#I either drew him bad or its the glasses

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Broken Chords

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: this got out of hand and became something it wasn't supposed to be. Maybe there will be more? Idk maybe if everyone doesn't hate it

Author's note #2: (Just to add a shameless plug to this note; for my other Hozier works, check out my AO3)

Summary: It's been years since their break-up, and still, Y/n and Andrew just can't seem to let go of each other.

Warnings: SMUT/NSFW, Angst

Andrew would like to think he knows himself pretty fucking well. He knows what he likes, what he doesn’t. He knows when something’s bad for him. Tequila, ice cream after dark……her.

She is bad for him.

So why can’t he ever seem to remember that when it matters most? When he's home alone after spending months surrounded by people. When he’s out drinking with his mates, he smells a familiar perfume. When they’re both at the same wedding, he starts thinking “maybe if things were different….”

She always looks so good in green, especially darker tones so its no wonder that's the colour she’s chosen this evening. Andrew knows that dress too, she bought it for a charity event they attended together a couple years ago. He distinctly remembers seeing her in it for the first time, the way he drew in a sharp breath, the way the silky fabric felt under his palm when she asked him to zip it up – the thrill he got when it pooled at her feet after he'd peeled it off her.

Y/n must feel his eyes lingering on her from across the room, because after a handful of seconds she turns and their gazes meet. He knows that’s his cue to look away and do a terrible job of pretending that he hasn’t noticed her, but he doesn't because she’s something of a siren and he loses all sense when they’re in the same room.

Taking a sip of his whiskey, he swallows harshly, holding her gaze over the rim of his glass. She's absently running a manicured finger around the top of hers, and he remembers that its something she does unconsciously. He wants to smile, or wave, or do something that constitutes more than just standing there like an idiot, but he can’t. He can’t do anything but think about what it would be like if they’d gone there together.

She’d ask him to dance and he’d say no at first but cave no more than a minute later because even if he has two left feet, he loves how it feels when she rests her head on his chest. He’d watch his friends get married and think about all the times his mother suggested making Y/n his wife – but not say a word of it to either of them because he doesn't think he’s ready to take that step. They’d go home together, and Andrew would carry her inside, because she took off her heels in the car and the gravel on the driveway makes her feet hurt.

Upstairs, in their bedroom, Y/n would push off his coat and comment on how she likes seeing him dressed up like that, and then he would inch that green dress off her shoulders and it would stay on the floor, next to his suit coat, until late the next morning.

But he’s not there with her. Though, Y/n is approaching him now so he thinks maybe the night is gonna end like that anyway. Because there isn’t a universe made by any God in which he doesn’t find himself tangled up in her. Even if he knows how it ends, even if he knows that she isn’t right for him, even if they’ve broken each other’s hearts half a dozen times by now, he goes back.

“Hey.” She begins simply, with a smile that can't be anything more than polite, “How’ve you been?”

Alive, thinking about you more than I probably should, he wants to say.

“Hey. Ehm, I’ve been alright,” he shrugs, “Just um, workin’.”

“Right, of course. Working.” Working, why is that all that he’s said, surely he could’ve offered a bit more.

“You?” He asks.

Y/n takes a slow sip of her champagne, nodding as she does. “Good, I've been good. Just you know….working.”

“Workin’,” he repeats with a nod that mirrors her own. Its funny how they used to have so much to say to each other. He’s never been a man of many words, and Y/n isn’t exactly the chatty type, but they used to be able to talk for hours without more than a couple minutes of silence. The most mundane thoughts would spark hour long conversations, pillow talk would span well into the am and morning coffee chitchat would keep them at the kitchen table until lunch. There used to be a time where it seemed like his every thought was shared with her, and Y/n did the same.

They lapse into silence for a moment, and when the music changes to something slower and the dj starts encouraging guests to cozy up to their dates, Y/n sets her half empty glass down on the bar just past him. “Do you wanna dance? Just one song, I promise,” she smiles, and that time its beautifully hopeful.

Andrew chuckles hesitantly, “I haven’t gotten any better at it.” In one swing, he finishes off his drink and rests his glass next to hers before offering his hand. Hers is just as small, and just as soft as he remembers

They find a vacant spot amongst the other guests in the area designated for dancing. Instinctively – almost as if the last time they stood together like that was yesterday – Andrew slips his arm around her waist, splaying his hand on the small of her back. The fingers of his other hand are laced with hers, settled near her shoulder as they ease into a slow sway.

“You cut your hair,” Y/n marvels softly upon pulling her head back a little.

“Just took a couple inches off,” he confirms in the same hushed tone.

“It looks good,” Y/n says, and he feels his heart skip a little. Compliments from her always mean more than they would from anyone else, even if its about the same haircut he's been getting since he was twenty-two. “Better than the pictures make it seem,” she adds in a whisper.

Andrew swallows thickly; she’s been keeping up with him, even if they haven’t spoken in months. The thought is strangely comforting because God knows he’s been doing the same. “I heard that you’re seeing someone.” And by heard, he means read.

“I’m not,” Y/n shakes her shoulders slightly. “I mean…I was, but I’m not anymore.”

He knits his brows, hoping to hide his relief, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t serious,” Y/n licks her lips, “Are you?”

“Am I serious?”

She chuckles softly, the sound airy and musical. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh!” He scoffs. What the hell is he thinking? “No,” he shakes his head, “ehm, I've been on a couple dates,” set up by friends who are hoping to help him move on, “but they didn’t work out.”

Her next question stuns him; “why?”

The song changes, but neither of them make a move to pull away. Thinking on her question, Andrew fumbles with his words. Certainly he can’t tell her that its because he compares every woman to her and none of them ever come close. So he decides to go with a poorly strung together lie. “Just….. incompatible, I guess.” When Y/n offers nothing more than a hum in response, he tentatively probes, “why didn’t it work out with you and your….?”

“Because….” Y/n pauses, searching his eyes before opting against whatever she was going to say, “it doesn’t matter.” Casting her gaze to their lazy feet, she leans her had against his chest – finally – and the sigh that tumbles off his lips is one of relief. He doesn’t think there’s any lyric he could piece together, or any word of any language, that could properly describe just how much he’s missed that. The lack of even a thread of distance between them, the way his heart ticks a little differently when her ear is over it, the smell of her shampoo when he bends to look at her while he’s nestled against him.

He doesn’t pressure her for a response, he isn’t sure if he even wants to know anything that will ruin the pleasure of having her with him. “I’m staying upstairs. 27,” Y/n says, just as the second song ends and the maid of honor announces that its time for the bouquet toss.

“Yeah?” Andrew licks his lips, “I think I might just go home after,” he adds, trying to gauge her reaction, but she's always had a good poker face.

Though, her expression falters just a little, so quickly that its almost unnoticeable, “right. Of course. My flight’s pretty early tomorrow anyway.”

His jaw tightens a littles, but he nods and smiles, “right.” He wants to be as good as she is at playing it cool and unaffected. He wants to just be able to pack up and leave their relationship behind like it was nothing, but just standing there in front of her is taking more out of him than it should, chipping away at his resolve and undermining his self-respect. “You’re leaving tomorrow,” he swallows thickly, going against the voice in his head that practically begged him to not say that.

“Mhm,” Y/n hums, “maybe next time?”

Andrew clears his throat, “Yeah, maybe.”

Y/n doesn’t say anything for a moment, instead tilting her head a bit to the left and narrowing her eyes just a little, as if she’s just seeing him. He’s about to ask what she’s thinking when most of the guests start gathering at the front of the room, getting ready to catch the bouquet. “I should go,” she declares.

Slipping hands into his pockets, Andrew offers the chaos behind him a quick, casual backwards glance, “Don’t wanna try to catch the bouquet?” He manages a barely there, lopsided smile.

And Y/n doesn’t return it; for the first time since their end, Andrew truly sees how he’s hurt her. Y/n furrows her brows, and stares at him as if he’s just asked her something completely outlandish. “No,” she shakes her head. Taking a step forward, she arches up on her toes – because even in four inch heels its hard to reach his face – and kisses him so close to the corner of his mouth that it would only take the slightest shift on his part for their lips to meet. “I’ll see you around Andy.”

He’s too stunned to react, and by the time Andrew has mustered up a reply, Y/n is already near the double doors that lead out of the small hotel’s dining hall and his fingers are lingering on the stop that she kissed.

An hour and a half ater

Threading his long finger through his wind mused hair, Andrew fixes his gaze on the gold plated numbers mounted above the off-white door.

22.

He’s back at the hotel after having left the reception shortly after Y/n did. He doesn’t even know who caught the damn flowers; he was too focused on trying to convince himself to not go after her.

Despite that, he’d made it to his car and then all the way home. Opened the front door, turned on the lights, walked to his refrigerator and got himself a beer. And then he closed the door and one of the pictures they took after he’d played a show in London was just there, stuck to the door with a little magnet shaped like the Big Ben. With the cap covered by the edge of his jacket, he twisted it open and took a swing of the beer, the bitterness of the hops not making him wince near as much as the grayscale memory taken by a phone with a number that he tries his best to not call.

He’d made it all the way to his car….and then a night where Andrew had sworn he could hear her voice above every other in the crowd and her lips were more intoxicating that any whiskey could ever be, came back to him and now he’s at the hotel again.

But hey, he lasted an hour and a half, so that's something.

Well, technically it was fifty-five minutes. But he's not interested in technicalities.

As he stands in front of the door, thumb flicking the corner of the polaroid, he finds himself half wondering why she’s never the one that comes crawling back. He knows the answer, mostly; Y/n has always had more resolve than him, she's good at guarding herself.

She’s even better at knowing her worth.

But him? He’s as close as anything gets to a walking definition of insanity; Andrew thinks he'll go back a thousand times if she’ll have him.

He’s pretty damn good at being on his own until he catches a glimpse of her face.

Shaking off his thoughts, he finally approaches the door and gives it three, brief knocks before slumping against the outer part of the frame. Y/n doesn’t answer immediately, and there's a little part of him – that’s blue and cold and nursing the pain of a wound that runs too deep to heal – that hopes she doesn’t open up. But his luck is as good as nil.

Her eyes are as sullen as his and much redder when Y/n pulls the door open. The green dress is gone, replaced with a pair of shorts and a sweater that resided in his closet long before he even met her – he’s been wondering where it went. Andrew is only a little disappointed that he didn’t get to peel that dress off her himself, he’s more concerned with the glassiness of her eyes and the way Y/n sniffles when she sees him.

“You okay?” He peers gently, thumb courting the dull edge of the picture.

“I thought you went home?” Y/n squints her eyes a little, “I saw you leave,” from the window she'd sat at upon returning to her room. She'd held her breath as he walked to his car, leaned closer when he pulled out of the spot and finally, fell apart as she watched the taillights disappear in the distance.

Andrew shrugs, still leaning on the frame. She's close enough to have to tip her chin to meet his gaze, but neither of them take the initiative to step backwards. “I came back,” he explains simply, slipping the photograph into the pocket of his slacks.

“Why?” Its a loaded question, he thinks. Why did he go back? Why does he keep going back, when he knows forgetting is the hardest part? Why does he do that to himself?

Why does he do it to her? Its the first time he’s ever asked himself that one. Maybe its because tonight, she’d been crying.

Reaching out to brush away a stray tear from under her eye, Andrew shrugs. He swears, when he curves his palm against her cheek, Y/n leans into his touch. Her fingers close in around his wrist loosely, and she stroke the side of it with her thumb.

“Can I come in?”

He’s telling himself that if she says 'no', he’ll just turn around and leave. Accept that its officially over and finally move in.

But he won't. He can think it all he wants but he won't. He'll grovel if he has to. Tell her he needs her -because it's true. He'll lie and say it's the last time if he thinks it's what they both need to hear.

“Sure,” Y/n manages, voice soft without moving back.

Lowering his face, Andrew presses his lips to hers, gently urging her into the suite. The lights are on, but he doesn’t pay much mind to anything around him. Instead, he slips his arm around to the small of her back as their kiss grows more impassioned. When she almost trips over a haphazardly discarded heel, he tugs her closer to his chest, before finally succumbing to lifting Y/n off the carpeted floor. Her legs go around his hips immediately and when they break for a moment, she holds his face close to hers.

“We can’t keep doing this,” he rasps, “you need to stop.”

“I can’t let you go,” Y/n counters, voice small and sad, “I can’t just let you disappear from my life just like that.”

Then why won’t you just be with me? He wants to ask, but the idea is gone the minute she kisses him again, and all he can think about is being with her right there, in that moment. Fuck the rest of the world or all the ways she’s broken his heart.

He barely has time to undo the button and zipper of his pants after setting her down on the bed, because her hands are reaching for him the minute her back hits the mattress. Unceremoniously, she pushes off his suit jacket before clumsily getting to the buttons of his white shirt. “I love when you’re dressed like this,” she manages, breath hot on his skin as the plastic buttons fall victim to her eagerness.

“I’ve been thinking about you all night,” he presses his lips to the side of her face, inhaling deeply before kissing his way down her jaw. His hands slip under the sweater after she pushes the shirt off his shoulders, and her skin is warm and smooth. With hurried ease, he peels the sweater off and casts it off to the side before lowering his mouth to the valley between her unclad breasts.

Y/n’s fingers slide up his back, settling on his shoulder blades as Andrew litters the swell of her breasts with small, purplish bruises. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he mumbles against her skin while gripping her hips and urging them off the bed so he can push her shorts down. “You're always on my fucking mind,” he mummers, nibbling on her skin.

Her nails graze his scalp, lithe fingers tangling in his curls, inciting a sensation that only she can rouse with a gesture so small. Gooseflesh along his skin, electricity up his back and a shake in his breath. With her toes, she shoves his pants and boxers down, and they get tangled up in the messy sheets. Her hips arch towards his, and reaching between them, he guides himself to her entrance. “Fuck,” he heaves upon feeling her wrapped around him.

Connecting his forehead with hers, so the tips of their noses touch and he can taste the lingering remnants of wine on her breath, Andrew stirs his lips in a leisurely pace.

“Andrew,” her voice breaks and a thread of moisture trickles from the corner of her eye.

Halting his movements, Andrew regards her with a mixture of concern and longing. “What?” He moves his hand from the pillow beside her head to cup the side of her face, “Did I hurt you?”

Y/n holds his face, thumbs making loose, circular patterns at the apple of his cheeks. “No,” she lies. “No,” Y/n sniffles again, “keep moving…..please.”

Burying his face in the side of her head, soaking up the aroma of her coconut shampoo. Y/n nuzzles the side of his face and he can hear her erratic breathing matching the thump of her heart. She’s clinging to him for dear life, and the only thing keeping his weight from smothering her is his hand buried in the pillow next to her head, while he tangles the fingers on the other in her hair. Andrew is eager to keep her close, just in case its the last time she lets him near – or by some miracle, he finds it in himself to let her go.

