#I have sort of triumphed over my computer

[darling-i-read-it]

Please Don't Kill Me Mr. Ghostface!

Ethan Landry x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.8k 

Warnings: SCREAM 6 SPOILERS 

Very susceptible reader, Ethan’s reaction to Richies death, heavy insinuations to smut, faking the reader and Quinn's death, the slight cringe from scream movies dialogue <3, they literally have sex in the stab shrine room (when will it be my turn), (that is all skipped over), me being unsure of which ghostface was at which part of the movie. I have only seen Scream 6 once and was just going off what I remembered from it! So if things are wrong (timing, Ghostfaces, etc) then I’m sorry! 

Author’s Note: This one requires some suspension of belief lol. I don’t know HOW to justify the reader doing all these things except Ethan was cute and this is fiction <3 I hope you enjoy love!! Also I wasn’t 100% sure on if Ethan’s name was Landry or Bailey. I went with Landry (which I’m sure is fake but what we all know him as! So when I refer to the house under that name, I was torn lol)

Requested by anon, ooh ok so can i request ethan x reader where reader is in on the ghostface thing (but she’s not killing people she just knows about it) and like helps them with stuff (maybe with like faking quinn’s death and stuff like that idk) but also it’s somehow fluffy relationship stuff in there too lol (sorry it’s kinda all over the place😬)

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You were laying on the back on Ethan’s bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. His room was as familiar to you as your own was. You had practically grown up at the Landry’s home, going to school together for your entire lives and staying close to Ethan throughout it all. Once you had hit your senior year in high school, it seemed only fate the two of you would start to date.

You put down your phone with a gentle huff. Ethan was sitting in front of his computer, doing homework. You turned your head to face him, trying to telepathically ask for attention. As if he could read your mind, he spoke. 

“Give me five more minutes.” 

“I told you taking chemistry for your lab credit was dumb,” you said gently, wanting to sneak in an ‘I told you so’ but also not wanting to agitate him. He was brilliant but he couldn’t always grasp the concepts he had too. You suspected some sort of undiagnosed learning disorder but you were far from a doctor. You were just his best friend. 

“I don’t remember you being there when I picked classes,” he said quietly. You rolled your eyes. 

“I was there in spirit.” You grabbed your phone again, flipping onto your stomach. You opened it back up, looking past the screensaver of you and Ethan over the summer before, when you had been on vacation with his family. You reopened Instagram to continue your doom scroll. The first story you opened was that of a friend from school. 

You usually skipped through them, not even registering what they said, but paused at the large bolded letters over a black screen. 

Rip Richie <3 

You didn’t deserve to be caught up in that. 

You squinted, trying to place a Richie that you knew. The first that came to your mind was Ethan’s older brother but just as quickly as the thought came it left. It couldn’t have been him. He was with his girlfriend in Modesto or something. Plus, how would this rando in high school know before you and Ethan? You kept flicking through your friend's stories, confused. Someone had posted a blurry picture of some sort of a crime scene. It was clearly reposted over and over so the picture itself was almost lost. You squinted and then opened your google app.

“Okay I’m done,” Ethan said, shutting his laptop with triumph. “I’m gonna ace that test tomorrow.” He looked over your face and could read you with ease. Something was wrong - or at the very least, confusing. “What?” 

You googled Richies name. A flood of reports came up. Your lips parted in surprise as you looked up at Ethan. 

“What?” he repeated. Before you could explain, his phone rang. You both looked towards where it was resting on the bed beside you. You picked it up. A picture of his dads face was on the screen. 

“Oh God,” you whispered, unable to contain it. 

“What?!” He grabbed his phone and answered it quickly. You sat up, tossing your phone aside and getting off the bed. You knew right now that he was going to be grieving more than you. You had to be there for him. “Hello? Dad?” You stood beside him and watched as his face fell according to the muffled voice coming from the receiver. His eyes were laced with confusion and then a flash of pain. “What do you mean Richie-” He was cut off. 

There were a few more words and then his eyes went dead with emotion. You weren’t sure what to do so you stood beside him. He hung up the phone after a moment and then looked up at you. 

“Richie?” He nodded. His mouth was ajar, stunned. He threw his arms around you and you embraced each other as he stood up. “What happened?” you questioned. He was silent. You didn’t think you were going to get an answer until he spoke, quietly. 

“He was murdered.” 

-

“It’s actually kind of easy to rig the roommate system,” you muttered, sitting at a chair in front of your computer. The room behind you was filled with the remaining Landry’s. 

You turned around to the curious eyes. 

“So he’s in?” Wayne questioned. You nodded. 

“He is going to be Chads Meeks-Martin’s roommate,” you explained. He slapped you on the back in approval. You had always been on good terms with Wayne. He was the kind of dad who would ask if you had a boyfriend and then wink at his son after the question. He had been slightly overjoyed when Ethan told him you were dating. This came only after, he caught you and Ethan making out in his bedroom. It was mortifying but he was pretty okay about it. 

“Thanks kid.” 

Wayne was not on board with telling you about the trio of Ghostfaces he had planned but Ethan insisted. You had been there when he found out about Richie and you had been there through all of his hardships. 

“And you’re okay with coming around my place when we have to…you know…” Quinn made a gesture of slitting her own throat. “I mean, I need someone to drag my body out of there while my dad brings a new one.” 

You tried to ignore your moral dilemma to this. Ethan had promised you wouldn’t be implicated in any of this. But sometimes when Wayne looked at you during this you knew that you would go down with them if he went down. You were in on this now. You couldn’t exactly back out. 

“Yeah, no problem.” 

Quinn smiled brightly. She was slightly too excited about this. Part of you still didn’t think it was actually going to happen. You couldn’t imagine Ethan actually killing anyone, even when his eyes lit up while talking about it. 

“For Richie,” Ethan promised, placing a hand on your back. You nodded, getting up and out of your seat. You gestured to the computer. 

“I didn’t think this is what I would be doing with my computer science classes,” you admitted. Ethan smiled gently at you, ever soft, even when planning people’s literal murders. 

“For some reason I feel like she’s gonna have no problem faking our deaths but is gonna have a major problem not getting to hang out with Ethan everyday,” Quinn teased. You rolled your eyes. You wouldn’t be able to see him when he’s hanging out with his new group of friends. At least, you would have to act like you didn’t know him as closely as you actually did. You were meant to be Quinn’s friend in all of this. 

Wayne was grabbing papers off the table, presumably planning. He actively tried to burn everything after memorizing it. You thought it was dumb of him to write anything else. 

“You gonna be okay?” Ethan questioned, jokingly. You rolled your eyes. 

“You shouldn’t be worried about me E. I’m not the clingy one in this relationship.” 

-

Sam and Tara shouldn’t have been as nice as they were. You recognized the hate in Sam's eyes, the paranoia that was justified. She was out, attempting to get Tara from a party she went to. You sat in the apartment with Quinn. She was working through some homework. You were still amazed she did all that during this planning. 

You walked around her room, making sure that all of the blood that needed to come out, would come out. You liked to double check. You blamed the nerves. 

“Is he supposed to be here soon?” Quinn questioned. You glanced back at her. 

“You know we aren’t supposed to talk that much over the phone.” You were standing on top of her bed. Everything was in place for when your Ghostface arrived. You hopped down. She turned away from her computer. 

“I know you’re not supposed to. I also know he can’t help himself.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Soon. Within the hour,” you admitted. She left her computer open, to show that she was ambushed. You and Quinn were supposed to die tonight at the hands of Ghostface. After Sam and Tara left, he would sneak in and find you both, unsuspecting and oh so helpless. By the time the sisters returned home, you would both be dead, or close to it.

You glanced down at your phone which was still open to your texts with Ethan. 

Can’t wait to stick something in you tonight ;) 

You rolled your eyes, flushed, and turned off your phone. 

Quinn helped you to make sure everything would look as realistic as possible. She explained, again, that they would blame Sam for all of this. Once she was dead and Richie’s death had been paid for, the two of you would be able to return to society as though Ghostface had held you captive. 

You were too far in to back out now. 

You heard the front door open. Quinn shut her blinds so that no one would see Ethan maskless. It had been a couple of weeks since the two of you had been alone (or alone with Quinn). He walked in through the front door, which Sam had left unlocked in her rush, and quickly made his way to Quinn’s room. 

You met him halfway, throwing your arms around him. His laughter was muffled by the voice changer. You took his mask off of him, eager to get your lips on his. You couldn’t believe you were really doing this. You couldn’t believe your boyfriend was going to fake kill you. 

He kissed you before you could get to it. 

“Alright alright love birds,” Quinn grumbled. “Get in the closet Ethan, the girls are gonna be back soon.” 

“Will you give us one sec?” Ethan questioned. Quinn looked like she wanted to argue but knew that an argument would just continue this further than she wanted to. You stood outside of her door, leaving it ajar. He looked around carefully to make sure no windows were in view. You were alone. 

You took the mask from him. You felt it in your fingers. You hadn’t seen him in the outfit yet. You had seen Quinn and you had seen his dad but you hadn’t ever seen him in the full get up. 

“You’re so scary,” you whispered, a buzz in your voice. “I would be terrified.” 

“Are you scared?” He put the mask up to his face. “What’s your favorite scary movie?” You scrunched your nose, shaking your head. 

“What’s that part in the first Stab?” You thought for a minute, pressing yourself up against him. He looked at you with adoration in his eyes. He had missed you desperately. You had grown up together and spending a long time apart was proving to be more difficult than he thought it would be. “Please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface. I wanna be in the sequel!” 

He chuckled lowly and clutched your face, leaning over to kiss you. You let him, relishing in his lips. Who knew when he would slip away again to see you. You would be sentenced to hiding until all of this was over. He placed his other hand on your side, holding you in his grasp. 

“Alright you two! Andele, andele!” Quinn opened up the door. He let you go. You grabbed the mask with both of your hands, rubbing it with your thumb. It was scary. It wouldn’t be hard to act the part. 

“You ready to die?” he asked but his voice was so gentle it was almost comical. It was like he was checking in on you. 

“Yes sir.” 

You put the mask over his face and then he was no longer your boyfriend. He was Ghostface. You slipped into Quinn’s room and prepared for your end. 

-

“Maybe I should’ve joined in on the killing,” you muttered, looking up at the ceiling. You were stuck in the Ghostface shrine that Richie had created. It was fun for a while, considering there was so much to look at, but there were only so many times the Stab movies were interesting to watch. Quinn came and went but mostly went. You weren’t sure where Wayne was keeping her otherwise. 

The burner phone in your pocket buzzed. You quickly reached for it. 

“Hello?” 

“Lemme up.” 

You knew that voice. You also knew he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near here until much later. This room wasn’t even supposed to be found yet. He hung up the phone. You walked to the elevator and pushed the button to lower it. It took a few minutes but you heard it come back after a while. 

Ethan practically threw the gate open. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He threw his arms around you. 

“Those people are really fucking annoying.” You scoffed. You were grateful for the company but not at the behest of his cover. “I missed you.”

“Does your dad know you’re here?”

“I’m supposed to be in a study group.” 

“Skipping study group to see me? Tsk, tsk Ethan.”

“Shush.” 

He dipped his head to kiss you. You put your hands on his cheeks. You melted into him. You tried to imagine what Quinn would’ve said if she was here. Probably some crude joke that all three of you knew to be true in the end. 

You pulled away from him and kissed his jaw as you did so. 

“Bet you’ve never made out in the Stab shrine before,” he questioned jokingly. You scoffed. 

“Alright Ethan,” you scoffed. “How are you feeling?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about feelings,” he whined. “I have to be back soon.” 

“You came all the way up here to have sex in front of all these dead peoples possessions?” He paused. He knew how that sounded. He also knew he had faked your death. He wasn’t super sure how to handle this one. 

“Yes?” 

You narrowed your eyes. 

“I’m not gonna see you before the whole big thing. You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“Pillowtalk,” he breathed. You pretended to think. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

-

You sat up against the wall of the backrooms. You dragged him away from the prying eyes of all the killer memorabilia. 

“Are you scared?” you questioned. He had his head resting in your lap. He had to leave soon, you both knew it. 

“No,” he said quietly. “My dad will be there. He wouldn’t let us die when he’s with us.” You were brushing your fingers through his curls. You looked down at his big doe eyes, a faint smile on your face. 

“I’m scared.” 

“Don’t be.” 

“You can’t stop me,” you promised. He rolled his eyes. He hummed pleasantly from your touch. “You’ll be safe, yeah?”

