#And Val has...extra padding so to speak

[cajunfoxnight]

Zatanna and Valkyrie are both so cute, and even moreso when they're together. I can't take it!

They'd be a real power couple if they got together uwu

[whumpinggrounds]

Hot

Whumptober day 5, “hyperthermia”

CW: male whumpee, male whumper, hyperthermia, hero whumper, sidekick whumpee,

Even outside in winter chill, this would be ridiculous. Inside, where every room in the tower is kept at a consistent sixty-eight, August feels absurd. He’s wearing two pairs of pants, a long sleeve shirt, and a big winter jacket. He even has a hat pulled down over his ears, which, combined with his face mask, renders his entire head a black void.

And he’s standing in a little training room on one of the lower floors of the tower. He didn’t even know this room existed – it has a few free weights and a treadmill, but he’d never choose to train here instead of one of the bigger spaces. Why Don would choose it…

Well, it can’t mean anything good.

“Is there a reason I’m dressed like a marshmallow and all we’re doing is standing here?” August gripes, watching Don out of the corner of his eye as he says it. The winter coat provides a little extra padding, and it’s emboldening him.

Don shrugs. “I didn’t dress you.”

Eyes narrowing, August shoots him a withering look. “You told me we were going out on patrol and I had to dress warm.”

“I lied.” Don looks spectacularly unbothered. “Get on the treadmill.”

Eyes darting from the treadmill to Don, August weighs his options. He doesn’t want to jump to the man’s every command. It’s embarrassing, and the training isn’t necessary, anyway, and he just knows some kind of dirty trick is coming.

On the other hand…

On both of his actual hands, August feels phantom twinges, right in the center of the palms, where just last week he’d had knives pin him to a wall. It had taken him almost half an hour to free himself, and more than once, the pain of pulling against the knives made him retch. When he’d finally made it back to the tower, spit and bile staining his front, blood pouring from both hands like an unholy waterfall, Donovan was already there. His mentor had told Beck that August had gone off on his own, thinking he was ready to patrol alone.

“This is why you can’t do that,” Beck had told him, stern-faced, as Valerie had healed his hands. The medic herself had been more straightforward. As soon as Beck left the room, she’d slapped him across the face.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, idiot,” she’d hissed, and August, hurt and defeated and frightened, had opened his mouth to respond, so close to admitting everything that he could taste the truth on his tongue.

But then Valerie had thrown her arms around his neck and whispered the end of her sentence into his ear. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get yourself killed.”

And behind her back, Don had smirked at his sidekick. He hadn’t needed to speak for August to get the message.

What would Valerie think if August told her that it was Donovan hurting him? She’s known Don for years longer than the newest little recruit at the tower. She’d think he was a liar, or pathetic, or probably both. And what had Don’s look meant? His smirk? What if…what if Val herself was in danger? Donovan wouldn’t…would he?

So, August kept his stupid mouth shut. And resolved to get hurt less. When he thought of the medic, and her arms around him, his face flushed. He doesn’t want Valerie to worry.

“Hey.” Don snaps his fingers right in front of August’s face, and the sidekick jumps about a foot in the air. Don rolls his eyes, but August sees him grinning and glares. “Get going. Run.”

August could argue. He wants to argue. But Don’s eyes are gleaming, and he doesn’t want to give the hero yet another reason to harass him. August starts to unzip his jacket, and then he feels Don’s heavy hand land on his shoulder. He goes absolutely still.

“Keep the coat on.”

“W-what?” August blinks up at Don, stunned.

“I said, keep the coat on. Need your ears checked?”

Rolling his eyes, August shakes his shoulders, trying to get Don’s hand off. He just clamps down, and August winces. “It’s plenty warm in here. Need your brain checked?”

Don’s chuckle is low and full of dark promise. “I can think just fine, August. Get on the treadmill.”

“N-no, I-”

Don cuffs him in the back of the head. “Heat training. Do it.”

Why argue? The casual blow alone leaves August’s head ringing, and him stumbling, temporarily off-balance. Gritting his teeth, he steps onto the treadmill.

It’s easy, at first. Don starts him at fifteen miles an hour, which for August, is, well, nothing. It’s uncomfortable pretty immediately – he doesn’t like running in a jacket this bulky. And after just a few minutes, he starts to sweat.

When August reaches for the zipper on the jacket, Don barks at him. “Hey! No! Heat training, idiot.”

Is that Don’s hand on the thermostat, there in the corner? August swallows hard. He keeps jogging, but now Donovan is swaggering over to the treadmill and bumping the speed up several miles. Now it’s less of a jog and more of a run. August is panting.

The burning in his legs is familiar, an old friend that hardly bothers him. The thing troubling August is the way he feels like he’s suffocating in clothes, drowned in fabric. The double layer of leggings, the long-sleeve shirt – he feels slick all over and trapped in cotton. Is it getting hotter in this room? It must be getting hotter in this room.

In the corner, Don watches in a tank top and shorts, looking infuriatingly unbothered. Around him, the wreck of a room starts to blur, just a little. As August watches, the walls seem to contract, contort. It’s just because he’s running. It’s just because his eyes aren’t focused.

He tells himself that and keeps running.

The hat is a stifling weight, the band too tight around his forehead. August’s mouth is dry, his throat is dry, seemingly all the way down to his stomach, his insides are dry. He can hear his breath rasping in and out between his teeth. He’s not in any pain, he reminds himself. Just hot. Just thirsty. He’s not in any pain. He can do this.

The treadmill counts off mile after mile, and August’s feet pound the running track hard. Sweat runs into his eyes, stinging, blinding, and when August reaches up to wipe his brow, the darkness is so disorienting he almost falls. He feels like he can’t breathe, like his chest is getting tighter. That can’t be right. That can’t be right. He’s just hot, just a little dehydrated – he can do this.

He can do this, right up until his feet fumble under him and the treadmill sends him shooting into the wall. Crumpling in a heap, August lies dazed on his side and stares at the track, which is still looping, still repeating itself, still flying in a quick circle on the stupid sweat-stained machine. Too exhausted to pick himself up, he lies on the floor and pants, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a heatsick dog. When Donovan crouches next to him, August is too out of it to do anything but cringe away.

Don runs a finger down August’s cheek. “Gross,” he pronounces, making a face at the sweat he finds.

“W-water,” August croaks, past caring. “Pl’s.”

“Nah.” Don straightens up. “I have to go on patrol. Too bad my shithead sidekick is missing it again.”

August lets his eyes fall shut. There’s a familiar burning behind his eyelids, but no tears come. He doesn’t have the spare water for it. “’s not fair.”

His voice is soft, almost a whisper. Of course, with his luck, Don still hears him. “It’s not fair, is it? Maybe you should give up. Take the easy way out. Fuck, it’s clear enough you can’t handle any of the hard shit.”

With one careless wave, Donovan encompasses August, his current exhausted state, limp on the floor, seemingly his sidekick’s whole pathetic life. “’m not quitting,” August huffs, trying to push himself up, though it makes him dizzy and almost nauseous.

“Not yet,” Don corrects. Before August can answer, the hero is through the door, and gone.

@whatwasmyprevioususername, @princess-poopsicle, @snowshower, @whumpywritings, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, and @junoswhumpdrawer 

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

[ptergwen]

Hey Val! I love ur writing so so much and ur amazing! My request is maybe like a Tom Holland x Reader where Y/N is a famous actress and Paddy’s celeb crush, and one day Tom brings Y/N home to meet his brothers and Paddy is vying for her attention and Tom and Paddy get jealous of each other? Thanks in advance if u decide to write this!💕

thank you so much love!! i took forever on this i’m sorry :( please enjoy

-

“you’re dating who?” paddy gawks, harry snickering at him from across the table. tom leans back in his chair. “y/n y/l/n. you’ve heard of her, haven’t you?” he clasps his hands behind his head. “i’ve seen all her movies at least twice. i… i love her!” his youngest brother beams. “so do i,” tom playfully challenges.

“darling, you should bring her by tomorrow. sam’s cooking us dinner,” nikki suggests with a supportive smile. hearing his name mentioned, sam peeks up from his phone. “since when?” “since your brother has a girlfriend he’s only just told us about!” she nudges tom’s shoulder. tom bites back the grin growing on his lips. “a girlfriend he loves, at that.”

“he’s not the only one,” harry comments and glances at paddy, whose whole face has gone red. “i guess i could whip something up. i’m visiting the shops later,” sam agrees with a nod at tom. he winks back. “thanks, mate.” turning to his mom, tom’s own face gets warm. “sorry i haven’t said anything, mum. we’ve been trying to keep our relationship on the low. dating in hollywood is…”

“a shit show,” nikki finishes for tom. her words make him chuckle. “exactly. we wanted to make sure we were ready before bringing in the rest of the world.” eager as ever, paddy speaks up again. “i think we’re the perfect people to start with, specifically me.” that earns a quirked eyebrow from tom. “easy there, padster man.” he looks him over, trying to figure out his motives. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were trying to steal my girl.”

paddy points at him with a glint in his eyes tom has never seen. “you don’t know any better.”

the family gets back to their conversation, talking about what you’re like and how their dad’s gigs are going. tom is a bit distracted, though. he isn’t sure what paddy meant by that. realistically, he knows he won’t be stealing you away. there’s a huge age gap among other things. it seems to tom like paddy has a crush on you, a big one. he’s probably just excited to meet you. that’s good, right?

tom doesn’t think about it again until arriving back at his parents’ the next day. you’re with him this time, nervously clutching at your purse in one hand while your free one squeezes his. he frowns at your fidgeting.