He treats every time like the last time, because in his head, it is.

“Andrew,” she eventually heaves again, and he feels her legs tighten around his hips as she tries to buck her pelvis towards his. Her fingers curl and he can feel her crescent shaped nails digging into his skin again.

“I wanna see you,” he coaxes, “look at me,” he pleads when Y/n buries her face in the crook of his neck, “I need to see you.” When she pulls away to meet his darkened gaze, Y/n slides her hand from his back to brush some hair from his face before settling her palm on his cheek. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart…..so fucking perfect,” he rasps, lowering his face to hers.

As her back arches, Y/n’s toes curl and she feels the knot in her stomach tighten. The friction Andrew stirs with his desperate, quickening pace coupled with the way he reaches something inside her that no one else ever has ushers her to the cusp of exhilaration. It doesn’t matter who she’s been with before – or after him – no one will ever compare; there isn't a person in the world that can make her feel what she feels when he runs his calloused fingers along her sides, or anything that’s even remotely as pleasurable as the heat of his mouth on her neck while his beard bruises her skin. Every time they’ve been together, she’s worn the mark of him, the ache of his memory, for days and Y/n doesn’t think there’s a version of her that can live without it.

His name tumbles off her lips again, that time with the insistence that she’s close. The pressure mounting in her center broils over in a flurry of panted breaths and garbled obsenties. “Andy….fuck, Andy,” Y/n is putty in his hands, moulding to his whim as he rides out her climax.

“Fuck,” Andrew groans when he feels her clenching around him. Her legs locked around his lips, the way she pulsates around him and his own, impending high makes the controlled jerk of his hips falter. He’s caught between wanting it to last longer and being shamelessly desperate for release.

Reaching for her thigh in a bruising grip, Andrew holds her in place as he finally reaches blinding gratification. “Y/n….Jesus sweetheart,” he groans, struggling to maintain the roll of his hips. His fingers hold a fistful of the sheets in a white knuckled grip and Andrew presses his forehead to hers for a second before angling his head to catch her lips in a sloppy kiss. Her teeth drag along his lower lip, exciting a sound that stays trapped in his throat.

Andrew rolls onto his back as their heavy breathing slows. Y/n is nestled against his chest and his arm immediately goes around her while he uses his free hand to pull the sheets over them. Neither of them speak for a while, but he knows she’s awake because he can feel her finger trace lazy patterns on his chest while he stares up at the ceiling. The fan mounted above them is spinning so quickly that he can barely make out the individual blades, but it doesn’t do much to combat the lingering heat on their skin, expressed only in the shine of sticky moisture.

It takes a while before he can think straight again, and even then, Andrew wouldn’t credit himself with much sense, because his next words are thick with emotion and marred with an urgency that is sure to give away his desperation. “Don’t leave.”

“What?” Y/n can’t bring herself to look at him; she doesn’t think she can stand the desperation in his eyes, that way he looks at her when the dust settles and she remembers why they can’t be anything more than tangled limbs and messy sheets. Usually she’s good at pretending that she doesn’t see it, but its been a long night and right now, all she can think of is everything they could be when he says;

“Don’t go…..back. Don’t get on the plane tomorrow.” His fingers trail up and down her spine, their familiar roughness rousing a comfort she hasn’t felt since the last time they were wrapped up in each other.

Its unusual for her, but Y/n can’t bring herself to say ��no.’ Its never been easy, but she’s always been able to push him away before he gets close enough to hurt her again. Always, expect for tonight, after the wedding that dredged up memories from the worst time in their relationship, after Andrew showed up at her door with only the best of them at his fingertips.

After he, for the first time in a damn long time, asks her to stay.

[nofingjustaninchident]

ᯓ★ i hate you more pt.3

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

pairing jason grace x roman!reader

summary well, he should be dead, and she’d gladly kill him

warnings probably cursing, third person writing

now listening to bad blood by taylor swift

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Chiron invited them inside, sending Drew back to her cabin. y/n was glad when the girl walked away - her excessive touchiness with Jason had been grating on her nerves, as was the fact that she didn't even understand why it pissed her off so much. 

Especially because it shouldn’t, since they apparently hated each other so much. 

"Follow me," the centaur said. "We have lemonade." 

Grapevines covered the walls of the living room, running across the ceiling as well. y/n wasn't sure how they were able to grow inside, especially given the season, but they were leafy green and bursting with bunches of red grapes. 

The girl looked up at a stuffed leopard's head hung above the fireplace, so real-looking that its eyes seemed to move. It snarled at Jason, and she felt him nearly jump out of his skin next to her. 

“For the gods’ sake-” He muttered under his breath and y/n had to stop herself from snickering.  

"Now, Seymour," Chiron chided. "Jason is a friend. Behave yourself." 

Chiron threw a sausage to the leopard, who snatched it up and licked his lips. "You must excuse the decor," Chiron said. "All this was a parting gift from our old director before he was recalled to Mount Olympus. He thought it would help us remember him. Mr. D has a strange sense of humor." 

"Mr. D," Jason said. "Dionysus?" 

"Mhm." Chiron poured three glasses of lemonade, though his hands seemed to tremble slightly. He and Jason carried on a conversation about the old camp director and Seymour's origins, y/n watching in silence. She could tell that Chiron was wary of her as well, though he hadn't recognized her the way he recognized Jason. She supposed that was a good thing, giving the conditions - he had said Jason was supposed to be dead. 

"So, Jason, y/n," Chiron said. "Would you mind telling me – ah - where you're from?" 

"I wish we knew," Jason sighed. “I mean, i don’t. Maybe she does and just don’t want to tell anyone.”  

That earnt him a smack in the arm, which was nothing but passive-aggressive.  

y/n let Jason tell the story, only chiming in when he left out a detail or she needed to speak from her own experience. Chiron didn't react aside from nodding encouragingly for either of them to continue. 

When Jason was done, Chiron took a sip of his lemonade. "You only remember each other?" he asked for clarification. 

Y/n nodded. "Sadly, yes. Just names, but still." she muttered, looking over at Jason briefly. "Everything else is... blank." 

"I see," Chiron said. "Well, you must have questions for me." 

"I have one," y/n spoke up. "Any reason in particular those... naiads? Is that what they're called? Is there a reason they talked to me or...?” 

Chiron regarded her with inquisitive eyes. "They talked to you?" 

y/n nodded. "Yeah, one of them just... stood – can i say stood if they’re underwater? Anyway, one of them stood there and told me to just breathe." She tried to push away the memory of the human-like thing telling her to take a breath underwater. "Is that... normal?" 

"No," Chiron confessed. "That's highly unusual - naiads are typically friendly, especially the ones in the canoe lake, but they don’t usually talk. Well, at least, not that anyone could understand, anyway. The only person they talked to was...”  

With his pause, y/n looked expectantly at him. “The only person they talked was..?” And something Annabeth said came up to her. “Was it that guy that Annabeth talked about? Uh- Percy, right?”  

Chiron’s expression got somewhat darker, but he managed to cover it up. “Yes, Percy. He's one of our oldest campers now, but he’s missing.”  

“Oh.” y/n muttered. “Sorry.”  

“It’s no problem, child.” Chiron assured. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

But what if it was? 

"In any case, that indeed is strange," Chiron said quietly. "I will have a talk with them. Until then, it may be best to steer clear of the lake." 

"That won't be a problem," y/n muttered. 

"Do you have any other questions?" Chiron asked. 

"Uh, yeah," Jason admitted. "What did you mean when you said I should be dead?" 

Chiron studied him with concern. "Do either of you know what the marks on your arms mean? The color of your shirt, Jason? Do you remember anything?" 

Jason shook his head. "No, nothing," Jason said. 

"Do you know where you are?" Chiron asked. "Do you understand what this place is, who I am?" 

"You're Chiron the centaur," Jason said. "I'm guessing you're the same one from the old stories, who used to train heroes like Heracles." 

"And this is a camp for demigods," y/n said, "children of the Olympian gods." 

"So, you believe those gods still exist?" Chiron asked. 

"Yes," Jason answered immediately. y/n felt the same confidence, though she didn't know where it came from. "I mean, I don't think we should worship them or sacrifice chickens to them or anything, but they're still around because they're a powerful part of civilization. They move from country to country as the center of power shifts - like they moved from Ancient Greece to Rome." 

"I couldn't have said it better." Something in Chiron's voice had changed. "So, you already know the gods are real. You have both already been claimed, haven't you?" 

"Maybe," Jason answered. 

"We can't remember," y/n said. 

The leopard on the wall snarled, and Chiron studied them for a moment, waiting. y/n realized after a moment that Chiron had switched to another language, and she and Jason understood it fluently. 

"Quis erat-" Jason faltered, as if the language was automatic. "What was that?" 

"You know Latin," Chiron observed. "Most demigods recognize a few phrases, of course. It's in their blood, but not as much as Ancient Greek. None can speak Latin fluently without practice." 

y/n frowned, trying to wrap her brain around the fact that she could speak Latin, of all languages. Why couldn’t it be french, german, maybe? It felt so familiar on her tongue as she spoke it, the same as in her ears when Jason and Chiron did. 

"I taught your namesake, you know - the original Jason," Chiron said. "He had a hard path. I've seen many heroes come and go. Occasionally, they have happy endings. Mostly, they don't. It breaks my heart, like losing a child every time one of my pupils dies. But you two are unlike any pupils I've ever taught. Your presence here could be a disaster." 

"Thanks," Jason muttered. "You must be an inspiring teacher." 

"You should look into motivational speaking if you get bored here," y/n grumbled. 

Chiron sighed quietly. "I am sorry. But it's true. I had hoped after Percy's succeeded in the Titan War and saved Mount Olympus, we might have some peace. I might be able to enjoy one final triumph, a happy ending, and perhaps retire quietly. I should have known better. The last chapter approaches, just as it did before. The worst is yet to come." 

A heavy blanket of gloom seemed to rest over the entire room. 

"Okay," Jason said. "So - last chapter, happened before, worst yet to come. Sounds fun, but can we get back to the part where I'm supposed to be dead? I don't like that part." 

“Why not?” y/n asked, rolling her eyes as she looked at him with annoyance clear on her eyes. “I like it very much. Sounds appealing, doesn’t it?” It was as if the tease just had to leave her. She didn’t understand where all that came from.  

“Oh, fuck off for a moment.” He grumbled and flipped her off.  

"I'm afraid I can't explain, my boy. I swore on the River Styx and on all things sacred that I would never..." Chiron frowned. "But you're both here, a violation of the same oath. That, too, should not be possible. I don't understand. Who would've done such a thing? Who-" 

Seymour howled, his mouth freezing halfway. The fire stopped crackling, its flames hardening like red glass. 

Everything seemed to just... stop. 

"Chiron?" Jason asked. "What's going-" 

Chiron was frozen, too. Jason and y/n stood up, but Chiron's eyes didn't waver. His mouth was open mid-sentence, and he sat there, not blinking or even breathing from the looks of it. 

"Tell me you're seeing this, too," Jason whispered, reaching for y/n’s hand instinctively. 

She squeezed it tightly, not even noticing at first. She glanced down at it, and decided to stay holding it. It was the only sign that they both weren’t crazy. "Frozen centaur? Yeah, I see it." 

Jason, a voice spoke. y/n. 

A dark mist poured from Seymour's mouth. Storm spirits, she thought, her free hand going to her pocket and taking her key out. She and Jason both summoned their weapons. 

The mist shaped itself into a woman in black robes. 

Her face was hooded, but her eyes glowed in the darkness. Over her shoulders was a goat-skin cloak, falling down her back and brushing the floor. y/n recognized the cloak for some reason, and she knew somehow that it was important - that it was much more than a strange fashion choice. 

Would you attack your patron, Jason? the woman chided. Her voice seemed to echo in y/n’s mind, bypassing her ears entirely. Lower your swords. The two of you. 

"Who are you?" Jason demanded. "How did you—?" 

Our time is limited. My prison grows stronger by the hour. It took me a full month to gather enough energy to work even the smallest magic through its bonds. I've managed to bring you two here, but now I have little time left, and even less power. This may be the last time I can speak to either of you. 

"You're in prison?" Jason questioned, still not lowering his sword. "Look, I don't know you, and you're not my patron." 

You know me, the woman insisted. I have known you since your birth, Jason. 

"I don't remember," Jason said. "I don't remember anything." 

No, you don't, she agreed. Neither of you do. That was also necessary. Long ago, Jason, your father gave me your life as a gift to placate my anger. He named you Jason, after my favorite mortal. You belong to me, Jason. And unfortunately, she’s way too useful to be left behind.  

"Hey!” y/n protested.  

"Whoa," Jason said, ignoring her completely. Something told y/n that this was something he often did. "I don't belong to anyone." 

Now is the time to pay your debt, she said. Find my prison. The girl has the key to unlock me. Free me, or their king will rise from the earth, and I will be destroyed. You will never retrieve your memories. 

"You stole our memories?" y/n asked, her eyes narrowing at the hooded woman. "And you want us to help you?" 

You have until sunset on the solstice. Four short days. Do not fail me. 

The dark woman dissolved, the mist curling into Seymour's mouth. 

Time unfroze. Seymour's howl tapered off into a cough. The fire crackled to life and Chiron continued, 

"—would dare to bring you here?" 

"My guess is the lady in the mist," y/n muttered. 

Chiron looked up at them in surprise. "Weren't you just sitting... why are your swords drawn?" 

"I hate to tell you this," Jason said, "but I think your leopard just ate a goddess." 

He proceeded to Chiron what had happened when time froze. 

"Oh, dear," Chiron murmured. "That does explain a lot." 

"It does?" y/n asked. "Care to fill us in?" 

"Please," Jason added. 

Before Chiron could say anything else, the front door to the Big House blew open and Annabeth and another girl, a redhead, burst in, dragging an unconscious Piper between them. 

"What happened?" y/n asked, rushing over to them with Jason close behind, both of their swords abandoned on the coffee table. "What's wrong with her?" 

"Hera's cabin," Annabeth gasped, like they'd run all the way to the house. "Vision. Bad." 

The redhead looked up, and y/n saw tears on her cheeks. "I..." She gulped. "I think I may have killed her." 

                           𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 

The redhead – who, later, y/n discovered to be named Rachel Dare – had not, in fact, killed Piper. She was still breathing, though she couldn't seem to wake up. 

Ophelia didn't like the sight of the girl so pale and sickly, as if Hades himself had come up to the mortal world to take away her soul but forgot to do so. y/n was positive she didn't know the girl, not like she knew Jason, but they had survived a battle with storm spirits and a chariot crash within the span of just a few hours - things like that bonded people. 

Chiron put his hand on Piper's forehead, grimacing. 

"Her mind is in a fragile state. Rachel, what happened?" 