“I’m going to kill someone.”

“I know. I know.” You tried not to think of it. You couldn’t imagine his eyes going black, killing people without remorse. Even when he was rushing at you with the knife, you knew he was just Ethan. “I still want you to be safe.”

“I’ll be safe.” 

“You have to go.” He groaned. You pushed him gently so he would get off of you. You would be stuck here. Maybe you would have another Stab marathon. You were beginning to like even the shitty ones. Stab 3 started to become an odd comfort. “I’ll be here when you’re done.” 

“You promise?” 

“Yeah E. I promise.”

[queenquinzel715]

Jethro Gibbs An undercover job turns to romance

Wrd count: 4,313

Warning: adult content, knife cutting (no self harm)

Jethro Gibbs (I know nothing about the military protocols so just believe it lol)

(Y/n) P.O.V

My morning was going just like all the others. I'd wake up, eat breakfast, fill my travel mug with coffee, and go to work. However halfway through my eggs, bacon, and toast when my cell phone rings. I sigh as I place my book down, and answer.

"(L/n)." I answer.

"(Y/n) we need you to come in. We have a… well the best type hinky." I hear Abby's cheery voice.

"Okay I'll be right there." I hung up with her.

I quickly get dressed into my scrubs, pull my hair into a high ponytail. Once on the road I make a quick stop for gas, and a couple drinks for my fellow colleagues. As I walk into the NCIS building I greet security and others as I get into the elevator. I hear heavy metal music as the doors open, and it brings a smile to my face.

"Good morning, Abby." I smile at her as I place her big gulp next to her quick fingers.

"Y/n you doll." Abby gives me a big smile before she takes a sip.

"What's the big hinky?" I laugh at her excited smile.

"Well this morning Gibbs and his gang had a call to this military housing neighborhood, and found a newlywed couple completely torn apart." She informs me.

"And?" I push because I know there's more by here turning to the computer screen.

"I've already found a handful of murders that were just swept under the rug, because they didn't have any sort of evidence." She walks over to a table. "Until I figured out the weapon is both a hunter's knife, and a scalpel." She then smiles in triumph.

"It's like you're a psychic, and you just give us pieces to throw us off." I laugh with her, but it's short lived by Special Agent Gibbs walking in with a box full of evidence.

"Abby, this is for you. (Y/n) I need you upstairs." He walks back toward the door. "Thanks for getting her here, Abbs." He says just as he walks out.

I give Abby a quick look before quickly walking to the elevator. Gibbs and I stay in silence the whole way until we get to the group looking at multiple people's pictures on a screen.

"(Y/n) great." McGee says. "We need you to go on an undercover operation. I just need you to pick a male that will pass for a Marine." He runs off like I knew what he was talking about.

"Gibbs?" I look at him with a pointed look, hoping he'd fill in the spots.

"We know the killer is going after newlyweds, so you are the bride." He smirks once he's finished. "I already have an idea of who it is, but of course we need to prove I'm right. I picked you for this." He ends his speech there.

"Okay." I turn to McGee. "What do I need to do?"

The rest of the day I'm given a crash course on how the undercover business works, and once I was done with my three hours course I found out that Gibbs is going to be my husband. I returned to the gang's area, and saw Gibbs watching the others talk.

"So my dear husband, how will our wedding work, hmm? Quick courthouse, or are you just gonna throw me over your shoulder like a caveman." I joke as I sit on the corner of his desk.

"Well I was thinking the club over the head would be easier." He smirks at me when I gasp. "You asked."

"So seriously, does this start immediately today?" I ask, grabbing the file about the suspect.

"You are a free woman until tomorrow night, and then we will sign the marriage certificate. I will get my uniforms, the address we will set up, and we will begin then." He puts away his belongings, and as he stands he pulls on his coat. "Chinese or pizza?" He asks.

"Chinese." I respond as I follow behind him.

This has been a new norm for me and Gibbs for a couple months now. I was pretty bad when I had to end my engagement, because my fiance was sleeping with our neighbor. An entire five year relationship down the drain. I didn't leave the lab for two weeks before Gibbs and Abby came knocking on my door. Apparently Abby had some concerns for my sanity so she went to Gibbs, and he came straight to the lab. Ever since then he has taken me to dinner every other day, or brings me dinner in the lab.

Tonight, we sit inside a little Chinese restaurant eating in a comfortable silence. With Gibbs I've learned, to much relief, I don't have to speak unless I absolutely want to.

"How's the boat coming along?" I ask as we throw away our trash.

"Pain in the ass." He chuckles.

-next morning-

I walked into the office a little bit early with coffees, and sat at Gibb's desk until I saw DiNozzo walk in with Kate in a heated discussion.

"Oh please DiNozzo all because you think it's him doesn't mean it is." Kate rolls her eyes at him, but lights up when she sees me holding a coffee cup in the air for her.

"(Y/n) you've read the files right?" I give DiNozzo nod in response. "Okay so don't you think it's Corporal Simon. He just fits every creepy fib." He acts like he's shaking.

"All because he's creepy doesn't mean anything, DiNozzo." Gibbs says before I could open my mouth. "And you. Why are you at my desk?" He says in my direction.

I simply hold up the coffee cup.

"Aw lovely wife boss." DiNozzo gets smacked in the back of the head for that.

For the next couple of hours I'm with Abby in the lab testing blood samples, fingerprints, and retesting the little bit of evidence for the past murders. By two in the afternoon Gibbs came to the lab to collect me, and my bags to go to our new home. Once there we five the whole moving in show I'm giving direction to Gibbs and DiNozzo as they carry furniture. Inside I'm dying of laughter, because every time Gibbs gives me a side eye I know he wants to tell me something smart. We had pizza delivered and sent DiNozzo back to the office.

"How do you want the sleeping arrangements to go?" I ask as I clean up the trash.

"Well I usually fall asleep in my boat." He speaks in a voice full of normalcy.

"Gibbs! That's not good." I fuss. "You told me "you can't do things that harm your body, or we won't solve shit" and look at you breaking your body down." I continued to fuss, and didn't realize Gibbs had gotten up from the table.

"Yea. I know." His voice comes right behind me as his hand drops the fork into the sink. "Then tell me where to sleep." He looks into my eyes.

"I put bedding in both rooms, so just pick one." I nervously turn back toward the sink.

"I'll take the room closer to the living room just in case." He grabs our bags by the doors, and goes toward the rooms.

Over the next couple days Gibbs, Kate, DiNozzo, and McGee have ran around the entire Marine Base to find who's actually the murder, but since I'm the stay at home wife I'm doing home things. I've taken broken down boxes to the trash, messed in the garden in the front yard, and went grocery shopping at the grocery store on base to meet other stay at home wives. As I'm taking the groceries into the house I hear a female yell hello through the front door. I secure my gun in the waist of my pants before walking to the door. A brunette woman is standing with a big smile, and a wrap covered plate.

"I didn't mean to intrude. I just wanted to say hello, and welcome you to the neighborhood." She smiles at me. "My name is Christine."

"Well that's so kind. I'd invite you inside, but the place is a complete mess." I give a smile as I take the plate.

"Oh I understand. I just wanted to drop off some sweets, and let you know if you need anything I can help. I work in the main office, so I can pull some strings." She gives me a wink.

"Well that's comforting to know." I laugh. "Thank you again, but I have to get dinner started before my husband Jethro comes home." I give a small wave as I shut the door watching her walk down the driveway.

I place the plate on the counter as I call Gibbs.

"Yes Mrs. Gibbs?" He answers.

"I was wondering when you will be back. I just met the most wonderful person." I vaguely respond.

"Be back in an hour. Everything okay?" He asks quietly.

"Yes, perfectly fine." I reassure him, and he hangs up.

Just like clockwork, an hour later Gibbs, and Kate walk through the door. I'm pulling the chicken out of the oven as Kate walks into the kitchen.

"Smells great (y/n)." She comments.

"Thank you. I love cooking." I hand her a plate, which she takes with a great smile.

"So who was this neighbor you met today?" Gibbs gets to the point as I walk to the table where they have everything set up.

"A woman named Christine. She didn't exactly say she was a neighbor, just that she worked in the main office and could pull some strings in case I needed anything, and handed me the plate of cookies there on the counter." I say pointing to the still wrapped plate. "Told her I had to get dinner ready for my new husband Jethro." As I fill him in on what else happened in my day I'm fixing both of our plates, because I realized he hasn't even looked in the kitchen direction.

"She does have access to high documents, and can cut through a lot of red tape." Gibbs informs me, and gives me a thank you nod when he takes the plate.

"Wait, can I see the witness report again?" I ask, and Kate hands it to me.

I read through the report, and found where a witness saw a brunette white woman, with long legs, short torso, and pointed face. I place the paper down as I point out the passage I read.

"This describes Christine." I inform them.

"I figured." Gibbs sighs. "We'll follow up on this in the morning. Thank you." He holds up the paper as he drinks the rest of his beer.

Once dinner is over Kate leaves. Gibbs goes to the garage, and I to the bath. I can't help but think how this is so simple for us. How we fit into the role perfectly, but I know it has to end. After I clean the rest of the kitchen I come out to find Gibbs glaring at the evidence board from the garage door. I take his empty bottle, replacing it with a new one.

"You already know who's doing this, don't you?" I lean against the table.

He leans next to me with his arms crossed.

"My gut tells me it's Christine. The evidence we have points to her office." He shakes his head.

I give him a hum in response as I stand on my feet. I can feel his eyes watching me while I walk toward my room. I do turn back at him with a soft smile before going to the door. I throw on my tank top and shorts for bed, and end up just laying there in frustration. I haven't had any sort of touch since my ex, but I can't do anything like that here with Gibbs' falcon hearing. I lay there for three hours until I've had enough, and I throw the blankets off me. I grumble under my breath as I open my bedroom door, but I quietly walk down the hall to the kitchen. I pull pb&j stuff out only for the garage door to open. I grab the large knife from the knife stand, and throw it at the door, only for it to get stuck in the doorframe.

"Whoa! It's me." Gibbs holds his hands up as he comes into the light better.

"Oh my God Jethro I'm so sorry." I run toward him, but he grabs my hand before I could grab his.

"Good throw." He keeps my hands into his one while he pulls the knife out of the wall.

"Good throw?! Gibbs, that's all you can say?" I keep freaking out.

"I thought it was Jethro." He looks into my eyes with a smirk.

He lets go of my hands to go put the knife back. He then starts making a sandwich.

"I…well..it just came out." I stumble over my words, and my face heats up.

"I think you should get used to calling me Jethro." He keeps his back to me while he speaks.

I'm too nervous to say anything, but he soon turns with two sandwiches in his hands. He holds out one to me with a paper towel wrapped around it as he takes a bite of his.

"Thank you Jethro." I smile as I take the sandwich.

We end up sitting on the counter, and Jethro telling me stories. We laugh, I joke about his military days, and he jokes about my technical "support" skills. The sun is starting to rise as my eyes become heavy.

"You should go get some sleep." He softly says.

"You're right, but so should you." I look over at him as he gets down.

"I will." He softly holds my arm as I get off the counter.

We separate into our rooms, and he is gone by the time I wake up. I stay inside for the day, and just watch movies. My phone rings as I'm stepping into the bath, and it's Jethro. I sit on the side of the tubs as I answer.

"Yes Jethro?"

"I have pizza for dinner." He simply tells me.

"That's nice." I sarcastically respond, trying not to laugh.

"I'll get you garlic bread. What is that noise?" He has the most annoying hearing.

"That is the bathtub water running." I run my foot in the hot water.

"I'll be there in an hour." He then hangs up causing me to laugh.

I'm too relaxed to hear the front door opening, but when I hear doors opening I call out for Jethro. When I don't get a response I slowly get out of the bath, wrapping my house robe on. I'm about to reach for the gun I have in my nightstand when the door is burst open. I give a scream of surprise, but I'm quickly shut up by a gun being pointed at me. Christine comes creeping into the room with a hard look in her eyes.

"What are you doing?" I keep up the act, hopefully I can stall until Jethro gets here.

"Living room, now." She demands.

I timidly walk to the living room with my hands raised, and slowly sit on the couch. I watch her look around the living room, and kitchen before she comes in front of me. She points her gun at my head as she sits on the table directly in front of me.

"So tell me how long have you and hubby been together?" She asks, sounding sweet.

"Y..year." I look confused.

