpha ego to new heights and he wants Tony now more than ever. Wants to fuck him again, to remember just exactly how he impregnated his mommy.

Happy is the unfortunate victim as the limo driver but the partition, at least, gives them some privacy.

Tony rides Peter in the car, legs straining as he bounces up and down on that thick, wonderful alpha cock that got him pregnant. His son's cock. Peter holds him steady and one hand rests possessively over the non-existent bump.

Even if there's no physical evidence there yet, they both know there'll be a new Stark in under a year.

Peter begs Tony to let him do it again. He wants to breed his mommy after they have their first child. He doesn't want to stop putting his babies in Tony's tummy and Tony has half a mind to indulge him.

Instead, he kisses Peter oh so sweetly and teases him with a, "We'll see, baby. Maybe if you keep your grades up, hmm?"

Peter maintains a 4.0 GPA in his studies which isn't surprising given the fact that he's a Stark. The incentive was the main driving force though. He has an omega mate and his mama, all in one and while Tony still isn't allowed to touch a pan in the kitchen, he takes care of the alpha's other needs.

The omega's body starts to fill out, becoming softer and readying itself for motherhood. Tony laments at the loss of his trim and fit figure once the suits no longer fit, but every time he looks in the mirror, he's reminded.

He's carrying his son's baby. Inside his belly, there was a tiny bit of Peter and himself.

They talk about it and wonder. Would the baby be a girl or boy? Alpha? Omega? Beta? They didn't care what designation the baby came out with or what was between their legs. The baby was Peter's and Tony's and that's all that mattered.

Instead, they debate about what the baby would have from each parent. Peter's soft brown hair? Or Tony's darker thick hair? Peter's paler skin tone or Tony's Tanner complexion?

Regardless, they both already loved their little peanut.

The weeks pass and people take notice. It's obvious to anyone with a nose, but the betas have put two and two together. They see Tony's tummy start to swell even more and there's something soft and beautiful about Tony like this.

Peter is in love with the changes..

He worships his mama's body with kisses and words of adoration which Tony decides, makes up for the changes.

Every night and morning, he runs his hands all over every inch of his mama's body. He presses his ear to the now noticable baby bump and speaks quietly to their little Peanut.

"I did this…" Peter smiles when he caresses the baby bump.

"Scoundrel," Tony quips, "This isn't how I raised you!" He drops the act and sighs when Peter nuzzles his chest.

His chest has changed, growing softer along with the rest of his body. It's natural and he knew it was coming. It had happened when he was pregnant with Peter.

"How big did you get when you had me?" Peter wonders as he nuzzles against Tony's soft chest.

He tweaks a nipple gently, knowing his mama's been complaining about soreness.

"Not too big," Tony admits, "Maybe a handful? There's a couple of photoshoots I did at the time."

Peter has already seen them. His mama looked breathtaking in them. The photographers had played up the more feminine aspect of omegas, dressing Tony in ballroom gowns and long flowy pieces that showed off his modest chest.

Simply… breathtaking.

He still likes to hear it from Tony. How big they grow is really genetics. Tony himself never grew that large when he was pregnant with Peter.

Tony massages his aching chest, pressing fingertips down lightly around the tissue. He notices Peter's watchful eyes and smiles.

"This isn't my first time," Tony reminds him, "And I've gone into milk before, even before I got pregnant."

That's something Peter hadn't been aware of.

Omegas can produce milk even outside of pregnancy, Peter knows. He just didn't know that Tony has tried it at some point.

"You did?"

"Mhmm," Tony says a bit proudly. "Takes some training but omegas can do it as long as there's someone that wants it."

The comment sticks in Peter's head… His mama making milk for… a boyfriend? An alpha friend? He takes over massaging Tony's chest and the omega lets him, melting against the bed and pillows he's propped upon.

"Would it be okay…" Peter murmurs, "if I…?"

A slow, teasing smile curls the corner of Tony's lips.

"You want a taste, little alpha?" Tony says outright.

Peter blushes but nods. "As long as it doesn't take away from peanut."

Tony waves a hand then features Peter to come closer. "Peanut will be fine. Our bodies adapt if there's a demand for more and…"

There's a twinkle in Tony's eye.

"Maybe you can help me out?" Tony purrs.

The mood shifts and Peter, after becoming intimately aware of his mama's increased libido, grows excited from the tone.

He curls up against Tony's side, one hand still massaging his chest. It goes from clinical to sensual, Peter's fingertips sweeping over sensitive skin.

"Anything, mama," Peter murmurs.

Tony turn Peter's face so he's nuzzling against the soft swell of his chest. "The more stimulation these get, the faster I'll come into milk. Help an O out, will you?"

Peter happily does so. He licks and sucks with his mouth while his hand massages the omega's chest. Tony hisses at the sensation, fingers curling into his son's soft hair.

There isn't any milk that day, but he's sure that it'll come soon.

Sex grows more difficult when Tony's belly grows but they're both determined. More often, they fuck with Tony on his side and Peter against back. It's the perfect position to let Peter touch his belly as he's fucking in and out of Tony's pussy. He still knots, still releases his come inside even though it serves no purpose for now.

Peter takes to his new task with great enthusiasm. He's always been an affection boy but now, he touches Tony freely like it's his right. Like he's Tony's alpha and mate.

His new favorite position is side to side while facing each other. He likes to suck on Tony's nipples, loves feeling Tony's swollen belly press against his body. It's the best feeling in the world and Tony can't deny that he enjoys it greatly, as well.

It's during one specific session that Peter finally gets a taste of his mama.

It's slow and gentle, Peter being more cautious the larger Tony's belly grows. He pushes in and out in a leisurely rhythm, his thick alpha cock already slick with his previous load. His stamina has grown and he's learned so, so much that he's even a bit cocky about it. He knows how to make Tony moan, how to tease the omega. Knows how to make him shiver with just a few words.

Beyond that, he knows what his mama looks like spent and fucked out. He's memorized the curve of his lips when he's gasping, learned every sensitive spot that has Tony clenching the sheets between his fingers.

He sucks in Tony's sensitive nipple, nursing like he once did when he was a small pup. There's a burst of sweetness that spills across his tongue. It surprises him so much that he pulls back, milky drops slipping from his lips.

There's a lingering sweetness in his mouth and it evokes a feeling in him. He was too young to remember nursing from his mama but it's still there, this feeling of safety and love.

Peter licks up the drops and purrs, pressing even closer to take the omega's nipple back into his mouth.

Tony groans when he feels the milk let out, eyes turned into slits while he's watching Peter lick it up. He feels the suction and it brings such sweet pleasure to him, it makes his back arch a bit. His grip tightens in Peter's hair and they continue that way.

Peter's mouth on his nipple, the milk continues to flow steadily with every suck. At the same time, Tony's pussy squeezes around his son's cock, massaging, and begging for another knot.

"Mama…" Peter groans when there's no more left. "It's so sweet… Mama's milk… I want more…"

He then switches to the other nipple, leaning up a bit to get to it.

His mouth latches onto Tony's nipple, eyes slipped closed as he focused on how sweet his Mama's milk his. He almost feels jealous that his little pup would get this for however long.

Tony drifts in a haze of pleasure but his hips hitch needily. Maybe with some training, he could come from just Peter nursing on him, but for now, he wants to get fucked.

"Baby," Tony groans, "C'mon, do it… how I like."

Peter looks up and pull off, leaving the nipple wet from his mouth and peaked in the cool air. The alpha notes the way Tony's eyes are hooded and his mouth is gasping, wanting.

"Love you, mama…" Peter tells him before he starts to hasten his thrusts.

"Love you–Oh!" Tony moans, tossing his head back. "Ah, that's perfect… Perfect…"

A glance down and Peter's eyes rest on Tony's chest, his nipples firm and puffy from the alpha's mouth. A single drop of cloudy milk drips from one nipple and Peter chases it as it slips down Tony's chest. He licks it up with his tongue, running the flat of it up so that he can take it back into his mouth.

Judging by the way the omega moans, Tony approves of it. His fingers curl in Peter's hair again as the alpha fucks him.

Tony floats on a haze of pleasure as Peter fucks him. He can feel the knot– His son has gotten good at holding it back but with his first sample of omega milk, it's like Peter has lost his inhibitions. His hips fuck forward as he sucks and sucks, greedily drinking from Tony.

The knot grows and grows, slipping inside at the very last second. Peter licks up the very last drops while his cock spurts inside his mama.

And like a good boy, he shares the sweetness with Tony, kissing him deeply.

"How was it, baby?" Tony murmurs when they're knotted.

"Mama tastes so sweet," Peter replies, nosing against his neck. "Was it good…?"

Tony kisses the top of his head.

"It was perfect, Pete," Tony tells him. "My perfect little alpha."

----

Tony has to buy new clothes.

His belly grows even larger and his chest is bigger than when he was pregnant with Peter.

"F-Fuck–!" Tony grunts while Peter fucks into him from behind.

He had been making something simple for breakfast. His instincts demanded to, feed and do all this domestic shit that Tony never cared for, so he tried pancakes. It should've been easy but Peter had come down and seeing his mama trying to cook for him had really turned him on.

Or maybe it's just an excuse to walk up behind Tony, pull his pants down, and slip right into his wet pussy.

The stove is off now and the pancake mix barely has barely cooked, but it's all ignored anyway. Peter just fucks and fucks, eager and hungry for something other than food.

He, at least has the decency to avoid knotting but then Tony's left with a steady deluge of come dripping down his thighs.

"You're gonna be late for class," Tony pokes Peter when the alpha pulls his pants up. "Late and hungry."

Peter gently turns him and nuzzles against his chest, squeezing them gently.

There's a suggestion in his eyes and Tony sighs, giving in. He leans back against the counter and Peter swoops in, tugging his Mama's shirt off before taking a nipple into his mouth.