“y/n… they’re gonna love you, sweetheart,” he assures you, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “how do you know?” you wonder as you two walk up the steps. “because i love you, and i think paddy’s got a thing for you as well.” he’s smirking when he tells you this. scoffing, you curl into tom’s side. “i love you too, but what’s up with paddy?” you stand next to tom on the porch. he rings the doorbell before replying.

“he’s watched your whole filmography, all your interviews,” tom explains, shaking his head lightheartedly. “i’m sure there’s a poster or two of you in his room somewhere.” you pout your lower lip out. “aw, so he’s a fan?” “he’s my competition,” he jokes. your head falls onto tom’s shoulder with a sigh. “he’s a literal child, tom… and your brother.” you glance up at him wickedly. “maybe i can sign his posters. i think he’d like that.”

tom slips his arm around your waist, hearing footsteps come towards the door. “oh, paddy would be thrilled,” he confirms. your response is a hum as the front door swings open. “tom, darling. back so soon?” nikki teases her son, then gives you the warmest grin. “you must be y/n. we haven’t heard much about you, but we will.” you return the smile and let her take your hand to guide you inside.

after all the introductions, you gather outside to sit and talk. sam is in the kitchen cooking, nikki is helping him, and harry is setting the table. that leaves you with tom and paddy. they’re on either side of you, your head on tom’s shoulder and his arm around both of yours. paddy is talking about a school project while you nod along. he’s completely harmless, contrary to how tom described him.

“the deadline is next friday, but i’ve only just started,” paddy explains, you laughing softly. tom’s lips brush your ear. “i’m gonna look for something to drink. do you want anything?” he speaks in a whisper and trails his fingertips over your shoulder. “sure, tommy. whatever you’re having, thanks,” you reply with a kiss to the back of his hand. paddy clenches his jaw as he watches you two.

“what about you, pads? soda?” tom teases and earns a giggle from you. “i told you not to call me that,” paddy groans back. he scrunches his face up when tom reaches over you to ruffle his hair. “someone’s got to put you in your place. soda it is.” “don’t take too long.” you tilt your head back to look at tom. “i won’t.” he licks his lips before pressing them to yours, trying to deepen it form the angle.

“children are present,” you remind him, sitting back up promptly. “be a good boy and get our drinks.” “ok, fine. i’m going,” tom laughs out, pecking your cheek and standing from the couch. paddy rolls his eyes when his brother finally gets inside. he hates being thought of as a child by you, even if he is one. “so,” you start to fill the silence. “what else are you-“

“i think you’re an incredible actress,” paddy says instead with an innocent smile. “really? thank you so much.” you rest your head in your hand, grinning. “tom kinda told me already. he said you’ve seen all my movies.” “did he?” paddy repeats bitterly. he’d probably made him sound obsessed. you’re still grinning. “mhm, and that you might have posters of me.” his eyes widen, cheeks flushing a deep pink. he’ll never let tom in his room again.

“between you and me…” you look behind you to make sure tom isn’t coming. paddy scoots closer to you and nods. “i think tom is a little jealous.” “he should be,” paddy mumbles to himself. that doesn’t stop you from hearing. “what are you-“ “how about you help me with my project? i could use the extra hands,” he smoothly changes the subject. must be a holland thing.

“let’s wait until after dinner. tom is gonna be back soon, anyway,” you try to reason. you’re only fueling the fire by saying that. “i need to use all the time i have. come with me!” he’s grabbing your hands before you can protest again. you end up following paddy to his room, tom still sucked into a conversation with the rest of his family. harry sees you two pass by. he murmurs a div to paddy.

when tom gets back outside with two beers and a coke, you and paddy are gone. he frowns, heading to the kitchen once again.

“has anyone seen y/n?” he wonders and scans the room for you. “i think paddy stole her.” “they’re in his room. he just brought her up,” harry replies, his lips forming a line. a bit of anger bubbles in tom upon hearing this. “dinner is nearly done!” nikki gasps. “bring them back down,” sam requests. setting the drinks on the counter, tom sighs. “will do. give me a minute.”

tom’s annoyance only grows as he ascends the stairs. he can hear your giggling from behind the bedroom door, obviously caused by paddy. it’s silly that he’s so jealous of his baby brother, but he knows him well.

the door opens to reveal you laying stomach down on the floor and paddy on his bed. you’re autographing a picture of yourself while he gets books together for his assignment. tom isn’t sure what he was expecting, though he’s relieved this is all it is.

“oh, tom!” you notice him standing in the doorway and cap the pen. “you were right about the posters, babe.” “i see.” tom clicks his tongue. paddy scowls at his brother. “i can’t believe you told her,” he grumbles, you handing him the signed photograph. “no, it’s fine! i think it’s really sweet.” his face relaxes. “nevermind, then.” he’s now making heart eyes at you, tom inhaling a sharp breath.

“y/n/n, can i talk to you?” he asks quietly, eyes flitting over to paddy. “in private?” “um, yeah. i’ll be right back, okay?” you tell paddy with an apologetic smile. he shoots you a thumbs up, tom stepping aside so you can leave the room. “mum wants you for dinner in five, actually,” tom corrects. he’s quick to close the door behind him so he doesn’t have to hear complaints.

you’re leaning against the wall, arms crossed over your chest. tom walks up to you cautiously. “what the hell was that?” you squint at him. “i came back with the drinks, and you were gone,” he answers lowly, and not to your satisfaction. “which doesn’t answer my question.” “i… well…” tom huffs childishly. “paddy’s whisked you away! i wanted you to spend the night with my family, yeah?” he sets his hands on your hips.

putting your own hands on both his shoulders, you look at him knowingly. “babe, paddy is your family. there’s nothing wrong with some one on one time.” tom stares down at the floor while rubbing his thumb over your hip. he doesn’t say anything. “so what if he has a little crush on me? he’ll get over it.” you take a step closer to him. “what makes you think that?” tom chews his lower lip.

“he’s just starstruck. and, i’m his future sister in law,” you confidently respond, finally making tom perk up. he exhales a laugh and pulls your body against his, leaving a warm kiss on your forehead. “bonding isn’t such a bad idea after all.” “mm, i told you,” you bury your face in the crook of his neck. paddy leaves his room then, his face falling at the sight in front of him. this time, tom puts his pettiness aside.

“get in here, padster man. we’ve got room for one more.”

[space-blue]

The Teacher

I took a long, long break... And returned in July 2020 here.

The teacher scuttles past her charges, her long limbs trailing through their rows, caressing their naked crowns, claws clicking against status sensors in a reassuring ritual, a litany of green, green, green, all green, all students doing well, until she reaches the orange one. She folds herself around his station. It takes some time and a lot of tactful calibrations to recall a child from active training. Abruptly ending simulation would risk neural damage. Once the emergence launches she steps back and watches, squinting her rheumy eyes, a bit worried, a bit fidgety. The nursing cocoon sloughs off the child's back, opening up like some perverted memory of a wilting flower. The synaptic plug retracts first, long blue tendrils coiling out of the nostrils, surrendering the child's mind to his own volition. Then the mouth is freed, the tubes for air and food both retracting with heaving heaps of mucus. The child retches, moans, young hands reaching blindly.

"I'm here!" the teacher exclaims, extending all her forward limbs in a reassuring embrace. "Focus on breathing, remember how you did last time."

The child sobs, struggling to stand on legs that have grown much since he was last out of a pod.

"You're alright. You're doing great," she croons, sorting her organics into a friendly face with a warm smile.

The boy squints up at her, eyes unfocused.

"Teacher?"

"Do you remember your name? Your designation?"

"Val-" he coughs, spits up the last dregs of phlegm, "I'm Valian, designation 45ARNAS0026 of the fighter units."

"And what colour am I displaying now?"

"Purple."

"Very good!" She brings her face closer to his, still smiling, to show her satisfaction, to reassure. "Do you know why you were brought out?"

"I received a general summoning, teacher. No details. Do... do you know why?"

"No, I only received the notification to prepare you for a formal review. It is the training board, so it has to do with your career."

She produces a shift for the boy to wear and helps him into it. Valian's expression is hard to puzzle out, but she figures it is one of worry.

"You will be alright, Valian," she says, caressing his face with a sensory tendril, "I monitor you every day, and I know how hard you work. I shouldn't say this–but you are top of this batch for orbital physics and biomecha engineering both."

The child blushes, pats his clothes and puffs his small chest out.

"If my teacher is proud of me then everything will be alright!"

The teacher keeps her smile immovable and says nothing more. She hates to make promises on things so far out of her power. Instead she gives him directions in a little data pad and sees him off to the door.

She then heaves herself behind her station and peruses data to try to pinpoint what went wrong with her student, to no avail. She broods, unhappy with herself. An orange light is rare. Rarer than a red one, even this far into the ship's breeding stacks. She feels it deeply, this potential failure. Both for herself, for her record, and for the child. Valian. Off to his review without a clue of what failing to please the assessors would entail. But the teacher knows all too well, and she frets for hours, until the door hisses open and Valian walks back in.

"What news, child?" She asks, scurrying over the pods and down to the walkway.

The child doesn't look up, and she feels her gorge rise.

"Valian? Speak."