"Ahhh newly newlyweds." She stood to go over to the bag she had put on the loveseat. "I was with my husband for six years before we decided to get married." She turns with rope and a knife in her hands. "We then were married for two before he was deployed. He was a Marine that was sent overseas, obviously that's all he could tell me. I was kept in the dark the whole time while my husband was tortured by terrorists." She takes her seat back on the table. "Tell me what do you think Jethro would do if you were taken."

"I…I don't know. I'd hope he'd help me." I shake from her moving the knife closer.

"Sad isn't it? Shouldn't the answer be something on the lines of "he'd burn the whole world apart" or "he'd never stop looking"?" She cuts the arms of my robe open to the elbow. "You want to know what the US military does to help their Marines?" I scream from her cutting a short cut going down my arm. "Quiet!" She shoves pieces of robe into my mouth. "Four men died because the US tried to play into the terrorists computer, instead of simply allowing the terrorists into the Union, and they would let the Marines go." She cuts another line. "They could've said they would allow it, get the Marines, and then grab the terrorists!" Her voice gets louder as she goes.

I see movement from the corner of my eye, but I keep watching Christine move the knife around. She goes to cut my arm again when the front door, garage door, and backdoor open.

"Freeze NCIS!" I hear from my three favorite people.

Jethro comes in through the backdoor, DiNozzo through the garage door, and Kate comes in the front with their guns raised. Christine looks at me in surprise as she drops the knife and gun. Jethro softly grabs my face to make me lock eyes with him.

"I'm here. Come on." He helps me stand, walk to my room while the others handcuff Christine.

I'm quiet as Jethro cleans up my wounds with the first aid kit I keep in my bag. I'm so out of it my robe opens slightly, and I didn't realize until Jethro closed it more. He gives a deep sigh as he cleans up the trash.

"Thank you Jethro." I timidly tell him as he goes to walk out.

He turns back, and kisses me hard with a hand on my cheek, his other on my thigh. I grip his shirt in my hands as I kiss him back. We pull apart after a moment, and rest our heads against each other.

That night my nerves were level, and everythings calmed down. I start packing up, and put the bags in the garage for the guys to load up. Tomorrow the movers will come for the rest.

"Ready." Jethro walks up to me, grabbing my bag.

"Yes. I checked everywhere to make sure nothing was left." I tell him as we walk to his car.

"Tomorrow morning we need to meet at the director's office." He informs me, once we are on the road.

He helps me carry my bags into my apartment, and shuts the door. I softly smile at him as he walks toward me. I rest my hands on his shoulders as his hand rests on my waist. He kisses me deeply as he pulls me to his chest. I melt against him, having my fingers run along his shaved hair. I gasp when we pull back, but his warm hands moving up my back makes me softly moan.

"Room." He orders.

"Yes sir." I give him a sly smile as I walk him toward my room.

I hear him chuckle as he follows me, but once to the door he pulls me in from my waist. I throw my shirt off so I can feel his hands again. While he works on the buttons of my pants he gives me soft kisses to my neck. I lean my head against his shoulder just melting against him. The feeling of being protected feels so much more different, but amazing. He flattens his hands to slide my pants down, and he lets me walk out of them. I turn to him, locking eyes with him as I lay on my bed.

"You sure about this?" He asks me while untucking his shirt.

"I'm more than sure." I give him a straight answer.

Once he gets down to his boxers he crawls over me with a dark look in his eyes. I put my hands on his cheeks to pull him into a deep kiss. His skillful hands unhook my bra, making me throw it behind him. I move my hand along his shoulders while he kisses along my neck to my chest.

"Jethro." I moan softly when his lips wrap around my nipple.

He wraps his arm around my lower back pulling me closer, biting lightly on my nipple. His other hand moves my underwear down, but once he got to my thigh, he had pulled back to snatch them off my ankles. My legs open back up for him to lay comfortably in between them. He looks me in the eyes as he slides his boxers off. My knees rest on his hips, relaxing into the bed, feeling him rub against my entrance. Him slowly entering me makes a shiver take over my body, but Jethro deeply groans. His hand grips my thigh in a tight grip, causing it to rise higher.

"(Y/n)." He rests his head on my shoulder.

"Please move Jethro." I whine.

He starts to move back some only to piston back inside. My body arches up to his chest, and my throat closes on the scream that wants to leave. All I could do was grip his bicep, lock my ankles together, and enjoy the feeling of him stretching me. The feeling of his hands, his deep harsh movements, and the tightening feeling in my stomach. I start to lose my mind.

"Let go for me." He groans in my ear before he kisses my neck.

He kisses me as he goes harder making it very difficult to let my moans out, but I just hold onto his back as he just lets go. With a deep groan and final thrust Jethro and I finish together with a loud moan from me. He lays next to me with an arm under my head as we catch our breath.

"Wow." I breathed out.

He chuckles, turning over, and grips my lips with his forefinger and thumb. I giggle as we kiss a lot more softly now. We lay together for a while before finally getting in the shower. I did think Jethro was going to leave, however when I went back to lay down he joined me. I slept amazing with his warmth next to me whenever I would turn.

When I wake up I see a hand placing a coffee mug on my nightstand, and a hand rubbing along my side.

"You got to wake up. We still have to work." He talks quietly in my ear.

"Thank you." I smile as I reach for the mug.

"You are quite welcome." He chuckles as he grabs his clothes.

"Jethro!" I giggle at his joke, placing my hand over my eye.

"I'll see you at the office. I have to change." He says as he throws his clothes on.

Once he leaves I finish my coffee, get dressed, and try to keep the smile off my face as I walk into the office.

"Well what made you so smiley this morning?" Abby asks as I walk into the lab, and pull on my lab coat.

"I'm just glad to have my bed back." Is all I tell her.

"Is that so?" I hear behind me.

I turned to a smirking Jethro holding a cardboard cup holder with two coffees, and in his hand was a big gulp for Abby.

"Jet…Gibbs." I exclaim almost messing up.

"Morning Abs." He hands her the drink, and walks back to me.

"(Y/n)." He hands me a coffee. "Director needs us." He leans me with a hand on my lower back to the elevator.

"I'm sorry I didn't know if you were okay with me saying anything, or if…" I'm stopped by him stepping closer to me.

He kisses me softly like he's been doing so for his whole life. I'm just about to relax into him when the elevator opens, and there stands Kate and McGee. They are shocked when they finally realize what they just saw. I step out of the elevator, quickly getting to the director's office. I stop at his door, and wait for Jethro. Jethro walks up the hall with purpose, and goes right into the office.

"Alright let's get you two divorced." Director Morrow places the papers in front of Jethro.

"What if we don't sign?" Jethro asks so nonchalantly.

Director Morrow looks lost as he turns his attention to me, then back to Jethro. I'm just frozen from shock.

"I'll let you two talk." Vance leaves quickly, and once he's gone Jethro turns to me.

"What are you doing Jethro?" I timidly ask.

"Well I was thinking how easy it was for us to be together this week." He starts. "We don't have to sign just yet. Let's give it some time, and then if you want we can sign these papers." He lifts them as he speaks.

"So you're making me number three?" I sass.

He shrugs as he throws the papers back on the director's desk. The rest of the day DiNozzo gave Jethro so much crap about how he didn't get to throw a bachelor party. I also got an ear full from Abby about how I should get a big dress. Kate was like an older sister asking me if being married is what I wanted. Her being Catholic marriage is a big thing, but after telling her how I felt, she understood.

[waytooinvested]

Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 21

This and previous chapters are also on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a man in Lena’s office.

That in itself was nothing unusual of course, but right now the person who was supposed to be in Lena’s office was Kara, and dealing with whatever this was was going to eat into the half hour that had been set aside in her diary for their appointment.

She looked him up and down as discretely as she could, trying to place him. Was he an employee? A new business partner or trustee who would be offended if she didn’t recognise him?

But the man was holding a notebook and recorder, and his clothing and general demeanour screamed ‘press’ rather than ‘corporate executive’, so it seemed unlikely. She offered him a smile that was both polite and slightly frosty, finding a balance between letting this man know that just wandering into the CEO’s office in a major multi billion dollar corporation was not acceptable etiquette, while avoiding burning any bridges with whatever newspaper he was representing.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t take walk in appointments, and I actually have a meeting about to start. If you could just go out to the front desk, I’m sure my assistant would be happy to schedule some time in for you later in the week, Mr…?’

The man returned her smile, his own unctuous and insincere in a way that set Lena’s teeth on edge.

‘That would be with me, Ms Luthor. William Dey, scheduled for 4pm.’

William Dey?

Lena glanced back at her computer screen, clicking into her calendar to check if she had somehow mixed up her appointments, though after all the conversations she and Kara had had about him, she knew she would have remembered if the name William Dey had appeared anywhere in it.

But there it was:

4.00 – 4.30pm, interview with Catco magazine

It didn’t actually specify that the interview was with Kara at all, Lena had just assumed it would be because it was always Kara. She tried her best to swallow down the bubble of disappointment that rose in her throat on realising that the pleasant half an hour with her friend she had been looking forward to all day was not going to materialise after all. If nothing else, this would at least be an interesting opportunity to get the measure of the man she had heard so much about for herself.

‘My apologies Mr Dey, I had assumed this appointment would be with my usual contact at Catco. Was Ms Danvers unavailable this afternoon?’

‘Would you have preferred to speak to Kara Danvers?’ William shot back without bothering to answer the question. He dropped a couple more points in Lena’s estimation, though she kept her own response neutrally polite.

‘Well, we have built up a working rapport over the years, yes. I've always appreciated the continuity it provided in my contact with Catco.’

William smiled again, but there was no warmth to it. It was the sort of look that suggested that she had just stepped into a trap he had set for her, and the edge of smug triumph to it reminded her disconcertingly of Lex. She was going to have to be more careful with this man than she had realised.

‘May I ask the subject of this interview?’

Again, her question was ignored, and instead William pushed ahead with what had clearly been his reason for asking about Kara in the first place.

‘You say that you prefer to work with Ms Danvers. That’s interesting. According to my sources it’s not that long since you had her barred from the premises, with a note that security was to escort her out the moment she arrived. I understand that that actually happened on at least-’ here he checked his notes, but Lena could tell the gesture was more to demonstrate that he had notes than because he needed a reminder of the number. ‘-Three separate occasions. That doesn’t sound like the kind of set up you would have for your favourite interviewer.’

Lena’s eyes narrowed and she straightened in her chair, her body instinctively switching into fight mode.

‘Did you come here to interview me about my working relationship with Kara Danvers, Mr Dey? Because I don’t see how that’s relevant to you or anyone else apart from Kara and myself.’

‘No, I didn’t. But I do find it interesting, and potentially pertinent to the subject I did come here to discuss with you.’

‘Which is what, precisely?’

‘What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Andrea Rojas?’

First Kara and now Andrea? Was this going to turn out to be some gossip piece about her sexuality? Was he going to bring up her visit to Violet’s next?

Slimy little man.

Lena glared back at him, dialing up the ice in her voice from crisp late autumn morning to mid-winter blizzard.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Andrea Rojas. A few months ago you sold Catco to her, very suddenly, without any of the staff knowing the sale was coming. Coincidentally, that was around the same time you barred Kara Danvers from the L-Corp premises. I wanted to know why you did that.’

About the sale then? Well that was fine. She was under no obligation to explain her personal reasons, and if he was looking for a business scandal he wouldn’t find one.

‘Andrea is an old friend and a business associate, and if you look into the matter you will find that everything about the sale was entirely above board and by the book. Now, please be so good as to tell me what exactly this article you’re writing is about, or I shall have to ask you to leave.’

William stood a little straighter, putting back his shoulders and meeting her eye as he answered, scrutinising for her reaction.

‘I’m investigating the disappearance of Supergirl. And I think you and Andrea Rojas know something about that.’

It was so far from what she had been expecting that if Lena had been anyone but a Luthor in that moment she might have let her shock show on her face. Instead she raised a sceptical eyebrow, falling back on years of social training to layer her tone with just the right hint of bored condescension, as if the situation demanded she be polite to someone who had told her in all earnestness that the world was flat (and indeed that it had become so because she and Andrea had taken a fly swatter to it).

‘Supergirl hasn’t disappeared, she’s in Argo City. I believe there was an interview with her on the subject before she left. I’m sure you could find it on Youtube if you missed it.’