Rachel shook her head slightly. "I wish I knew," she said. "As soon as I got to camp, I had a premonition about Hera's cabin. I went inside. Annabeth and Piper came in while I was there. We talked, and then- I just blanked out. Annabeth said I spoke in a different voice." 

"A prophecy?" Chiron asked. 

"No. The spirit of Delphi comes from within. I know how that feels. This is like long distance, a power trying to speak through me." 

Annabeth ran into the room carrying a leather pouch. 

She knelt next to Piper. "Chiron, what happened back there - I've never seen anything like it. I've heard Rachel's prophecy voice. This was different. She sounded like an older woman. She grabbed Piper's shoulders and told her-" 

"To free her from a prison?" Jason offered, looking at y/n with a grimace. The latter was still staring at the girl laid down in front of her, wondering what she could do to help – or rather, if she could really do anything to help.  

Annabeth stared at him. "How did you know that?" 

Chiron made a strange three-fingered gesture over his heart, like a ward against evil. y/n tried to ignore the unsettling feeling it gave her. "Jason, y/n, tell them. Annabeth, the medicine bag, please." 

Chiron trickled drops from a medicine vial into Piper's mouth as Jason explained the vision he and y/n had witnessed of the woman who claimed to be Jason's patron. 

"Does this happen often?" y/n chimed in when he was finished talking. "Supernatural phone calls from convicts demanding you bust them out of jail?" 

"Patron," Annabeth said, looking at Jason with a frown. "Not your godly parent?" 

"No, she said patron. She also said my dad had given her my life," Jason said. 

Annabeth's frown deepened. "I've never heard of anything like that before. You said the storm spirit on the skywalk - he claimed to be working for some mistress who was giving him orders, right? Could it be this woman you saw, messing with you?" 

"I don't think so," Jason said. "If she was my enemy, why would she be asking for my help? She's imprisoned. She's worried about some enemy getting more powerful. Something about a king rising from the earth on the solstice-" 

Annabeth looked at Chiron, her face losing its color. 

"Not Kronos. Please tell me it's not that." 

Chiron was quiet for a moment, checking Piper's pulse before he finally answered, "It is not Kronos. That threat is ended. But..." 

"But what?" Annabeth asked. 

Chiron closed his medicine bag. "Piper needs rest. We should discuss this later." 

"Or now," y/n said with a frown. "You said the greatest threat was coming. The last chapter?" 

"You can't possibly mean something worse than an army of Titans, right?" Jason asked.  

"Oh," Rachel said, her voice small. "Oh, dear. The woman was Hera. Of course. Her cabin, her voice. She showed herself to Jason and y/n at the same moment." 

"Hera?" Annabeth looked downright murderous. "She took you over? She did this to Piper?" 

"I think Rachel's right," Jason said. "The woman did seem like a goddess. And she wore this- this goatskin cloak. That's the symbol of Juno, isn't it?" 

"It is?" Annabeth scowled. "I've never heard that." 

Chiron nodded. "Of Juno, Hera's Roman aspect, in her most warlike state. The goatskin cloak was a symbol of the Roman soldier." 

"So, Hera is imprisoned?" Rachel asked. "Who could do that to the queen of the gods?" 

Annabeth crossed her arms. "Well, whoever they are, maybe we should thank them. If they can shut up Hera-" 

"Annabeth," Chiron warned, "she is still one of the Olympians. In many ways, she is the glue that holds the gods' family together. If she truly has been imprisoned and is in danger of destruction, this could shake the foundations of the world. It could unravel the stability of Olympus, which is never great even in the best of times. And if Hera has asked Jason and y/n for help-" 

"Fine," Annabeth grumbled. "Well, we know Titans can capture a god, right? Atlas captured Artemis a few years ago. And in the old stories, the gods captured each other in traps all the time. But something worse than a Titan...?" 

"Hera said she'd been trying to break through her prison bonds for a month," Jason said. 

"Which is how long Olympus has been closed," Annabeth said. "So, the gods must know something bad is going on." 

Jason sighed, a look of frustration on his face. "But why use her energy to send y/n and me here?" he asked. "She wiped our memories, plopped us into the Wilderness School field trip, and sent you a dream vision to come pick us up. Why are we so important? Why not just send up an emergency flare to the other gods - let them know where she is so they can bust her out?" 

"The gods need heroes to do their will down here on earth," Rachel said. "That's right, isn't it? Their fates are always intertwined with demigods." 

"That's true," Annabeth said, "but Jason's got a point. Why them? Why take their memories?" 

"I'd like to know that myself," y/n muttered. 

"Piper's involved somehow," Rachel said. "Hera sent her the same message- Free me. And, Annabeth, this must have something to do with Percy's disappearance." 

Annabeth looked at Chiron, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why are you so quiet, Chiron? What is it we're facing?" 

Chiron looked as if he'd aged ten years in a matter of minutes. "My dear, in this, I cannot help you. I am so sorry." 

Annabeth blinked. "You've never... you've never kept information from me. Even the last Great Prophecy-" 

"I will be in my office," Chiron announced, his voice heavy. "I need some time to think before dinner. Rachel, will you watch the girl? Call Argus to bring her to the infirmary, if you'd like. And Annabeth, you should speak with Jason and y/n. Tell them about- about the Greek and Roman gods." 

"But..." 

Chiron turned away, heading out of the room and down the hallway. Annabeth muttered something in Greek that y/n suspected wasn't too kind toward centaurs. 

"I'm sorry," Jason said. "I think us being here - I don't know. We've messed things up coming to the camp, somehow. Chiron said he'd sworn an oath and couldn't talk about it." 

y/n frowned, wanting to add that she definitely hadn’t asked to come to the camp, but she bit her tongue - it wasn't the time. 

 "What oath?" Annabeth demanded. "I've never seen him act this way. And why would he tell me to talk to you about the gods..." Her voice trailed off, looking at the two gold swords lying on the coffee table. She touched Jason's gingerly, like it might be hot. "Are these gold? Do you remember where you got it?" 

y/n shook her head, Jason doing the same. "We don't remember anything," she said. 

Annabeth nodded like she'd come up with a rather desperate plan. "If Chiron won't help, we'll need to figure things out ourselves. Which means... Cabin Fifteen. Rachel, you'll keep an eye on Piper?"  

"Sure," Rachel promised. "Good luck, you three."  

"Hold on," Jason said. "What's in Cabin Fifteen?"   

Annabeth stood. "Maybe a way to get your memories back." 

TAGLIST @maybxlle @sunshine-of-ur-life @liviessun @bellamysnatblida @mp-littlebit @cinemaconrad @eaterof-concrete

[sassenach77yle]

“Before I tell ye, Claire, there’s the one thing I’d ask of you,” he said slowly. “What’s that?” “Honesty.” I must have flinched uncomfortably, for he leaned forward earnestly, hands on his knees. “I know there are things ye’d not wish to tell me, Claire. Perhaps things that ye can’t tell me.” You don’t know just how right you are, I thought. “I’ll not press you, ever, or insist on knowin’ things that are your own concern,” he said seriously. He looked down at his hands, now pressed together, palm to palm. “There are things that I canna tell you, at least not yet. And I’ll ask nothing of ye that ye canna give me. But what I would ask of ye—when you do tell me something, let it be the truth. And I’ll promise ye the same. We have nothing now between us, save—respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies. Do ye agree?” He spread his hands out, palms up, inviting me. I could see the dark line of the blood vow across his wrist. I placed my own hands lightly on his palms. “Yes, I agree. I’ll give you honesty.” His fingers closed lightly about mine. “And I shall give ye the same. Now,” he drew a deep breath, “you asked why I wed ye.” “I am just the slightest bit curious,” I said. He smiled, the wide mouth taking up the humor that lurked in his eyes. “Well, I canna say I blame ye. I had several reasons. And in fact, there’s one—maybe two—that I canna tell ye yet, though I will in time. The main reason, though, is the same reason you wed me, I imagine; to keep ye safe from the hands of Jack Randall.” I shuddered a bit, at the memory of the Captain, and Jamie’s hands tightened on mine.

“You are safe,” he said firmly. “You have my name and my family, my clan, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well. The man willna lay hands on ye again, while I live.”

“Thank you,” I said. Looking at that strong, young, determined face, with its broad cheekbones and solid jaw, I felt for the first time that this preposterous scheme of Dougal’s might actually have been a reasonable suggestion. The protection of my body. The phrase struck with particular impact, looking at him—the resolute set of the wide shoulders and the memory of his graceful ferocity, “showing off” at swordplay in the moonlight. He meant it; and young as he was, he knew what he meant, and bore the scars to prove it. He was no older than many of the pilots and the infantrymen I had nursed, and he knew as well as they the price of commitment. It was no romantic pledge he had made me, but the blunt promise to guard my safety at the cost of his own. I hoped only that I could offer him something in return. “That’s most gallant of you,” I said, with absolute sincerity. “But was it worth, well, worth marriage?

It was,” he said, nodding. He smiled again, a little grimly this time. “I’ve good reason to know the man, ye ken. I wouldna see a dog given into his keeping if I could prevent it, let alone a helpless woman.” “How flattering,” I remarked wryly, and he laughed. He stood up and went to the table near the window. Someone—perhaps the landlady—had supplied a bouquet of wildflowers, set in water in a whisky tumbler. Behind this stood two wineglasses and a bottle. Jamie poured out two glasses and came back, handing me one as he resumed his seat. “Not quite so good as Colum’s private stock,” he said with a smile, “but none so bad, either.” He raised his glass briefly.

“To Mrs. Fraser,” he said softly, and I felt a thump of panic again. I quelled it firmly and raised my own glass.

“To honesty,” I said, and we both drank. “Well, that’s one reason,” I said, lowering my glass. “Are there others you can tell me?” He studied his wineglass with some care. “Perhaps it’s just that I want to bed you.” He looked up abruptly. “Did ye think of that?” If he meant to disconcert me, he was succeeding nicely, but I resolved not to show it. “Well, do you?” I asked boldly. “If I’m bein’ honest, yes, I do.” The blue eyes were steady over the rim of the glass. “You wouldn’t necessarily have had to marry me for that,” I objected. He appeared honestly scandalized. “You do not think I would take ye without offering you marriage!” “Many men would,” I said, amused at his innocence. He sputtered a bit, at a momentary loss. Then regaining his composure, said with formal dignity, “Perhaps I am pretentious in saying so, but I would like to think that I am not ‘many men,’ and that I dinna necessarily place my behavior at the lowest common denominator.” Rather touched by this speech, I assured him that I had so far found his behavior both gallant and gentlemanly, and apologized for any doubt I might inadvertently have cast on his motives. On this precariously diplomatic note, we paused while he refilled our empty glasses.

Cap 15 REVELATIONS OF THE BRIDAL CHAMBER~ outlander

[salstray]

An Arrangement ((Ghost x Reader))

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Warnings: 18+ Content, NSFW, Smut, p in v, AFAB reader, established situationship, very little plot, also my first time writing x reader smut so let me know if its ass k thanks

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Summary: Ghost and Reader are co workers, of sorts. You work under Laswell, helping with intel and information while the boys are in the field. During the months you work with Ghost, you and him figure out an... arrangment that helps you both relax a little in the midst of all the chaos of war. When the job comes to an end, you give Ghost a letter and a choice. End it here or extend the stress relief beyond work. You get your answer when he shows up at your door in the middle of the night.

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Note: As I said before, first time writing x reader smut.... or really any smut at all! Usually I get to blushy and ashamed when I get to this point in a work, but this one wormed its way out into the pages anyway! Tell me if it sucks, K? Rad. Thank you!

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    The letter is so professional, so clinical, it almost makes him laugh. 

     Your slanted handwriting against perfectly lined paper, calling this whole thing an 'arrangement' between the two of you. Like it was a trade deal or a transaction and not like he'd been fucking you stupid every time he got you alone. It was all for secrecy, he understood that, but it was still funny. 

     At the bottom of it all, the clipped and emotionless words and flowing business speak, was your address and your phone number. 

     In case you'd be interested in a continuation, it said. Ending in your name. Just the first one. The only hint anyone would have that this was anything other than work, should any unwanted eyes find their way onto this page. They wouldn't, Ghost was far too careful to let that happen, but still. The only slip you’d made.

-

     It takes a surprising amount of courage to end up at your door. More, he feels, then it takes to stare down the barrel of a gun.

      The apartment building is smaller than what he would have expected from someone with your salary, but he wasn't one to judge. His own flat was barely more than a shoebox. Just enough space to keep the walls from closing in when he stared at them too hard and enough to hold what few possessions he had to his name.

     He's not sure if you'll be awake when he finally knocks. One glance at his phone tells him that much. Ghost had decided not to text you before he showed up, either. Somehow that felt more intimate than anything else. A trapdoor in his walls that he wasn't willing to address just yet. Or open.

     When you appear through the doorway, he nearly collapses on the spot.

     Your in a fucking skirt.

     Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a shock but in all the months you'd worked together you'd always dressed practically, more or less. The leggings you favored would probably be considered less, but it was always trousers of some sort. Dress pants, a button down shirt, hair pulled back. Ready at a moment's notice, as you needed to be to survive in this life. A perfect mirror of Laswell. The person you worked under and the reason you two had met in the first place.

     But here? Now? In your own home with the only danger being bad TV and loud neighbors you looked so much different. 

     You favored black in your style, something that drew Ghost in, something Johnny would relentlessly tease him about, and it showed even outside of work. The skirt was that color. Solid black, flowing gently around your thighs, topped with a simple forest green tank top with thin straps and no bra. Your hair was loose and your glasses were nowhere to be seen, leaving your eyes wide and shining.

     The way you gasped snapped his gaze from your body, your thighs and your hips, up to your face.

     "Simon?" You ask softly, like you weren't sure it was really him. Like you expected anyone else to show up in the dead of night with a skull print balaclava covering their face.

     "Evenin', love." 

     You curl in on yourself. Bashful. Shy. Looking up at him through fluttering lashes, hands tucked up by your breasts. The way you always looked when he approached you with sinful intentions. 

     Heat pooled low in Ghost’s stomach as he leaned forward, his hands tucked away in his pockets, his eyes dark and heavy. 

     "Gonna invite me in?" He breathes, knowing damn well what his voice does to you when he speaks like that. The reaction in you was instant. The rapid blinks, the shaking breath. The little nod as you took a few steps back, opening the door wider to let his massive form through the frame. He steps inside slowly. Letting his eyes roam the walls and furniture. Cataloging every little knickknack and art piece and surface he'll be able to bend you over once he finally puts his hands on you.

     Your voice draws his gaze back to you.

     "I… I didn't think you'd show up," you say, trying to sound casual. Trying to sound like this was planned and not simply offered a few weeks ago with no reply given. 