"They said my combat simulations showed a "tendency for mercy that was outside the acceptable range". They said I'm not suited for attack fighters anymore... They want me to change my career track."

Water floods the child's eyes and flows down his cheeks. Tears, she remembers. The child looks up, as startled as she is.

"It is called crying," she says. “It's a biological manifestation of strong emotions. A healthy parameter. There, it will pass!"

She pets his head, his cheeks, pulls him into a hug, unable to voice just how reassured she is. She feels his arms wrap around her and her heart burns. Everything is so much harder here, the stakes so much higher. She sighs and releases him.

"Have you considered it already?"

He smiles through his tears.

"Maybe, I could become a teacher too?"

"No!" she blurts out.

The child looks up at her, and she thinks, fast, about that no, and about the best way to justify it. She remembers her previous body, and the one before that. The spinal surgeries, the months spent upside down in vifluid as her consciousness slowly learnt to accept her new body map. How she's forgotten the feel of her original form, and the way she thought and felt then too. But that was to be endured. Most placements come with invasive surgeries. It doesn't compare to the decades she spent teaching at the higher levels. That also had to be endured, but for what? She remembers the packed rows of children, too many to name and remember, monitored by software and only vaguely in her care. Though, of course, she was the one who had to disconnect those whose light came red, who had to wake them and lead them out of the rows, not to the door but to the shute, to convince them to take the nice slide, the fun ride to the recycling reactor that would sort them out on a molecular level, give them a better use than the machine space they took. She remembers none of their designations, but she counted them, and it took the last of her humanity and more, she thinks, before she earned her final promotion. What can she say to this hopeful child? That the best he could hope for is to make it to a stack where the fail rate is under five percent? Two hundred years of ship time, and she has nothing to say to defend her job. She is a mediator who turns the children out of the nurseries into young adults ready to commit to life paths she has no experience of. Students don't so much graduate as survive, and every one of these survivors has nothing but great memories of their time with their teachers. The AIs make sure of that. The reality is so different, outside of the simulations, out in the darkness, under the glowing canopy of green lights, her swollen body reclining against her station’s gel pads, the clicking of her many metal-composit joints resonating through the wide chamber as she types out training programs and answers queries from her wards. The sum total of her wisdom lies in meta-calibrations and tweaking of drug compounds. What sort of pride can she take from that? She keeps at it, she must, it's all she's ever known. She can't in good conscience push any child of hers into this career. She worries of course, that being a freighter or an engineer might be just as bad, or worse. Maybe she's about to doom little Valian to an even more terrible destiny, how could she know? It is like a pit opening under her, this realisation that there is nothing she can say that would not frighten, no insight to share with this blank slate of a young man that would not bend him out of ways.

"I think," she says, making her tone conspiratory, "that your kind heart would make you a great teacher. One has to care... A lot. But no teacher needs all this knowledge on orbital mechanics and all that science you are so talented at. It would be wasteful for the ship, for someone like you to become a teacher."

"You think so?"

"Truly. The ship needs engineers too, and freighters, if you'd still like to be made into a flying unit. How about I put you through some extra trials and we'll work out what's best suited? Maybe navigator or charter?"

The child nods, looking happier, almost excited. He disrobes and she lifts him up under her belly and back to where his cocoon awaits. Valian easily surrenders himself to her ministrations. She plugs him back in, each step done by rote, until the pod sews itself back up and the light flashes yellow, for simulation launch.

The teacher waits patiently now for it to turn green. Green to soothe her nerves. Green like success, like life, another test passed, another hurdle cleared. Like another day closer to graduation. When it comes on she sighs, and lifts herself higher into the rows, her long limbs stretching out, carrying her forward through her brood, all studying so hard, dreaming of their future lives in the ship that bore them, so innocently in her trust. She’ll do her best to give them that future. It’s her job, the only thing she knows how to do. She has to believe it’ll be a better life than her own.

~~ July 2020 – Theme : Old (Wo)Man's Tale

[valentinexbomber-blog]

💣STATISTICS

𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝.   𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜   𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜.  

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎.

BASIC INFORMATION.

Full Name: Valentine Segreti (no middle name)

Nickname(s): Val, Bomber, Bomb. Tiny to very, very, very few in his past.

Age: 41

Date of Birth: Feb. 16th, 1977

Hometown: Dertosa lol. He’s never left.

Current Location: Dertosa, oh boy. This is depressing.

Ethnicity: Sicilian. There’s something else, too but God knows what. Guy’s a mutt.

Nationality: American

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Orientation: tragically het/het

Religion: Agnostic. You get a fist to your head as many times as he has and try to tell him there’s a God.

Political Affiliation: That’s laughable.

Occupation: Head of Security at Forbidden Vices

Living Arrangements: He lives on his own in a small apartment not too far from Vices.

Language(s) Spoken: English

Accent: He’d say he doesn’t have one. The inflection of his voice is very rough, though.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

Face Claim: Jon Bernthal

Hair Colour: dark brown

Eye Colour: dark brown

Height: 6′3″

Weight: 210lbs

Build: Fit, athletic. Despite not having boxed in years he’s in the gym keeping it tight and right because that’s the only life he knows.

Tattoos: Val’s arms, legs, and chest are covered in a variety of odds and ends, none of which are particularly meaningful to him. His tattoos mostly consist of the type of flash pieces you see hanging on the walls of tattoo parlors. Eagles, playing cards, pretty women, panthers, crosses, etc.

Piercings: No piercings.

Clothing Style: Val dresses in what’s comfortable and practical for him. He’s no fashionista, but he dresses okay. A typical outfit for him would be boots, denim, a white or black tee, and either a leather or denim jacket.

Usual Expression: Relaxed, contemplative.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Val’s nose, which takes over his face in a unique way. It’s a product of years of being broken and healed over and over and over again. He got lucky though, in that he’s still got a pretty good looking mug, unlike the rest of those underground boxing fuckers.

HEALTH.

Physical Ailments: HAHAHA shit Because of the nature of his past “occupation”, Valentine’s body is fubar. His joints click. His shoulders frequently pain him from past lacerations that weren’t healed properly. The same goes for his knees. His hands swell in the night when not in use. Basically, if you name a part of his body he can tell you something that’s wrong with it. Aside from the important parts, wink wink, nudge nudge.

Neurological Conditions: Mild memory and cognitive issues due to multiple concussions.

Allergies: Does bullshit count? None.

Sleeping Habits: Val goes through phases of sleeping really well or not sleeping at all.

Eating Habits: He’s a human garbage can. He will eat almost anything that’s given to him. He loves home-cooked food, but he’s not a good cook, himself. His diet basically consists of whatever he can grab quickly and doesn’t have to think too much about. That being said, he does eat often, and loves to snack. He’s almost always hungry.

Exercise Habits: Valentine goes to the gym daily and spends the majority of the daylight hours there. He doesn’t have much else to do in the daytime besides sleep.

Emotional Stability: Despite having plenty of demons and sorrows of his own, Valentine is a pretty stable guy considering. The only thing that throws him out of whack is when someone tests him hard enough to make him snap, because that is when he switches gears and can become extremely hostile.

Sociability: Val prefers being around others. When he’s alone he has too much freedom to start thinking, and when he starts to think he starts to become depressed. For this reason he is rarely by himself, but rather out in public.

Body Temperature: Val is very hot-natured. He’s always warm, but he doesn’t feel warm, himself. He’s like a human heating pad lol.

Addictions: In the past he was addicted to a number of stimulants. It wasn’t the drugs, themselves, that he was addicted to, but rather the action of taking them because of his own mental issues that he didn’t know how to handle before getting sober.  

Drug Use: See above. Cocaine and speed were big factors in his addiction.

Alcohol Use: After he was dumped by his coach and the underground boxing crowds, Valentine became an alcoholic to deal with his bodily pains and the fact that he had nowhere and no one to turn to. This ended when he was taken in by the drinks, specifically with Drink #2.

PERSONALITY.

Label: The Loyalist, The Ghost

Positive Traits: Adaptable, easygoing, faithful, loyal, powerful, straightforward, tough

Negative Traits: Detached, impatient, indecisive, moody, stubborn

Goals/Desires: To protect the Drinks and Vices to the best of his ability. To not fall to addiction again. To open up enough to let others close to him.

Fears: Addiction, drowning (he cannot swim), ending up all alone.

Hobbies: He keeps a pretty mean fish tank in his apartment. The sound of it helps him sleep. He also collects auto magazines, but that’s just a fancy way of saying he’s a hoarder and doesn’t want to throw them out. Sometimes he will coach hopeful young boxers at the local gym he works out at if he’s asked. It’s not exactly a hobby, but sometimes Val will drive out of Dertosa to the outlying desert just to see something that big. He never goes much further than that.

Habits: Val is almost constantly cracking his knuckles and various joints in his body that pop. He snaps his fingers at his sides sometimes when he’s thinking. He likes to whistle. He can never sit in a chair quite right; he’s either leaning back or stretched out, never upright. He clenches his jaw frequently. Like any good Italian, he’s prone to gesture with his hands when he speaks.  

FAVOURITES.

Weather: He loves when it rains at night and you can see steam rising off asphalt.

Colour: He doesn’t have a favorite, but he’s partial to red.

Music: Classic rock, mostly. He likes hiphop, rap, and some of the trap stuff that’s been released lately even though it all sounds the same.

Movies: Action films. He doesn’t keep up with Hollywood or recent films, but he loved the Fast & Furious series.