‘Ah yes, the interview. That was interesting as well. It does seem to tie everything up in a neat little bow, doesn’t it? And yet something about it didn’t quite sit right with me. I thought maybe I was imagining things. Then I watched it back alongside other interviews Supergirl has given, and they don’t tally. Across the others there’s consistency, but in this one: her speech pattern, her intonation, even her stance, were all… off. To me that interview looks like a hasty after-the-fact cover up by someone who realised Supergirl’s absence had been noticed, and wanted to keep people from asking inconvenient questions. Perhaps even somebody who owned the company that invented the Image Inducer?’

Lena folded her arms, then wished she hadn’t. Did it look defensive, or merely annoyed?

‘Thousands of people own image inducers. I don’t see how you can suggest that the mere possibility of one being used to commit fraud – which is in itself a highly spurious claim – somehow indicates my direct involvement, or what any of this has to do with the sale of Catco.’

‘No? Okay, let me give you another example. Approximately eight days after the last confirmed sighting of Supergirl, you filed a flight plan for a jet registered in your name to a tiny air field apparently in the middle of nowhere. Do you remember that trip?’

‘I take a lot of trips.’

‘Of course. Well, I’ll refresh your memory. The only thing for miles around this particular air field that might have been of any interest was a bunker. A bunker that, through several layers of shell corporations, was formerly owned by Luthor Corp, as was. I thought that was a bit odd, and decided to pay it a visit. Do you know what I found there Ms Luthor?’

How the hell had he found out her flight plan, let alone the bunker?

‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

‘Nothing. Or at least that was clearly the intention – the entire place had been stripped almost completely bare. But there was one thing I found curious. This was caught on what appeared to be an operating table, in a room that looked a lot like a cell.’

William pulled something from inside his jacket and laid it on Lena’s desk.

A ziplock bag.

At first glance it appeared to be empty, but when she looked closer Lena realised that it contained a single strand of long, blonde hair.

Kara’s hair .

He was putting two and two together and getting five, but all the same, he was uncomfortably close, and they had had no idea. As far as Lena and the DEO had known, their story about Supergirl’s visit to Argo City had been more or less universally accepted, and earlier panic over her apparent disappearance had seemed to settle down. But now this. Not only an investigation into the disappearance of Supergirl, but an investigation by Kara’s coworker. And one that had led him straight to Lena.

She wanted to have security come and escort him out her office so that she had space to take it in and think about what to do next, but as long as William was willing to keep talking, she needed to let him. He was giving her far more of what he knew – or thought he knew – than she was giving in return, and the more information she had the better equipped she would be to deal with him.

She leaned back in her seat, deliberately casual, and gave him a considered look.

‘You’re talking as though all these things you’ve just told me are connected somehow, but I don’t see it. Honestly, this all sounds like rather an elaborate conspiracy theory, and you still haven’t explained how exactly you think Andrea Rojas or Kara Danvers fit into this little picture you’re painting, let alone what it is you think I’ve done with Supergirl, or why on Earth I would want to… what, kidnap her? You seem to have done your homework, so you must know that I’ve had a very positive and well documented working relationship with Supergirl for years.’

‘That’s true, I found plenty out there about you and Supergirl. But then there was plenty to suggest that your brother Lex was best friends with Superman once, and we all know how that turned out. Perhaps the two of you share a family failing. Or perhaps you’re working together.’

Lena forced a laugh that she was almost sure sounded genuine.

‘You’re even more delusional than I thought if you believe I would ever work with Lex. You do know that my testimony was part of what helped put him in prison in the first place, don’t you?’

‘I do. I also know that he was granted a mercy furlough on the grounds that he was dying, then after a short time in your care he apparently made a full recovery, and yet he never made it back to prison. Then you made the decision to sell Catco to Andrea Rojas, who immediately turned it away from hard hitting journalism to pop fluff, just in time for her to have established a new precedent before the city’s most prominent Superhero goes missing and she chooses to speculate about potential sex scandals rather than reporting on it seriously. Add to that your unexplained jaunt to the bunker where I found what appears to be Supergirl’s hair in an abandoned cell and your strange treatment of the one reporter you previously gave open access to, and it all starts to look pretty damning. I don’t know yet exactly how the pieces fit, but when you put together you, your brother, Andrea Rojas and whatever you’re doing to manipulate Kara Danvers into telling the stories you want told… well. That’s one hell of a coincidence, and I don’t believe in coincidences. I am telling you all this to make clear to you that I have enough information to run with this no matter what you say. But, I thought it was only fair to give you the opportunity to tell your side of things first. So, Ms Luthor. Do you have any comment to make?’

Lena’s first instinct was, ridiculously, to push back on the claim that she was manipulating Kara into writing false stories. Clearly he didn’t know her at all if he thought that Kara Danvers could be so easily bought or blackmailed: she had demonstrated on more than one occasion that she would rather quit than compromise her morals when it came to reporting, and every word she had written about Lena had been her own. But as much as it rankled, the mark on Kara’s reputation was hardly the main issue here, and addressing it would be as good as confessing to the rest.

For a moment she allowed herself to imagine pressing the silent alarm on the underside of her desk that would summon security to remove Mr Dey from the premises instead. Given his accusations she would be well within her rights to do so, but as satisfying as that might be in the moment it would be counter productive. He had made it clear that if she chose not to comment he would go ahead with his version of the story, and she, Andrea and maybe even Kara would be implicated as part of a conspiracy. Even if it was swiftly debunked, just the suggestion of fowl play would be enough to restart the missing Supergirl hysteria and draw far more attention to all of them (to Kara) than would be safe or desirable.

She could tell him the full truth and clear her name beyond question , but she would never compromise Kara like that. William Dey was an unknown entity (and, in Lena’s entirely objective opinion, a smug asshole) , and there was no way she was going to trust him with the truth of Supergirl’s secret identity, or even enough of it to risk him putting the pieces together himself.

There was no time to come up with a watertight, fully convincing lie when he was standing there with his recorder in hand, waiting for her to say something.

There was only one option left.

She sighed, and beckoned him forwards.

‘Please take a seat. I’m afraid there’s more to this than you realise, and there are some people you will need to talk to.’

William sat and placed his recorder on the desk between them.

‘I should just mention, I have a fail safe set up, and if I don’t disable it within an hour everything I have on this story will be emailed to a dozen global news outlets automatically. Just in case you were thinking of doing anything to… keep me quiet.’

‘I would ask what exactly you take me for, but I think you’ve made that perfectly clear, so let me assure you that I have no intention of murdering you. Because no, I have not kidnapped Supergirl, nor am I conspiring with Lex, Andrea or Kara against her or anyone else. But… there is more to Supergirl’s absence than a vacation to Argo. I’m not at liberty to tell you any more than that without input from my… associates. If you wait here for a few minutes, I will call them to come and join in this conversation. Alright?’

‘I’d prefer it if you called from here.’

‘I’m sure you would. I’ll be back in five minutes.’

Lena made sure her computer screen was locked, and then left the room with as much composure as she could muster. As she passed Jess’ desk she leaned down to whisper ‘please keep an eye on the man in my office. Make sure he doesn’t start rifling through anything, and if he tries, or if you feel threatened in any way, have security come, but don’t let him leave. It’s of the utmost importance that we finish our conversation.’

Jess swallowed, alarmed by the ominous and highly unusual request, but after all the time they’d worked together she trusted Lena, so she didn’t question her or protest. She nodded and murmured in similarly hushed tones ‘yes Ms Luthor’, before getting up to stand watch by the office door.

Lena moved quickly after that, retreating to a seldom-used conference room a little way down the corridor and activating her auditory scrambler as she dialed Alex’s number.

It rang.

And rang.

Come on Alex, the one time I really, really need you to pick up...

Finally, just before voicemail was about to kick in, Alex answered.

‘Lulu? What’s up?’

‘Is Katie with you?’

‘Yep.’

‘Shit. Alex, we have a situation. Can you get away?’

‘One moment please.’

The line went muffled as Alex put her hand over the receiver and spoke to someone else, then the sound of footsteps and a door closing.

‘Okay, I’m alone. What’s the matter?’

‘I have William Dey in my office right now, with a story ready to run on the disappearance of Supergirl.’

‘Fuck, seriously? What about the Argo story?’

‘He doesn’t believe the interview was really Supergirl. He thinks it was an image inducer, and that I am behind it all, with the help of Andrea, Lex and, unwittingly, Kara. He says he will run with the story whatever I say, but is giving me the chance to tell my side. If he doesn’t report back in an hour, apparently he’s set something up to send what he’s already gathered to news outlets globally.’

‘Okay, I’m on my way right now, I’ll have J’onn meet me there too. Are you free to stay on the line so we can work out what to tell him or do you have to go back in there?’

‘Jess is keeping an eye on him, and will get security involved if he starts snooping or tries to leave. I have maybe two more minutes, but then I’d better get back or he’ll get suspicious. Well, more suspicious.’

In the background Lena could hear the sound of Alex’s running feet, then the slam of a car door and a motor starting up, before the phone switched from handset to earpiece and the ambient noise diminished.

They spent a hurried couple of minutes workshopping an explanation that would be sufficient to throw William off the trail – just enough truth to be believable, with enough fabrication to protect Kara’s identity and keep things as safe as they could in the circumstances. It wasn’t perfect, but there was no time for anything more, and they hoped that the presence of an ‘FBI’ Director would lend weight to their story that Lena alone might not have had. She kept an eye on her watch throughout, and as soon as the second minute was up she said a hasty goodbye to Alex and returned to her office and William Dey.

She felt more composed now that she had something resembling a plan, but i t was still a very long, very uncomfortable ten minutes while they waited for ‘Lena’s associates ’ to arrive. It turned out to be surprisingly difficult to make idle small talk with a man who had just accused you of conspiracy, kidnap and possibly murder, or at the very least willingness to commit murder to cover up the rest of it. It cast something of a pall over the meeting, and s ilence filled the room like a thick fog between them, oppressive and un dispersable .

William fidgeted with his notebook.

Lena pretended to be absorbed by something that wasn’t there on her computer screen.

Out in the wider office a phone rang and was answered.

Another minute struggled by.

When at last the door opened, Lena made eye contact with Alex and felt relief sweep through her like cool rain after a blistering drought. She wasn’t alone anymore.

‘Thank you for joining me on such short notice Director Danvers. This is Mr William Dey of Catco Magazine. Mr Dey, this is Direct Danvers of the FBI and her associate Mr J’onn J’onzz.’

Alex held up her ID card to prove her identity, her expression deadly serious.

‘Mr Dey. I hear from Ms Luthor that you have been investigating Supergirl.’

‘I have. I don’t believe she’s really gone to Argo, and-’

‘You are meddling in extremely sensitive matters of national security. It would be best if you were to drop this investigation immediately and allow us to do our job.’

William looked mildly daunted by the grim faced FBI agent in front of him, but he didn’t back down.

‘With all due respect Director Danvers, if something has happened to Supergirl, the people have a right to know. I would also like to know how Ms Luthor fits in.’

‘I told you, I didn’t kidnap Super-’

Alex held up a hand to stop her, and Lena subsided, allowing her friend to take the lead.

‘Ms Luthor is assisting us and was not involved in any attempt to harm Supergirl. However… it is true that Supergirl is not on Argo.’

‘I knew it! Has Andrea Rojas taken her? Or Lex Luthor?’

‘No one has taken her.’

‘So where is she?’

Alex sighed.

‘Mr Dey, this is all off the record, is that understood? We have a sensitive situation here, and the last thing this city needs is mass panic, or to be viewed as a vulnerable target by anyone looking to take advantage of Supergirl’s absence. Freedom of the press is one thing, but sharing this story recklessly could get people killed, and I don’t think you want that.’

‘So you’re asking me to cover this up. Is that what you’re saying?’

‘I am asking you to consider the consequences of your actions, and whether having a good story that will earn you some kudos at work for a couple of weeks is worth risking lives over, including Supergirl’s if this hampers our ability to do our work. There is a lot more than a story at stake here.’

William chewed his lip, considering.

‘Alright. Suppose I agree to hold this story for now. When Supergirl does return, I want an exclusive interview with her. As soon as there is no longer a risk to her or the city from the truth being out there, I want all the details, no holds barred. Is that a deal?’

‘Supergirl speaks for herself, I can’t promise you her interview. However, I can agree to give you an interview myself, along with the project team working to bring Supergirl back. And I will ask Supergirl if she will speak to you as well. Will that suffice?’

‘I suppose that’s fair. But I also want to know where Supergirl is now.’