     He doesn't give you one now, either. Instead he takes a step closer to you. Closing the distance in one swift motion, causing you to press your spine into the half wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. You're blinking again, trying to gather your thoughts as his hands settle on your waist, palms warm and fingers strong. Ghost’s digits press into your flesh as he hums and leans back, clearly enraptured by the outfit you chose for your quiet night in. 

     "Look good in this," he mutters. His right hand shifts, sliding lower over your thigh, just enough to slip under the skirt and start a slow, teasing trail back up to your leg. 

     "Y-you think?" You ask, biting your bottom lip when his hooded eyes meet yours. 

    "Yeah." His fingers slip up and behind you, pulling you forward, chest flush against his with his hand now cupping your ass. "I do. Think you should wear it more often." 

     He feels the shiver that rolls up your spine as he speaks. Smirks when your hands reach up to grab at his jacket. Pulls the hand still on your waist away just long enough to push back his hood and tug up the end of his mask. He settles it on your shoulder instead of your hip, however, and slides it up along your neck and into your hair, taking a fistfull and using it to tug your head back.

     Your breathless gasp makes him rumble low in his chest. Something between a growl, a hum, and a grunt. Ghost leans forward, his tongue slipping through his lips and marking a wet trail up your pulse. 

     The little whine you let out makes him shudder and he sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth as his mouth reaches your jaw. 

     He'd never tell you, never admit it, but he missed this. Missed you. Your reactions, your sounds, the taste and feel of your skin. He'd been in this apartment for less than five minutes and already felt like he was gonna split apart at the seams if he didn't have his cock buried in you in the next two. 

     The next breath he takes is punctuated by a groan and he uses the hand on your ass to lift you off your feet. He lets the other take hold of your thigh to keep you steady as you make a noise of surprise and wrap your legs around his hips.

     "Bed. Where?" Is all he says, his lips parted and panting against your cheek as he speaks. 

     Moments later your back is hitting the mattress. Ghost is already reaching under the skirt by the time you push yourself up onto your elbows, yanking away your panties and tossing them somewhere into the room. He crawls over you, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, lifting them into the air so your skirt flops up against your stomach, revealing your newly naked sex to him. 

     He groans again, low and slow, head tilting as his right hand slips away from your leg and down towards the slick heat that had been torturing you for hours.

     "So wet already?" He teases. Ghost chuckles when his touch makes you jerk, his fingers just barely grazing your clit and making you whimper.

     "I…," your gaze slips away from him, your flushed cheeks only getting hotter as you confess, "I've been… thinking about you… all day." A startled cry leaves you when he plunges two fingers in without warning. There was no resistance at all. Just a loud, wet noise as he slowly drags them back out and presses in again.

     "Aww… thinkin' bout me? How sweet," he purrs, leaning in close to watch your face twist with pleasure. "To think that's all it takes to get you so worked up." Your eyes, which had twisted shut at the pleasurable stretch of his fingers, peel open just a bit to look at him. Plead with him. Beg him silently for more.

     Luckily he's always been able to read you like a book. That's what led to this arraignment in the first place. 

     "Want more, love?" You whimper, nodding weakly. "Want my cock?" 

     "Y-yes." 

     "Yes what, sweetheart?" 

     "Yes, sir."

     You didn't take orders from him. He wasn't your superior in the field and, in all honesty, he was totally fine with that. There was no way he'd be able to keep focus with that sweet voice calling out to him. All it would take was one little 'sir' over the comms and he'd be done for. That's why he made you use it here. Where only he could hear it. 

     Both of his hands leave your body and you'd have protested if you didn't push yourself up farther to watch him work at his belt. In one fluid motion it joins your panties across the room and you sink your teeth into your lip to hide the moan that draws out of you. The sight of his dick, fully hard and already leaking, pulls another free. One you don't hide from him. 

     Ghost crawls over you again, tucking his thumbs into the straps of your tank top and pulling them down your shoulders. He tugs just far enough for your breasts to be freed. Another shiver rolls through you when he licks his lips. 

     "Simon," you whimper, reaching up to dig your fingers into his biceps. "Please." His newly shining mouth twitches into a smirk and he tilts his head for a moment, brows raising with the motion.

     "Since you asked so nicely." 

     You'd hate how cocky he acted if he wasn't so fucking attractive and if his actual cock wasn't pushing into you. 

     Your eyes flutter shut again as you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as the solid heat of him fills you. Ghost takes the opportunity to slide his arms under you and pull you close, his face hidden in your shoulder, his breathing short and shallow as you stretch around him. It takes a few careful thrusts to get him all the way inside. Slow drags a few inches back, then a steady roll of his hips until his pelvis is pressed against yours. 

     "Ffffffuck, sweetheart… fuckin' hell-" 

     He only gives you a few short seconds before he's thrusting. Filling the room with the harsh slap of his skin on yours, the wet squish of your slick, and the echoing moans you can no longer contain. 

     "Si-Simon! Fu-ahhh! Fuck!" 

     He's not quiet either, to your surprise. In the past, you'd both been at risk of being caught. On base, hidden between paper thin walls, surrounded by other soldiers. Ghost's self control was honestly impressive, but he had to silence you in anyway he could. Either with his mouth on yours, his fingers down your throat, or just his palm slapped over your lips.

     Yet here, in your own home, he's just as bad as you. Moaning freely, cursing and whining along with you, groaning deeply as he sucks at the soft skin of your throat. His teeth sink into your flesh and you clench around him, making him pull away with a gasp. 

     "Ffuuu… fuck… like that, do you?" He leans forward again, lower than before, leaving a harsh red mark over your collarbone. 

    One of his arms wiggles free from under you and his fingers appear at your clit, making you nearly sob at the sudden friction. Before you know it your panting and moaning, nearly falling to pieces as heat coils in your abdomen, threatening to toss you over the cliff and straight into oblivion. 

     You grunt, gasp, curl your legs up around Ghost's waist, then throw your head back with a hoarse cry, eyes shut tight as you cum. 

     Ghost only stops for a handful of seconds. Long enough to lean himself back on his knees with a grunt, his hands taking hold of your hips. Then, before you've even come back down to earth, he's fucking you again. Deep, hard strokes that have your already muddy thoughts washing away in bliss. 

     Your orgasm drags on and on as he chases his own high, leaving you a weak, whimpering mess as he manhandles you back into his thrusts. Not much later, he's curling over you again, his eyes clenched shut and lips parted. He rolls his his again, two, three more times. Then his shoulders shake and he moans lowly, his face suddenly slack with relief. You finally fall limp a few trembling seconds later. Utterly boneless beneath him. 

     The pair of you stay there for a while. 

     Ghost lets himself lean into you, laying mostly on his side, still buried to the hilt in the mess you both made. One of his arms found its way under you again, holding you close to his chest as he breathes slowly and evenly. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was asleep. But you did know better and you grunted softly as you tried to shift your legs.

     "Alright, love?" He calls softly, his head raising just enough to look at you through the darkness. He hadn't turned the light on when he'd carried you in here. It would have wasted time.

     "Y-yeah… feel like jelly…" you say, still sounding and feeling breathless. You swallow, throat dry, and twist in his grasp, making him groan quietly as his soft cock finally slips free of you. 

     He twists as well, moving you until you're curling against his chest, sweaty and sticky and satisfied.  

     "Gonna be able to make it to round two?" He asks teasingly. 

     You groan. "There's gonna be more?" It's playful. You know perfectly well how much it takes to satiate him. Ghost chuckles and you can't fight back the grin that bunches your cheeks in response. 

     "I just got here, sweetheart. Maybe if you hadn't worn a skirt…"

     "Maybe if you'd given me a warning I could have changed." You wouldn't have, both of you know that. "My number was on that page too, Riley. Use it next time." 

     You couldn't see the way his jaw clenched when you said that. The way his eyes shifted through the shadows, wondering… thinking… considering the consequences. 

     Luckily, your hand trailing down his chest, over his jacket, pushes thoughts ever present fears away. 

     "You should take this off." 

     "You just wanna see my tits." He speaks before he thinks and it makes you laugh. A full, bright laugh that he's never heard from you before. Not that there's much place for laughter when he's got a gun in his hands and you've got lives on the line.

     It makes him smile. Just a little. Not where you can see. The sultry smirks and teasing grins were easy, this kind of smile was different. Softer. It's gone as you tilt your head back to beam at him, not a single worry behind your eyes.

     "Well, you saw mine. It's only fair."

~

[okerum]

throughout the short duration of my maze runner hyperfix i would write down random thoughts/headcanons i had about them so i'll just copy-paste all of them here

- newt is crazy ticklish but he gets so irritated when someone tickles him. minho does not care

- newt cant sleep in the same room as thomas because thomas snores crazy loud and newt is a v light sleeper

- thomas has a really bad habit of chewing on his fingernails

- once newt got over them kidnapping thomas, he got along really well with group b. and they loved him too (ik him and sonya r siblings but him and harriet would be such good friends. see the vision)

- newt loves reading. i think classics would be his faves

- also good omens

- also he likes mythology

- he probably needs glasses though

- thomas and minho would probably play roblox together and like. bully kids. sometimes brenda will tag along too (shes the meanest but she also thinks roblox is dumb so she goes on it less)

- minho is a total sweat when it comes to gaming

- old grandma newt

- minho and newt would be roomates

- ocd newt maybe

- thomas has SEVERE depersonalization problems

- i can picture newt dancing as a sort of outlet. not sure what kind but just in general

- minho has AT LEAST one skirt

- newt braids his hair ‼️‼️

- thomas and newt and teresa and sonya are all autistic

- also all trans

- plus brenda

- who is also a butch lesbian

- newt is lefthanded

- thomas is the kid with the peanut allergy

- NEWT NONBINARY! THEY/HE!!!!

- do i eveb have to say t4t newtmas...

- teresa is a big swiftie

- newt would like shoujo animes

- minho would like shounen animes

- none of the main 3 can dress themselves and they look like shit usually

- newt doesnt get flustered like at all but THOMAS .... he goes red at any compliment from his crushes

- minho and thomas wrestling lmfaooo

- theyve probably broken several fhings in the process. including walls

- minho badly mocks newt's accent and he HATES it

- newt probably lets minho get away with a lot of things that he doesnt let anyone else get away with though because hes just used to it atp

- thomas is jealous because newt gives him a good scolding (affectionate) whenever he pisses him off. if hes particularly upset, newt will just ignore him for a few hours which is so hard for thomas

- newt has a lot of self-soothing behaviors but he rocks (like, rocking back and forth) a lot

- hes mega autistic look hes either minimum eye contact or intense uninterrupted eye contact and he hates being touched unless hes warned

- also the whole routines/order/rules thing he has going on especially in the glade

- AUTISTIC

- newt's prolly one of those film nerds

- never watched it but he'd be the type to love brokeback mountain

- thomas is a chronic flannel wearer

- oh also forgot its not a given but newt has chronic pain and a mobility aid

- puerto rican thomas...

- hes also demiromantic and demisexual

- thomas is also ticklish

- tickle fights perhaps....

- thomas fell asleep first once at a sleepover and minho drew all over him/fucked with him in his sleep and he never fell asleep before minho ever again

- the gladers probably smelled like shit

- 40 some adolescent-teen boys all alone no supervision doing physical labor all day every day.... 💀

- the older boys do it more but the younger ones need reminding

- runners probably bathe more often too

- esp in the movies when the box only comes up monthly + no visible building for showers??

- teresa came up and GAGGED

- spiderman newt + batman thomas

- newt probavly is prone to sunburns and he was SUFFERINGGG in the scorch. sonya too but she had it a lot easier w group b's circumstances

- half filipino teresa

- also hispanic brenda is that obvious or not

- newt is unexpectedly demanding in relationships he wants kisses all the time

- newt is a bland ass texter

- thomas just doesnt text. he'll facetime you any time u text him bc he doesnt wanna text

- sonya knows basically NO celebrities you'll go "you know chris pratt??" and she'll be like "who tf 💀" (the ones she does know are just the women she has a crush on)

- gally has probably called newt the f slur before but only because he didnt know the extent of how bad it was and (after a good punch and superduper miffed) newt tells him yhe history of it and he never did it again. he felt rlly bad too

- teresa 100% has a full fursona set up in her head

- she also probably silently assigns everyone else fursonas

- newt is a reptile owner

- minho likes dogs but hes also a terrible pet owner so he just goes over to thomas' place to play with his dog

- sonya watches video essays. shes one of those people that'll turn one on every time she sits and eats

- harriet and newt r besties btw

- sometimes newt gets a little nosy about what sonya wont tell him

- thomas has a rbf and intimidates everyone at first (though its usually not long before he makes a fool of himself and everyone realizes hes just a Guy)

- sonya is like newt's reality checker

- ouuugghhh flower shop/tattoo parlor sonya/harriet

- minho tiktok user x newt youtube shorts user x thomas instagram reels user

- gally has NO social media

- newt has a lowkey freakishly good memory

- sonya has a small collection of stuffed animals. she probably liked squishmallows when they were a thing, she collected them a little

- she has pet mice and she pampers them

- newt and sonya have hamster trauma

- the ENTIRE gang went to see barbie together and they all dressed up

- gally probably showed up not dressed up but sonya and newt planned it so they brought him an outfit and peer pressured him into changing into it at the theater

- it was probably a barbie fit (as punishment) while the rest of the guys were kens

- have i said newt and minho would be roomies or no

- minho and frypan have TOTAL brainrot humor and they bounce off each other (sometimes thomas participates. newt watches silently but judgementally)

- newt with eds on top of his chronic pain from his knee im sorry bro

- very musically inclined thomas versus musically incompetent newt

- minho calls newt hot nonchalantly / newt attempted b4 /ref

- feel like its also a given but newt and alby had a fling

- thomas infodumps on social media and minho just talks about himself

- newt is probably entirely caught up in some niche drama situation someone's posting about

- minho's tiktok fyp is convinced hes a gay man

- newt's is probably convinced hes a lesbian

- thomas just has like weird obscure humor that nobody (including him) understands

- sonya is chappel roan's #1 fan

- truth or dare with minho goes CRAZY

- harriet has a pet tarantula.... freaky little lesbian.....

- newt smoking to get relief from his chronic pain and anxiety and depression and trauma and

- minho probably discovered a long time ago that while newt will NEVER ask for it, he sleeps better with physical contact. so he holds his hand silently and without acknowledging it

- passenger princess thomas lmfaoaoooofofotitu

- ivy trio plays horror games like phasmophobia and lethal company. thomas always dies first and newt is the only one actually playing the game

- rip newt you wouldve loved being inside while it rains and reading a good book

- he'd also be really good at romanticizing the midwest

-END-

okay thats all. a few edits were made so its coherent/fits my current views of the characters more but its 98% raw from my notes app. just a peek into my twisted mind 😈😈😈

[geekywritings]

The stories that scars can tell

You guys are incredible! Just as I am working through last week’s requests, there are already new ones in my inbox. Thank you again for all your inspiration and encouragement. And of course, all requests will get a story!