"How did I raise such a smart ass," Tony wonders but there's a fondness in his tone.

Such encounters only become even more frequent. Peter ambushes him in the shower, in the tub… He has no shame in showing off his pregnant mama and no shame in asking Tony for milk right after school.

And it's become such a routine that Peter has Tony on his cock shortly after.

"These are you fault," Tony says when he models a new maternity bra.

They've grown a size larger and while it's still no where close to what beta women would have, they've become fairly large for an omega male.

Peter only hums, stepping up and testing the new bra to see how easy feeding would be. It's easy access and they have another round right there in the dressing room. Outsides turn a blind eye to it.

It's the Starks, after all.

Tony finally gives birth the next month. They hadn't asked for the gender, wanting it to be a surprise.

Peanut turns out to be a sweet faced little alpha girl and already, she takes after her mama. She has dark hair and an inquisitive gaze. She has Peter's mischievous nature, however.

Morgan had been hiding her alpha brother who surprised them all when he was delivered with an indignant wail. Soft brown curls and wide eyes, this one was the spitting image of Peter.

Peter had been wide eyed, staring at the two new Starks. His two pups. Their pups, his and his mama's.

"Overachiever," Tony teased him, "Not one, but two pups. What am I gonna do with you, Pete."

"Ah…" Peter chuckled, "My calc teacher told me I aced the final?"

"Of course, you did," Tony laughs, then gently hands over their youngest to Peter's arms.

He kisses Peter's cheek and whispers, "Congrats, alpha. On the exam and becoming a daddy."

#starker #starkerbingo2019 #madstarker writes #NFF #Alpha Peter #omega tony #mommy kink #moody mads #mpreg #omegaverse

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championfrita · 4 years

Text

Pokémon Sword and Shield Review

So...I've taken some time to fully play Pokémon Shield. Now, I know this is pretty delayed, and I got the double pack so I wanted to play Sword first to see if how I felt was really accurate or if I was being too harsh. That said, let's talk about my experience with the Galar Region.

Initial Impressions

Overall, I was excited to play Shield at first. Everything was bright and exciting and the characters were easy to recognize and not overly generic.

The first few hours of this game, well it's a slow burn. And I do mean SLOW. Even with the text set to Fast and me taking things at my own pace it took me at least a good couple hours to reach the Wild Area. Furthermore, this game has an infernal amount of handholding, even when given the option to say "I know all this already" it still gives a brief explaination for almost anything and STILL makes you sit ALL THE WAY THROUGH the catch tutorial.

It's 2019 and older players still don't get the option to skip this. Come on GameFreak.

That said, the longer I played the more I began to notice...how should I put this? Blatant laziness?

The Wild Area

Now, the CONCEPT of the Wild Area in theory is amazing. It's still not too bad as is, but there are definitely flaws. For starters, the same tree has been copy pasted all over the place to make up 90% of the foliage.

More than that, though, despite the Wild Area having a good selection of Pokémon and a fairly varietied environment (desert, lakes, forest) it feels oddly...empty. There are no real secrets to speak of, no hidden areas, no easily missed items. Everything is all right out there to see and spread pretty far apart. I don't know if it's a lack of Trainers or the fact that I don't have an Online membership so I played alone, but the Wild Area feels like it just needs something MORE.

Dynamax Raid Battles, even when done alone, are fairly fun and sometimes challenging with the turn limit. Radiant AI Trainers spawn in to assist you if you're playing alone so there's no worries about having to take one on with just one Pokémon.

Camping, which can be done anywhere but is introduced to the player here, is an absolute treat. Have YOU played fetch with a unicorn? I have, and I love it. The wide variety of curries you can make with different ingredients is nice, and your Pokémon even get EXP boosts if you play with and feed them while camping.

The Pokémon

Honestly, I'm really not impressed. The Galar Dex of new Pokémon feels painfully small, so much so that playing Pokémon GO and catching a few Unova Pokémon made me yearn for the days when we used to get regions completely FULL of new Pokémon. Remember when you had to wait until AFTER the main game to start catching Pokémon from past gens? I...well, this might be an unpopular opinion, but I LIKED that.

That said, using a sparse selection of Galar Pokémon and Galar Regional Variants on my team definitely made the Gym Challenge more difficult. I picked Scorbunny, because Fire Types, and honestly didn't really care for it or its evolutions at first. Cinderace has really grown on me though and I like Pyro Ball as a move. It's flashy and powerful and that suits me just fine. Most of the new Pokémon's DESIGNS were good and I liked them, there just really weren't ENOUGH of them.

I'm fairly pleased with the regional variants as well. It was difficult to adjust to Ponyta and Rapidash being Psychic Type, but I really liked having them on my team. At the same time...Meowth not evolving into a Persian doesn't really sit right with me.

I'm all for branch evolutions, but Perrserker honestly just looks more like a giant Galar Meowth than anything. I played this with only the info given in the few scattered trailers I'd seen, so I was genuinely excited to see what a Galarian Persian would look like only to end up with Perrserker. The Typing is phenominal, and I think it's great to see a Steel Type Meowth for a change, but I just don't like where they went with it. Eh. Ces't la vie, moving on.

The Story

It's weak. Straight up, the story in this game is poor. There were so many directions they could have gone. I really liked the idea of Rose being this charismatic chairman hype man for the League and being the bad guy. I saw it coming, but it was a nice change to see just based on his personality. Still, it feels rushed. His motivations are really one dimensional and glossed over. Like, "Oh, here's the bad guy. Go get him." It worked in Gen 1 because Giovanni was a MOBSTER. He was MEANT to be a bad guy straight to the core in general, but Rose just doesn't have that vibe.

Not only that, but the "Bad League Members" are kinda meh. That feels REALLY lazy. They didn't even really get a decent uniform change when they started taking on the name Macro Cosmos in Rose Tower. They got black glasses. That's it. Just that. The fight with Eternatus feels painfully rushed and shoehorned in too, almost like they thought "Oh no, we need to give them a big nasty boss to fight! Let's just throw a random monster at them and say Rose summoned it. Seems like a solid plan."

I DID like the after story with Piers though. It really solidifies that older brother sort of nature with him, even if he tries to hide it most of the time.

The Characters

I liked Hop. As a character he's really fun and I like how they gave him this over excited very grand gestured sort of personality. He's really just happy to be ANYWHERE as long as it's with his Pokémon and you. His admiration for his big bro might come off strong and make him seem a little flat at first, but he's overall portrayed as a good kid and I like him.

Leon on the other hand...well I hated him for most of the game. His design is great and he looks fabulous, but he just has the most cocky, obnoxious, pandering personality 90% of the time. Still, I have to give credit where credit is due and recognize that he IS actually a multifaceted character. He showboats not just because he's too confident but also to give the crowd a show and put people at ease in times of danger. Not only that, but his recognition of his little brother's accomplishments and his graceful acceptance of defeat when you beat him reveals a really well written character.

I don't DISlike Sonia, and I have no problem with Prof. Magnolia sitting on the sidelines, but she can be a little...irritating at times with the way she speaks about and to people. The Gym Leaders, aside from Piers, feel a little...light.

I mean, most Gym Leaders don't have detailed backstories, but these ones feel paper thin personality wise as well. I had to look at the official GUIDE just to be sure what the relationship between Melony and Gordie even WAS because you only seem him in her Special League Card in Shield and that tells you nothing about him. The only real leaders that stood out to me were Piers and Raihan, and while I was iffy about his design at first I LOVE Raihan. He has so much more personality and ferocity than any of the other leaders. And the social commentary about him needing to constantly take and post a selfie, even after losing, is a nice touch.

The Galar Region

Is very linear. Like, VERY linear. Even when you take a branching path it either loops back around or gives you a free ride to wherever you have to backtrack to. I hope you like Hammerlocke, cuz you're gonna be visiting there several times.

I know that the region is based off the UK, and maybe my Americanized idea of cities is different (idk, I've never been to the UK), but a lot of the towns in this game feel really small. Like, almost smaller than some of the towns in Hoenn small. Maybe it's a lack of significant interactable buildings, but despite many of them having multiple floors you typically can only access one and that's kind of a disappointment. The hotel in Wyndon won't even let you get in the elevator, and while I get that Alola also did that, it's kind of jarring when the hotel in Motostoke WILL let you see other floors.

That said, I kind of expected more than ONE Wild Area. The one we DID get is fine, and I appreciate what it is and lets us do, but I honestly thought there would be multiple places to really explore outside the standard straight lines. Pokémon has never been a franchise to shy away from puzzles before so I expected this to not be any different. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Moreover, many of the environment pieces are just UGLY. A lot of the ground textures are reused 3DS assets, and those copy pasted trees I mentioned earlier? Also 3DS assets. How do I know? They're pentagonal instead of round. In other words, they have five sides. Why? Because the 3DS hardware couldn't handle complex environmental shapes that well so they could get away with it, but now that we have nice round berry trees the contrast becomes painful. The Wild Area is so ugly the first time you see it is at NIGHT. They were so aware of what they did they hoped making it darker would hide the lazy flop instead of showing off how bad it was.

It isn't like they COULDN'T fix it either. Look at Ballonlea and Glimwood Tangle. They're absolutely beautiful and very well done. The modeling with them is fantastic and I love the glowing effects. They absolutely could've made the poorly done areas look amazing, but for some reason they didn't and the game suffers some as a result.

Other Thoughts

The Gym Challenges...they were not fun. Like, honestly some were ok. Herding Wooloo was easy, but they really didn't feel like anything I would expect from a Gym. The water puzzle in Nessa's Gym was fine, and I personally liked the spinning cup ride, but the rest just felt like agonizingly long padding because they couldn't come up with anything. Look at Circhester's challenge. It's a dowsing rod gauntlet where you have to avoid falling in pits in an artificial blizzard. It. is. SO. SLOW. That said, Spikemuth having just a Trainer gauntlet instead was kind of awkward. I reached the end and asked myself "Was that it? Is this it? Is this all there is to Spikemuth? Just one giant alleyway and a Pokémon Center?"