‘I assumed you’d say that. If you’re willing to sign a statement agreeing to the terms we’ve just laid out and confirming that you will end any further investigation into this, I will tell you as much as I can at this stage.’

William was slightly more reluctant to put it in writing, but after a bit more back and forth he agreed, and Lena printed out the modified NDA form that Alex emailed over to her for him to sign. That done, Alex explained that Supergirl was currently on a parallel Earth, and while she was safe, she had so far been unable to return. Lena was working with the FBI to create a gateway that would bring her back, but in the meantime they needed to maintain peace in National City and avoid panic. It was not that far off the truth, and William seemed to buy it. Lena allowed herself to relax, just fractionally.

When the story was done he glanced guiltily over at her and opened his mouth as if to apologise for his accusation, but, confronted with Lena’s dagger-sharp glare, changed his mind.

Instead he turned to Alex.

‘Just one more thing Director. Danvers. Are you by any chance related to Kara Danvers?’

‘She’s my sister.’

‘And does she know about all this? She’s been helping me with my investigation, so I would have thought she’d have told me I was on the wrong track if she did, even if she couldn’t share the details.’

She’s been helping me with my investigation.

She’s been helping me...

The world shrank down to that single sentence, reverberating round and round, louder and louder until there was no room for anything else.

Kara had been working with William Dey?

After all those conversations they’d had about how he was arrogant, toadying, possibly evil, and now she was working with him against Lena?

Investigating her?

Suspecting her of kidnapping Supergirl?

With a sharp stab she remembered Kara’s ‘project’. How cagey she had been about it. How, now she thought about it, she hadn’t so much as mentioned William Dey since before they went rock climbing .

It was all Lena could do not to gasp with the shock of betrayal that punched her directly in the solar plexus as the truth sank in .

All this time...

Somewhere outside her bubble of pain s he could feel Alex glancing at her, but she didn’t try to meet her look. She stared resolutely at her computer screen, attempting to appear indifferent to the conversation going on in front of her even as tears tried to rise to her eyes .

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

How had she fallen into the same trap twice? Let herself trust the same woman, only to have her break her heart all over again?

She barely heard Alex tell William that of course Kara didn’t know, being related to an FBI agent didn’t give her inside knowledge of their work, but he would need to shut down the investigation at once and tell her that there was nothing to find out.

Lena let it all wash over her.

By sheer force of will she kept herself still and silent throughout the rest of the exchange, until at last J’onn escorted William out of her office.

She waited for Alex to follow them out so she could finally fall apart in peace , but she didn’t. She shut the door behind J’onn, waited a minute for them to get well clear, and then turned back to face the room .

‘Lena…’

‘Please go Alex.’

She spoke the words through clenched teeth and numb lips, barely holding her sob inside but determined not to let it out until she was alone.

But Alex didn’t go. She came round the desk and gripped Lena’s shoulders firmly, forcing her to make eye contact.

‘Lena. Listen to me. I know how that sounded, but we don’t know the full story. I am telling you, there is absolutely no way Kara would suspect you of harming Supergirl. Whatever this is, whatever is happening, that is not it.’

‘What if you’re wrong? What if she’s just been using me all this time and-’

S he choked on the rest of the sentence and had to stop to swallow down the lump in her throat before it stopped her breathing altogether.

‘She hasn’t. Lena, Kara loves you so much. She has never stopped believing in you. Not once. Not even when we had apparently irrefutable evidence that you had committed a crime. When every other person, me included, thought that you really were guilty, Kara never, ever did. She was in your corner every time, and I don’t believe that this is any different. We just need to give her the chance to explain herself.’

‘That’s not true. What about the kryptonite?’

Alex sighed.

‘Okay, yeah, she was freaked out about the kryptonite, because you were making the one thing on Earth with the power to kill her. That still doesn’t mean she thought you were plotting to use it on her, she just didn’t like the idea of any more of it existing, no matter how good your intentions were. But even then, she was pissed at you and she lashed out, but she wasn’t against you.’

‘But she might be, this time. Why would she be helping that bastard investigate me and not tell me otherwise?’

‘I don’t know. That’s why we need to talk to Kara and find out.’

A lex paused, taking in Lena’s clenched jaw, glassy eyes and tightly curled fists.

‘Before that though… I think maybe you need a bit of Lena-style catharsis. Want to go and blow some stuff up with lasers before we call her?’

‘Yeah… I really, really do.’

[satans-helper]

Reaching for Stardust - Part XIV

Read Looking for Space here / Playlists / Read RFS on Wattpad

Word Count: ~3000

Warnings: sexy time ;)

<3

---

Indeed Josh was desperate–though thankfully not literally dying–to get home. With the green light from his doctor given that his heart rate improved and the antibiotics were in full swing, I gathered him into my car and we headed back to the apartment where his brothers still were. My tires crunched over salt and leftover snow as we drove into the monochromatic gray of our little world, the heat blasting over both of us but really so high just to keep Josh warm. He looked better–warm color had returned to his face and he actually appeared to be pretty well-rested despite not having slept in his own bed. 

“You’re feeling better?” I asked when we hit a red light. 

“Yes, mama. Certainly better,” Josh told me, then sniffed a little. “Thanks for doing all of this.”

“Anything for you.” I reached over to squeeze his knee. “I’m so glad you’re on the mend. I don’t want to bring you to the hospital ever again. Not for an illness, anyway.”

“I’ll do my best. What about you? I don’t want you to get sick either.”

“So far, so good.” I hit the gas again. “Maybe the universe knows both of us can’t be sick at the same time. But the boys are gonna stay today and tonight to help out and keep us company. They were coming up Thursday anyway. Might as well stick around now, right?”

“That’s good that they spent the night.”

“It helped. As soon as I got home without you, it felt intolerable.”

Josh let out a dry laugh. “I love you.”

I looked at him for a moment before I had to make a turn. “I love you more.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see Josh stare out the window at the snowy streets and say, “Impossible.”

Back home we were greeted by loud, excited jeers of triumph over Josh’s road to recovery as well as a few bags of sick staples–more soup and broth, more Gatorade, a package of those little boxes of fruit juice, some zinc, cough drops and a big box of Rocket Pops, which Josh immediately tore into. He plopped himself down on the couch with the Rocket Pop in his mouth while Jake sat down next to him, Sam paced the living room while monologuing about how disgusting hospitals were and Danny helped me put everything away. 

“You sure you guys wanna crash here again?” I asked him while he shoved the box of popsicles next to our other half-empty box of popsicles. “Don’t get me wrong–I love it. But I bet it feels pretty cramped. You should all be sleeping in beds.”

“We’ve agreed to stay here tonight,” Danny told me, balling up one of the empty plastic bags. “After that we’re gonna go back home.”

“Aw. Sam will miss you.”

“We live like, three blocks away from each other,” Danny replied with a little laugh. “So do you think Josh will be able to go to Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t know. Guess we’ll see.” I lifted a can of chicken noodle soup. “For now, this will have to do.” 

Jake ended up playing nurse more than I did–he spent the entire day doting on his twin, making sure he was taking his meds, feeding him, keeping him hydrated and comfortable. That gave me a chance to catch up on work, though Sam and Danny were distracting in their own right no matter what I did to try and carve out my own space. It was nice though, the coming together of everyone again for a prolonged period of time in a home base, even if that had been instigated by Josh getting sick. What mattered was that he was fully on the mend and we were all spending time together, and I found myself no longer thinking about death but rather thinking about how it might be possible to have this all the time. A commune was always sort of a joke idea, but couldn’t it be real? Why couldn’t we be tied together like one big, happy family? The boys had had that for many years. I was a newer addition. I wanted it to stay like that. I was pretty sure they all did too. Being apart made no sense and I got caught up in this fantasy while I tried to stay tied to my computer screen. Ultimately, no other place in the world felt as good as home did.

Things winded down even further after we all watched a movie. Jake, Danny and Sam took their respective couch and sleeping bag beds in the living room while I got some long-awaited alone time with Josh, who seemed absolutely delighted to be back in our bed. He snuggled back against the pillows in a clean set of pajamas–the fleece set patterned with puppies in Santa hats that I’d bought him two Christmases prior–looking cherubic and adorable and more healthy than he had at the hospital. 

Then he wiggled ferociously, hips shimmying on the mattress with an abundance of suppressed energy that finally could resurface. I smirked, standing in front of our dresser with my own pair of clean pajama pants waiting in my hands, and asked, “What’s up, buttercup?”

“I feel,” Josh began, bringing one hand down to his crotch. He grabbed himself, groping in a very uncharacteristic way that completely captured my attention. “Pent up.”

“Yeah, I bet,” I said, my attention drifting from changing my clothes to getting Josh out of his. “It’s been days since you…got off. Right?”

Josh nodded, palming himself through those silly fleece pants. It was one of those times where his almost innocent-seeming, unfathomably adorable nature butted up against the more robust biological male sex drive; how fascinating it was to see the mingling of those sides as often as I did. 

“Yeah. Days,” he said. “I think I need some help.”

I stepped over to the side of the bed, bending down to pet back the curls that had fallen down past his ears. His hair was growing out just a little bit. I secretly wished he’d let it all grow out completely and return to the wild, messy free set of long, sunkissed curls that I just loved running my fingers through. He looked up at me with the softest eyes, the dark, shiny irises reflecting the dim night table lamp, and I thought back briefly to the bachelorette party. 

“I have an idea,” I told him, already retreating to grab one of the gift bags that was still sitting in the corner of our bedroom. One peek inside allowed me to see that bottle of edible body oil–raspberry-vanilla flavored. Questionable, but certainly worth trying. With that now in my hand, I swiveled to face Josh again: “You should get naked.”

Josh gave me his best puppy dog eyes. “No foreplay?”

I shook the bottle, the wet, gloopy sound making him perk up. “This is all foreplay, baby.” Before I got ahead of myself, I paused. “I should get a towel.” 

I slipped out of the bedroom to the hall to grab one of our least desirable towels from the linen closet, then peered further down the hall to check on the boys–Danny and Sam were chatting, the TV blinking in front of them, and Jake was lounging beneath one of our extra throw blankets, the book in front of his face illuminated by the end table lamp. We were all basking in different lights tonight, I thought as I crept back to the bedroom, but I thought my Starshine was by far the brightest.

But he could also be the loudest. I grabbed the little fan from our closet and set it up on the dresser next to the humidifier for some extra white noise, pointing it away from the bed, and motioned for Josh to move to the side so I could lay the towel down. He got up entirely and stripped down to nothing, and I watched, soaking him up with my eyes. True aging hadn’t exactly hit either of us yet–sure, a few new, at first odd-looking lines had grown into our faces, our tolerance for certain foods had changed, hair grew differently–more slowly, it seemed–metabolism slowed down just a touch. More than anything, I could see that some of his juvenile, boyish looks had developed. But true aging was far off, I felt, and it was even further away for Josh, who continued to embody such youth and vitality despite getting older that it sometimes felt as though getting old would never touch him. 

Again, I thought as I dropped to my knees in front of him while he laid back on the bed, almost like he was immortal. That’s a big part of why him being in the hospital was so scary–because until that moment, Josh had seemed completely, totally untouched and eternal. 

I almost asked if he really felt up for a “full release,” but he was already hard and looking very eager, thighs spread and his erection firmly pressed against his belly. But I did remind him of one thing after I squeezed a bit of the oil into my hands: “You’ll need a shower after this. This stuff feels sort of sticky.”

“That’s okay,” he said, voice still a little hoarse but still an improvement from a few days prior. He laid back, propped up on his elbows, watching while I brought my hands to his calves. When my hands slid up to his thighs, he laid back flat, stretching his arms up over his head. “Nice and slow seems right. I’m beat.”

“I bet you are.” I broke contact to get more oil–it smelled okay, like the artificial raspberry I was used to from candy and a touch of sugary-sweet fake vanilla, but I was still a bit apprehensive about the taste. I worked my hands around his thighs, massaging gently and intentionally ignoring his most sensitive part; his quads were strong, perpetually taut, and his inner thighs were delightfully soft, his skin pliable as I worked my hands over them. I leaned forward to lick–mostly to try the taste, really, which ended up being a primarily bitter, fake fruit flavor. It made me pause for a second, which Josh noticed, looking down curiously. I slid my tongue between my teeth, making a sour face, but the after-taste was actually less unpleasant. 

“How is it?” he asked, still keeping his hands behind his head. I wasn’t sure everyone got to see it in action, but there were plenty of instances in which Josh could exhibit impressive patience.