Sport: MMA, Boxing, Wrestling

Beverage: Arizona brand fruit punch in the 99 cent can.

Food: Oh god anything. He loves a good burrito or bowl of pasta best.

Animal: Dogs. Jesus Christ he loves dogs so much.

FAMILY.

Father: Who?

Mother: Her name was Marianne Segreti, but she went by a different name on the streets. She died in ‘97 when he was 19. He doesn’t like to talk about it, or her.

Sibling(s): None? Honestly he probably has some half-siblings out in the world somewhere.

Children: None. He always did want a daughter though. He’s just never had the opportunity.

Pet(s): He has fish. They’re all named Fish. He wants a dog but he doesn’t want the responsibility.

Family’s Financial Status: He was dirt poor growing up. His mother had no extra money outside of what was used to rent motel rooms for her and Valentine to sleep in at night. He wasn’t wealthy, but he became moderately affluent during the height of his illegal boxing career, but that was short lived. He does okay now.

EXTRA.

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

MBTI: ESTJ

Enneagram: Type 5 - The Observer

Temperament: Phlegmatic

Moral Alignment: True Neutral

Primary Vice: Envy

Primary Virtue: Humility

Element: Earth

[cakelanguage]

Here is part 2 of the fic for the prompt:  Dorian from DAI prompt (any pairing) w/ 77. “Maybe I’m meant to be alone.” This has the happy ending in it!

Part 1

You can also read it on AO3

Bull’s door is never locked, it’s a fact that the man boosts about, that he never has to go looking for bed partners. It helps that he isn’t picky, Dorian decides. He himself would say that there are aspects of a partner that Dorian is more inclined to, but he’s never afforded true pickiness for himself. He counts himself lucky when someone spares him the time of day.

Even with Bull’s open door policy, it takes him almost a week to muster up the courage to come to the man’s room. He takes time in his own grooming himself, making sure he paints on his confidence with the kohl around his eyes, the special small clothes he’d bought in Val Royeaux clinging to him in all the right ways. He wears something nice, but an article he doesn’t care too much about just in case. He adds an extra dab of perfume behind his ears, a warm, spicy floral scent that lingers like an old friend. Vanity is a shield Dorian has clung to since he’d first been called pretty.

The walk to the Herald’s Rest is quiet and he feels restless in his own body. Why is this so different? He hears uproarious laughter before he enters the tavern and he feels his shoulder’s ease into a more relaxed position. He puts on his best face and walks in before he can second guess himself.

The place is reasonably full, and he can see the Chargers all seated together in their corner. He should go up to Cabot and order a drink, mingle a while, perhaps tempt Bull for something more exciting upstairs but Dorian can’t get himself to move. Instead he makes his way to the stairs, putting an extra sway to his hips than he usually has. Bull catches him before he can reach the stairs and gives him a curious look. A sultry smirk makes its way on Dorian’s face and he playfully quirks a finger in a come hither gesture. The grin he gets back is positively lewd and Dorian feels his cheeks flush as he continues up the stairs to Bull’s room.

The room is cleaner than he’d thought it’d be and Bull’s multitude of axes are propped in the corner. He sees little knickknacks on top of the small dresser that he’s seen Bull pickup every once in a while on their travels. He would’ve continued examining the room had Bull not suddenly joined him, the door closing with a clunk.

“So, you finally decided to come see me,” Bull said, his lewd grin from before seemingly getting bigger.

Dorian sniffed haughtily. “You’re the one with the open door policy, I’m just reaping the benefits so to speak,” Dorian replied. He hopes it sounded more convincing aloud than it had in his head.

Bull hummed and took a step closer to him. His large hand cupped Dorian’s neck tenderly and laid his thumb against Dorian’s bottom lip. It’s so achingly intimate and Dorian can’t help but feel like something treasured in that moment. “What can I do for you then, Dorian?”

It takes a few moments for Dorian to find his words, but Bull is patient. “I thought you would know what I needed, that’s what you do isn’t it?”

Bull nods. “You want me to choose?”

“Do you think you can’t?”

Bull laughs at that, full bellied and beautiful. “No I got it, just making sure. You can ask for anything and we could work it out.” He says it so confidently, like Dorian asking him for anything is a small thing. “But you have to promise me, if I do anything that you don’t like, anything at all, and you want me to stop, you say ‘Katoh.’” The Iron Bull’s face is so serious that Dorian doesn’t even question it. “You say that and I’ll stop, no questions asked, okay?”

“Yes, yes, I got it thank you.” Bull gave him a hard look and Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yes, I promise I will say ‘Katoh’ if it gets to be too much, alright?”

Bull gave a small rumble of approval before he let his thumb pull Dorian’s lip down just a bit, letting the lips part. Dorian slowly brushed his tongue against the grooves along the pad of the thumb. It’s salty and there is the sharp bitter flavor of Ferelden ale that’s mostly gone. The soft groan that Bull released sent a spark of arousal through him.

He reached his hands up, wrapped them around Bull’s horns and directed Bull down until their lips met. It was hungry. Primal. Their teeth clanking uncomfortably before Bull shifts Dorian’s head to a better position. Then it’s achingly perfect; Bull trailing his tongue against the seam of Dorian’s lips before Dorian let him in. The taste of Ferelden ale was stronger as Bull’s tongue maps out his mouth and Dorian could have sworn he tasted hints of citrus.

The pitiful whine that left his throat as Bull pulled away made the other man smile as he slowly backed them both towards the bed. Dorian fell back onto the mattress with the firm press of Bull’s hand against his chest and he wiggled his way to the middle.

Bull’s hands trail along the fabric of his robes before, with a delicacy Dorian didn’t know he possessed, unclasped the buckles holding the material in place. Dorian moved his hands to help, but Bull gently grabbed his hands and guided them above his hand.

“Just relax,” Bull said with a wink. “I’ve got you.”

Dorian felt his cheeks flush hotly and he silently scolded himself for acting like some chaste Sister. His focus returned back to Bull when the man finished undressing Dorian’s upper body. He dutifully lifted his hips and then upper back to allow Bull to pull his robes completely off of him and onto the floor. Bull made an appreciative noise and leaned down to begin placing kisses along his collarbone and down his chest.

This is what Dorian was familiar with. Sex was sex, he didn’t have to think about feelings especially when Bull captured his nipple. Dorian moaned as the nub was worried between Bull’s teeth before the wet drag of his tongue soothed the ache. He lavished in the attention, delighting in the gentle massage of the Qunari’s hands against his arms running up until their hands met. Bull didn’t even hesitate when he laced their fingers together briefly, giving a comforting squeeze before repeating the action.

Dorian fought back the wave of emotion that hit him unexpectedly at the action, instead wrapping his legs around the Qunari’s waist attempting to pull him closer. All it did was elicit a rumble of laughter from Bull that sent pleasant vibrations through his body.

“Impatient aren’t you?” Bull asked, his nose grazing Dorian’s jaw. “I already told you, I’m going to take care of you. Take a deep breath, you’re way to tense right now.” Bull’s hands were still laced together with his own. “It’s just you,” a chaste kiss against the skin right below his ear, “and me,” a warm brush of air against his ear that sent shivers down his spine. “Focus on this moment.”

He wasn’t aware he was letting his slight distress interrupt their moment, but Bull just continued to reassure him. To lock him into this moment, where lips and tongue and sensual touches were all that mattered. Where the little gasps and cries of Bull’s name were beautiful. Where each moan was a confession on Dorian’s tongue, tied up in more pressing matters like the weight of Bull’s cock against his tongue and the Bull’s tongue dancing with his own. Where Bull’s gentle pets through his hair were more grounding than trying to force himself not to fall further in love with the other man.

It was too late anyway.

He’s a garble of moans masquerading as words by the time Bull gently prods his opening with an oil slicked finger. “Relax, big guy,” Bull said, slowly pushing in the first finger. “I’ve got you.”

Dorian wants to tell him, to tell Bull that he always has him. Forever if he wanted. But that isn’t what comes out, even when he’s delirious with pleasure. “More.”

Bull rubs a thumb against the jutting bone of Dorian’s hip, continuing the lazy pumps of his finger in Dorian. “Patience,” he said as if Dorian had any more to offer. He continues at the same steady pace edging deliciously close to the spot inside him that makes him feel sparks across his spine. Bull continues his game, listening with a grunt of approval as Dorian mumbles his praise. After a while Bull nudges a second finger against the hole where already one finger is stretching it. “I’m pushing the next one in okay?”

It’s a tighter fit, but nothing Dorian can’t handle. If anything he relishes in the delectable burn and the jolting pleasure that courses through him when Bull brushes against his prostate. He hisses softly when the fingers scissor inside him, but Bull is quick to capture his lips to distract him. Bull really does know what he needs, doesn’t he?

Their kiss breaks when Dorian has to tilt his head to the side to release a moan, Bull’s fingers slowly rubbing against the spot inside him. It seems that Bull enjoys the noises that he can coax out of Dorian because he keeps doing it, keeps the steady, slow glide of his fingers inside of him.

“Bull,” Dorian’s voice is hoarse as it breaks away from a whine. “Bull, please- no more teasing please.”

But the man just grins. “So polite now.” The way he says it makes Dorian want to both puff up in mock offense and sink into the praise. “Good boy.”

He releases a shuddering breath and looks coyly up at Bull, knowing he must paint a pretty picture: bronze skin flushed and slick, chest heaving, cock standing at attention, and Bull’s fingers stretching him open. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d love to have you inside me some time this age, please.”