Raihan's three trials of worthiness challenge? It was more difficult than the battle AGAINST RAIHAN. Speaking of, I beat Hop, Marnie, Bede, all the Gym Leaders, Rose, Oleana, and Leon on my first try every time. While it was more difficult with my specific Pokémon choices, it really wasn't much. And can I just say that the Gym Badges are kinda lame? I get what they were going for, but the designs of each piece could've been really unique and intricate and instead we got glorified stamps.

I liked a lot of the general features of the game. Camping, clothing shops, League Cards. I love designing League Cards, even if I'm the only one who's ever gonna see em. That said, the clothing choices were really narrow based on what we got in Sun and Moon. The variety of different items was pretty small, though I loved all the punk leather stuff but WOW IS IT EXPENSIVE. Like Lumiose Boutique expensive. AND WHY IS THERE NEVER A REDHEAD HAIR COLOR THAT ISN'T JUST AUBURN RED? There are actually A LOT of redheads with LIGHT RED hair (that's more a personal gripe than anything, I know).

A lot of the music felt almost like rehashes of older BGMs. Like, Postwick, Route 1, and Wedgehurst all sound like they have remixed Hoenn music. A lot of the other music tracks just don't feel fitting for the areas or for Pokémon games in general. I like parts of the Slumbering Weald music and I like the Gym Music, but the opening of Slumbering Weald feels awkward and like it doesn't fit a mysterious forest we're not allowed to be in.

I know I've complained a lot, but there were some things I genuinely liked. A lot of the Pokémon designs, place names, and other radiant decor and parts of the region are actually subtle and not so subtle references to cultural points of the UK. Skwovet and its evolution for example are a gray and red squirrel respectively and are a nod to invasive species, which is neat.

In Conclusion

Is Pokémon Sword and Shield amazing? No. Is it bad? No. Sword and Shield fall into that mediocre middle ground of being ok but nothing to write home about. Could I have done without them? Sure, they aren't some world ending imperitive must play. They're ok, and they make for a fine jumping on point and a fine little adventure if you have spare time. Have other mainline games done it better? Heck yeah, but that doesn't mean Sword and Shield haven't done a few good things too.

Overall, it sort of feels like GameFreak bit off more than they could chew, or were afraid to make changes because of unfamiliarity with the Switch's hardware and software limitations. Pokémon Let's Go had a lot more effort, but it also was much safer and had a much easier to work with art style to everything. Chibi proportions are a lot easier to fake than a more realistic counterpart. Things can be not perfect and it's less noticable than with more realistic proportions, and I think they were afraid to push back the deadline any further for the inevitable backlash despite that being what they likely needed. The DLC may change my mind, but as it stands, just the fact that they feel they can JUSTIFY their laziness with DLC packs really upsets me.

I give Pokémon Sword and Shield a 5/10.

It's just, OK.

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smileykeijser · 5 years

Note

Hey, I'm having a bit of a rough night. Do you happen to have some piece of writing you could share? About anything, really, I just need to read something good

hello lovely, I’m sorry you’re having such a rough night, here’s some sort of finished elippo smut that’s been in my drafts for a while (it’s unfinished but can definitely be read, there is a tie off point).

Elia’s hot breath wafted over Filippo’s ear, gravelly voice breaking the spell they were both so taken with, “I need you now.”

Elia could hear the shaky breath Filippo let out, right into Elia’s ear, thrumming with desire, and at the very highest pitch, so faint Elia could barely hear it, a whimper, something needy and delicious that bled across Elia’s tongue and coated his tongue with lust, thick and heady he could lap it up with ease.

“Eli,” and god, if Elia thought he had had a difficult task a minute earlier holding himself back from ravishing the beautiful boy in the middle of an alley in thick air that was steadily growing darker, the temptation only grew stronger with his own name perched on the boy’s tongue.

“We’re going to go home, you’re going to strip down to nothing but your tattoos, and I’m going to fuck you senseless baby,” and at that, Filippo let out and ungodly sound, guttural and overdrawn, just like the ones he breathed out when Elia was hot and hard inside him. “And I’m going to turn your ass nice and pink, just the way I like it.”

“Please,” Filippo whimpered, desperate fingers clinging to Elia’s shirt, cock growing hard against Elia’s thigh, “please.”

“Let’s go,” Elia initiated the separation, withdrawing from the embrace with reluctance weighing his limbs down, taking in the shuddering frame of his boyfriend as they clasped hands and walked — no tumbled — down the alleyway.

They expertly wound their way through short-cuts that halved their journey, and soon they were at the door, Elia’s fingers tiptoeing under Filippo’s shirt, pressing heated points into his skin, causing the boy to fumble with his keys, cursing Elia’s inability to keep his hands to himself under his breath.

With the door closed behind them, Elia wasted no precious seconds delaying the inevitable, not when he could, with a few steps, press the boy to the wall, and map Filippo’s body with his own. So he did, pushing through the thick, lust rich air to press their legs together, to feel the outline of Filippo’s hard cock against his own, to puncture the tension with his lips on the boy’s skin.

He flirted kisses down Filippo’s neck, pale skin warm beneath his lips. The way he was rewarded with feather light brushes of breath from his boyfriend encouraged him to go gentle, to kiss the tender patches to elicit the most expressive sounds from the boy and lick swooping paths up the column of his throat. However, the way Filippo’s fingers were digging into Elia’s waist, sharp, bordering on painful, urged Elia to nip, to bite at the skin, to suck purpling marks into the flesh that would bring Filippo arching up towards him, leaving him desperate and needy.

It seemed Filippo appreciated his taking the second path, as the moment Elia bit the juncture of his neck the boy practically whimpered in his ear, tugging at Elia’s hips in urgency, trying to grind their cocks together, even though they were still confined to fabric chambers. The feeling of Filippo’s hot cock through his jeans was nearly too much for him, he reigned himself back lest he spin the boy around with rough hands and tug Filippo’s pants down to launch an attack against his asshole. Lust flared within his core, hot and sparking desire through his entire being, revealing a demanding side to him, to the part of him that craved the boy more than anything, and from his lips, without his own consent spoke sharply.

“No.” Licking a circle around the newest of the bites, darkening with every second, his hands found Filippo’s hips, forcing the two apart.

“Fuck,” the word trembled on Filippo’s lips, finally falling, as Elia’s eyes took in his. Filippo’s eyes were always dark, it was, in Elia’s opinion, one of the most compelling features the boy posessed. Whether they were the only dark thing in a morning ringed with sunlight or he fell into them like the night sky around them, Elia could never tear his own eyes from them. That time was no exception, in fact, the pupils were threatening to swallow the iris, and with the already hazy look about him, Elia couldn’t help the guttural grumble that he released.

Elia remembered the way Filippo had shivered at his commands back in the alley, how he had done nothing but shudder in his arms, and then Elia spoke. His voice sounded barely his own, sharper around the edges, deeper, commanding.

“Get on your knees,” and for a moment, just a moment he wondered if he had broken the spell. If suddenly the dulled edges of reality would sharpen and Elia would let his tone even out again and they would work each other through their orgasms with lazy hands tugging at cocks and lips pressed together with no urgency. He would’ve taken any route to orgasm with the man he loved, but when Filippo sucked in a burst of breath and blinked out a cluster of fluttering eyelashes before lowering himself down, eyes clinging to Elia’s like a lifeline, Elia felt his insides become molten.

Elia thought the sight of Filippo, the boldest, most confident person who was normally so rich with comebacks, kneeling before him at his express order, was possibly the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. Filippo’s eyes were wide as saucers from the angle, and an almost giddy smile was curved upon the boy’s sinfully pierced lips. He made Elia’s mouth water, and with a dominance that had only recently revealed itself within him, Elia reached down and roughly combed his fingers through Filippo’s colourless locks. The move was sharp enough to tug on the boy’s head, and Filippo’s head tipped back easily, as if he hadn’t been resisting the motion at all, happily bearing his throat with unabashed enjoyment.

“Now,” Elia spoke, fingers still nestled in the boy’s hair, which was even more mussed than it had already been from their night out. At the sound of Elia’s voice, Filippo’s plush pink tongue darted out, swiping across his lower lip, as if he was lapping up the situation as much as could, savouring the taste of Elia’s demanding voice and demeanor. “You’re going to take my cock out and put your pretty mouth to good use.”

Elia shuddered as Filippo snapped to in an instant, fingers zipping down his fly with expert ease, as if he had been patiently waiting for Elia’s say so to jump to action. Filippo’s hands worked swiftly to shove Elia’s pants down around his ankles, never breaking the heady eye contact they were holding, and with one last artful flick of his wrist, Filippo tugged Elia’s cock from his boxers. Instantly, despite the forced break of eye contact, Filippo took the head of Elia’s cock neatly between his beautiful, slick lips and sucked, roping a litany of praise from Elia.

“That’s it baby,” Elia panted out, pressing his palms against the wall to brace himself as he pressed forward, watching with awed eyes as his cock slipped even further into Filippo’s mouth without fault, Filippo just clung to Elia’s thigh with one hand, using the other to tease Elia’s balls.

“Fuck yeah, Filo, you take my cock so well,” Elia mumbled as Filippo’s tongue worked its wicked way around his length, rough compared to the slick heat of the rest of his mouth, and incredibly addicting. “I could do this all day baby, just push into your gorgeous mouth, it’s like it was made for my cock.”

Elia’s ramblings were spurred on by the whines Filippo let out when Elia spoke, the wavering, shaky, high pitched frequencies that rumbled along Elia’s shaft and sent tremors through his being.