“Not terrible?” I replied, then finally wrapped my hand around his cock, hot and hard within my palm, and Josh laid his head back down. The oil did serve as a solid lubricant, I could give it all the credit there–the slide was slick and easy but I went slow, massaging his thigh and up to his hip with my other slippery hand. I ran my thumb over the little slant of bone, fingers splayed over his side, then back down and around to squeeze his ass as best I could. It didn’t take much effort until Josh was whimpering–a little too loudly. I squeezed a little harder in warning and said, “Best to be quiet, babe. They’re not asleep out there.” 

“I’m too pent up!” Josh replied in a frenzied yet hushed huff, thrashing his arms. The whole thing made me laugh but I slid my hand back to his inner thigh, massaging again, and he stilled with a silent nod, pressing his lips together tight. So I carried on, petting his leg and up to his side while I stroked him, studying the slight curves of his body and the heat that was radiating from everywhere. Thankfully, however, it wasn’t a fever anymore. It was pure arousal, all those hormones festering for too long in that beautiful form. 

“You’re still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” I told him with complete intention, my eyes grazing from his tense neck down to the quivering belly. “Even when you have pneumonia.”

“You don’t get to talk if I can’t,” Josh replied, abs tightening while his cock twitched in my hand.

I laughed softly. “Fine, fine.” I brought my face lower while I pushed one of his legs to the side a bit. “Fair’s fair, I guess,” I added before I pressed my mouth to his inner thigh, beginning with a kiss, carrying on with a long lick and ending with a bite. With Josh holding back another whimper that I could see caught in his throat, I decided to go all in, swiping my tongue up his length while I gently squeezed his balls.

It still caught me by surprise how abruptly he came. I pulled back just in time to let Josh’s abdomen catch a bit of the release, the rest caught in my fist while I kept pumping him and, throughout it, he was biting his lip to keep himself as quiet as possible. His fists clenched the sheets until his knuckles were white, every muscle in his body visibly tightening and then contracting. He thrashed a bit to tell me no more, so I released him and wiped my hand on the towel beneath him.

I sat by his side, placing my cleaner hand atop his chest. “You should really breathe, though. For the sake of your lungs.” His heartbeat was strong, though–I could feel it beneath my palm.

Josh let out a long breath through his nose, then covered his mouth with his arm to cough a bit. “Sorry,” he said, sounding more spent than he did earlier, but in a good way. “Wow. Alright, darling, I definitely needed that.” He looked down at himself and groaned. “But now I do need to hop in the shower again and I really don’t feel like moving.” 

“If I could carry you, I totally would,” I told him, bending down to give him a long kiss, sickness be damned. “Want me to run you a bath?”

Josh’s hand gently clasped the back of my head, keeping me pinned in front of his face. “Only if you take the bath with me.”

I suddenly remembered the three other people in our apartment. “Maybe we should just make it a quick shower,” I said to Josh, looking behind myself at the bedroom door. “We’re not the only ones here tonight.”

Josh huffed dramatically. “They can hold their piss for a little while.” He rolled out from beneath me and got on his feet, taking the dirty towel and tossing it into our laundry basket, then planted his hands on his hips as he stood in front of the door. “Come on, love.”

I relented and, in the bath, I leaned back against the tub and held Josh between my legs. “I hate to say it, but you might need to skip Thanksgiving this year,” I told him as I rubbed soap beneath his armpits. “Do you think your parents will be really upset?”

“They completely expected me to miss it. My mom cried more than you did.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. It’s gotta be hard to see her baby in the hospital, even if you’ve been there like a hundred times before.” 

“Not a hundred.”

“Close enough. Too many times.” I ran one hand up to the back of his neck, massaging a little, and gave him the reminder of, “You’re not allowed to go back to the hospital ever again.” 

Josh laughed, turning his head to look over his shoulder at me. “What if I need to?”

“You won’t. This was enough for a lifetime.” I plunged my hands down in front of him before bringing the soapy water up to his chest, running them over his pecs and shoulders; he hummed contently and I moved my touch beneath his arms. The scrubbing motion of my fingers and palms made him start to laugh and wiggle, water splashing around us. I put my chin on his shoulder, turning to nibble at his ear: “Ticklish?”

Through more uncontrollable laughter, Josh said, “Yes, you know this!” He wiggled some more, slippery hands flying to my wrists. “Play nice.”

“But I love hearing you laugh like that,” I told him, although I did, after another second, cease the torment. I nuzzled into his neck, closing my eyes. “Even though I’m sure the boys have a very clear idea of what we’re doing now.”

“Spooning in the bath? They’re imaginations could never,” Josh said, flicking water away from himself to let it splash against the tiled wall. “So, doll–what’s next on our list for the wedding? I have to admit I haven’t been thinking about it much these past few days.”

I resumed rubbing his shoulders and up to the nape of his neck. “Me either. That’s been weirdly kind of nice. But I think we’re settled for a while. We finalized the cake order so that’s good to go. Everything else is set.”

“Except the ‘couple’s shower,’” Josh reminded me, tilting his head back to try and meet my eyes. 

“Yes, that. I’m glad we’re not just doing a bridal shower. So lame,” I said with a chuckle, twirling a damp curl between my fingers. “Not everything has to be so separate and weird. I need you there for that for sure.” 

A brisk knock on the door made us both turn our heads. “Hey, lovebirds,” Sam called out. “Danny’s gotta piss so can you wrap up whatever it is you’re doing in there?”

“He can’t ask us himself, Sammy?” Josh asked with a laugh.

“He’s shy,” I reminded him, patting his shoulder. “Okay. Let’s get up.”

---

Tagging: @sparrowofrhiannon @starbuggie @lightsofthe-living-gvf @sanguinebats @gvfrry @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta @jjwasneverhere

If you'd like to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me :)

[cerealmonster15]

Omg for kiss prompts I'm having a moment of weakness thinking abt book 7 SO #43 between anyone from diasomnia 🥺 forehead kisses are just so sweet wahh

OUUGHGHGHGHGHGHHH i love diasomnia family SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!

[Posted to Ao3!] [Link to prompt list]

Summary: Silver checks on Lilia to make sure his dad doesn't stay up all night gaming.

Prompt 43: A kiss pressed to the top of the head.

Silver found himself shuffling through the dark halls of the Diasomnia dorm. Squinting at his phone, he could see the time was only 4:30AM. One of the many downsides that came with falling asleep at the drop of a hat meant that Silver also often would wake up at odd hours of the night.

That being said, he was often not the only one awake at such an hour. As expected, sounds of cackling laughter and clacking of computer keyboard buttons could be heard coming from the other side of Lilia’s dorm room.

“Aha! Down he goes!” Lilia shouted to himself in triumph as he no doubt had just concluded another of those raid boss battles with his online gaming buddy. The two had been putting in extra hours every night for the past week to try and achieve some sort of limited time quest… Silver couldn’t really remember the details, but Lilia and his friend seemed pretty intense about it.

“Fa- Um, Lilia?” Silver called gently as he knocked on the door, quickly correcting himself just in case there were others in the room with Lilia, or perhaps also wandering around the halls in a sleepless state.

“Oho? Come on in, Silver. The door’s unlocked,” Lilia replied as he removed his headphones. “Gloomurai and I just concluded another successful raid!”

Sliver came to stand beside Lilia’s desk. “Have you been taking enough breaks to rest your eyes? You really shouldn’t stay up so late at your age.”

“Well, aren’t you thoughtful? Don’t you worry; I was just about… to sign off… Once I message Gloomurai…” Lilia’s sentence trailed off into a deep yawn.

“Father…” Silver sighed, already fighting the urge to yawn back in response.

“Yes, yes, just a moment…” Lilia insisted as he typed up his departing message for the night to his gaming buddy.

Muscle Red: I’m afraid I must depart for the night; my dormmates are getting quite concerned by how late I’ve stayed up.

Muscle Red: Though I must admit it’s hard to pull away when we’re so close to our goal! 

Muscle Red: Same time tomorrow?

Gloomurai: whoops.  i guess i should probs go too, i have class in like 4 hours lololol

Gloomurai: ya tht works for me. ttyl!

Muscle Red: Until next time!

Lilia leaned back into his chair with a big yawn. “Mmm… Perhaps I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment…”

“You should at least get into bed first. You’re just going to fall asleep anyway,” Silver protested, but Lilia seemed to be perfectly comfortable in his chair already.

“Go on back to your room… I’ll be fine right here…” Lilia mumbled as his breath started to even out and his voice fell into a quiet mumble.

It was times like this that Silver was glad his dad was so much smaller than him. He bent down over the chair, slid his arms underneath Lilia’s body, and effortlessly scooped him up into his arms to carry him back to his bed for a proper rest.

As Silver lowered Lilia’s body down onto the bed, Lilia chuckled sleepily. “So the student becomes the teacher… hehe… You’re all grown up, aren’t you, Silver?”

Silver’s eyes widened slightly, pausing as he was about to pull away and let Lilia rest. “I… Um…”

It was true, wasn’t it? All his life, for as long as he could remember, Lilia was looking after him. There were countless times Lilia had to pick a sleepy baby Silver up off the ground from where he’d fallen asleep and carried him to bed, and now…

“...Yeah. I suppose you’re right,” Silver said gently. He leaned forward again, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Lilia’s head. “Goodnight, father. Rest well.”

Lilia smiled, and snuggled cozily into his covers.

[elancholia]

I recently read Invisible Cities, so here lie spoilers for a 50-year-old novel with almost no discernible plot. (Though I've concluded that it does, at least, sort of progress.)

Alright, so obviously there're cities, right (or are there?), which Marco Polo is describing (or is he??) for a solid majority of the word count. And the central question is, "how does Kublai go about understanding these cities, and, thereby, his empire?" At the beginning, yes, it's said that he "will soon give up any thought of knowing and understanding them", but it's what he spends most of the book trying to do.

Now, this is a difficult task. Well, that's why they're invisible. And, unlike the traveler seeking Kitezh or Irem, Kublai the world-emperor is seeking every city, seeking the totality of cities.

In this, he seeks a solution to time and decay, a reassurance, because he suspects that the empire is "an endless, formless ruin, that corruption's gangrene has spread too far to be healed by our scepter, that the triumph over enemy sovereigns has made us the heirs of their long undoing."

And he cycles through several strategies.

We start out with the ambassadors, but their accounts are dry and limited to what is of use to the empire. It is in contrast to them that Polo is first presented, because, while "Kublai Khan does not necessarily believe everything Marco Polo says", the man is compelling. There's something in his words (or gesticulations) which the ambassadors lack, something eternal, "the tracery of a pattern so subtle it could escape the termites' gnawing".

So then we have the question of what determines the content of what Polo says. Does he even leave the palace at all? Could Kublai tell? Is he only ever really describing Venice? ("Kublai Khan does not necessarily believe...", you know, that's the opening line for a reason.) Hence, further methods:

Figure out the most ideal, most average city and infer the others from that. (Marco: "But I cannot force my operation beyond a certain limit: I would achieve cities too probable to be real." And how do you know what the average city looks like with no examples? Arches are only made of stones, after all.)

Try to guess at a city and then send Marco to find out if it exists, a simple yes/no. ("But the cities visited by Marco Polo were always different from those thought of by the emperor.")

Try to figure out the rules of the game that generates cities, in which officials, buildings, aristocrats, trees, all have definite relationships with each other. But Kublai can't come up with a system as good as chess, and he discards the attempt because he can't imagine what such a game would be played for. It is only by forgetting about the real things the pieces are supposed to represent that he can bring himself to suspend disbelief and accept it as a source of knowledge, and, by making it completely abstract, he renders it meaningless. (I suppose I'm a lowercase historical materialist, so I'm inclined to be more sympathetic to the chessboard project, but that's neither here nor there.)

By disembodying his conquests to reduce them to the essential, Kublai had arrived at the extreme operation: the definitive conquest, of which the empire's multiform treasures were only illusory envelopes; it was reduced to a square of planed wood.

Unravel the implications of individual objects into a whole empire, as the chessboard implies trees and woodcutters. (The possibilities are overwhelming and presumably impossible to compute. I think Polo offers this one up as a sort of reductio.)

So we're left with Polo. What is he doing, anyway, if we assume that he's not confabulating or imaginary?

For him, trying to understand the cities from first principles is useless, "Without stones there is no arch", and it's your trajectory through them that counts.