Bull snorts, slipping another finger into the mage and enjoying the gasp he releases. “Polite, but impatient.”

“P-plenty patient.”

The Qunari shakes his head. “You’re supposed to take in the moment, lose track of time, lose yourself even for a moment.” Bull moves his free hand to the curve of Dorian’s back to match the arch. “Maybe next time we’ll try a blindfold and some restraints.”

Dorian nods frantically, feeling his orgasm approaching fast. “B-Bull, I’m not going to last if you keep this up.”

“Never said you had to, the nights still young.” Bull pulls away from him so the man can look at him. “Let go, Dorian.”

And he does. The pleasure spikes so sharply that it draws an almost pained cry of Bull’s name from his lips. His cum splatters against his abdomen and he tries to catch his breath.

“Damn, you’re pretty.” The Iron Bull mutters, refocusing on his efforts at making sure Dorian’s fully prepped for him. “You okay to keep going?”

Dorian manages to get out a pitiful ‘yes,’ still trying to capture his bearings. It’s weird that he’s still hard, hasn’t occurred since Rilienus, not that he’s complaining. Bull’s fingers are stretching him so nicely, but he wishes that he had Bull’s cock instead.

The Iron Bull should add mind-reader to his list of skills because Bull is suddenly pulling his fingers from Dorian. He feels open, his hole clenching around the sudden departure of the fingers that had spread his opening. He watches as the Iron Bull spreads oil across his length with a hunger that he’s kept under control until now.

“You ready for me, big guy?”

Of course Bull would still check if it was okay, Dorian thinks fondly with no small amount of warmth. He cares about people, about him. He reaches his arms out to Bull. “Come here, you big oaf.”

“Not the nicest thing to say to someone who’s about to fuck you.”

Dorian makes an amused hum. “Only said with affection, Bull.”

Bull rolls his eyes, but leans over him and hefting Dorian’s hips up so that his cock can drag along the crack of Dorian’s ass. He slowly directs his cock to Dorian’s hole and makes sure to watch Dorian’s face for any signs that he’s in pain.

It’s slow going, Bull’s shallow thrusts only a fraction of what Dorian wants. And he does. He aches for Bull to be fully seated in him, for the ache of being stretched and the warm, pulsating appendage filling him. Dorian carefully folds his legs around Bull and pulls them closer together. Bull surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, lets Dorian pull them together so that their hips are flushed against each other’s. Dorian might let out an elated giggle, not that anyone has to know.

But Bull doesn’t increase his pace at all now that his fully seated, instead favoring the small thrusts that light up Dorian’s nerves. He feels like little bolts of electricity are traveling through his limbs, his mind a pleasure filled buzz of Bull and desire for more. The Qunari strokes Dorian’s cock from the base to the tip, thumbing at the head and Dorian is gone in another orgasm.

The second orgasm is what triggers Bull to speed up his movements. What were once shallow thrusts turn into a hard piston, the man’s muscles flexing attractively against Dorian’s ass and the slap of skin echoes through the room along with the harsh panting.

Painful pleasure tugs at Dorian, his cock aching and spent, but he still wants. He doesn’t even know tears have escaped his eyes until Bull is kissing them away, his rhythm unbroken. Dorian desperately pulls the man into another kiss, their teeth clanking slightly. It doesn’t last though, both in dire need of breath and they pant against each other’s lips.

Bull leans their foreheads together. “Can you come for me again, Dorian?”

“I can’t, I can’t, Bull.”

Bull’s tugging at his cock again, matching the speed of his thrusts and Dorian shouts, the painful pleasure increasing. “Yes you can. You can do that for me, right?” His thrusts are growing erratic, but he isn’t slowing down. “Come on Dorian, just one more.” Dorian lets out a keen, his body trembling. “Cum for me, Dorian.”

It’s the way Bull growls his name that sends Dorian tumbling into orgasm for the third time. Bull quickly chases after his own orgasm and Dorian feels the warm cum splash against his walls.

They lay there, coming down from their high and Dorian could honestly stay there forever. Their bodies pressed together, warm and safe in a way that he’s missed. He basks in the moment, clinging to the recesses of their union that still encapsulate them.

He isn’t sure how long they take to catch their breath, but the Iron Bull carefully pulls out of Dorian and stands up from the bed. Dorian watches through lidded eyes as the other man goes to the corner of the room to a small washbowl full of water. The man first cleans himself up before dipping the clothe back in and bringing it over to Dorian. He cleans Dorian’s stomach first before carefully cleaning Dorian’s hole, being sure to catch any cum that has leaked out of him. He’d debated on whether to tell Bull to let it be, but he knows it’d feel disgusting later.

Besides, the care Bull is putting into this small act makes him feel special. He could even say loved, if he didn’t know how bad it was to delude oneself.

He tries getting up but is gently pushed back into the mattress. Bull gives him a playful smile that pulls at the scar on the man’s lip. “Relax, you don’t have to rush out.”

Dorian can’t help but match the smile, even though the words make his heart clench in his chest. “Perhaps a while longer will be alright.”

Bull nudges his shoulder and catches Dorian’s hand when the man bats back at him. He brings the hand to his lips and places a kiss on each knuckle. Dorian’s cheeks flush and he ducks his head so he doesn’t have to see the soft look that Bull is giving him.

After a while, when Bull is sleeping Dorian maneuvers his way out of the bed and gathers his clothes, dressing quickly. He spares a glance at the Qunari before he quietly leaves the room, his night with Bull coming to an end.

In an act of rebellion against his better judgment, he leaves his silky smallclothes on Bull’s floor.

 The Iron Bull has no discretion, not that Dorian expected him to, but he wasn’t expecting him to bring it up in front of their party. Senna gives him a wide-eyed look and looks imploringly at Bull before turning her gaze back to him. He knows she’s asking if he told Bull about his feelings so he shakes his head. Senna’s shoulders droop and it makes her look smaller than she already is.

 The thing he has going on with Bull continues whenever they aren’t out with the Inquisitor. Even once while they were, in the depths of the Emerald Graves where fireflies float around like balls of magic. Dorian finds himself falling more in love with the man each day, and he keeps it bottled up tightly.

He ignores Senna’s pleas to tell Bull how he feels.

He and Bull experiment more now, trying out different things to see what they like. Ropes are a classic for them, blindfold on occasion when they need to lose themselves in the moment, and on a memorable occasion fire licking at the edges of his mouth to imitate the dragon they had fought. He’d set the curtains on fire after the fourth round of sex.

He doesn’t anything has changed, but Senna renews her effort to get Dorian to tell Bull his feelings with a ferocity he’s seen targeted at when defeating darkspawn. And she keeps asking him about what’s going on between them.

“I’m just asking as your friend, Dorian,” Senna insists.

“Things are fine,” Dorian is surprised that he means it. Bull flirts with him openly and isn’t ashamed to admit they sleep together.

“But you have to know that something is there.”

Dorian sighs. “It’s something,” he concedes. “A whole lot of something.”

But it’s their something.

 He says it in a moment of post-orgasmic bliss, the Tevene rolling off his tongue. “Amatus.”

Bull, who was running his fingers along his spine pauses, and he pauses, his eye twinkling in the low torchlight. “Kadan,” the word rolls around in his mouth like marbles, his chest rumbling pleasantly underneath Dorian’s.

The meaning of the word is lost on Dorian, but it’s said with such affection that Dorian doesn’t doubt the weight of it, instead snuggling into the Bull’s chest.

 Varric brings it up in a proposal for a book.

“Two worlds tearing them apart, Tevinter and Qunari, with only love to keep them together,” Varric said as they trekked through the Frostback Basin.

Dorian lets out a huff. “I don’t see how this is even remotely your business, Varric.”

Senna is grinning like a loon and he imagines if she were sitting down she’d have her chin propped up on her hands like an eager child. “I like it, Varric,” she adds.

“See, the Inquisitor can appreciate the makings of good literature.”

The Iron Bull rubs the back of his head and Dorian can see the makings of a blush on the man’s cheeks. Though that could be the cold. “Could you make it sound angrier? ‘Love’ is a bit soft.”

Dorian starts to object, but Varric cuts in. “How about passion?” Varric asked.

Bull lets the word mull over in his head before nodding. “Yes, that’s better. Love is all starlight and gentle blushes. Passion leaves your fingers sore from clawing the sheets.”

Dorian thinks it’s both but he lets it slide for now.

 When he finally admits it, tells Bull his feelings the man just gives him that soft smile and responds with the one thing Dorian has always wanted.

“I love you too, Kadan.”

He was finally enough.

[hamiltontrashaccount]

Burgers In New York (Daveed Diggs x Reader)

Hi, so this is my first fic on here. I want to give a BIG thanks to my best friend @pumpernickelbae. She read this as I wrote it and she encouraged me to finish it, so thanks! Hope you enjoy, please like and reblog it if you liked it. 

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, some asshole kids

MASTERLIST

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You’d always hated working at the diner. Sure, you had a great boss and you made money, but come on. The diner itself was filthy; it always smelled of grease, artificial strawberries, cologne and perfume. The amount of people who walked in there with way too much cologne or perfume was ridiculous.  But also, the diner kept you from going to school full time. You had nowhere near enough money to go to college, so you had to spend as much time as possible working at the diner, which made for a barely there social life. For now, night classes were the only thing you could afford, and even that was a struggle to continue to pay for. It was hard to keep up school, a full-time job and a boyfriend.