Elia was no stranger to the suction and heat, the expert that Filippo’s blowjobs were, but he was alight with the power, the control he felt, his hand tight in Filippo’s hair, choosing just how fast the strokes were, or how luxuriously lazy they could turn, all from his hand, his touch. And when he felt himself near to falling, hitting the craved high like a ton of bricks, he had the control to stop.

Even though he could think of little better than the look of Filippo’s cock stretched lips swallowing him down, and the pink tongue he could feel rubbing circles under the head of his cock reaching out to lick up the excess come, or having to suck his own fingers into his mouth to get the come off, he imagined his cock, shades darker than Filippo, sliding in and out of his tight hole, constricting as Filippo crashed into his orgasm, had him practically seeing stars.

Elia forced himself to tug his hand backward and pull Filippo’s lush mouth from his cock. Filippo made no attempt to lick up the spit that dribbled down his chin, a concession for his come, Elia thought. Though Filippo’s eyes had not left Elia since he ceased having his cock down his throat, Elia tipped the boy’s head back even more, looking deeply into his eyes, dark as ever and pliable under his touch.

Seconds, taut and hefty passed, and finally, Elia spoke.

“Look at you,” Elia pulled an extra tug at the boy’s hair, nudging a satisfying ‘ngh’ from his throat, “totally wrecked.”

Peripherally Elia spotted a movement, Filippo’s hand drifting toward his own crotch, where his cock was, no doubt, excruciatingly hard and trapped in the agonizing and unrelenting pressure of his jeans. Elia easily could have let it slip and let the boy palm himself on his own term, but no, tonight was his, and so he nudged the boy’s foot away with his own, and under the touch, Filippo’s eyes gleamed.

“As soon as I let you go, you’re going to have a minute to strip down and present yourself for me on the bed.”

With Elia loosening his grip on the boy’s hair, Filippo nodded slightly. “And one more thing, “Elia added, “don’t you put a finger on your cock.”

#dom/sub tones #elippo #skamit #skam italia #elia santini #filippo sava

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terselylove · 4 years

Text

Depression...

My experience of dealing with social anxiety is a feeling of overwhelming fear when interacting with individuals I wasn’t comfortable with. I was unable to look people in the eye when speaking to them, and struggled to keep a conversation going. I came off as both extremely quiet and shy, as well as rude, which anyone who knows me well knows I am the opposite of.

During this period of my life my self-confidence was at an all-time low, and I felt disgusted every time I looked in the mirror. I stayed away from people as much as I could, and felt I made an embarrassment of myself whenever I went out in public. I constantly had a voice in my head saying “Why would anyone want to be friends with you? You are ugly and pathetic.”...

I love summer. Lighter evenings, longer days, warmer weather, summer dresses, perhaps even some sun if we’re lucky. Generally speaking, as seems to be common with most people I speak to – when the sun is out, I’m in a better mood. However, as someone who also experiences periods of depression, I’ve found that this isn’t generally the case when it comes to my mental health.I’m fortunate that I’m currently in a much better place at the moment but, when I think back to a few years ago, I found the summer months to be an immense struggle.When the clocks sprung forward, it all felt a little bit daunting. The things I’d usually look forward to about the change in seasons now served as reminders that I really wasn’t ok.The lighter evenings and longer days meant more time counting down the hours until it was dark enough to go to sleep. The warmer weather meant more plans to cancel and, as a result, more excuses to make up. I couldn’t even muster up the enthusiasm to decide what to wear each day – something which would ordinarily bring me a lot of enjoyment – and so the summer dresses stayed at the back of my wardrobe.Perhaps depression is a little easier to understand in the winter. It’s dark, it’s cold, most people are spending evenings at home not really doing much. If I was having a particularly bad day / week / month, it didn't feel so wrong to get home from work, change into my pyjamas and just go to bed.Yet when summer rolled around, it seemed as though everyone was out and about having the ‘best time ever’.

And then there I was, struggling to get out of bed.For someone experiencing depression, it can be difficult to watch those around you enjoying themselves. I'd mute group chats so as not to be met with the constant barrage of plans, I'd excuse myself from after-work drinks, and I'd invent reasons not to attend BBQs and family gatherings.“But it’s such a nice day…” people would say, “you should get out the house, it might cheer you up."Yes it was a nice day but, whilst their words were well-meaning, they simply weren't helpful. I already felt as though I was wasting my summer and I knew I should get out the house, but it just didn't seem possible. A nice walk on a sunny afternoon might do wonders if I'm just having an 'off day', but depression is so much more than that, and a sunny afternoon isn't a cure.Depression doesn't care about the weather, your weekend plans, or the birthday coming up that you'd do anything to be able to enjoy. It doesn't think to itself "summer is here, time for me to disappear for the next few months."

That isn't how it works.I'm in the fortunate position of having friends I could be honest with. Friends who would still keep inviting me to things 'in case I felt up to it' and didn't judge me when I stopped replying to messages for days or weeks on end. They'd suggest shorter periods of socialising that felt a lot less daunting, and remind me that they were still around if and when I felt up to going out.In more recent years, I've managed to enjoy my summers without the weight of depression casting a shadow over them to quite the same extent, and for that I'm incredibly thankful. I think my own experience has also made me more aware of how others might be feeling, and I'd encourage anyone who thinks a friend might be struggling to try to understand and have a little patience.

Some people understand it, some think it’s an attention call. For me, depression is like that pile of laundry that you don’t want to show in your Instagram pictures. I never want to show my pile of laundry to the world, I want my life to seem happy and put together, as if I folded and put away all my laundry right out of the dryer.Ever since high school I have suffered with extreme depression and anxiety. I can defend the issue for hours and hours, however I get embarrassed when I feel sad. I get so embarrassed when I am sad and those around me do not understand and treat me as if I’m crazy.Typically most of my life I’ve always just been called dramatic when I’m upset. It has become one of my biggest triggers, because most of my life I haven't had that fight to defend it. I just, quite simply, let it eat at me.Depression can be the hardest when others just don’t understand you. I get sad for no reason so often that I’ve created safe spaces. In our current home, my safe place is my bathroom floor. Probably about at least three times a month you can find me locked in my bathroom on the floor, crying. The lock on that door is the only form of power I feel I have at that moment.

I see you.

I share this because it’s real, I share this because everyone has that pile of laundry.

I know everyone may not have depression, but everyone has something hard they’ve experienced, everyone has something to share and everyone has something to relate to.

Many times I have found myself on that bathroom floor contemplating life and how to make it past that very moment, will I? I have to say how thankful I am that I haven’t followed through. Life is so hard. Sprinkle on some depression, heck, dump it on - and life is now even more hard.Please don’t ask me how I can be so sad I could contemplate suicide. Because honestly I do not know, nor do most people in that situation. How did we make it to this moment? What did I do to deserve this sorrow?You never know who is hurting. Those who are, we often are the most resistant, waiting for a hand to be held out for us to grab onto as the pressure of our mental being closes in on us.Check up on those who are quiet, those who check up on you; maybe conversation is being sparked due to their need to communicate. Let’s talk about our hard times, it’s healing, not embarrassing.So, here’s my laundry pile. You’re not alone.

Depression is not an emotion - it's an illness

Ah, mental health stigma surrounding depression. The worst that's been said to me in all these years having depression is:"Don't go and have a moment on me!""Don't quit your job. I know your job has been making you feel depressed but you're being stupid. You haven't tried hard enough.""Is that all your depressed about?""Stop being ungrateful and take your Great Aunt's advice!"

Please, stop.

This is not me being lazy, ungrateful or selfish. This is me dealing, sometimes suffering, with depression. This is my demon running its black toxins through my head, poisoning my thoughts and feelings.

Depression is not an emotion, it's an illness. A completely and utterly illogical illness. Just like with colds, for example, some colds can just be a little sniffle, sneeze, etc, while some colds can completely wipe you out and keep you bed-bound for x amount of time. Whether you have a mild cold or one from hell, you still have a valid cold. People with the strongest immune systems can still be affected by them.

From an outsider’s point of view, sure, they would be able to see the positive things going on in your life. However, when depression strikes, for me at least, it feels like a part of my brain has turned off the switch to be able to enjoy things. If it's really bad, I'm unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel with whatever I'm dealing with. I can also feel like a shell of a person sometimes. It's as if my brain has temporarily sucked up my personality and misplaced it somewhere else. I'm there but not there at the same time.

I don't choose to do this, depression is basically trying to tie me down in a chair at the cinema, forcing me to watch its fake "reality" tale about how my life will always be rubbish, dark, etc and how I'm worthless. Sometimes I can fight it off, but other times it can catch me off guard and I believe it for a while. Depression, by the way, is one hell of a liar.

The best way I can describe the switch being turned off is while you can see the beautiful colours of the world, I only see black, grey and white. My favourite meal in front of me is suddenly tasteless mush. My favourite TV show/YouTube channel is changed to, what feels like, a very boring presentation about something I've never been remotely interested in. Going out with loved ones can feel like everyone is spinning around me in fast motion while I'm sitting there in slow.

Depression is one of the worst things I have ever experienced, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Thankfully over the last 9 years I've learned to differentiate my depression thoughts from my healthy thoughts. I know my depression is just trying to make me watch a fake tale about me and my life, like how I described earlier, but I know I can beat it each and every time it knocks me. Depression might be strong but I'm much, much stronger.

Please do not judge other people's struggles and do listen to what they have to say. Their mountain may be a molehill to you, but everyone is different and everyone’s feelings are valid. Please, please always remember that.

For a long while, I've been having issues with mental health. I remember asking my mum one day years ago if hearing and seeing things was normal and her response still sticks with me. "You're too young and don't know what REAL mental health problems are."