He travels around the cities in a unique order; this makes his impressions beholden to the interpretations engendered by an arbitrary life-path. He emphasizes the particular and experiential aspects of the cities, the aspects of the ur-city which are strong in them, their relationship to the memories and desires and life history of the traveller. Earlier experiences characterize later ones, and later experiences recharacterize earlier ones; describing things, articulating them, narrativising them, erases the original impression.

I think that's what it's about, emotionally--the uncertainty of memory, the impossibility of recapturing a first impression, how hard it is to retrace your steps in qualia-space.

Like a lot of speculative fiction, it's pretty overtly negotiating the limits of knowledge. Polo's story is not (primarily) about being unable learn anything from science or whatever (it's something closer to that for Kublai), it's about the ineffability, fragility, arbitrariness of human experience. But this isn't necessarily a problem for Polo, even if it is for the Khan; the same thing that frustrates Kublai is the strength of Polo's method. Kublai has seen the latent wisdom in Marco Polo's accounts, the consolation and perdurance it offers, but he has not has not yet abandoned his top-down, emperor's-eye-view way of trying to grasp it.

Polo insists that the pattern Kublai's seeking is experiential, that all his other methods are doomed because he's still thinking as an emperor, and this is not something you can encounter as an emperor. It has to be discovered from within, inside the path-dependency and temporality of travel: encountering the apple as a worm, not as a painter.

So it's a contest between a traveller and an emperor, in which the traveller tries to convince the emperor of his point of view.

(I'll talk about the atlas in a subsequent post.)

[on-stolen-sunbeams]

I genuinely love lab work and the professor I'm working with is awesome and the subject is absolutely sick and it's very very cool that it's a super brand new lab.

that being said I really should've studied IT or something in high school, because there is so much computer set up stuff. X isn't connecting to Y, there's an error code thing here (yes I tried turning it on and off again), this isn't displaying on the right monitor, the tutorials are spectacularly unhelpful. to top it off, it's a brand new lab. the professor used to work with those programs around two-three years ago. since then, the computers have changed, the software has changed, and there's no one in the department using those same things. which kind of sucks, because at this point I might just email the actual company to ask for troubleshooting help.

I don't mean to just complain, but this week I spent over 6 hours working with the software, trying to set it up. if there is ever any sort of robot invasion I am dead in the water, software will triumph.

also the actual program itself is exceedingly stupid. Last semester I was worrying about MATLAB and the specific MATLAB program we were going to use for data analysis but at this point all that seems easy, it's the experiment-running software that's going to give me a heart attack and/or gray hair. I can see how it makes sense, and maybe I'm just (still) an idiot freshman, but it's overly convoluted and just ugh. will I still block out large parts of my schedule for this? Yep. Am I researching everything under the sun related to it when I can? Absolutely. But this is just one of those things I kinda wanna whine about.

[trylkstopocket]

Deep Learning’s Little-Known Debt to The Innovator’s Dilemma

**In 1997, Harvard **Business School professor Clayton Christensen created a sensation among venture capitalists and entrepreneurs with his book The Innovator's Dilemma. The lesson that most people remember from it is that a well-run business can’t afford to switch to a new approach—one that ultimately will replace its current business model—until it is too late.

One of the most famous examples of this conundrum involved photography. The large, very profitable companies that made film for cameras knew in the mid-1990s that digital photography would be the future, but there was never really a good time for them to make the switch. At almost any point they would have lost money. So what happened, of course, was that they were displaced by new companies making digital cameras. (Yes, Fujifilm did survive, but the transition was not pretty, and it involved an improbable series of events, machinations, and radical changes.)

A second lesson from Christensen’s book is less well remembered but is an integral part of the story. The new companies springing up might get by for years with a disastrously less capable technology. Some of them, nevertheless, survive by finding a new niche they can fill that the incumbents cannot. That is where they quietly grow their capabilities.

For example, the early digital cameras had much lower resolution than film cameras, but they were also much smaller. I used to carry one on my key chain in my pocket and take photos of the participants in every meeting I had. The resolution was way too low to record stunning vacation vistas, but it was good enough to augment my poor memory for faces.

This lesson also applies to research. A great example of an underperforming new approach was the second wave of neural networks during the 1980s and 1990s that would eventually revolutionize artificial intelligence starting around 2010.

Neural networks of various sorts had been studied as mechanisms for machine learning since the early 1950s, but they weren’t very good at learning interesting things.

In 1979, Kunihiko Fukushima first published his research on something he called shift-invariant neural networks, which enabled his self-organizing networks to learn to classify handwritten digits wherever they were in an image. Then, in the 1980s, a technique called backpropagation was rediscovered; it allowed for a form of supervised learning in which the network was told what the right answer should be. In 1989, Yann LeCun combined backpropagation with Fuksuhima's ideas into something that has come to be known as convolutional neural networks (CNNs). LeCun, too, concentrated on images of handwritten digits.

Over the next 10 years, the U.S. National Institute of Standards and Technology (NIST) came up with a database, which was modified by LeCun, consisting of 60,000 training digits and 10,000 test digits. This standard test database, called MNIST, allowed researchers to precisely measure and compare the effectiveness of different improvements to CNNs. There was a lot of progress, but CNNs were no match for the entrenched AI methods in computer vision when applied to arbitrary images generated by early self-driving cars or industrial robots.

But during the 2000s, more and more learning techniques and algorithmic improvements were added to CNNs, leading to what is now known as deep learning. In 2012, suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, deep learning outperformed the standard computer vision algorithms in a set of test images of objects, known as ImageNet. The poor cousin of computer vision triumphed, and it completely changed the field of AI.

A small number of people had labored for decades and surprised everyone. Congratulations to all of them, both well known and not so well known.

But beware. The message of Christensen’s book is that such disruptions never stop. Those standing tall today will be surprised by new methods that they have not begun to consider. There are small groups of renegades trying all sorts of new things, and some of them, too, are willing to labor quietly and against all odds for decades. One of those groups will someday surprise us all.

I love this aspect of technological and scientific disruption. It is what makes us humans great. And dangerous.

This article appears in the July 2022 print issue as “The Other Side of _The Innovator’s Dilemma.”_

[managermmorg]

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[aminiatureworld]

Affection

Characters: Albedo, Beidou, Keqing, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,705

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Sometime we know something is impossible from the start. But still we walk towards it, even if we know it will hurt us. It’s only flirting, only a smile or a hug or some food. Even if nothing comes of it, there is nothing to regret. Even if it hurts.

In which the reader gives affection, expecting nothing in return.

Author’s Note: More “new” characters! I’ve been neglecting Keqing and Beidou, they deserve some love. I hope as always their characterizations live up to expectations! This was very fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it!

I couldn’t tell whether to make this melancholy or fluffy, so I guess I half-and-half-ed it. Best of both worlds, right? Although the tone feels definitely lighter.

Albedo

Your friends never could figure out why you were flirting with Albedo.

“That alchemist has nothing on his mind but work,” one of them once told you, “he’ll never reciprocate your feelings you know.”

“I know.” You’d replied, smiling the sort of smile people put on when they’re trying to show they’re not annoyed. “I know he doesn’t like me in that way, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because I want to.” You’d shrugged, shifting the conversation to some other topic. In all honesty, it wasn’t as if your friend was lying. But neither were you, not really. There wasn’t any good explanation for why you were flirting with Albedo after all. You knew that he’d never take it seriously, knew you weren’t good enough for it anyways. Maybe that’s why you flirted with him. Maybe it was better to make the slightest fool of yourself than drive yourself mad thinking about something that could never be.

So you continued on your merry, if slightly self-destructive way. Every time you saw Albedo, which was quite a bit considering the fact you were often posted around Dragonspine and spent a lot of your free time in the square right outside his office, you ran his way, asking him what he was doing, or telling him about your own day. You’d developed this habit of leaning in a bit whenever he spoke to you, and the slight pause he gave as his smile grew wider whenever you did made your heart soar.

Not that you ever started thinking there was ever a chance. I mean, come on. Albedo was Albedo and you were you. There was a great deal of distance between the two of you, as if you were standing on opposite sides of a bridge which was liable to fall at any moment. You could shout across at each other, but never did you attempt to walk over to him, knowing it’d surely result in disaster.

Still, why did you flirt with Albedo? The question sort of haunted you at times. You enjoyed his company, you’d even told him you enjoyed his company. He’d smiled his sedate smile, pausing for a moment to look away from the painting he was working on. “I enjoy your company too.” He’d said, before turning back to his work. It was a quiet, calm, even sort of response, just the sort you’d expected. And yet you kept going, and though you made no attempt to push the boundaries or go any farther, you still wondered at times what the point of it was.

Perhaps following that line of thought was a bit dangerous. You found the more you asked yourself what you expected out of your closeness with Albedo, the more absent you seemed to be. It wasn’t as if you were trying to avoid him or anything, no quite the contrary. It was only that you tended to want to be alone when you were thinking about something like this. Reaching out was hard, especially to the person who you were thinking about.

“Are you alright?” You glanced up from the lunch you were pondering over to see Albedo leaning over you. Feeling your cheeks redden you jumped slightly.

“Albedo! Oh I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying any attention to my surroundings! Sit down!” You gestured vaguely to the spot on the bench next to you. Albedo smiled politely, sitting down as directed. He seemed to sober however once he was sitting, scanning your face for something, though you weren’t sure what that something was.

“You seem… absent recently, I was wondering if something was the matter.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine!” You shook your hands out in front of you. “I guess I’ve just been sort of busy recently, or maybe a little tired I guess. You know that the festival is coming up, right? Well Acting Grand Master Jean is really running us ragged! But I promise I’ll be back to normal soon!” You laughed awkwardly; it wasn’t as if you weren’t telling the truth per se, just… not the whole truth. But you’d rather not put all your troubles on Albedo, not when he was reaching out to see if you were okay. Smiling once more you attempted to switch topics. “How’s your research? Have you found something new while I’ve been gone?”

“Yes, I’ve begun to study the reaction between macrophage and eukaryotic cells in contrast with prokaryotic cells, and how adding elemental effects to reactions either speeds up or slows down the reaction. But I’m glad to hear you’re alright,” Albedo seemed to relax a bit, leaning backwards slightly on the bench, “everything has been much quieter with you gone. It’s unnatural, I can’t focus as well. I keep finding myself distracted by little things. I look forward to participating in our conversations once more.”

“Well I’ll be there soon!” You promised, heart fluttering slightly. Did he really mean that? I mean sure, it didn’t mean anything more than what was on the tin. Your situation hadn’t changed that much. Still, it meant something to you that Albedo wasn’t just tolerating your presence, that he was actually somewhat involved in your friendship. “I promise I’ll have some very interesting topics of conversation when I come back.”

“Good.” Albedo nodded once more before smiling slightly sheepishly. “My workspace is currently going through a cleaning and the lab isn’t supposed to let any foreign substances in in; would you mind terribly if I ate with you?”

“Not at all!” You responded. “I love spending my free time with you. What have you brought?”

Why did you flirt with Albedo? Why did you seek out his presence despite you and everyone around you knowing full well that it was never going to come to anything? What did you even think of Albedo? Well you could answer that last one at least. You loved him. You loved him very much. And even if he didn’t reciprocate the way you did, even if your friends told you it was pointless and your mind chastised you for putting yourself through the ringer, even if all that was true, you weren’t going to stop. Because you were Albedo’s friend and he was yours. And for now that was enough.

Even if a part of you continued to hope that one day this would change.

 Beidou

Beidou was utterly out of your league and you knew it.

It wasn’t exactly a difficult conclusion to come to after all. Brash, outspoken, good with a sword, Beidou embodied that sort of restless, self-reliant spirit you wish you yourself could emanate.

It didn’t hurt that Beidou had essentially rescued you from destitution, having found you languishing in a corner of one of the seedier docks of Liyue, and having taken you in quickly after the fact. You owed her a great deal, and was glad to do so. After all you’d fallen hopelessly in love with Beidou.

Life aboard a slightly illegal ship was bound to be an intimate one. Everyone knew everything about everyone else, and it was very difficult to find someone that hadn’t heard about your crush. Someone who wasn’t Beidou, that was. Although it wasn’t like you attempted to hide it; you just never brought it out in the open. And who could blame you? How could anyone who’d nearly died of starvation waiting for some sort of divine help compare to the bravest captain you’d ever met?