But first, here is another one from last week: “You icon, it’s your fav anon again hehehe. So you are the best place to req for Cal so here’s another one 🤭 Cal x reader who has scars and he accidentally psychometry on one and he learns about her traumatic past and the comfort is reallll???”

_________

Cal had always been an early riser, while you preferred to stay in bed just that little bit longer. Now, after you had got together, the Jedi began to lounge in the mornings as well, enjoying that extra bit of time by your side.

He would busy himself studying your face or just closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of your warm body against his until you woke up. It was like a new form of meditation that offered him more calmness and happiness than he had ever thought possible.

This morning however was going to be different. You were still asleep, your nude body cuddled into Cal’s, as he drew lazy circles over your back. He could feel the traces of old scars there, some more faded than others. You were both fighters in this war, so your bodies were bound to carry the marks, but many of yours were older.

You had never spoken of their origin and Cal had never asked, knowing well that some things were better left to rest in the past. Still, sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder what your life had been like before meeting him. Before the rebellion. Before the fall of the Republic.

And just like that, his special Force power activated against his will, as his finger glided over a particularly long scar going from your shoulder down your back.

He found himself in a dark world of metal and strobe lights. Nar Shadaa? Corellia? It was hard to tell. Besides, something else quickly drew his attention. The agonizing screams of a girl, maybe 13 or 14 years old, as she knelt in a puddle of spilled drinks on the ground, shattered glass all around her. It was you, he realized. A younger version of you, to be exact.

“I told you to be more careful!” a tall man behind you yelled, as he hit you repeatedly with his belt. “You are the most useless slave ever! I should just sell you! It would be good riddance!”

Cal’s entire body was shaking with anger and disgust. And instantly, he forced himself to pull away from the vision. As much as he would have liked, he couldn’t pull his lightsaber at the man. An echo was just that, a replay of past events with no way to change them.

“What did you see?”

Your soft voice drew him back into the present and guilt filled him, as if he had invaded your privacy.

“I know that look on your face. You had one of those Force visions.” He had tried explaining them to you and while you could never fully grasp how they worked, you had come to know when they happened.

“I am sorry, Y/N… I didn’t mean to…”, he began, the guilt carrying in his voice.

“It’s alright. I know you can’t always control it… What did you see?”, you ended up repeating your question.

“I saw you being beaten… over spilled drinks.”

“Yes, my Master did that quite often.”

“You… were a slave?”, Cal asked hesitantly and you nodded. It wasn’t something you liked talking about, but it was no secret either. And especially the man you loved deserved to know.

“But slavery was forbidden…”

“The Republic didn’t have its eyes everywhere, Cal. And it wasn’t perfect. It tolerated more bad things than you and I can imagine…”, you spoke, adjusting your position, so that you could look at Cal better. “But the Empire is even worse.”, you tacked on, explaining why you were fighting for a Republic that had let you suffer.

“I never knew… I was so blind to a lot of things…” It was something the Jedi learned anew every day. How sheltered his life at the Temple had been. How much the war had covered. How many problems had been left unchecked because there was nobody to take care of them.

“We have the chance to make things better. That’s why we fight, right?” It was the reason you fought, at least.

Instead of answering, Cal pulled you into his arms, holding you close and burying his face in your hair. “I won’t let anyone treat you like that again. I promise.”, he whispered to you and you smiled, a hand gently playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “We will make things better.”, he added on a vow. “For us. For everyone.”

You had no idea how you would manage that. You were but a handful of rebels against the might of an Empire. But right then, it didn’t matter. All that mattered were Cal’s arms around you, making you feel safe, protected and loved.

“We will, Cal. But for now, just kiss me.” And he gladly did.

[quakenshake]

Prompt: Drunken Words

Hi, guys! I’ve always wondered how Chishiya would react to drunk people/a drunk reader, so I thought I’d give it a go. I do want to warn you: this one is quite angsty, and gets a bit dark. There are mentions of violence, death, alcohol, self harm/suicidal ideation, strong language, etc. Please use caution if you are sensitive to any of these themes! Hope you guys enjoy, and please do let me know of any requests! I’m wondering if I should do another version of this, but from his perspective? Let me know if that sounds interesting! - S

It wasn’t your intention to get drunk; but then again, it hadn’t been your intention to kill anyone, either. When in Rome, right? It was all survival, anyways. If poisoning your blood with alcohol meant you could go another night without putting a bullet through your skull, then really…it was no different from the bullets you’d lodged into that girl’s body. A life for a life. What was it he’d told you? “To gain something, you need to lose something.”  If you thought about it that way, then alcoholism seemed like a pretty good trade for your sanity.

The taste of the drink was disgustingly sour, and it burned its way through your body as you swallowed with a grimmace. There was a comfort to the pain, though. It was real, and it brought you to the present moment, and it hurt far less than the memory of what you’d done not three hours prior. What had her name been? Hana? Haru? Pathetic. You took another swig, willing yourself to succumb to the fog that was slowly filling your head. 

That was the true beauty of alcohol- not the fruity taste, or the pretty colors, or the cute little umbrella that the bartender had added. The beauty was held in the moral ambiguity that it allowed. If you thought long enough about it, you supposed that was probably what drew everyone to the Beach- what drew them to the Borderlands in general. Your mind flashed to Niragi, the Beach’s very own boogeyman. More animal than human, driven on impulse and hormones, every bit of which was allowed in a place like this. The Borderlands suited him well, and you began to wonder if it could maybe suit you, too. Niragi doesn’t feel guilt, you thought. But I’ll be damned if he doesn’t know how to shoot. You threw back another swig to drown out the thought before it could form into a dangerous path.

Before long, your glass was empty, pushed to the side to join the three other glasses you’d collected so far. You could feel the bartender’s eyes flash in your direction, and you didn’t have to look up to know what he was thinking. You were drinking too much, too fast, and too openly. You were making yourself vulnerable, something you’d sworn never to do. In fact, it was something you had ridiculed the rest of the Beach residents for, scoffing at their willingness to let down their guards in a place like this. But that was just the thing-- you didn’t want your guard let down, you wanted it fucking destroyed. 

This place might seem like a perpetual nightclub on the outside, but you knew damn well the horrors that lay within. The secrets, the lies, the monsters. This was no safehaven, no utopia, and anyone who treated it as such was a fool. But you were in pain, and the alcohol was supposed to remedy things like pain. Besides- if some monster were to find you like this, defenseless and impaired, would it really be so bad? Your mind wandered to the girl…that damn girl. She had been defenseless. She had been impaired. It didn’t stop you, did it? Caught in a beartrap, pleading for her life, and you’d shot her all the same just so you could go back and drink yourself to death.

“Y/n,” came a voice from behind.

Ah, you thought. So a monster has found me. You turned to face him, finding with a start that it was more difficult to stay balanced in your seat than before. Like a moth to a flame, your eyes found his own- deep and dark, and maddeningly blank. A part of you hated that he’d been the one to find you like this, but the other part of you- a part pulled to the surface by the alcohol, you presumed- soaked up his presence like soil soaking up water after a drought. 

“Chishiya,” you replied. Your voice slurred in a way that enraged you. Never before had you felt so foolish, so weak. You braced yourself for the snarky comment he was sure to fire your way. Ever the opportunist, you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the chance to bathe in arrogance. But the comment never left his mouth, and his eyes never betrayed his thoughts. He was so unlike you- so composed. It made you hate him all the more.

No longer able to look at him, you clumsily spun back around to face the bar. Lifting a hand into the air to wave down the bartender, you nodded toward your ever-growing pile of empty glasses.

“Another,” you said simply. The bartender hesitated, glancing between you and your unwelcome guest. After what you’re sure was a warning glare from Chishiya, the bartender cleared his throat awkwardly before spinning away to tend to the other Beach residents. Annoyed, you rolled your eyes dramatically and let out a huff to blow the hair away from your face.

“It’s rude to cancel another person’s order,” you grumbled, half-sure that he hadn’t been able to hear. Of course, he had. 

“No more rude than drinking the bar out of stock,” he retorted with amusement. “Perhaps you never learned to share.” Pulling the chair out from beside you, he took a seat. You were surprised by his decision to stay, knowing full well that this was entirely not his scene. Finding the courage to spare him a glance, you found his eyes darting warily between the intoxicated bodies dancing not too far away. He was out of his element, and you took that as a win. If you had to be drunk and miserable, then the least he could do was be a little uncomfortable. 

“I’m fine,” you said suddenly. You weren’t quite sure why you’d said it. You knew he didn’t care, and you were certain that you didn’t care. Perhaps it was simply the thing to say in moments like this, when one is caught like a wounded animal. Drawing his eyes back to your own, Chishiya blinked at you.

“I never said you weren’t.”

He hadn’t. And it wasn’t fair to accuse him as such. But there was something in his eyes- whether you were imagining it, you weren’t quite sure- that almost looked like pity. And he could not pity you. In the short time you’d known the man, there were several things you’d wanted to receive from him- partnership, companionship…hell, maybe even feelings. But never his pity. So you resented his presence regardless.

“Fuck off, Chishiya,” you said darkly. The poison from the alcohol must have kicked in somewhere along the way, because you could have sworn that your words were dipped in venom. But the man had leather for skin, and your words were brushed off within seconds. Instead, he continued to gaze at you with those stupid eyes of his. Those stupid, beautiful eyes.

“It’s time to leave,” he said after a moment. You wanted to hate how gentle his tone was- wanted to accuse him, again, of pitying you. But his words wrapped around your aching heart like a hug, chipping through the ice with their warmth. You pondered for a moment if it was worth it to put up a fight. It was what you wanted to do, after all. You wanted nothing more than to shout at him, cut down his ego and sever whatever this thing was between you for good. It could be easier that way. It could be what you deserved. 

But then he held out a hand for you to take, and suddenly it didn’t matter what you wanted, but instead what you needed. He wouldn’t be like the alcohol; he wouldn’t burn you to make you feel, he wouldn’t drown out the memories of that poor girl, and he wouldn’t allow your morals to crumble like Niragi. He didn’t come in fruity flavors, bright colors, or with a cute little umbrella. But he was warm in a way alcohol could never be, and right now, he was the only thing capable of numbing the pain, even just a little. You needed him. 

Taking his palm with your own, you let him pull you to your feet. Thankfully, the sky had long grown dark, and the crowd of people dancing around you provided discretion as the two of you weaved your way back into the hotel. You weren’t sure when the tears had started to fall, but if Chishiya had noticed, he had been kind enough not to mention it. You scrubbed at them furiously with your sleeve, desperate to remove their stain before they could be seen. By the time you reached your room, you seemed almost half put-together. 

Resting your head against the wall outside of your room, you waited patiently for Chishiya to open the door. He did so silently and with ease before turning back to you and taking your hand once more. It was brief, but for a second he held your eyes with his own. There was no pity there like you had feared before, but something deeper and more understanding. He guided you through the doorway and to your bed, where you collapsed into a ball. Sitting next to you, Chishiya’s hands found their way back to their favorite place in his pockets as he stared ahead quietly at the wall.

“I want you to stay with me,” you whispered into your pillow. By now, the adrenaline had run its course through your body and been replaced with a heavy fatigue. You found yourself struggling to keep your eyes open, but you were determined not to fall asleep just yet. A few moments passed before he responded to you, and you began to wonder if he hadn’t heard.

“I know,” he said finally. Still turned away from you, it was impossible to see the expression on his face. Not that there would ever be much to see. He seemed lost in thought, breathing slowly with his eyes still burning into the wall. You wondered if he was calculating his next decision. Everything seemed like a game of chess to him- no choice could be made without deliberation and intent. You wondered if you’d ever get to see him relaxed, maybe somewhere outside of the Borderlands. You wondered if he ever was relaxed. The thought made you horribly sad, and you craved to have his hand in your own again. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he made his move.

Rising from his position, he paused only for a moment before heading toward your door. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he parted, willing him back with each step he took. I guess he does burn like alcohol, you thought with bitter amusement. Once he reached the door, he paused once more, turning his head slightly. It was not enough for you to be able to see his face, just enough to send the message he was regarding you.

“Sleep on your side,” he said. With that, he opened your door and disappeared into the hallway.

[megaderping]

Quite the curious turn of events. Igor laughed, breathy and light, as he folded his hands and leaned forward. "So already, the pieces have fallen into place. I must admit, he is swifter than I anticipated."

Off to his right, Marie turned a page in her borrowed book. Another small sign of growth from that boy, whether he cared to admit it or not. "I mean, he wants to prove himself. You can't really do that if you just wait around… and you haven't let him in, either."

"A rather ironic turn of events. It is not often I have others approach me. Usually, I approach them. But I'm familiar with the boy. His fortune is quite interesting…" With a wave of Igor's hand, a deck of glowing tarot cards formed a circle in the air, then landed gracefully in a stack. From the stack, he drew the Chariot, placing it down in reverse. "Before, his life lacked direction. He had met opposition at every turn." Next came the Hermit, also turned to the reverse position. "His circumstances brought him isolation and withdrawal from the world around him. With the way he was going…"

Ah, but that was far from the last card he displayed. With a single, snappy movement, he fetched the Wheel of Fortune, and once again, placed the card in reverse. "Bad luck would have followed him. His own sense of justice…" Another card reversed. "Would have been warped by the cruelty of the world."

Through the fog of time and space, Igor had heard a young boy's anguished cries. Saw a hand extended. Power thrust upon him that he could not begin to comprehend… but that future had shattered into one million shards of glass and scattered to the wind.

"But that's changed, correct?" Margaret asked, and Igor nodded.

"Little by little, I do sense a change." He flipped the Justice to its upright position, then placed the upright Emperor beside it. "A simple connection providing stability and structure has in turn rekindled his desire for justice and to uncover the truth." Next came the upright Hierophant. "Bit by bit, he builds new connections…" The reverse Fool followed. "Yet that reckless spark within him could still lead him down a worrying path."

"So he's at a crossroads," said Margaret.

"Correct. I believe the boy has good intentions. He is clearly eager to find a place for himself and sees the unfolding mystery around him as a chance to obtain it. Moreover, the boy's heart holds the potential of the Wild Card. An incredible power sleeps within him…"

It was no wonder that curious 'attendant' had taken an interest. Goaded him, even. A conductor of a twisted game, eager to test the whims of humanity, even if that meant granting a terrible power to those who would use it to rob innocents of their futures and push another to continue his sick charade.

Very soon, Igor knew, the board would change yet again. Goro Akechi had everything he needed to seize the truth, and with it, the power to enact his own justice. Full Chapter | Read from the Beginning

New chapter drops soon! ...I got busy this last week and forgot to post this one here.