“Y/N, do you mind handling the tables for now? Those guys came back and I don’t wanna deal with them.” Your annoying co-worker Dana whined to you and looking at you with a hopeful look.

You turned your back to her, rolling your eyes as you rinsed your hands of the soap on them.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks so much!” She shouted, her already high-pitched voice rising to even higher decibels. You winced as you dried your hands on your apron and snatched the pen and pad away from her.

“Yeah, no problem.”

When you walked out into the dining area, you saw the guys that Dana was talking about. They were a group of high-school aged kids who always came in at this same time. They always tried to flirt with the other female waiters who worked with you, but they were especially annoying towards Dana. It was understandable though; Dana was the prettiest worker there by far, what with her big lips, curvy body and gorgeous eyes. It was the reason she got the most tips.

You walked to the same table they always occupied and, as always, made an effort to make yourself look as unattractive as possible. It didn’t work.

“Oh yeah, we got the prettiest waitress here!” one kid shouted, flashing his teeth at you.

“Y’all are sweet. What will you guys have?” you asked.

“Some of you, I hope.” Another kid mumbled giving you a smirk, he probably assumed was sexy. The other kids laughed loudly at what he said, making the other patrons in the diner turn towards you with annoyed looks.

Margo, your boss, walked out from her office next to the kitchen to see what the commotion was. She gave you an apologetic look, since she knew that these kids were always the hardest to deal with.

“Uh, we’ll have the usual.” Said one kid, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“You guys always order something different every time you come here. I need y’all to look at the menus and give me some answers. I’ll come back in 10.” You said, turning around and walking towards Margo, who was leaning against the bar counter.

“Hey, girl. Your favorite customers came to visit you, huh?” Margot joked, her Brooklyn accent making its appearance.

“Ha, yeah. My faves.” You mumbled.

You heard the door jingle, indicating the presence of another customer.

“Better get back to the ol’ grind, babes.” She said, pushing you away from the bar counter. You turned to look for the customer who just walked in and found him sitting at a window booth, looking at a menu that was already there.

You walked up his table and put on a smile.

“Hello, I’m Y/N. What drink would you like?” you asked.

“Uh, some water I guess.” He answered, not looking up from his menu.

“Coming up.” You walked away and got his water.

A moment later you came back to his table to find him still looking at his menu.

“Need more time?” you asked, putting the glass down carefully and placing a straw next to it.

He finally looked up from the menu. To say that he was attractive was a serious understatement.

“Yes, please.”

Your face turned red as you nodded your head and walked away.

Dana was standing at the bar counter, staring at the customer who you were just helping.

“I want a piece of him.” She whispered in awe.

You chuckled. “Jesus, me too.” You turned to stare at him too. Margo soon came out to stand next to Dana.

“What are we staring at?”

“The hot dude by the window.” Dana answered.

Margo nodded her head. “He’s cute.”

Both you and Dana turned to her and were ready to criticize her for her dismissive response at his looks before you both remembered that Margo batted for the other team.

“Oh please, Margo. Even your gay ass can see that he’s hot as shit.” You said.

“I don’t know that he’s hot as shit, but yeah he’s cute.” Margo said. She turned to look at a different table. “Looks like our favorite customers are ready to order.”

You looked at the table that Margo pointed at and saw the high school kids were trying to wave you down. You gave Margo a dirty look before walking over to the guys.

“You guys ready to order?”

“Yeah baby. We want the other waitress to come over here and say hi.” One of them asked.

“Sorry, you got me instead. Are you guys ready to order?” you repeated.

They all rolled their eyes and one of the kids began to list off what they each wanted. You wrote down each order and walked to the kitchen to give in their order.

You made your way to the hot customer. “Are you ready yet?”

He looked up from his phone and answered, “Yes and no. I’m ready to order, but everything looks good here. What do you suggest?” He gave you a smile. How could you say no to his sexy smile?

“Uh, um yeah I guess.” Your face got red and you mentally kicked yourself. Why are you acting like a 12-year-old girl? “The burgers here are good, and uh, the fries too. You could get a smoothie if you’re thirsty, but I mean you already have water so why would you want that?” you stammered.

He chuckled as you continued your rambling. “And uh, the chicken fingers taste fine too.”

He nodded his head, seeming to consider the choices you gave him.

“I’ll take the burger. With extra lettuce please.” He said. You nodded your head vigorously and wrote down his order.

“Anything else?” you asked. He shook his head and you walked away from the table, trying hard not to trip over your feet, which you had a habit of doing in front of guys you liked.

10 minutes later you brought his order to his table.

“Anything else?” You asked. He said no and you walked away from his table.

You had since brought the annoying kids their food and now they were waving you down so that they could get their bill. Or so you thought.

“Hey baby, do you think you could turn around and give us a little peek at that fine piece of ass?”

“Yeah, it’s so good looking, ya know? Like something I’d really like to squeeze.”

“Do you boys want to order anything else?” You asked, ignoring their lewd and extremely loud comments.

“Aw, come on baby. We’ve had such a hard day today, if you know what I mean.” One of them said, winking at you.

“Yeah, we really need a little pick me up. So a little booty peek might make us feel better.” Another one said, leaning in closer to you.

“Yeah, or maybe flash us some of your tits. That might be better.” A third boy spoke out. Your face began to turn red with anger and you opened your mouth to tell them something before another kid began to speak.

“Or maybe a peek of what’s in those pants.” He said, grabbing onto your arm.

You flinched your arm away and felt it hit something hard. You turned around, worried that it might be another kid, coming to back up his friends. You were relieved to find that it was the hot customer.

“Do any of you boys want to repeat what you just said here?” the hot customer said, his voice rumbling loudly in your ear.  You resisted the urge to shiver.

All of the boys looked around at each other, unsure of what to say.

One of them decided to answer. “No, sir.”

“Good, now all of you get out of here, and go ask your moms the proper way to speak to women.” The customer said.

The boys hesitated for a second before they all scrambled to get out of their seats. You were about to stop them and ask for them to pay for their meal but they were all out of the restaurant in less than 30 seconds before the words came out of your mouth.

You turned around to thank the hot customer and saw him reaching to his back pocket.

“How much was their bill?” he asked, his wallet appearing from behind him.

“What? You're not paying for their bill!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m the one who made them leave. I should pay.”

“No. It’s because you made them leave that you shouldn’t pay. Not even for your meal.”

“It’s fine.” He said, pulling out a hundred dollar bill.

“Wha- No! Their and your bill don’t add up to that.” You shouted.

“Just take the rest of it as a tip.” He said, adding a wink to the end of his sentence. He walked back to his table, ignoring your protests. He sat back down and finished eating his hamburger.

You walked to the register, pushing aside the kid who stood in front of it and got the hot customer’s change.

You stomped over to his table and slammed the money onto it.

“Here’s your change.” You said. He just looked up at you and grinned. You walked away, suddenly flustered again.

20 minutes later, he got up from his seat, grabbed his jacket, and walked out of the restaurant.

The bus boy walked over and cleaned up the table. A few minutes later, he walked up to you and handed you the same change that you had slammed on the table a while before.

“I think this is your tip?” the bus boy said quietly. You took it from him and shoved it into your pocket.

At around 6:00, the end of your shift, Margo walked out of her office to say goodbye.

“Oh, and did you get “hot customer’s” number?” she asked, putting air quotations over the nickname you and Dana had started calling him by.

“No, why would I have gotten his number?”

“Cause he really seemed to tickle your fancy.”

You giggled. “’Tickle my fancy’?”

She giggled right along with you. “Yeah, tickled your fancy. You were acting super girly when taking his order.”

You shook your head. “Yeah well, I have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well. I met your boyfriend. And I fucking hate him.”

You laughed. “Okay, Margo. I gotta go.” You said, grabbing your bag from her office, which served as the worker’s lockers.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She said, waving her hand at you.

You said goodbye to the other workers there and walked out of the diner.

Later that night, you got a text from your boyfriend.

From Jack:

Hey wanna hang tonight? ;)

To Jack:

Not tonight babe. I’m really tired.

To Jack:

Guess what happened at work today??

From Jack:

I thought you were tired now u want to talk?

To Jack:

I’m too tired to go over to your house and mess around. I'm not too tired to talk to you. I’m sorry that I want to talk to my boyfriend

From Jack:

Oh I’m your boyfriend?? didn’t realize, since you never make time 4 me

To Jack:

I have to work all the time in order to pay my fucking bills Jack, sorry I can’t be with you every second of every day.

To Jack:

I hope you realize, that I make time to text you every chance I get. Do you know how many times I almost get caught texting in class

From Jack:

sorry I make things so difficult 4 u

To Jack:

Whatever. So do you want to talk or not

From Jack:

We can talk at my house

To Jack:

Or we can stay texting

From Jack:

Okay, then I don’t want to talk

To Jack:

Fine, good night

You threw down your phone in frustration. Maybe there was a reason Margo hated him so much?

Ever since that day, the hot customer had come to the diner, and the high-school kids never came again. (Margo admitted that on the day you had taken off from work (to go out with Jack), the hot customer had driven the boys out of the diner after they’d said many inappropriate things to Dana. Each day he had come in, you’d tried to give him back the money you owed him. And each day, he refused to take it.