At the time I was incredibly depressed, anxious and scared of myself and what I might do. Whenever I tried to reach out and ask to see someone for help because I was seeing things, she always gave an excuse to dismiss what was going on, like I needed more sleep or I needed to "stay off that phone!". I just wish she might have listened a bit more, instead of brushing me off as lying, or getting angry and impatient with me. If she had been more supportive, I would have felt more capable of handling myself during my bad episodes.

Considering that not even my own mother would believe me, I truly felt alone and thought that no one would listen to me and brush me off as liar or even a fake. It made it hard for me to reach out for help or take care of myself in the ways I needed.

Now that I'm in my later years of university and I'm in a relationship, I've had to be truthful to myself and acknowledge that I do have issues that need help with. It's taken me even longer to learn how to trust people, that people will reach out to help me if I ask for the help I dearly need. That I won't be told I'm too young or it's because I'm tired or because I'm on my phone too much before going to sleep.

It's taken me years to realize that I need help and that no one but me can choose whether or not what I'm dealing with is real. I don't need someone to compare their own experiences to mine and deem my cry for help as valid or not. But if I had a parent that believed me and took me to someplace where I could've gotten the help I needed, I think I would've been able to cope better with my conditions now.

Some people fail to realize that mental health doesn't discriminate against age and sadly for me it was the person I looked up to most that failed me.

I never know how to explain depression to someone. It’s so different for everyone and comes in so many different forms. Some people describe their depression as a weight that holds them down, ever-present and demanding of their time. Others describe it as a shadow that looms in the back of your mind, always taunting and jabbing and trying to tear you down. Some days, you just have thicker skin. And then sometimes, depression is described like drowning. It’s wading in an ocean of poison and barely catching your breath before you’re dragged back under.

I don’t think people understand that depression is constant. Some days it doesn’t feel as heavy, it doesn't tug and pull as hard. And other days, it knocks you down before you can even get out of bed.

I am always fighting this constant battle with myself. I may smile and laugh and seem happy, but know that, somewhere, in the back of my mind I'm struggling. The happy interludes, the in-between where the weight doesn’t feel as heavy, are simply vacations from the reality that is my depression.

It makes me feel like a failure, no matter my successes. I feel worthless and like I’m a burden on everyone around me.

My depression is a beast that lives inside me. It whispers horrible things in my ear, tells me that I am waste of space. And all the while, I have to smile and pretend I’m okay.

That life isn’t beating me, no way. I’m too stubborn for that. I have to pretend that there isn’t some rabid animal inside of me, clawing to get its grip around my throat and snuff out my life.

People who don’t have depression don’t understand. But they can still be there for people like me. When they say something that scares you, don’t yell. Don’t get angry because you don’t comprehend how their mind works.

My mind is a scary place. I shouldn’t need to open up and spill my darkness for your compassion.

Support people with depression, even if you don’t understand. Just be there.

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kyberled · 7 years

Note

sends you this from my main bc i'm lazy garbage BUT consider this: Obi and Braig, "Five Times Survived. (or not.)"

Send “Five Times ______ed” for a Drabble of 5 different times our characters… did that. || Accepting

Five Times Survived (Or Not).

The first time Braig was sure he was about to die was on his Gathering. He would remember those chunks of ice falling away from his feet for years to come. He would remember the dark tunnels, the frost, the struggle to find his way out once he’d found his crystals. He would remember the blizzard lashing his skin and the way the world blurred under the icicles forming on his lashes. But, he would also remember the feelings of triumph and excitement, he would remember what it was like to build his sabers the first time, to spar with his friends with his sabers, to feel like a real Jedi. More than anything, he remembers the look of pride on his future mentor’s face when he congratulated Braig on a job well done. He would disregard the pain he had been through, and count it as one of the best days of his life.

The second time he very nearly died was in the ruins of Geonosis, and he vowed to himself that he would never return there for as long as he lived. … Though, perhaps he wasn’t being entirely fair. Yes, his torment had technically begun in those damnable catacombs, but it had been on the flight back when things had gone so wrong, so fast. Sometimes, he could swear he still hear the creature chittering, screeching its triumph as the most basic of freedoms was stripped from him, as his limbs moved and his mouth spoke without his consent. If he hadn’t been killed by the worm itself, he would have died by a blaster or saber if anyone figured out what he was, or if he managed to tell anyone. And he would have told them, if he could - he just wanted it to be over. And then the cold came. The cold, so chilling it dug into his bones, into his core. Cold enough that he could feel the moisture in his eyes freezing over, felt the air burn with every breath he was forced to draw, and felt the parasite scream its agony and rage and thrash and scratch and grind its sarlacc-esque teeth against the inside of his skull and it hurt so badly he couldn’t tell if it was of his own will or the parasite’s when he clutched his head and fell to his knees, and he was sure that he or it or both had screamed, and then everything was dark.

He had thought he had died, then, and mused to himself that the Netherworld was a lot plainer than what he’d expected it to be. Then he noticed that his neck was stiff, and hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with it for the rest of eternity. A frown flitted across his face, and he rolled his neck to banish the discomfort, and the floodgates of stimuli opened. The dark quickly faded into a painful, near-blinding white, and his chest burned a bit and every single joint in his body felt stiff, and he let out a groan that mingled with a soft, electronic hum that seemed to be coming from somewhere far off, and his face scrunched in confusion before a thought struck him and he froze, eyes stuck on a random spot of the wall. He pauses like that for a moment, breathing unsteady and soft, and voice barely a whisper louder.

“… I can’t hear it moving.”

It takes him another moment to realise that the thought was vocalised.

That he’d been able to say it himself.

His hand raised to his mouth, then pulled away. He slowly curled his hand into a fist, then let his fingers unfurl, and he would have laughed out loud if attempting to hadn’t sent him into a coughing fit. It took him a moment to catch his breath, but by the time he had settled, there was a gentle hand on his back, comforting and supporting, and he looked up into the familiar eyes of his master, and clung to the familiar cream fabric as best he could in his weakened state - but it was his own doing, so he was content.

He had survived.

The third time, it wasn’t him who had survived.

He remembered begging, pleading, screaming to the Force to give him his master, his mentor, his father back, but it hadn’t answered.

Not until now.

He had imagined, on those nights he had allowed himself to dream of a happier reality, when he had been so desperate for a balm that he would accept the increase in agony such thoughts brought with them, what it would be like to have a reunion with his master. He had never had an explanation for how Obi-Wan had been pulled out of the Force, since everyone knew the dead didn’t come back, not really. He didn’t need one, not when it was just an escape. He always imagined it being likely more emotional than either of them would have allowed (Or, more than Obi-Wan would allow, anyway), with tears, spine-crushing hugs, apologies on both of their behalves, Obi-Wan repeating that familiar reassurance of ‘I’ll never leave you’, and everything would be okay again, and he could put this all behind him.

It hadn’t happened like that.

Not in real life.

Instead, he found himself looking up into the eyes of a stranger (a stranger he would have gladly killed, even only moments ago), and being told that it had all been a lie.

Obi-Wan had never been dead. None of it had been real.

The world seemed to spin around him, swaying like an inebriated dancer, and he took a half-step back to steady himself.

None of it was real, but…

But it had felt real. The funeral, the grief, the… The body. The body had felt real, and heavy, and dead in his arms, and that had been real. He had reached out into the Force without thought, had found it empty and unforgiving, and that had been real. He had mourned, and grieved, and tried his best to honour the master he had thought lost, and that had been real…

Except that it hadn’t.

There were no hugs in this reunion, no warm embraces to chase away the chill of loss. The man before him reached to put a hand on Braig’s shoulder, and the padawan pulled away as though he’d just been scalded, muscles tensed and stance guarded.

“Braig, please, I was only doing what was necessary,” the stranger’s voice said, still masked in an assassin’s guise.

“What was necessary?” He’s not shouting, is far too exhausted for that. Instead, his voice is incredulous, dancing on the egg shells he had been treading on so carefully before.

There are no tears in this reunion, much as he’d like to cry, to scream, to yell and lash out; But there are other Jedi, here, and he’s not sure he could handle another lecture, not now. He’s quite sure that the heartbreak, the betrayal, the pain and shock and anger etched itself clearly into his face, despite how he struggled to keep his composure (and it was a struggle, a battle he knew he was losing in spite of his best efforts). Air was a had thing to come by, but he did his best to draw in one strained lungful after another to keep his composure from shattering right there.

“I’m so sorry,” says the stranger who had once been a father, “but, I had to– If there was any other way, trust me, I–”

“I did trust you!” Now Braig was shouting, and the Force around him snarled along in time. He holds that ice-blue stare, more alien than any distant planet, and he’s not sure if he’s shaking or not, but he knows there are eyes on them, and he can’t help but feel ashamed. Brown eyes flick down, then once again look up to meet his master’s gaze, the fire from before had faded, just slightly.

“I did trust you,” he repeated, voice dropping to a more reasonable volume as he exhaled a shaky breath. “But you taught me never to make the same mistake twice.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left.

Braig had survived.

Obi-Wan had survived.

But something had died that night, and Braig wasn’t sure it was ever coming back.

The fourth time, he had still bee nursing his wounds when the Force around him tensed. Kamino had been a makeshift sanctuary for him, taking comfort in the presence of the other half of his makeshift parentage, in the distance between himself and the Order.

The quarters he’d been afforded were spartan, but that was nothing new; In fact, he thought that this room was bigger, and possibly nicer, than the cells the padawans slept in back home. It even had a desk, and that was where he had himself stationed, now - comm placed neatly in the corner, in case he was needed, pens lined up to be parallel with the desk’s edge, notebook open to one of the few blank pages left (he’d have to go shopping, soon, and get some fresh ones added in). He’d been sitting like that, tip of the black-inked disposable pen hovering over the slightly-worn page, for the better part of five minutes; with a frustrated sigh, he dropped the pen into the spine of the book and his head into his hands, propping his elbows on the desk.