[lucky-dreamfisher]

I think BATDR has good themes as a foundation, but just doesn't build on them enough. Like, its main theme is legacy and destiny, and we have 3 big players that feed into this: Audrey Drew, Joey's magnum opus; 'Wilson' Arch, Nathan's forgotten son, and Bendy - Joey's most pivotal and yet hated creation. These 3 could function as wonderful foils to each other, like how Audrey and Bendy already do, but the problems are that:

1) Wilson isn't given enough backstory early on to make him more dimensional than 'crusty old man with a mean streak', and

2) Audrey doesn't have enough backstory to make her choices have weight.

For Wilson, we know that Nathan neglected him, but why? Was it for something out of his control (he's blind in one eye - did Nathan hate to have an 'imperfect' son) or in his control (I've seen a theory that he was a terrible business man, which would of course make Nathan embarrassed)?

Whatever it is, we should have had more tapes/notes about their dynamic, which would have been reflected in how Wilson treats the Ink World.

(an aside about the blindness thing - I think there could be merit to this angle, but Wilson's design is already a little ableist, since his scar and glass eye are just there to say 'oh no! spooky disfigured man has come to bad things to you!', it would have to be approached with care, caution, and advice from a disabled sensitivity reader)

Wilson could also project onto Audrey, if we give them a deeper relationship than 'creepy coworker that trapped me in this hellscape'. What if they have a sort of mentor/mentee relationship? They often work the nightshift in tandem, and Wilson has an artistic streak. You could very easily go with 'polite grandpa who gives art tips whenever he passes by' route, and Audrey accepts him as the father figure she apparently doesn't remember (still don't understand how Audrey forgot she was Drew's Daughter)

Let this then be reflected in how Audrey interacts with the world; let there be an option to have Wilson-abilties instead of Demon-abilties, with their own rewards and drawbacks. Using these powers sets on you on the Wilson ending.

It also makes his subsequent betrayal of her more impactful. If Audrey comes into the Ink World believing that the Machine twisted Wilson into turning against her, thus giving her a motive beyond simple escape, only to find out that he planned to kill her the whole time, endings where she either is sacrificed or fights him off but succumbs to the ink demon are sadder.

Speaking of Audrey, I think there's a strong enough connection to Joey for the story's 'You were born of darkness, you don't belong to it' thing to stick.

Let her make mistakes! Let her fuck people over! She has a spooky ability that is implied to send people to the most terrible parts of the studio, yet no-one says anything! Her arrival heralds the return of the Ink Demon; I think she should get both adoration and hatred for it, and then the gameplay is reflective of whether she chooses to dig her heels in and accept the darkness or go along with what Wilson says (or if you collect all the memories by completing side quests for NPCs, you get the secret ending where she takes control for herself, which is the ending the game currently has.)

An example of this would be the Lord Amok section. Instead of the Keeper's dropping her in the spider pit, let it be Sammy and some religious rebels, interested to see if she's a legitimate prophet/vessel/chosen one for their Lord. Once she completes that, Sammy gives the player an update on their path:

If Audrey has been mainly using Wilson abilities, the congregation shun her and provide a big hint that Wilson is going to kill her.

If Audrey has been mainly using Demon abilities, they welcome her and try to get her to make this massive ritual work for them, which is a precursor to Bendy's fusion with Audrey.

If Audrey has been completing sidequests and maybe has a unique ability, (something with colour?) Sammy is unsure about her and they have a bit more of a heart to heart.

All of this makes Audrey a more well rounded and sympathetic protagonist, and the ending the game currently has feel earned and impressive.

TL;DR:

The game has good themes but they need to be built on

One way to do this is to flesh out Wilson's daddy issues and thus create a more positive bur ultimately fucked up relationship with Audrey, leading to an ending where it makes sense that she trusts him but is still betrayed

Another way is to give Audrey more choices that have bad consequences but are understandable(a choice between a Wilson abilities path and a Bendy abilities path, changing how the Inkworld perceives her), thus allowing a happy ending (be nice to NPCs and they'll all help you fight of Bendy, like in the actual game) more hard worked for and thus earned.

It's a good point about the game introducing themes and not developing them. Like the whole "not a prequel not a sequel" thing they've been saying for years, but then the game comes out and it's a straightforward sequel?

I did notice them trying to make some small attempts at suggesting that maybe the ink dimension is a different timeline to the real world, with that book by the Gent CEO:

Except it never goes anywhere, because the time inside and outside the studio is exactly the same, down to the date.

And even the seeming time loop in BATIM is soft-retconned, because we're told that Joey created Henry before he rekindled his friendship with Allison and created Audrey v1.0, but when Henry walks around Joey's apartment, there's Allison's letter on the wall and Audrey v1.0's voice, so it's not like he went back to the day he was born. Resetting the cycle doesn’t turn back the flow of time, the time goes forward as normal, the ink creatures just suffer an amnesia.

There are some details in the lore, which could be a hint of time shenanigans... but they could just as well be plot holes and reused stock images. Time will tell which it is, but it's looking increasingly like the latter.

I don't even know why they bother giving us so many dates if it's not to make us draw any connections, or question the timeline of events. Like the detail about the studio having two different locations, which was hinted at in the archive previews, but then never comes up in the actual game. I hope they're not under the impression that we care about the dates because we just... like dates, or something... and that's why they keep serving us new ones. I don't care about !!THE LORE!! for the sake of !!THE LORE!!, I care about it because I was told that there is some underlying mystery, which can be solved by looking at !!THE LORE!!. It's a tool. If I can't use it for anything, then I don't have a need for it.

Even SHB announced that he won't be making many Bendy theories. Because the big stuff was explained, and the small stuff now feels like something the creators didn't think too deeply about, and so the fans shouldn't either. So, for the future of the franchise, I hope they will.

[hows-my-handwriting]

Is This a Bad Dream? (spiderverse!LN au)

so..... i have this.... au... right........

lets be real i have too many aus

its Little Nightmares but Spiderverse characters.

BEFORE YOU VOTE: read below the cut i just want to make this intro part short lol. whats below the cut is very long btw so. you have been warned XD

SO. with the recent (not so recent anymore but at the time it was recent lol) announcement of ln3 i lost my mind and went back to watch playthroughs of ln2 and got my googily little gears turning.

im thinking about this very much like an actual little nightmares game if not a little longer than the average game. (eg. 10 chapters instead of the usual 5). the main playable character is miles, and your party is the rest of the kids, mainly gwen, but with pav and hobie to help with puzzles or specific skills.

concept designs for the party + margo and peni. (might change miles and pavitr's designs cuz not sure i like them.

i have most of the bosses figured out and the general pace and timeline of the story but setting and the final two bosses are giving me problems.

anyway here's an excerpt:

It was always night time. 

Miles could sit in his window and watch the sky all day, but it would always stay dark. The lights outside were bright enough so he could see, but the sky was always gray. Or sometimes black. He leans against the glass sometimes just to try to see the sky clearer. 

Sometimes the sky would come down to him. The clouds would crawl out of the sky and walk on the streets with footsteps that sounded like the pitter patter of his own little feet. It would walk on the roof sometimes too. He could hear its feet stomping on the sharp shingles. He wondered if it hurt. 

The ceiling would cry if the sky stomped on it too much. Drops of water would run out of the holes in the white paint and into the buckets littered around his room. There were only two, one was empty right now, the other was full. They were lovely little things- well, they were actually quite big. Miles climbed inside them sometimes, perfectly sized to curl up on their rounded bottoms. 

He drank his house’s tears sometimes. He got thirsty a lot, even though he never really left the room. He would sometimes get a little tray from the lady in the wall. She came up every so often and gave him a tray with some food and a glass cup full of water. 

She was a nice lady. She didn’t talk though. So he didn’t either.

He never left his room. She had her own door, but every time he tried to follow, he couldn’t open the door. There was a bigger door. He remembered at one time, people had come out of it. They would use their large warm hands to lift him up onto the big bed in the corner. They would pat his head and tuck him in with the warm blanket and fluffy pillow. They would speak to him too, in words he didn’t understand. 

He remembered long brown hair and kind eyes. He remembered a stubbly beard and warm smile. He remembered feeling warm when they were looking at him, feeling like he could stay where he was forever. 

But that was a long time ago. He gave up on counting. He had started counted the times the sky went dark. The lines were scratched into the post at the foot of the bed. When those lines filled up all the space, he started counting the times the ceiling cried. But he lost track. 

He was lonely now.

He couldn’t reach the big door. No matter how hard he tried. He tried jumping for it. He tried to climb up the wardrobe leg. But he never got high enough. So he stayed. He stayed on the floor of this room, watching the water fill up the buckets again and again. 

The walls were covered in color. Miles drew all over them. He had crayons that the lady in the wall had brought him one time. It was a big box, filled with more colors than Miles could name. He drew on the dry wallpaper, filling all of the gray space with shapes and scribbles. He had filled up all of the space he could reach, wearing down so many of the crayons down to their paper wrappings. So he moved to the floor. He filled up the floor too, drawing himself adventures that took him far away from the crying house. He drew himself running up to the sky and giving it hugs whenever it cried. 

The floor was full of color too now. 

He sat on the window that was nailed shut, and listened to the footsteps of the sky. He was happy here. He was . . .

jazz hands.

[wardenred]

Sapphic September 28: Bad Ideas

Poking at an old idea for a sapphic romantasy with Regency vibes.

Vinsen had told her to wait for him by the mews.

Liola assumed he’d meant a few minutes. Fine, a quarter of an hour, although in her book that already verged on impolite. But time stretched on and on, the azure summer skies fading into gray with a pink trimming over the horizon, and Vinsen was nowhere in sight.

She considered going back to the house and asking where he was. She considered turning around and walking home. But every time those thoughts sprang up in her mind, they were followed by the image of her mother’s pale, tear-stricken face.

Her family owed too much gold to the Rezenforts, all thanks to her late father’s gambling addiction. They desperately needed a way to soften their wealthy neighbors’ hearts toward them for the debt to be restructured. Perhaps even forgiven, if miracles ever happened. And between Liola, her mother, and her grandmother, they’d been able to come up with one way to achieve that: through Liola charming Vinsen Rezenfort. The heir of the family, the one everyone in this estate doted on.

Now, he had either seen right through her ploy and chose to humiliate her on purpose, or he was simply an inconsiderate oaf. At this point, Liola wasn’t sure what was worse. 

She drew a deep breath and nearly choked on the abundance of scents in the air. In isolation, none of them were too bad, not even the musky smell of horse sweat. Most were, in fact, downright pleasant: the sweetness of flowers blooming in the rolling hills past the fence, the freshness of hay, the light bitterness of sun-warmed tree bark. Mixed together, though, they became as overwhelming as her fears and thoughts.

Inside the long wooden building, a horse huffed and neighed. A stableboy hurried past, carrying a bucket of oats. The sky darkened further, and one by one, orbs of magelight sprung up along the length of the high fence—a majestic sight that only served to remind Liola of her precarious situation.

Her family hadn’t been able to afford magical lanterns outside of the house for months now. And they’d been forced to sell all their horses but one.

“Have you ever been to a fairy market?”

The sudden question jolted Liola out of her wallowing. She looked around wildly for its source, half-expecting a magical creature to have made it through the estate’s defenses to taunt her. But nw, the girl who stood in the shadow of a sprawling oak tree was as ordinary as one could be while wearing male riding clothes and boasting a flaming mane of loose, windswept hair that went past her waist. It was the hair that made her so easy to recognize.

Janiz, Lady Rezenfort’s wayward niece who’d come to live here at the start of summer for some obscure keep-it-inside-the-family reason. They’d never been introduced, but Liola had caught glimpses of her. She knew they were of the same age. She’d heard that Janiz kept to herself, disappeared gods knew where for hours on end, and had made it clear she wasn’t interested in any offers of courtship. Once, Liola had tried asking Vinsen about his cousin and the vehement derision in his response was shocking.

She couldn’t deny she’d been intrigued and fascinated by this newcomer for months, and yet she’d done nothing about it. It was, after all, dangerous to indulge in fascination for other girls. Especially in Liola’s present position.

And yet here was Janiz, a vision of freckles and impish dimples, and Liola couldn’t look away.

“I haven’t,” she said after an all too obvious delay and hoped the warmth in her cheeks could be written off as a touch of the setting sun. “Why do you ask, Miss Janiz?”

The girl laughed softly and took a step out of the shadows. “Recognizable, am I?” She traced a fingertip up the bridge of her nose, as though fixing glasses that weren’t there. “Well, see, Miss Liola, I have this annoying habit of filling awkward silences whenever I spot one. And you’ve been standing there quite silently... and quite awkwardly, too, if I may say so.”

“Oh.” Liola knew she should feel embarrassed, but she was too busy getting captivated.

Especially when Janiz ventured even closer.

“I’ve been to several fairy markets,” she confessed in a low voice, eyes sparkling. “Back home in Atissia and here in the hills. I have a tree house just beyond the fence that I’ve built myself, and I store all my purchases there. Would you like to come and see?”

That sounded like a strange offering and a really bad idea. But Liola could see nothing good in hovering about waiting for Vinsen to remember her existence, either. And out of two bad ideas, why not pick the fun one?

“I would be delighted,” she said.

Perhaps through Janiz, she could get into the Rezenforts’ good graces just as well.

[cptnbandana]

Small Gods

Chapter 1: One Hell of a Morning

Rain bounced off the concrete and asphalt before sweeping the dirt of the city into its endless gutters and storm drains. The sheets of rain doused everything in the great city. Even now, in the small hours of the morning, the rain sloshed around the feet of hurried pedestrians, leaping between puddles in some vain attempt to stay dry. The rain cascaded down from the concrete lip of a parking garage at a point where Chinatown starts to bleed into Little Italy. Detective Ashleigh Reynolds cast a weary eye over the drenched street and managed to stifle a yawn. New York, you could keep it. It seemed that since the city didn’t sleep, she wasn’t allowed to either.

She turned back to the more grisly scene behind her. “Okay, what do we know?” She asked the tired looking forensic tech, who had been watching the handful of uniformed officers that were milling around, trying to not get in the way of his two, equally exhausted looking colleagues that were currently trying to photograph the body.  “Adult Caucasian male, somewhere in his early 30s, no wallet or ID on him and, if I were a bettin’ boy, I’d say the cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head.” Reynolds sniffed. “Stinks of booze in here too,” she wrinkled her nose “And I’d probably say stale vomit.” The technician rolled his eyes, “What tipped you off? Was it the puddle of vomit near the body?” She looked over at him. “No, like, it smells like what you get after you’ve been blackout drunk, gotten home and then spent the rest of the day hanging over the toilet.” The technician raised his eyebrows at her but didn’t comment.