One day, you had even decided to be a little more creative with giving him the money, hoping that would compel him to actually keep the money. Before you had taken him his burger (his usual order when coming into the diner, always with extra lettuce), you’d slid the $30 in between the burger and the bun.

You’d brought his order, and asked if he needed anything else, trying to act as normal as possible.

You walked away and rested against the bar counter, watching his reaction. He took a bite of his burger and grimaced as his teeth made contact with the money. He spit out whatever food in his mouth and opened the burger. A smile moved across his face as he realized what was in the burger. Then all of a sudden, he began to howl with laughter. The few customers in the diner looked at him, wondering why he was laughing. The hot customer started clapping along with his laughter. He saw you leaning on the bar counter and pointed at you, continuing his laughter. You giggled at the sight and walked to the new customers that just walked into the diner.

After the hot customer had left, the bus boy came over and gave you the same $30 you’d tried giving back to the man, along with a note. The note read: nice try :), but please, keep the money. You deserve it –D.D.D

After reading that note, you decided to finally keep the money.

Now, every day after the note, you had been feeling even more flustered than before. You were extra cautious with every move you made, worried that he was watching you. And because you always had luck with things you wanted, you were constantly making mistakes in front of him. Like spilling people’s orders on yourself, tripping over your feet, and many other embarrassing things like that. Thankfully, every time you looked at him, he seemed to not be looking at you. Why can’t you just get over this ridiculous crush? You asked yourself everyday.

It was a Friday afternoon, the diner’s busiest time. There were two other waiters working with you. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to wait on the hot customer’s usual table. However, Dana, who had been about to wait on him, walked over to you as you walked away from another table.

“They won’t let me take their order. Hot customer keeps asking for you.” She mumbled, looking jealous as she told you this. Your face turned red but you still made your way to his table. You saw that he had brought a friend with him today. This man had a much broader body than he did, but no one else could match the hot customer's looks. However, this man was a really close second.

“Hello, I’m Y/N and I’ll be your waitress. What’ll have?” You asked, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

“Oh, so you’re Daveed’s big crush?” the other man said, looking you up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. “I must say he has good tas- Ow!” the man groaned.

Your face was a dark red but you giggled anyway. “I highly doubt that.” You turned to the hot customer. “Your name’s Daveed?”

Daveed smiled widely and answered, “Yeah.”

The both of you stared at each other for a little too long before his friend cleared his throat. “I’m Oak.”

Your cheeks turned pink again and you turned back to the other man. “Nice to meet you.” You reached out a hand to him. He took your hand and gave it a light kiss.

You giggled and asked what they wanted to order.

“My usual please.” Daveed answered.

“And I’ll have the same.” Oak said.

“A burger with extra lettuce?” You asked, writing down the order in your pad.

“What the hell? Extra lettuce? Daveed, are you crazy? How about no lettuce, please?” Oak said, looking at you.

You nodded your head. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, some meds for my friend here, since he thinks a fucking burger needs to be ruined with lettuce.”

You laughed. “I’ll check up on that.”

You walked away to put their orders in. Almost 35 minutes later, you were rushing their orders back to them.

“I’m sorry for the long wait,” you apologized. “We’re extremely busy today. I’d be happy to give y’all something for free for having to wait.”

“No, that’s okay.” Both men chorused.

“Okay then. Anything else?”

“Yes, your number. Because I know damn well Daveed will probably be too chicken to ever ask you for it.”

“Uh…” you said, your cheeks turning pink. Damn it, stop fucking blushing.

“Oak.” Daveed groaned.

“Sorry, not sorry.”

“I’m sorry. Oak is under the impression that he’s actually funny.” Daveed said, shooting his friend an angry look. Oak only laughed.

You laughed along with him and walked away from the table. After another 30 minutes, you walked over to their table to hand them their bill.

“Shut up, she’s walking over.” You heard Daveed mumble.

“No, I will not shut up. You need to ask her ou-Ow!” Oak began saying before being interrupted by Daveed’s foot.

You handed them their bill and walked away with a big smile on your face.

Everyday after that, you greeted Daveed by his name every time he came into the diner. Most of the time, he would come by himself, but at least once a week he would bring in more friends. You’d already met Oak, Anthony, Jasmine (whom you’d figured was dating Anthony since you had seen them at a table by themselves once, making out) and Lin. Each time you’d met his friends, they teased him relentlessly over his “big crush” on you.

You and Daveed always only made polite conversation, asking how the other person’s day had gone. You were progressively getting to like him better, your crush on him relying less on his looks and more on his personality.

One day while working, Jack decided to come visit you. He’d rarely come to your job; he said the place was sickening and that every time he came in there, his expensive shoes always smelled of it. You hated the way he talked about the diner. Even though you agreed with him on everything, the diner was still special to you, especially since Daveed was there almost every day.

“Hey, sexy.” He said, giving you a sloppy kiss on your lips. You pulled away quickly and tried to keep your eyes from looking over at Daveed. You prayed he hadn’t seen the kiss. But unfortunately for you, he did. Anthony was there, and he gave Daveed a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry, man.” Anthony said.

“Jack, what are you doing here?” You asked, hoping your voice didn’t sound too annoyed.

“Can’t a man visit his girl?” Jack said, reaching for another kiss.

“I’m working, Jack.”

He tried reaching in for another kiss. “Come on babe. We never see each other.”

“Jack,” you warned. He rolled his eyes and stepped away from you.

“Fine, I’ll stop.” He mumbled, his voice sounding angry. Well, you couldn’t give two shits if he was angry. “I’ll go sit down in a table and wait for my girl to actually find time for me for once.”

“Get over yourself, Jack.” You hissed.

“Excuse me? What the fuck did you say?” Jack growled, getting closer to you.

You weren’t backing down. “I said get over yourself.”

“Oh jeez, Y/N. Don’t start getting pissy with me.” He warned.

“Sit down, Jack, and maybe I’ll make some time for you.”

He stared at you a while longer before going to sit down.

Dana was standing nearby and she said, “Dump him already.”

You turned to her. “What?”

“Dump him. You obviously like hot customer better than him anyway.”

“His name is Daveed.” You mumbled.

“Oh god, whatever. Just dump that a-hole already, and get with that sexy hunk of meat before I go after him.”

You shook your head at her and continued working.

At the end of your shift, Jack walked with you out of the diner.

“So you want to tell me why you were attacking me in there?” Jack asked.

“Jack, can we please just get to your apartment and not fight?”

He dropped the subject quickly. “Anything for you babe.”

Jack quickly flagged down a taxi and set off for his apartment.

Daveed usually didn’t come to the diner at night. But he had just come from a party, where he’d drunk a little too much alcohol, and needed some food in his system before he set off to his bed.

When he had gotten there, he’d been damp from the rain that was pouring down. Maybe I shouldn’t have walked here. He thought to himself as he sat in his usual spot.

An hour later, he was mostly dry, drinking tea and scrolling through his phone.

Suddenly, you came barging in through the door. You were completely soaked, mascara running down your face and ugly sobs coming from your mouth. Daveed immediately stood up as you walked away from the door in the direction of Margo’s office. You glanced in and let out another sob as you realized Margo wasn’t there.

Shannon, one of the few people who worked this late at night at the diner, saw you and said, “Margo left early today.”

You nodded your head. “Okay thanks.” You started walking towards the door before you saw Daveed, standing up next to his table and staring at you.

You tried your hardest to put a smile on your face, but failed miserably. Daveed walked over, put his arm around your shoulders and walked you to his table. He sat you across from him and took his own seat.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

All the memories of just an hour ago came flooding back into your mind, and you couldn’t stop the tears that poured out of you eyes. Daveed quickly rose from his seat and plopped down next to you, bringing your head to his shoulders. You wrapped your arms underneath his and cried for what seemed like hours. After you had calmed down, Daveed loosened his grip on you and repeated his question from before.

“No,” you answered. “My boyfriend of four fucking years just broke up with me.” You sniffled.

Daveed shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You started ranting, your sadness leaving your body and anger taking over. “God, I gave him four years of my life, for him to just break up with me. Do you want to know what he told me tonight?” You didn’t wait for Daveed to answer. “He told me that two years ago, he had an affair with some woman for like two months. Not a one night fucking stand, no. He had an entire relationship behind my back. Who does that?”

Daveed just sat there, listening to your ranting. When you finished your rant with a rough “Damn jackass”, Daveed finally responded.

“Well, he didn’t deserve you. Anyone who’s willing to cheat on you is not worth your time.”

You nodded your head. “Damn right. I’m done with his shit.” You sat in silence. “I don’t know why I still feel so sad, though.”

Daveed began rubbing circles into your back. “You were with him for four years. You loved him. But you’ll get over him soon.”

You nodded your head, and tried to keep the sadness away. You gave Daveed a watery smile. “Let’s forget my tragic love life. Let’s talk. Let’s have an actual, full on conversation.”

Daveed smiled widely. “Let’s.”

You two talked for hours about everything. What you wanted to do (become an English teacher), what he did (He’s on Broadway?!) and what ever else you two could think of talking about.

2 a.m. was the closing time for Thursday, and since you had been sitting there with Daveed, Shannon gave you the keys to lock up everything for when after you guys left.

At 3 in the morning, Daveed said that he had to leave so he could get some sleep before his show later that day.

“Yeah, definitely. Sorry for keeping you from your rest.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I enjoyed every second.” He grinned.

After locking everything up, you both gave each other a goodbye hug. “See you later.” He said.