It was hard to organise one’s thoughts when one didn’t even know what they were.

He stayed in that defeated position for a moment longer, until the disturbance rippled through the Force around him, and he started, just slightly, looking up and around with a furrowed brow. He waited for a moment, and a similar jolt pinged on the edge of his senses, and he stood - another jolt - and walked quickly to the door, leaving his notebook behind for the time being. Lingering in the open doorway, he glanced around the hall, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary. A passing trooper offered a greeting, and he gave a distracted response, staring at the floor with an utterly perplexed expression before retreating back into his room, ignoring the desk and sitting cross-legged on the floor instead, closing his eyes, breathing deeply, and concentrating. … No new disturbances came. A frown painted itself across his features, and he was left only with the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

Later that evening, after he’d gone about his duties (he wasn’t staying for free, after all), he’d been getting ready for bed when the disturbances returned with a vengeance. Far from simple tugs and annoyances, there was actual pain associated with these. He wasn’t sure when he’d leaned on the wall for support, or when his senses had left him, but blinking focus back into his eyes saw him surveying his room, one hand braced on his hairline as though warding off a migraine.

He doesn’t wait for the next sensation to start packing. His pack slung haphazardly over his shoulder, he was already striding down the hallway, wondering where he might find Master Shaak, when he nearly walked into her. He couldn’t hide the concern on his face as he looked up to her.

“I have to get back to Coruscant.”

It was a short flight.

Short, tense, and quiet.

Braig thanked the soldier who had served as pilot, but kept his worried expression all the way to the quarters he shared with his master. He didn’t bother to unpack his belongings, simply threw the bag down by his cot and set about pacing, pushing his hands through his hair. He’d made it this far, but, now what? He knew something was wrong, he could sense it likely involved Obi-Wan, but, what could he do? Ask the Council? Yes, because they’d proven themselves to be such beacons of truth in the recent past… How did he even know the disturbances were real? Whose funeral would he be forced to endure, this time–?

The door opened.

The sight of his beaten, bloodied mentor was enough to banish scepticism from his mind, and there was only a heartbeat before he flung himself forwards and wrapped arms around Obi-Wan’s torso. He didn’t say anything; didn’t think he could, not yet. He only held on more tightly, even for the brief moment of shock that seemed to overcome his mentor, before Obi-Wan returned the embrace. It would be a long time before they would be back to where they had been - if they ever could go back - but, they had survived. Somehow. They had survived.

By the fifth time, things still hadn’t gotten better.

… Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

Things were still tense, even between Obi-Wan and Cody, but they had improved, even if a little bit. Of course, upon reflection, Braig had to agree that saving the Chancellor had been top priority, but he still didn’t agree with the methods. Surely, something else could have been done…

He looked up from where he was kneeling with his scopes, down the ridge to where Obi-Wan was standing with one group of the 212th. Cody was on the far side with his own detachment, and then Braig had his own group on the far eastern side. Still within eyesight of each other, but at a decent enough distance to allow them to cover the entire ravine. Braig pressed his mouth into a thin line, then stood and turned as much as he could without losing his balance to gaze out at the village they had been tasked with defending. He could see no life in the streets; the locals must have gone inside to wait out the coming battle. The Separatists were no threat to take lightly, especially under the officer who had been sent to this planet - General Grau Tessk again, Braig reminded himself, remembering the Trandoshan Separatist’s cruel fangs and crueller tactics from the last time he and Obi-Wan had crossed fire with Tessk’s droids. There was no way he could let that cold-blooded filth sink his claws into the innocents here…

“Sir!” The sudden voice broke through his thoughts, and Braig looked up, straightening his posture, to see one of the men saluting. “Artillery is in position, waiting orders, sir!”

“Good,” Braig nodded, clipping his scopes to his belt and folding his hands behind his back. “Thank you, Steppes.” Steppes nodded, and his posture seemed to relax now that his message had been delivered.

“It’s going to be a hard battle,” Braig remarked, letting his eyes sweep over the ravine, to where the cliffs dropped away to divide the dried-up gulch into three sections. “But I think we’ll be able to outlast it.”

“We’ll do our best, Commander.” Steppes replied, taking a few paces forwards to stand a bit closer to the sheer drop of the cliff’s face.

“That’s all I can ask of you.” Braig nodded. “That, and to make sure the medkits are ready. I don’t want any unnecessary casualties, so make sure the bacta is set and easy to find, and everyone knows where it is. … And remember, unless I say otherwise, I want you all up here. It’ll be easier, and safer, for you all to pick the clankers off at a long range. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Yes, sir.” Steppes saluted again, turned, and jogged over to where the rest of the men were gathered. Braig couldn’t keep the hints of a fond smile off his face as he shook his head, then took his scopes back out and returned to surveying the area. Noting that nothing had changed, he shifted his gaze up, and noticed Cody doing a similar sweep of their surroundings. When it looked like the Commander’s gaze was in his direction, Braig waved, then turned out to the future battlefield again - noticed a dark mass advancing on the horizon.

“Here they come, boys!” He called over his shoulder, before flicking his comm on. “We’ve got company.”

“I see ‘em, too.” Cody’s voice was grim; the model soldier in his element.

“Well, at the very least, they’re punctual,” Obi-Wan commented, his own tone jovial. Braig snorted.

“How kind of them.” He remarked, then clicked his comm off. It joined his scopes on his belt, and his sabers found their way to his hands. The hordes were advancing quickly, for a droid army, so they had a good few minutes to get into their respective positions. Braig measured each breath, counting down from ten.

When he got to three, he crouched, and by two, he was already airborne, descending rapidly as amethyst blades screamed to life. His feet hit the ground in time with the heads of the droids unlucky enough to have been in his path. Blasters fired off - blue and red painting orange sandstone. Fire from the artillery above peppered the ground, thinning out crowds in front of Braig, set to cut down any who might have tried to make it past. Parry. Deflect, duck, impale. Evade, behead, backhand. It was a dance long since memorised, movements learned in time with his first steps, and he found himself feeling more comfortable and at home than he had in so long. Sidestep, slash. Rollers came; a B2 unit made a convenient stand before his sabers buried themselves in its back, and he stepped carefully onto the Roller’s back (mindful of the speed limit on the shield - a blessing, really). The droid reacted nearly instantly (improved programming?) and he jumped, letting its momentum propel him forward to drive plasma blades into a set of B1s just ahead. A shout from above and a flicker of motion alerted him to the droid poppers being hurled down; a sway of his hand had the Force guiding the EMP grenades just into the Rollers’ path with a satisfying boom. Focus had been aimed elsewhere- A shot whizzed by his head, and he cursed, loudly - enjoying the freedom of fighting on his own, yes, but damning himself for having been so careless. His ear stung slightly where the heat of the bolt had burned it, but he reminded himself to be happy he was alive. Dodge, roll, remove legs, stab. Duck. How often had he done this? Too often. Block, stab, deflect, deflect, counter. Another shout from overhead, and a familiar whoosh - vulture droids. No matter; the 212th would be ready.Artillery shifted fire with a mighty roar, and the shining weapons dropped from the skies like stone from all directions (looks like Cody and Gramps were having just as much fun as he was). Jump, stab. Turn, slash, guard, spin, slash. He grit his teeth in frustration when he had to jump back, catching a B2 that had almost gotten past. There was no way any bucket of bolts would hurt that village, as long as he drew breath. Another leap forward saw his knees colliding with a B1, blades on either side making short work of two identical units before he stood, turning to remove the head from the one he had knocked over. A vulture droid flew over head; A rapid series of brilliant blue lights brought it screeching down. It collided with the ravine wall, not far off from where Braig was; He cursed again when rubble fell, having to turn rapidly to avoid being shot in yet another lapse in concentration. The amount of droids flooding into the gap was beginning to get overwhelming; how many of them could have gotten here? He couldn’t afford any more breaks in focus. Stab, block block, deflect, block, slice– He turned to deal with another incoming Destroyer, nearly lost his footing on some of the smaller debris, and yelped when a bolt connected with his arm. A snarl saw the Force throwing the aggressor back, and Braig had to force the pain down, as best he could.

Even with such focus, a damaged arm was a damaged arm, and his technique was slipping accordingly.

“Kriff,” he said plainly, quite glad that Cody wasn’t in earshot. Another set of vulture droids came overhead; as Surefire turned his canon loose on it, Braig’s eyes flicked to the rubble behind him, to his arm - he wouldn’t be able to fight the droids off for much longer, not like this.

But a Jedi’s duty was to protect.

If he must give his life to save another, then that was his fate.

He didn’t give himself time to think as he threw the Force around the now-flaming vulture and hurled it against the other side of the ravine, ad another wave of rubble cascaded down. A B2 was slashed across the front with his sabers before being subjected to a similar fate, and that seemed to be enough to trigger the desired result. With a roar like thousands of thunderclaps, the cliff face gave way, and a wall of rock rushed down, cutting off the droids’ route to the village.

“May the Force be with you all,” he murmured, a quiet prayer that Obi-Wan and Cody’s fight be going better than his. He could hear, over the comm-channel set up with his men, frantic yelling, demands to know what he thought he was doing, but he didn’t respond, only turned to face the droids with the resolve of someone who is sure of his own impending end. He gave up on his damaged arm, let his sabers interlock into a staff to do what he could one-handed. Blaster fire still rained around him. He held his ground only a moment longer before being caught in the leg, then the ribs. With a defiant snarl, he dropped, tried to stand and failed. Closed his eyes.

He wished he could have been with somebody, when this happened, rather than surrounded by lifeless droids.

He wished he could have told someone.