She looked back at the body just in time to see a skinny man with messy blonde hair, a long coat that seemed to be made entirely of pockets, and soft leather boots crouch down beside the body and poke it with a noticeably un-gloved finger. Reynolds put her hand to the Glock 19 on her hip and shouted at him. The man’s head whipped round to look at her, astonishment plain on his face. “You can see me?” his accent was British, but more the kind you’d hear in the south of London rather than on Downton Abbey. As soon as he looked up, the technician next to him yelped and nearly leapt a foot into the air. As the tech lost his balance and fell over, the man took his chance and bolted. Reynolds swore and sprinted after him. His longer legs gave him a clear advantage but she just picked up the pace and kept running. He ducked between two cars and leapt over the railing to the floor below, at street level. Without really thinking, she leapt after him. Luckily, she landed on the roof of a family SUV and was able to jump down to the asphalt without breaking her stride. She saw the perp turn left out of the parking garage and vanish out of sight. She kept running. She caught sight of him slipping past a pair of drunkards that seemed to be making their way back from one hell of a party, judging by the way they were weaving down the street, occasionally bouncing off of streetlights. She ducked past them as her quarry sprinted across the street into an alley. She swore again and chased after him. She reached the mouth of the alleyway as he was about halfway down it. “Stop! NYPD!” she shouted as she drew her handgun. He looked over his shoulder and, at that exact moment, his foot caught on a garbage bag and he went sprawling onto the street. Reynolds jogged over to him, pulling out a set of handcuffs as he tried to disentangle himself from the bag. He gave her a slightly amazed smile as she stood over him. “So you can really see me? Just my luck.” She hauled him up as the two uniformed officers reached the mouth of the alley. “Yeah buddy, I can see you. I can also see that you’re under arrest for interfering with an active crime scene. You have the right to remain silent…”

She rubbed her temple as the coffee brewed in its glass pot. It would taste terrible but, at that time of the morning, bad coffee was the best thing to keep you going. What had that guy meant, “You can see me?” She closed her eyes and kept rubbing. He was probably just some whack-job. Something still niggled at her though. How come the forensic guy hadn’t noticed him, despite the fact the two had been practically sitting in each other’s laps? The coffee machine went ding and she pulled a paper cup off the stack next to the machine.

The door to the interview room clicked softly behind her as she sat down opposite the messy-haired man. He had been handcuffed to the table but was still smiling. “Okay buddy, answer all the questions and we can be out of here in time for breakfast, okay?” He shrugged at her. “Fair enough. I’ve got a couple of questions meself.” She took a sip of the god-awful coffee. “That’s not really how this works.” He just shrugged.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Felix Jones, yourself?”

“You can call me Detective Reynolds. What were you doing at that crime scene?”

“Same thing you were, investigating.”

“Are you a private investigator?”

“Nope, just a nosy bugger.”

“What do you know about the victim?”

“That whatever killed him must have planned it and worn some kind of disposable smock.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“You don’t sneak up on the God of Hangovers and leave without getting sick all over you.”

“I’m sorry? You don’t sneak up on the what?”

“God of Hangovers. How can you see me?”

“So the guy was a big drinker? Had a lot of hangovers?

“No, the literal god of hangovers. How can you see me?”

“You keep saying that, why do you think I wouldn’t be able to see you?”

At that he grinned, displaying a mouth full of surprisingly white teeth. “Now, Ashleigh, you are asking the right questions.” She froze. “How the hell do you know my name?” The smile didn’t let up. “Call it a lucky guess.” She was suddenly very aware of the enclosed nature of the interview room. “Answer the question,” She said, keeping her voice level, “Why do you think I wouldn’t be able to see you?” He smiled and leant backwards as far as the cuffs would allow. “People can’t normally see me, that forensic bloke didn’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Okay, so definitely crazy. On the other hand, the technician had said that he hadn’t noticed the guy until she, herself, had shouted at him. She decided to humour him. “Okay then Mister Jones, why can’t people normally see you? Everyone in this station saw you as I brought you in.” He shrugged. “Well, now that you’ve brought all this attention onto me, they can’t help but see me.” He leant forwards onto the table again. “As far as people not seeing me goes, well, I’m just lucky that way.” She sighed and decided to change tack, but before she could ask another question, Felix had started talking again. “In fact, I’m just a really lucky bloke in general. So lucky, in fact, that I’ve been put into a set of handcuffs that have a slightly flawed lock.”

The open handcuffs flew across the table and smacked Reynolds full in the face, almost causing her to fall out of her chair. By the time she’d regained her senses, the door was already swinging shut behind Felix. She sprang to her feet and wrenched the door open. She rushed out into the corridor. Felix was attempting to walk nonchalantly round the corner away from the bullpen. He spotted her and broke into a run. Amazingly, the only person she passed was the desk sergeant who was only just looking up from her book of crossword puzzles. Felix was already moving at a dead run when she reached the street. She almost lost sight of him as he disappeared down another alley but she managed to gain some ground before catching sight of him leaping down the stairs into the subway. She dashed down after him and reached the bottom of the steps just as the skinny bastard was vaulting over the turnstiles. She didn’t even hesitate to follow, much to the annoyance of the MTA guy standing next to them.

She came out onto the deserted platform to see Felix running along its edge. She drew the Glock and shouted “Freeze!” He slowed to a halt, raised his hands and slowly turned to face her. She approached, keeping her gun trained on him. “Not so lucky now, are ya?” Felix suddenly grinned at her again. “Oh, I dunno, I reckon I’ve got a pinch of luck left.” He took a step backwards, towards the edge of the platform. “Stay where you are!” Reynolds shouted. Felix just kept up that grin, it was starting to really annoy her. “What you’re holding there, is a standard issue, NYPD Glock 19. I’m not an expert in firearms, but that one seems to have a fairly good rep.” He took another step backwards. “Trouble is, you see, they still jam sometimes.” Another step. “Stay where you are! I’m warning you!” Felix’s smile dropped into stony seriousness. “Then shoot me. Cuz, the thing is, if I’m lucky and I mean really lucky, then that gun will jam at just the right moment. So stop with the threats Detective Reynolds and bloody shoot me.” She gritted her teeth. She was beginning to feel the tell-tale rumble of the approaching C train through her feet. “You are under-” Felix jumped and Reynolds fired. Except nothing happened but a loud click. She looked at the weapon in disbelief before mentally shaking herself and charging forwards. Just as she reached the edge of the platform where Felix had been standing, the train roared through the station, forcing her to take a step back from the edge. The cars seemed to rattle past for an age before she could see over the edge of the platform. She looked up and down the tunnels. Felix had vanished.

The bar was dark and a faint aroma of old tobacco and stale beer permeated the air. Sandy sat in the only booth that still had its cushion completely intact. She stared into her mescal and tried not to look at the conspicuously empty stool at the bar. The thick-armed woman behind the bar ran a rag up and down the stained wood without really looking at anything. None of the few other patrons were saying anything. The two guys by the pool table were just leaning on their cues and staring at nothing. An old lady in the corner sat with a dog-end hanging from her lips. Sandy didn’t know any of them by name, or even by reputation, but they all knew that today was not a day for celebrations. Tonight would be for silence. That was the only real wake that their kind got. Felix had told her that, when one of them dies, the closest friends of the deceased might get together and tell a few stories but most of the others would just hold a solemn silence. The stories wouldn’t even be that big, no legends that would stand the test of time, small stories. Somehow, it fit. Sandy wanted to scream, if only to break the silence. She hadn’t even known the dead guy, no-one else in here even knew her by more than her face, and most of them wouldn’t have even noticed that. Still, she felt obligated to stay silent. She knew that the same silence would be echoing throughout the city, in homes and hidden corners, wherever there was one of their kind, the silence would be observed. There weren’t many of them, and news travels fast. They’d all know about the death by now.

The door whispered open on its surprisingly well-oiled hinges. It was a tiny noise, barely audible over the traffic outside, but it was enough. The spell was broken, and sound returned to the dingy room. The two guys standing by the pool table shook themselves from their reverie and began racking up for a new game. The old lady in the corner put the cigarette butt behind her ear and took a pull of something amber-coloured in a short glass. Felix walked in softly and leant on the bar. He and the bartender exchanged a few quiet words and she pulled out a brown glass bottle from somewhere under the bar and handed it to him. He dropped a couple of notes in front of her and wandered over towards Sandy. She took a swig of the slightly unpleasant mescal and narrowed her eyes at Felix. He slumped down into the opposite side of the booth. “You would not believe the day I’ve had.” He pulled a quarter out of his pocket and wedged it against the cap of his beer. There was a small “ping” and the cap flew off. Sandy leant across the table. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been here for hours!” She said in a raised whisper. Felix waved at her, “Keep your voice down, will you? This is still a very solemn occasion.” She grimaced at him. “Answer the question, nimrod. What the hell took you so long?”

He took a swig of the beer and sighed. “If you must know, I got arrested.” The colour drained from Sandy’s face as he took another swig of beer. “You were what?” she eventually managed. He shrugged, “Look, I went to have a gander at Billy’s body, right?” She nodded, she’d been there when they both found out. Felix had gone charging off and told her to “Check out the dive.” She’d managed to work out that he’d meant this particular dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen and not one of the hundred others that made up New York City nightlife. “So, I get there and it turns out that the filth are already in attendance.” Sandy held up a hand, “Filth?” Felix waved dismissively, “Police, cops. Anyway, I get there and I have a bit of a butchers, see what I can see, right?” She nodded, only really half following what he was saying. She’d noticed that Felix’s use of British slang went up alongside his level of stress. “Soon as I decide to have a nosey at the body, this woman sees me.” Sandy frowned. “Wait a sec, aren’t normal people supposed to, just, not notice us? That’s what you told me.” Felix nodded. “Yeah, that’s how it works. I wasn’t exactly drawing undue attention towards myself, I’ve done things more ostentatious than that before and nobody saw a thing. Bloody hell, the forensics bloke was close enough to me I could tell what bloody aftershave he was wearing!” Sandy held up a hand, “So then, how the hell did she see you?” Felix shrugged and took another drink. “Not a bloody clue. Anyway, she shouts at me, we have a little chase and eventually she collars me. I end up having to sit through enough of an interrogation to realise that she doesn’t know anything about us and then I legged it.” Sandy shook her head. “Unbelievable. How did you get away?” Felix drained the last of the brown beer, “By using up everything I had left, it’s a miracle I didn’t get hit by a train or fall down an open manhole on my way here.”

Felix set the bottle down on the table with a soft thump. He stared at the label for a little while, his brows furrowed. “Sandy, we do have a problem though.” He looked up at her, “Billy was murdered.” She stiffened, “You sure? The guy was a drunk, he could have just fallen and cracked his head open.” Felix shook his head. “No, this was murder. Billy wasn’t a drunk, he was hungover. He was in here all the time but he’s also the only reason why Rosie bothered to stock lemonade and orange juice. Someone killed him, dunno why but it can’t be good.”

“Any suspects?”

“It’s unlikely to be one of us, we don’t kill our own kind. At least, not without a song and dance about it.”

“Any other leads?”

“Not so far, I didn’t get too much of chance to look around before PC plod jumped me.”

“She was a uniform?”

��No, plain clothes. Detective, I think.”

“So you think that a human might have been involved?”

“Possibly.”

“Felix, I might have an idea.” He looked up at her, expectant. His face fell when she told him what it was. “Absolutely not, are you nuts?” Sandy drained her mescal. “It’s our only real shot at a solid lead, what else can we do?” He gave her a dark look. “Fine, but if this goes tits up, I told you so.”

“So, explain it to me again Reynolds. How, the fuck, does some skinny British guy wander onto an active crime scene, almost touching the victim’s body, then nearly manages to escape an NYPD detective on foot, ends up handcuffed to a table in an interrogation room before MANAGING TO ESCAPE AND THEN WALK OUT OF A POLICE PRECINCT?” Reynolds stood ramrod straight as flecks of spittle bounced off her face. Captain O’Hare slumped back against his desk. “Ashleigh, you’ve been here for five years and you’ve done some amazing work.” Reynolds opened her mouth to answer him but O’Hare overrode her. “Look, I understand that everyone has bad days but you’ve got a suspect who appears to have vanished into thin air.” Reynolds opened her mouth again but O’Hare held up a hand. “I saw the tape. You’ve never had a problem in interrogation but that guy wound you round his little finger.” He shook his head. “What the hell’s going on Ash?”

She stood there, hands behind her back, her clipped fingernails digging into her palm. “Sir,” she began, but what was she going to say? I’m sorry sir, but a man believing the victim to be a god somehow slipped out of my cuffs, caused my gun to jam and disappeared into the subway tunnels. She couldn’t think of a quicker way to end up back in department-mandated psychiatric assessment. She just closed her mouth and shrugged. “I don’t really have anything to say sir. I screwed up, big time. It won’t happened again.” O’Hare sighed and sat down behind his desk, leaning back in the old leather swivel chair. “No, I hope it won’t. Go home Reynolds, you’re relieved for the day. Get some sleep and I’ll see you back here tomorrow.” He waved her away before she could protest. “With this, and the falafel incident, I think you need to be taking some time off. Start with today, do some desk duty tomorrow.” He took one look at her sour expression and sighed, “Don’t make me order you, Ashleigh.” Her shoulders slumped as if all the air was being let out of her. She left the captain’s office without another word.

The door softly clicked shut behind her. She didn’t bother with the stand by the door, just dropped her coat where she stood along with her backpack. She walked into the apartment’s small kitchen to find it exactly as she’d left it when she’d stepped out early that morning. Leon’s note was still on the countertop, next to a small pile of unopened mail. He was supposed to be back by now. She checked her phone to find a previously unnoticed text message.

I’m sorry, everything seems to be taking longer than I thought. I think I’m gonna be stuck in Iowa for another couple of days, Sorry!

She smiled, despite herself. Her boyfriend could be a bit of a dolt at times but he always tried to see the best in things. She rolled her head on her shoulders, feeling the bones in her neck crack. She groaned as they popped into place. She headed towards her bathroom, peeling off her shirt as she went. She’d clear up her coat and any of the rest of the mess later, for now, she needed a goddamn shower.

Once under the spray, she pressed her forehead against the bathroom wall. As the scalding water did its best to try and ease the tension from her shoulders, she let the morning's experience wash over her. Had she really seen a man sneak onto a crime scene so stealthily that not even the forensic tech standing next to him had seen him? Had she honestly chased the same man out of a somehow deserted police precinct, only to lose him in the freaking subway tunnels? None of this felt real. She started banging her head gently against the wall. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She grumbled. The reports after the falafel incident swam across her vision. Maybe she was starting to crack up, she had been getting a little less sleep than the doctors had told her. She shook her head violently. No, this was just some crazy guy who’d gotten into her head a little. True, she hadn’t been on perfect form today but it was nothing like the falafel incident.