You giggled. “Yeah, see ya.”

You both walked your separate ways.

After that day, you both had been much more friendly with each other, giving each other flirty looks when you could. Every time his friends came in with him, they would continue to tease him.

On one amazing day, Daveed came in with Oak and Anthony.

When you got to their table, Daveed gave you a huge smile. You returned the smile and said, “Hey, what do you guys want today?”

“For you to go out with our big boy Daveed here.” Anthony said, giving his friend a hard pat on the back.

Oak looked at you with a hopeful look. “God, please go out with him. He won’t shut up about you still. It has been weeks and he still won’t shut up.”

Both men kept insisting on going out with Daveed. You giggled throughout their proposals.

After Daveed looked properly embarrassed, you cleared your throat and both men promptly shut up. You cocked your head and said, “Daveed?”

He looked up, his hair covering some of his face. “Yes?”

“I’d love to go out with you. I don’t know what took you so long to ask.”

A smile grew on Daveed’s face and both of his friends stood up in their seats and began to hoot and holler.

Oak began to grind the air, shouting out “Oh, yeah! My man gon get it!”

Anthony started doing a little dance and shouted, “Daveed and Y/N sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

You giggled and tried to get both men to sit down before Margo came out and yelled at you. After a moment, they sat back down, with Daveed laughing just as hard as you.

“You guys are gonna get me in trouble.” You chastised, but a smile was on your lips.

“We’ll leave you two love birds here for a sec. But don’t talk too nasty, we’re only gonna be a few tables down, listening to every word being said.” Anthony said. Oak and Anthony stood up and did what they said they were going to do. They both stared at you and Daveed, their hands tucked under their chins like children.

Daveed turned to you. “So,” he started.

“Are you gonna ask, or…” You asked.

“Oh shit. Yeah, um… Do you wanna go out?”

“Like… On a date?” You teased.

Daveed chuckled. “Yeah, like on a date.”

You nodded your head, smiling. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

He smiled and took his phone out. You did the same and the both of you interchanged phones, putting your phone numbers into each other’s phones.

You handed each other back your phones and looked at the name he put himself under. It read Hot customer ;)

“Wha-” You looked up, your cheeks red. “How’d-”

“You guys were kind really loud every time you talked about me.” He chuckled.

You shook your head. “Good to know.”

You both laughed, and Oak and Anthony stood up from their table and walked back over.

“Great, we finally got that out of the way.” Oak said. “Now time for some grub.” He said, rubbing his hands together. You slipped your phone back in your pocket and took their orders.

You walked to the bar counter and Margo stopped you.

“What took y’all so long to finally agree to go out?” she asked.

You laughed in response.

She continued. “Y’all are gonna be good together; I can see it.”

You nodded your head. “Yeah, so can I.”

~Fin~

[astrifer0us]

found family

set in the same universe as the last word

val and temperance belong to @celticrune, the conman belongs to @kima-ladyofvord

also heres some character portraits of the kiddos

It’s been three weeks. It’s been three weeks and the gaping hole in his chest is still raw and hurting and he tries to douse it with alcohol and that burns, too, but it’s a soothing burn, until he sees the label and recognises who he got

(“Stole”

“Borrowed”)

it from and smashes the bottle against the wall, on the floor, in his hand.

           Rinse.

           Repeat.

But life goes on, even if he feels like it shouldn’t, even if he asks himself, what’s the point, what am I without them.

           But he fucking started his life without them and he will fucking survive without them.

           He snarls at himself in the mirror, the exhaustion in his eyes, the tight line of his mouth,

           and then he

           smashes that too.

 His business goes on, like normal, but then a boatload of young, impressionable girls arrives, and he’s halfway through his paperwork when he realises,

           she’s

           gone.

           She has no need for them.

Of course, Val would be in charge now. But he doubts they would be in need of inexperienced, scared girls.

 (They never were the mastermind she was.)

 His little apartment behind his storefront can’t possibly fit them all, and well, the Conman never uninvited him from his mansion.

           So he takes them. They’re scared and twitchy and they don’t meet his eyes, and gods, there are seven of them, he can’t do this.

 He only thinks to ask their names after four days.

           Aurae speaks up first. She’s the oldest, an elf with one heavily scarred ear and fierce blue eyes and a spirit that was recently broken but already on the mend. She’d been on the streets before his people found her. He promises her a better life. She laughs, and he understands.

           She introduces him to Lorelei, who hides behind her and doesn’t speak and flinches when he lifts his hand.

           Calarel isn’t a girl, growls when he calls them one, but isn’t a boy either, and when they find their courage, they steal one of his

           (not his, the Conman’s, but what is the difference anymore)

           his shirts and it drapes over their knees and hides their developing chest and his heart smarts.

           Ilsevel had an elven mother, but her human father took her and her sister, Lyra, and they thought he was sending them to school, they really did, and then money exchanged hands and then they were on a ship, and then –

           Her vivid description of a hurricane chills him to the bone. When his people found them, ashore near the city, they were cold, and wet, and it wasn’t hard to take them in with promises of comfort and warm blankets. He promises this comfort again, genuine and warm despite the shivers running down his spine.

           Selphie has nubby horns protruding from her forehead and her sharp teeth make him bleed when he is foolish to get close enough for her to bite.

           Ava is small, even for a halfling, but her mouth is large and once she’s settled in, she doesn’t stop chattering, and when she’s not talking, she’s singing, and when she’s not singing, she’s humming, and sometimes he thinks she’s just making noise so it’s not so quiet.

(And the house definitely isn’t quiet anymore, and it is soothing in a way he never expected.)

 Val searches him out. They’re on his doorstep and he’s not even surprised they knew where to find him.

           (He still doesn’t let them inside.)

They exchange condolences as they walk downtown. Talk pleasantries. Val took over most of Temperance’s ongoing business, of course, just like how Valyria, sweet, darling, Valyria, inherited the school.

           (He doubts it’ll stand for much longer. Too personal.)

 His mind keeps drifting back home. He left Aurae in charge, but he worries.

           He doesn’t think they’ll leave, but the thought nestles into his brain and latches on and doesn’t let go.

 He still excuses himself sooner than is proper, and heads back home in a hurry.

           (strange, how the mansion has become home so soon)

           (or perhaps, it always was)

At least they didn’t leave. And nothing is burned down, so he’ll count it as a success.

           Instead, he finds them gathered in the sitting room, though Calarel is suspiciously absent. When he walks in, they look up and Ava shifts and then he sees the ball of fur nestled in Lorelei’s lap.

           “Oh, for gods’ sake,” he mutters, and she flinches, but his face is blank and then he can’t help a small, but genuine smile creeping onto his face.

           (Of course that damned cat would come back home. How had he forgotten?)

The animal dislodges itself from the gaggle of giggling girls and pads over to him, head held high in superiority, and Chal backs up until the damn thing has him cornered and he sighs as Illithid rubs himself against his leg.

           Six pairs of pleading eyes turn on him. It doesn’t take long for him to give in.

Calarel gives a loud hoot as they jump into his arms from their hiding spot, handing from the chandelier.

           (They never do let him live down the scream he emits when he catches them)

 And so they settle in. It’s not the family he ever expected, a man, a cat and seven children.

           The cat might be the one with the most mental stability out of all of them.

 He makes it work. Aurae takes on most of the care. She makes them all dress and eat and chastises them (gently ever gently) when they’re being rowdy, and when Chal is at a loss for what to do, she grabs his shoulders and looks at him and he knows.

 And Ava is still loud and Calarel refuses to wear the clothes he buys them and steals his own instead and Lorelei still doesn’t talk to anyone and Ilsevel and Lyra refuse to leave each other’s sides and Selphie cries and bites when her horns grow in

           and he

           fucking loves all of them.

 It’s been three years.

 He still goes to Tergeste on occasion. Crawford mans his business there now, but he likes to check in on him every now and then.

           The city is still a chaos, of course. Temperance’s birds left their mark when she passed, a leftover command the best contingency plan she could have established. Val is in the winds, and he has no way of knowing whether they ever broke free from the careful conditioning and borderline brainwashing. He’d like to seek them out at some point. He wouldn’t mind an extra caretaker.

 And being a parent is tough, and there are days he drowns himself in alcohol again, and Aurae berates him and Lyra gets all teary-eyed and he apologises and sometimes he doesn’t do it again for weeks and sometimes he does.

           When Illithid dies, he gets a new cat. Lorelei calls her Miss Pads, in her bubbly, messy handwriting, and the rest accept it, because Lorelei’s words are law.

 And the wounds in his heart still burn, the edges tattered and rough, and he curses at the gods and spits and snarls.

 But there is softness to him now, as he sits on the couch with Lyra in his lap, reading to her. There is softness as Ilsevel presents a roughly-knitted hat and he wears it all day. When Selphie lets him comb her hair and Calarel asks him to shop for clothing and Ava proudly tells him Aurae told her to be quiet for ten minutes and she did, and when Lorelei braids flowers into his hair.

 And he thinks –

           Maybe I am not a bad man

And he thinks –

           Maybe all I needed was some good in my life

 And he thinks –

           Maybe all I needed was a loving family

 Aurae Illith’vir. Lorelei Illith’vir. Ilsevel and Lyra Illith’vir. Calarel Illith’vir. Selphie Illith’vir. Ava Illith’vir. Chal Illith’vir.

           They’re a bit of an odd family. But they’re his family, all the same.