Told Obi-Wan that he was sorry for how he acted, for being so childish, for saying those things he said. To tell him that he was grateful for all the old Master had done for him over the years.

Told the men that this wasn’t their fault, and that he was proud of them.

Told Cody that he was the finest soldier and best brother Braig ever could have asked for - but not to tell Wolffe that. Just in case.

Told Master Shaak thank-you, for being so caring, even when she hadn’t been his master.

He wished he could have seen the look on Grau’s face when Obi-Wan and Cody and the men inevitably drove his forces back.

But, more than anything, he wished–

Another bolt.

Silence.

The fifth time, he had not been so lucky.

The Force accepted its child back without fuss; the battered form in the ravine was empty long before it fell to the dirt.

…

He wished he could say good-bye.

#long post //#death //#child death //#<3 #ectochoir #does this need a read-more??#idk it's late #if you guys want one here lemme know #i will edit tomorrow if i edit at all (i probably wont we die like men)#&& brave new worlds; padawan #&& to make you proud; braig and obi wan #&& far far away; drabbles #&& as best i can; answers

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riversong-and-harleyquin-blog · 7 years

Conversation

A Life Like This-Chapter Three (CAUTION!Mature Content)

Almost every teenager standing around immediately pulled out their phone. We ran and slipped through the crowd before anyone could snap pictures. We keep running as fast as we can down the hallway, some people are following. We run up to the third floor of the building, thankfully kids are too lazy for that these days.

The commotion caused some of the teachers' classes to get a bit riled up. Before anyone could track us down, we slipped into the janitors closet...it would look really bad from someone else's point of view.

"Pen, what happened back there? What the hell did you see?"

"Its nothing just those guys being jerks."

"They aren't 'guys', they're fucking demon ghosts. And its not nothing, your wrists are bleeding for fucks sake! Pen, you need to be put on some medication to stop this shit."

"That won't fucking help! It'll make it worse, they'll see me but I won't be able to see them! Remember? We've tried this shit before...they just keep coming back."

"Pen...what did they do?"

At this point I could barely hold back the tears, realizing I was nearly raped by ghosts. I broke down into tears, and EE wrapped his thick muscular arms over mine. One hand on the back of my head, the other on my waist. He kisses my hair that covers my for head, then my cheek. He touches his nose to mine while my eyes are still closed and crying. I feel him leaning in towards me. His top lip touches mine, them on our bottom lips connect. Next thing I know, his hands are on the small of my back under my shirt digging in his nails, and my hands are grasped around the back of his neck pulling him closer. I drag my nails down his neck roughly and softly at the same time. My right hand automatically moves up to run through his soft blond hair. I find myself slowly pushing him toward the wall, his back almost touches it before his hands turn into viscrips on my waist and he spins me around slamming my back into the wall. I'm not sure when, but sometime during all this my hoodie and tee shirt were both removed. I can feel the ice cold concrete blocks against my back as he move his lips down to kiss my neck. He stops to nibble on my ear first. I reach my hands under his shirt, getting a good hold on it, before yanking it completely off his head. He liked it. He presses his body against mine as he slips his hand around my back. He plucks at my bra for a second before it snaps open. He carefully slides the straps off my shoulders, then he kisses those too. I take his glasses off of his face and drop them to the floor continuing kissing him. We reach for each others jeans at the same time, I let him go first in unbuckling and unzipping mine. I take his belt off, ubuckle and unzip his jeans. I start to push him down to the floor. He likes my thought of climbing on top of him. We've never done anything like this before, I mean we kissed once at last year's spring dance, but we both got really embarrassed and agreed not to talk about it again. Some how I finally manage to get off his wrangler holey blue jeans and toss them aside, on top of his favorite black button up. He gets his hands inside my jeans, he doesn't bother taking them off, he didn't need to yet, I know what he's doing. I arch my back with my butt in the air as I grind on him. I plant many more kisses on his big pink lips. He sides my hot pink thong down inside my pants. Sliding both hands around my cheeks, he separates them sliding his fingers down my crack. He places one finger outside my vortex, traces it a couple times teasing me before sliding it in just a little. He pulls it out, but not all the way, then slowly pushes it back in farther, until his whole finer is consumed. He speeds up, causing me to gasp. I find myself clenching his shoulders tightly, and biting his lips so hard they bleed. He adds another's finger, he starts swishing them around from side to side. I grind on him harder. He adds another finger from the opposite hand and spreads me out a bit. He keeps speeding up, he pushes them in harder each time. Just as I'm nearing my climax I grab both his wrists. That stops him.

"I am so sorry! Did I hurt you? God I'm such an asshole!"

"You didn't do anything wrong. You were doing great actually. But I want-"

"The real thing?"

"Yeah..."

He pulls his hands out of my white skinny jeans, grabbing ahold of my waist. He moves at the speed of light throwing my back to the floor, I barely felt it, but it turned me on that much more! I pull off his underwhere and throw them so they land neatly on the door handle.

"....daaaaaaammmmmnnnn..."

"What?"

"Uh nothin"

I turn a bright shade of pink as he notices I was judging the size of he gear shift. He smiles and winks at me.

"Damm straight"

What the fuck have I been missing!?

He grabs ahold of the waist of my jeans and yanks them all the way off my toes. God he's muscular. He keeps kissing me. He grabs my thong and throws it on top of his cloths. He's grinding his gear shift over my crotch and barely rubbing against my vortex making me crave him more. He runs his hands up and down my waist. He slides his hands up, he cups a boob in each hand.

"What? Had to do it at least once. Those are great by the way."

He runs his hands back down my waist, but this time they don't stop and go back up. They keep going. He rubs his hands on the bottom side of my thighs. He places his hands behind me knees and yanks the lower half of my legs over his back. He places his gear shift at my vortex and slowly penetrates my virgin body. He goes in harder and harder each time, farther and farther, until I'm grasping for breath. When he slows down I speed up, forcing him into me.

He runs his hand over the top of my thighs, then stops everything. He stops kissing me to look down at the raggedness he feels beneath his hands, the fresh wounds that haven't healed. A tear slides down his cheek and onto mine.

He croaks out in a cracking voice,

"You said you stopped..."

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spicycreativity · 3 years

Text

Soft-Shoe Shuffle - Ch 3

Chapter: 3/12 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Any formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag Excerpt: "Oh, you know." Janus waved a hand like he'd thought about this a thousand times before and was merely playing the conversation out as light entertainment. "Does a person have a 'true' identity?" "As opposed to a false identity?" Patton laughed weakly. Janus smiled at him without showing his teeth. Talk about being out of one's depth. It wasn't endearing. "Actually? Yes." "Oh," Patton said, recoiling in surprise. "Really?"

When you are born, you're afraid of the darkness And then you're afraid of the light But I'm not afraid when I dance with my shadow This time I'm gonna get it right

Janus woke up to the feeling of rough, low pile carpet against his face. He lay still for a moment, waiting for the buzzing in his head to die down so he could work out exactly what had happened.

That was easier said than done. He couldn’t stop shaking, nor could he feel his lips or fingertips, and a persistent brain fog made it difficult to concentrate.

Ah.

He’d fainted.

He opened his eyes to find Logan crouched next to him, one hand extended as though he’d hesitated in the process of reaching out to touch him.

“Janus?” Logan said, slowly and clearly. “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m dying.”

“Good to hear, I suppose.” Logan sat back on his heels. “Is telling the truth ordinarily so taxing on you?”

Janus wasn’t sure he wanted to answer that. “How did you know I was telling the truth?” he demanded, a little offended that Logan hadn’t even suspected that Janus might be manipulating him. He was the gatekeeper, the chessmaster; people were supposed to accuse him of lying.

“You hesitated,” Logan said.

“I hesitated,” Janus repeated, considering the implication of this. It made him want to hide his face. Perhaps he could implement a masquerade mask into his daily wear, something gold with Swarovski crystals.

“You don’t normally hesitate when you speak,” Logan said. “One might call you ‘glib.’”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Why would they call me ‘glib’ when my name is Janus?”

“I believe spending time with Patton has begun to influence you."

A stab of panic did not squeeze Janus’ heart. “Don’t tell him I fainted.”

“I hadn’t planned on it. By the way, if you feel like you can sit up, you should drink something. I suspect you're dehydrated. The fainting spell was the biggest indicator, but your lips are also chapped. I was going to check your pulse, but I wasn’t sure if you would be comfortable with that.”

When he had processed what Logan had said, Janus nodded and sat up slowly, leaning on his second set of arms. Logan handed him a plastic cup with a bendy straw sticking out of it. Janus accepted it and examined the deep blue liquid. “What is it?”

“It’s Gatorade. Blue Cherry."

Janus took a tentative sip, then drained half the glass in one long swallow. He wasn’t embarrassed nor in any rush to leave, he just-- He was exhausted, that was all. He picked up his hat with his free hand and put it back on, pleased to see that his hands were steady. "It's been a hectic few days," he said, half to Logan and half to himself.

"You forgot to eat," Logan surmised. "I would have expected Patton to remind you."

Janus couldn't suppress an irritated twitch. "He might have mentioned it in passing…"

"Ah." Logan smiled: a cautious, tight-lipped thing. "That's why you didn't want me to tell him."

"Yes, well." Janus finished the Gatorade and took a moment to self-assess. He felt less dizzy now. What else? "Logan?"

The bruises stood out against Logan's skin, blue-purple and sickly. Janus suddenly couldn't tear his eyes away from them. They even mimicked the shape of his crook.

"I'll talk to the others," Logan said. "I… I'm new to the idea of talking about, or even acknowledging feelings, but… You're right."

"Do tell."

The look Logan gave him was pointed indeed. "Refusing to acknowledge a weakness does not negate that weakness. It only makes things harder in the long run.”