Once out of the shower, and clad in one of Leon’s overlarge old Metallica t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants, she sat on the couch and began trying to persuade her short, occasionally spiky, hair to behave properly. There was the tinny, electric sound of the doorbell and she groaned. Being able to avoid people and wind down was the only real benefit of being stuck here, now she was probably going to have to deal with the slightly pervy old greek guy down the hall asking if she’d seen his cat. A cat that, it turned out, had been dead for nearly four years. She unhooked the chain and began to open the door. “Look, mister Savidas, I haven’t seen your-”

Felix Jones stood in the doorway. He gave her a slightly nervous smile “Hello Detective Reynolds, I need your help.”

[fort-cozy-mcblanket]

Happy Shamy Anniversary! Can't believe it's been 13 years since Sheldon and Amy first met!

I had three ideas for my celebratory fic this year and by some miracle I ended up writing all three. One I posted on their wedding anniversary, one I posted yesterday, and this here is the third.

Thank you to my beta reader Stark and also Uri for reading this over! You guys are the best! And a special thank you to my friend Alejandra for answering my question of what's the most romantic equation. :)

This is also available on AO3 and FF.Net.

Please enjoy!

The first time she did it, it was on a whim.

Amy had an early-morning department meeting and was up and ready to go to work while Sheldon was still in the shower. Before she left, she opened the bathroom door to call out a goodbye, but then saw the steamed-up mirror above the sink and opted to leave her parting message there instead.

'Have a good day! Love you!' she scrawled with her finger before quickly retreating.

She wasn't sure why she did it exactly. There was just something about the idea of Sheldon stepping out of the shower, all naked and dripping, to see her little surprise note that tickled her. She drove all the way to Caltech with a smile on her face and then forgot about it for the rest of the day until she got home. The bathroom mirror was pristine by then and Sheldon never mentioned anything about it, but as she brushed her teeth in front of it that night she found herself smiling again, hoping he had liked it.

The second time she did it was just a few days later, that weekend. She got up early Sunday to meet her mother and aunt for breakfast and once again her departure time coincided with Sheldon's scheduled bathroom time.

'Have fun today! See you later!' she wrote this time, and drew a heart at the end for good measure.

When she returned that afternoon, the mirror was clean once again and Sheldon was out with the guys. She didn't think anything more of it.

The third time was on the following weekend. Amy was cleaning up from breakfast when Sheldon went to take his shower. While he was in there, Amy slipped in to write "Looking good!" in the mirror steam before slipping back out, grinning. She then settled on the bed with her iPad and waited for her turn to use the bathroom. A few minutes later the water turned off and Sheldon stepped out wearing just a towel, with a bottle of glass cleaner and microfiber cloth in hand.

"Here, since you insist on dirtying up our mirror, you can clean it this time," he said, foisting the cleaning items onto her.

"You didn't like my messages?" she asked, blinking up at him.

"It's bad enough the bathroom here isn't well-ventilated, the mirror is sure to corrode from all the condensation build-up. I would prefer not to think about all the germs and oils from your hands smeared on its surface too."

Amy sighed. Of course that's what he would think about, practicality over sentimentality. Of course she probably should have known that.

"You're upset?" Sheldon asked, surprising her.

"No," she said, but then paused. Sheldon wasn't good with reading emotions, but here he was making an effort. It didn't help either of them if she wasn't honest. "Well, maybe a little."

"Why?"

"I know it's silly," she explained. "But I guess I wanted us to be the type of couple who leaves little messages like that for each other. I thought it was romantic."

"Romantic? Smudgy mirrors are romantic now?" He threw up his hands. "Good lord, I'll never be able to keep up with all this nonsense!"

Despite herself, Amy couldn't stop from laughing a bit. Her poor, beleaguered boyfriend. He really did try to keep up with her romantic needs, she knew this. She could meet him halfway here, maybe find some other way to leave him love notes, maybe in his lunch.

"Okay, you're right," she said, standing up. "I'll clean up."

"Thank you!" he called after her as she strode into their bathroom and got to work.

----------

When Amy stepped out of the shower a few mornings later to see an equation written out in the mirror's fog, she was surprised. And annoyed. She quickly wrapped herself up in a towel and stomped out to find Sheldon.

"Oh, so I can't leave you notes on the mirror, but you can use it as an extra whiteboard for your work?" she asked.

"Didn't you read it?" he asked, looking up from where he was working on his laptop.

She opened her mouth, about to fire back that of course she read it, but actually she hadn't. Not really. She hadn't even put her glasses back on yet. She had only seen enough to know it was an equation, not words.

"Come on." Sheldon took her hand and led her back to the bathroom, passing her glasses over once they were both inside. She put them on and gave the message another look.

(∂ + m) ψ = 0

"The Dirac equation?"

"Oh good, you know it." Sheldon looked at her expectantly.

"Sure, the quantum entanglement of subatomic particles," she continued. Sheldon kept staring at her, his eyebrows raised, his head inclined toward her. She stared back.

"Good lord, you're going to make me actually say it!" he said after a few seconds passed. "Two microscopic particles can interact in a way that their quantum states become intertwined, so much so that the particles stay linked together even when a great distance comes between them."

"The initial interaction causes the two separate particles to become one system," she summed up for him, smiling. She saw it now. How two separate things can interact and affect each other in a profound and lasting way. How one could even cause the other to set aside the important principles of order and cleanliness in order to leave a love note on the bathroom mirror. "That's awfully sentimental of you, Dr. Cooper."

"Yes, well," Sheldon sighed and bent over to retrieve the bottle of glass cleaner from the cabinet next to the sink. "I blame the entanglement."

[vinnsley]

Hello can you do a few HCs for Clara, Ife, You Yan, Drew, Falken or Gaius?

MORE DREW CONTENT??? yall drew fans THIRSTY 😭😭 anyways, going to do clara and drew, changing up a bit and doing 2 since i wanna improve my imagination ive been burned out lately. (ty especially for ur support, i see you like my works and keep requesting tysm!)sorry if i make any spelling errors!!

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~~Clara n Drew (separate) HC's~~

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-clara-

okay, first off, she has a reputation. A VERY HIGH ONE AT THAT. so she keeps everything lowkey, but in private she dosent mind the pda and love <3

claras favourite thing to do is cane dance, so she would ask if you would like to cane dance with her (if you cant cane dance or dont even know what that is (like me) then she'll teach you)

if you get hurt she will always be the first person to aid you, esper or not

but if you get hurt easily or very often she will try to prevent these times to happen, dont know how but she will

okay this is random but i see that whenever you stare at her breasts (like come on dont deny it you would, look at the official art on the wiki or official page😭) she just gives you a teasy smile and asks if you like the view, trying to catch you off guard

if you steal her hat, glasses and try to act like her in the mirror and she finds out, she will watch you (in secret) and when she tells you that she knows about you acting like her infront of the mirror she actually either compliments your acting OR give you positive criticism like what you need to work on, etc.

she likes peacocks, so she will take you to a peacock petting place (probs dont exist but shh) as a date, she finds peacocks as beautiful animals and always teases you by saying

"I always thought peacocks were beautiful, that was until i met you of course."

smooth woman right here

i easily think her love language is gift giving, so dont be suprised if you see chocolate, trinkets, pins, hats or small accsesories on your desk at home ;)

all in all shes a very caring and loving girlfriend <33

-Drew-

more drew headcanons yall are making me lose ideas for this man

i always say hes the perfect boyfriend material, but its true so ill say it again

my mans tall, hes 180cm so if youre shorter than him if you allow it, he'll put his head on your head

if you hold his hand or give him a kiss on the cheek as a good luck before a mission in public, he would freeze and blush, poor man cant handle your cuteness

you two would for sure bake/cook together

if you make him a mousse cake (his favourite) he wouls go nuts in a good way

blushing and admiring the hard work you put into it

if it tastes good or even bad he would still eat it, he dosent care at all you put your hard work into this just for him so he would, with pleasure, eat the cake no matter its taste or looks. its the thought that counts after all

if you become injured he would try to help you, he did serve a rich family so he of course knows some basic medic care. (dont know if thats the right term but lets stick to it okay...) if he knows he cant help, he'll put you into the unions medical cares arms and wait until you fully recovered to actually check up you himself

he does care really, but if youre not an esper thats in the union, you might barely see him

he does work for the union after all, he has missions to complete and peoples life could depend on it

so as i said maybe he wouldnt have time to be with you, but he does send you letters about his missions, well-being and some hi's and miss you's from the other union members

he did introduce his sweet partner to his friends after all

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A/N: i had to reedit this after i posted this like 7 times because of my fast typing😭

im running out of drew headcanons, you guys are milking me out of them 😭, anyways sorry for being offline for a while, i was busy + didnt have any motivation/requests to do, i do have an old one im working on later!

Tysm for reading, likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[darby-draws]

14 and 18 for Drew !

Thank you!! [questions]

14 If you had to narrow it down to 2 things that you MUST keep in mind while working with your OC, what would those things be?

Two things, huh? Ok. For drawing him: Shitty half lidded dark eyeshadow lookin eyeballs and either an annoyed or shit eating grin type expression. And 2, the general shape of his hair. Yes the blue hair is iconic Drew, but I've had fun playing with his hair color more often and it always still feels like him with the right shape! As for like, writing type situations: 1 He's not as confident as he wants you to believe, but he is somehow still very convincing. 2 He desperately needs therapy and literally cannot admit that. (2.5 Daddy Issues)

18 What is the most recent thing you’ve discovered about your OC?

I recently made a connection that, in multiple AUs, Drew ends up injuring his legs or feet. None of these injuries are particularly connected but something about it was like. This keeps happening to forms of him, it seemed compelling. And its just kind of coincidental, yeah, but thinking about it I feel like I needed a similar injury in the actual canon timeline to kind of tie those AU moments to something? So I decided he broke his ankle when he was younger, 17-18 maybe. And sometimes he still kinda feels it act up in rainy colder weather. Thats all!

(AU Injuries including: In a particular Relationship Swap AU, he stepped on broken glass after someone (his father: see 2.5, above) threw a glass at him, it missed but shattered on the ground. In the Kingdumb AU he gets attacked by a boar while hunting, he took a pretty bad injury to the thigh. (he wasn't used to doing hunting, and being out of his usual armor set, forgot he couldn't just take a hit) And in the Mermaid AU he just has general leg and muscle pain when he's been shifted in his Human Form too long and not able to be in the water. Seems comparable to some sort of chronic muscle pain, he'll eventually use a cane to steady himself as he spends more time on land more often with his boyfriend Brent who just wants him to have an easier time walkin around! Drew used to be pretty solitary and only came on land to steal things either to eat/drink or to decorate the little cove he lived in, then he'd come right back to the beach lmao. Now that he knows some friends on land… he's learning the limits of being out of the water for longer stretches of time.)

[empressofthelibrary]

stormy days

The sky was overcast. Rain was beginning to fall, and Kui Mulang's ears twitched as he heard distant thunder. The storm would be here soon.

And Hualei, his beloved, was not at home.

He paced around the living room, trying to ease the tension in his body. It was just a storm. Hualei was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. And besides, the dragon-pepper girl was with her. She had been a formidable opponent, and he knew she cared for Hualei. His beloved would be well enough with her friends.

Still, he'd rather she was safe at home, with him.

He sat down on the couch, fiddling with the collar of the turtleneck sweater Hualei had purchased for him. She had been delighted with it, though he didn't fully understand the appeal. The dark blue material felt so tight, and it was strange to wear something that fit so close around his neck.

"Don't pull at it so much," Hualei had chided. "You'll stretch the fabric out and it'll sit weird."

Realizing he was doing it again, Kui drew his hand away from his neck and set it on his leg. A moment later, his heel began to bounce against the floor, almost on its own. He stood again, crossing into the apartment's kitchen to get a drink of water.

As he turned the tap off -- that engineering marvel was still fascinating to him -- the phone on the wall began to ring. He lifted it from the hook and placed it against his ear. "Ah, hello?"

"Wolfman." It was the pig-demon on the other side, the one who ran the noodle shop. "Hualei mentioned the other day you didn't have your own phone yet, so I thought I'd call and make sure you were okay. This storm's going to be a bad one."

Kui set the glass down on the counter with a clink. "What do you mean?" The frost crept back into his voice as he struggled to keep his anxiety in check.

"I mean the weather's gonna get rough. High speed winds, maybe some flooding in the streets. Nothing like a monsoon, just... You and Hualei stay inside, okay?"

"...She isn't home yet," Kui replied.

Outside, the wind was picking up. Thunder rumbled again, much closer.

"What?" The pig-demon's surprise was genuine. "Mei's here, she said she and Hualei parted ways a good half-hour ago."

A chill ran down Kui's spine. "She should be here by now. Put the dragon-girl on the line."

"Hey, I'm sure --"

"Put her on the phone," Kui growled. "Please."

"Alright, alright," the other demon grumbled. "Since y'asked nice and all."

There was a faint rustling, and Mei's voice was the next on the phone. "Hey, guy-that-tried-to-eat-me. What's up?"

"Where. Is. Hualei?"

"...I take it she isn't home yet, then." Her voice was quiet. "But hey, don't worry!" Her voice brightened with a false, cheerful bravado. "I'm sure she's fine!"

"You were the last one to see her, pepper-girl." Kui's voice was an icy hiss now. "If she has come to any harm --"

Suddenly, the door swung open. Hualei stumbled inside, arms laden with grocery bags. Water dripped from her raincoat onto the floor, plastering her dark hair against her skin. "Oh, gosh! It's really starting to pour out there." She chuckled, coming into the kitchen. "Sorry I'm late, I saw the weather turning, and I wanted to make soup tonight. Who's on the phone?"

"Beloved!" Kui dropped the phone against the counter, scooping Hualei up into his arms and spinning her around. He pulled the groceries from her hands and set them on the counter, then turned to embrace her again. He pressed his face into her hair, breathing in her scent.

"Hey!" Mei's voice crackled from the phone's speaker. "You gonna finish that threat or not?"

"Is that Mei?" Hualei leaned over, reaching for the receiver. "Aw, c'mon, I thought you two were finally getting along."

Kui picked the phone up first, one arm still wound around Hualei's waist. "She is home now. It is fine." He hung the phone back up before either Mei or Hualei could respond.

Another boom of thunder rolled through, lightning flashing through the sky. The windows shook, and Kui couldn't hide his subtle flinch.

"Oh, my love." Hualei lifted her hands, scratching behind Kui's lupine ears. He relaxed, melting against her. "Don't worry. I'm home now, and the storm's gonna pass soon. You wanna watch a movie?"

"That... Would be nice," he sighed. "But what about dinner?"

"I'll start it after the movie." Hualei took Kui's hand and pulled him towards the couch. "I wanna sit down for a bit anyway."