"I'll keep that in mind, should I ever suspect I'm developing a weakness." Janus vanished the glass, since Logan had given no indication he wanted it back, and got to his feet. His head gave a little pulse of protest, but he forced himself to stay still until the room stopped spinning.

"I am curious," Logan said. "Did you actually have a question for me, or was that just a lie so I would let you in?"

"Why," said Janus, "is a raven like a writing desk?"

Logan's reply was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Logan? It's Patton. Again."

Janus held his index finger up to his lips.

Logan nodded.

Janus tipped his hat and sank out. He appeared in the living room and chanced a glance into the hallway. From this angle, he could only just see Logan as he opened his bedroom door to Patton. Janus quickly ducked back around the corner. He was a little too far away to make out words, but could hear the sound of conversation, then the sound of the door closing, then silence.

Janus smiled and sank down on the couch, knowing full well he would fall asleep if he allowed himself to close his eyes.

He knew he shouldn't. Even now, a small part of his brain screamed at him that he was in danger, that he was making a mistake with this show of vulnerability.

But exhaustion smothered him like a blanket, dampened the noise, pressed him down, down, down.

Janus closed his eyes.

Gentle noises emanated from the kitchen, the sound of quiet conversation.

Janus realized that he was now horizontal on the couch. Someone had draped a throw blanket over him. How… revolting . He wasn't a child; he didn't need--

He sat up and ripped the blanket off, cheeks blazing with heat. What was he doing ?

The idea that Patton and Logan had seen him sleeping was mortifying. Obviously Patton had been the one to cover him up, but the glass of Gatorade (complete with bendy straw) on the coffee table was obviously from Logan.

Janus took in a few slow, deep breaths. Then he picked up the glass and took a few equally slow, measured sips. There was no need to work himself up (even if his hammering pulse said otherwise). He was still in control. He was just a little shaky, which made sense, as the only things to enter his system in the past few hours had been coffee and Gatorade.

"Ah, Janus." Logan sounded far happier than he had when Janus had last spoken to him. Janus turned to look at him as Logan came around the side of the couch and perched on the very edge of an armchair.

"Logan." Janus inclined his head. Where was his hat? He spied it on the edge of the coffee table and put it on with a great show of nonchalance. "I take it you and Patton made up?"

"We had a conversation that greatly eased the tension between us, yes. He told me what happened between you and Roman."

Janus did not make a face, nor did he twitch irritably. "It was nothing, really. I'm sure he'll be over it soon."

"That's very optimistic of you, if a little unrealistic." Logan stood up. "Anyway. I came out to tell you that lunch is ready. I told Patton I was craving chicken soup. Coincidentally, chicken broth is high in sodium, fatty acids, and vitamins which contribute to cardiovascular health and recovery after instances of illness."

Janus couldn't help the smile that crossed his face, though he was quick to suppress it. Logan had lied for him.

If Janus swayed a little when he stood up, Logan was kind enough not to mention it.

It was warm in the dining room. Janus fussed with his gloves, trailing behind Logan. Just the idea of facing Patton made his heart flutter. How delightful. Remus may have been on to something after all.

But the moment couldn't be delayed forever, and soon Janus found himself seated at Patton's right elbow, trying not to be grumpy that he had set the table for five. It was an uncomfortable reminder of Virgil and Roman's animosity toward him, nothing more.

"Morning, Janus! Are you feline more alert after your cat-nap?" Patton asked.

Janus was spared having to come up with a response by Logan's interjection, "It's afternoon."

"Aw, it's barely a hair after 12:00!"

Patton laughed at his own joke and Janus realized with a heart-stopping stab of definitely-not-fear that he was out of his depth. As arbitrary as the line between 'good' and 'evil' was, the line had been drawn nonetheless and Patton had been the one to draw it. The curtain was still there, the tangible reminder that Janus had been seen and judged and sorted.

Now he stood in the light, in the space he had claimed for himself, and he had no idea who to be.

It was pure instinct to play along, to say whatever he thought Patton and Logan wanted to hear in order to draw them closer to serving his own ends. But what were they, now? What version of himself would Patton and Logan like best? Who was he, really?

His breath came fast and frantic, and he forced himself to swallow a few spoonfuls of soup in case it was his blood sugar making him so panicky.

"Janus?" Patton waved a hand in front of Janus' eyes. "You in there?"

Logan said nothing, but the furrow of his brow spoke volumes as he leaned in to get a better look at Janus.

"I'm," Janus said, "purrfectly fine." The next thing that slipped past his tongue would have been a mistake, except that Janus didn't make mistakes. "I was just thinking about the concept of self."

Patton didn't say anything, but he frowned thoughtfully. Probably trying to come up with a good philosophical cat pun.

Logan said, "Self?"

"Oh, you know." Janus waved a hand like he'd thought about this a thousand times before and was merely playing the conversation out as light entertainment. "Does a person have a 'true' identity?"

"As opposed to a false identity?" Patton laughed weakly.

Janus smiled at him without showing his teeth. Talk about being out of one's depth. It wasn't endearing. "Actually? Yes."

"Oh," Patton said, recoiling in surprise. "Really?"

"Per American philosopher Daniel Dennett," Logan said, and stopped with an abortive exhale. Janus tilted his head at him and Logan continued as though he had never hesitated, "there is no self. The entire concept of 'self' is a fiction invented by humans to help them make sense of their world."

Janus tensed his jaw. That was not what he had been getting at when he had broached the subject (had he been getting at anything?), but it seemed rude to derail Logan now, especially when he was in such an emotionally fragile state.

Well, if it meant not undoing all his hard work, Janus supposed he could approach the matter with (metaphorical) kid gloves.

"How can there be a false self if there is no self?" Patton asked, glancing between Logan and Janus with a frown.

"Dennett isn't the sole authority on the matter," Janus said, forcing himself to speak plainly.

Patton cocked his head like a confused puppy. For an unrelated reason, Janus' mouth went dry. "Then who is?" Patton asked.

"Often in philosophy, there are no objectively correct answers," Logan said.

Patton's look of befuddlement was a sight to behold. Janus wanted to reach over and ruffle his hair. It wasn't Patton's fault, after all, he had never had cause to engage with anything more morally complex than 'murder is wrong.'

Well, until recently.

"What about in terms of the static and the dynamic?" Janus said. Interrupted. It had been during a lull, yes, but compared to his usual push-pull approach, this was more akin to a sledgehammer.

His face heated up and he quickly slipped on a mask to cover what was no doubt an obvious blush. Pain pulsed behind his eyebrow, a relic of the headache he'd mostly left behind.

"What do you mean?" Logan asked.

"Better answer quick, before you sta-tick us off," Patton added.

Janus glanced down at his gloves, pretending to inspect the fingertips. "Is there a permanent state of the self?" He hastily added, "Assuming that the self does exist," to assure Logan that he had been listening earlier.

"If you asked David Hume--"

Janus pretended to look around in confusion. "That's funny, I don't remember asking for David Hume's opinion."

"Be nice," Patton chided.

Janus squinted at Patton, who developed a sudden fascination with the tablecloth until Janus looked away again.

"So, Logan," Janus prompted. "What do you think?"

"I think that there is not an objective correct answer. Were it necessary to have a working definition, then I suppose I would agree with Dennett's assertion that the self is an invention."

"I suppose that's why you brought it up first."

"On the contrary, it's because 'Dennett' comes alphabetically before 'Hume.'"

Janus couldn't help the laughter that exploded from his chest, couldn't even play it off. The joke was unexpected, nothing more. "And you, Patton?"

"Oh, um." Patton pushed his glasses up. "I don't really know if I'm qualified to talk about philosophy."

"Even if we promise not to judge you?" Janus purred, taking care to look Patton in the eye.

"Okay, um." Patton fidgeted with his spoon. "I guess the self is like a river?"

"Go on, Patton," Logan encouraged.

"It's always water, but sometimes it changes directions or does different things. The same river that floods a town can also provide drinking water."

Janus raised an eyebrow. "How insightful."

"Interesting," Logan said. "So in your interpretation, the self is both static and dynamic."

"I guess?" Patton said. "I'm still kind of confused."

"If you'd like, I could recommend you some reading on the topic. A surprising amount of Thomas' schooling included references to philosophy and critical thought."

"Oh, um. I don't know about reading, but maybe you could explain it to me sometime?" Patton glanced over at Janus like he'd just remembered he was there. "And you too, Janus, if… that sounds like a good use of your time."

"I'd have to check my schedule, but I'm sure I could reschedule my plans for world domination."

"I wasn't trying--" Patton put up his hands. "Was that mean? You just seem so busy all the time."

Janus only shrugged, wondering where this regard for his free time had been when Patton had made him play cards until 4:00 in the morning.

"Patton." Logan summoned his flashcards. "I believe Janus was ribbing you. 'Rib, verb, to poke fun at.'"

Janus nodded.

"Which reminds me," Logan said. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

"Oh!" Patton raised his hand. "Because they both have inky quills."

For a moment, Janus and Logan just stared at him.

"Get it?" Patton said.

"That's clever," Janus said, still staring at Patton.

"Also because they both produce flat notes," Patton said, unperturbed. "And Poe wrote on both, but I don't know what the Teletubbies have to do with anything." He laughed at his own joke.

After the wave of pun-induced exasperation passed, Janus was left only with a deep, warm fondness glowing gently in his chest.

In the three seconds before he realized what the feeling was, he quite enjoyed it. Then realization struck, and terror and shame with it, and he looked at his wrist despite the fact that he never wore a watch.

"I do still have work to do today," he said apropos of seemingly nothing. He didn't glance at Patton in a tacit request for permission before standing up.

"Oh," Patton said, the smile fading from his face. "Um, okay. See you later."

Janus nodded and strode off.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #moceit #spicywrites #spicywrites soft-shoe shuffle #song featured: taste of india - aerosmith

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