So you two settled into a routine of sorts, at least in your mind. You ate every meal as close to her as possible, something which had been difficult at first but as the “secret” spread around became almost comically easy, you discussed your plans with her first, gave her various trinkets you’d found in your travels, asked her opinions about your weapon then asked her to train with you. The training sessions had almost killed your resolve not to tell her, nothing was so intimate as having someone constantly checking your posture, moving and arm here a leg there, closely monitoring how you moved and acted.

All the while you said nothing. It felt selfish after all to even think about it. Beidou had many a time told her crew that they were one big family. On top of the obviously platonic motives behind her love for you, you weren’t about to impose on the crew by trying to take the spot as favorite or partner. It’d make you feel sleazy.

But damn if sometimes your resolve wasn’t tempted. It was the night after a particularly successful raid, and everyone was drunk out of their minds. Even you were tipsy, although compared to the rest you were positively sober. Sitting next to Beidou, who was walking up and down the tables making speeches of various levels of comprehensibility, you thanked the archons above that this woman had saved you. It was all worth the pain and suffering, if only to see her smile, which was blinding at the moment.

“You were brave, my dear compatriots! Distinguished! Honored! Positively courageous!” Beidou let out a slight “hic”, her vocabulary always did turn a bit grand when she drank too much. “Indeed, I’m sure not even the greatest of emperors had an army which could rival the visage of our band of brothers! Storming the deck, why we all might’ve perished! Damned visions, they’re for cheaters! For fraudsters! You all fight without them, and in doing so you prove yourself far more valiant, far more exemplary than they do!” Evidently Beidou had forgotten she herself was a vision wielder. Then again, so had everyone else.

“On this night of victory, of perilous and prestigious triumph, I wish to congratulate the greatest of warriors! This! My proverbial right hand man, the distinguished…” Beidou turned around towards you, gesturing in a very flamboyant sort of manner. You stood there, shocked by the sudden attention, blushing deeply, brain so filled with awe that you only half realized Beidou couldn’t remember your name.

“Yes! This person, this noble scalawag!” Beidou lifted you up so you were standing next to her, archons was she strong. “Now I don’t believe in laws, but if I did I’d marry them I would! You all ought to be more like them, mark my words I want to see some shaping up! There are no levels on this ship, but if there were they’d be higher than you all! Pay attention to my words, they are final!” And with that, speech apparently over, Beidou planted a soft, if slightly messy, kiss on your cheek.

If it weren’t for the people around you, you might’ve fainted.

The next day announced itself with a headache, though as the least hungover of the group you were put in charge of dishing out the medicine and water. The whole ship appeared to be groaning, and though the crew was usually quite active and excited at almost any hour of the day, you could tell that most of the men and women just wanted to roll over and go back to sleep.

“Captain wants to see you when you’re done with your rounds.” There were a few other people helping you out, and the one that informed you about this raised an eyebrow as you promptly turned white as a sheet, before a splotchy shade of red covered your face. What was she going to say? Had she remembered what had happened the night before? You admitted to yourself that maybe banking on Beidou forgetting was a doomed cause from the start. Beidou was perhaps brash and a lover of alcohol, but her memory was sharp, and she somehow managed to never drink herself to total incompetence. If you challenged a drunk Beidou to a duel your chances were going to be about the same as if you’d challenged her sober. Hell maybe they’d be even worse. With that grim thought in mind you distributed the last of the medicine, wiping your hands needlessly on your clothes before walking towards the captain’s cabins.

You loved Beidou’s cabins, they somehow seemed both incredibly grand and inexplicably homey. With furniture made out of a plush and luxurious red sort of material, it was nonetheless crowded by knickknacks; drawings, carvings, and other such paraphernalia littered the shelves and the dressers. Beidou had once told you almost all of it was from current or former shipmates. The luxuries they stole had no use in her home.

“Captain Beidou?” You ventured. The captain was at her desk, scribbling out something, probably a plan. She loved to plan in her free time, whether or not the plan was something doable or a total fantasy. Now she looked up, setting her pen down and smiling her classic, cocky grin.

“Ah, my favorite shipmate. How’re we feeling today?”

“W-well!” You managed to get out, a bit distracted by the nickname. Ah, it seemed she had remembered at least part of it. “Um, captain, I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, I did. I’ve been thinking since last night, thinking a great deal, and I was wondering, what would you think to becoming my partner, in a, well, romantic sort of sense.”

“So suddenly?” You replied, eyes widening but nevertheless cracking a smile. Beidou’s confession had been blunt, devoid of all the usual flourishes. And yet it was what you wanted, what you’d always wanted.

“Well why not?” Beidou shrugged nonchalantly. “After all considering how you’ve been acting towards me for the past few months, I figured why not become my partner. Unless I’ve been reading you wrong of course.”

“No!” You exclaimed. “I mean yes, I mean, well yes to the first and no to the second. I’d love to become your partner, and you haven’t been reading me wrong.” Your gaze dropped to the floor. “I just figured I wasn’t good enough. I mean you’re… you. And besides, you said we were all a family. I figured you wouldn’t want me as a partner.”

Beidou raised her eyebrow slightly as her smile melted into a smirk. Shaking her head slightly she approached you, raising your gaze every so slightly. “Well I can tell you right now I’m not too good for you. Not only are you good with a weapon, but you’re about as tough and fearless as they come. I don’t want to hear about how you’re secretly scared or whatnot. Everyone is that doesn’t matter. But you fight well and without second thought. And I admire that. And as for the speech about family, well a romantic partner is family of some kind. Besides the crew won’t mind, they’ve been talking about it for ages.”

“I guess they have.” You blushed; apparently Beidou hadn’t been as uninformed as you thought.

“Any last words before you’re my partner?” Beidou’s smile was as wide as you’d ever seen it and just as infectious; you grinned back.

“I love you.”

“Good. Now,” Beidou smiled, planting a soft kiss on your cheek and then a peck on your lips – something which left you grasping for coherent thought “let’s tell the others.”

 Keqing

Working with Keqing was an experience akin to slowly dying inside.

You’d become somewhat enamored with the Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing ever since you’d first met her. Her brusque and honest manner was refreshing, and when listening to her talk about the archons, about Liyue, about how the past and the present tied together, you never really seemed to question her. She always gave off the impression of intelligence, and, unlike some others you’d met, she had the brains to back it up. And what could you say? Before you knew it you had a crush on her.

Yet working with her showed other sides of Keqing too. She was very self-conscious when it came to compliments. Not that she minded them per se, as one time you’d asked her if your constant praise was a bother. “I just never know how to respond.” She’d admitted, and to be fair you understood that. But as long as she told you she liked them you’d compliment her.

Of course you knew it could never go beyond that. Keqing was your coworker; she was your superior in almost every way, both in occupation and in character. She never lost her cool or found herself off guard when fighting treasure hoarders or when dealing with rowdy citizens. She was efficient, capable, and aware of her incredible abilities. And she didn’t feel the need for a partner, something she had told you every time someone else worked up the courage to ask her out. You couldn’t bring yourself to impose on her like they did, not when you knew what her answer would be.

It was a slightly disheartening existence, and indeed sometimes you wondered what the point of it was, wondered if you shouldn’t just quit. But that wouldn’t be fair, not to Liyue, and not to Keqing herself. She relied upon the other members of the Liyue Qixing  to work efficiently and without sudden disruption. And the sudden quitting of someone who was hardly at the bottom of the ranks would’ve certainly done just that.

Besides, Keqing was first and foremost your friend. It was a bit of a fragile friendship, yes, but it was friendship nonetheless; and you valued that friendship well above your own infatuation. If you had to bottle your feelings up so be it. You owed it to Keqing to keep it together, to not impose on her what she obviously didn’t want and to not punish her for it by drawing away. So it hurt, so what? A lot of things hurt, doesn’t mean they aren’t worth doing or experiencing. And this was certainly one of those things.

It was late evening, and most of the cubicles were dark. You sat, writing the last few sentences of a report, trying to ignore the headache that had been developing since earlier that day. A friend had attempted to set you up on a blind lunch date, and though you appreciated their motive the whole thing had been a chore, and now you were late on your work.

“Almost done?” Keqing’s voice broke through your mental grumblings. Looking up at her you nodded, and Keqing smiled in satisfaction. “Good. Can’t have one of our best workers getting sick on account of working too hard.”

“I won’t get sick.” You assured her. Finally stamping the paper you let out a sigh leaning back in your chair.

“A difficult day?”

“You could say that,” you admitted, “a friend went on a slightly appreciated but incredibly unnecessary mission to get me to go out on a date. Honestly, I’d rather her just treat me to lunch.”

“I can understand the feeling.” Keqing frowned in sympathy. “People are too obsessed with the idea of romance, so much so it blinds them. There are more important things in this world.”

“I’d say most people consider love pretty important.” You commented. Keqing shook her head in response.

“Perhaps, but aren’t ideals better than individual wishes? Romance may be fun, perhaps, but there are other things to consider. Besides, I find your company far more enjoyable than I would any date.”

“You do?” You responded, heart fluttering slightly; you hoped Keqing didn’t notice the blush spreading across the bridge of your nose and coloring your cheeks. Luckily it was slightly dark in the office.

“Oh certainly,” Keqing waved her hand dismissively, “you’re the best coworker and friend I’ve ever had. No significant other could give me advice like you do, or help me so much when I’m struggling with work or with my thoughts, and dates are so formal and boring and awkward compared to spending an afternoon with you. Really I’m perfectly content relationship wise with our friendship. Relationships are full of pitfalls, people keeping this little thing from their partner, or omitting that little act. No, better to have an open and supportive friendship like we do.”

“I’m glad you think so.” You replied, and really you did. You’d known since day one that a romantic relationship was off the table. So if you could stay by Keqing’s side and support her, if only a little longer, then you’d be perfectly content.

Even if a part of you still wished that things could’ve been different.

 Zhongli

To be fair to Zhongli you weren’t sure how much he understood of any type of human relationship. The fact that the Geo Archon had befriended you in the first place was an achievement in itself.

And yet he had befriended you, and soon you’d found yourself falling in love with the slightly aloof, slightly out of touch geo archon. Zhongli was much more than that of course. Surprisingly open, the ex-deity took to finding out information about humanity with zeal. Always eager to ask you questions and to hear about how your day had gone or how you felt after something particularly happy or sad or gratifying, Zhongli had morphed into a pseudo confidante for you. Someone you found yourself relying on more and more. His gentle nature didn’t hurt either, or his looks for that matter; all in all Zhongli seemed like the perfect sort of person, and though you knew that you’d never be able to measure up to an archon, you found yourself unable to suppress the overwhelming love you felt for him.

Zhongli didn’t seem to mind your openness at all, indeed he sort of relished it, or at least he seemed to. Every time you reached out to grab his hand he gladly slipped it into yours, and whenever you ran up and hugged him after a long period of not seeing one another he always hugged you back. He’d eat lunches with you, and sometimes dinners, and sometimes weekends were spent running around Liyue, or at home listening to one another’s stories or reading one another’s books. It’s truly a magical sort of feeling to share a book with someone. But then again with Zhongli everything seemed magical.

Of course affection aside the whole matter never crossed the line of friendship. You never told him of your affections, and in return Zhongli never initiated anything further than conversation. Not that it bothered you; you felt there was a bit of a gap between you and Zhongli. After all surely it was idealization which caused you to recognize that someone like Rex Lapis had no want or inclination towards engaging in a relationship with a mere mortal. Facts are facts, and there’s no changing them, no matter how much you wanted to.

And yet how odd fate is.

“What is being in love like?”

You looked up at Zhongli, trying desperately to act as if you hadn’t felt your heart rate spike to unhealthy levels.

“Uhm… what do you mean what is love like?”

“I’ve noticed mortals are very enamored with love. I have to admit, my experience with romance is minimal; archons and adepti seldom see romance as something that affects them. But I want to know, as a human, what is love like to you?” There was no mockery or sense of superiority in Zhongli’s face. Not that you expected there to be. Zhongli never looked down upon humans as unequal. Many times he’d told you he admired them. Taking a breath you thought of your answer.  

“Well… hmm. Love is very different for everyone. To some love is like an inferno; it’s very sudden and very intense. It sort of burns them up, it’s all they think about. I think that’s less love, more infatuation, but to some that is indeed love. To others love is sort of… staid. It’s being able to rely on them, to talk to them about anything and everything without feeling embarrassed or like you have to put on some sort of show. It’s knowing that there’s someone who will always side with you or help you realize what’s right, or be there when you feel terrible. To them love isn’t passionate, it’s comforting.”

“And to you?” Zhongli interrupted, a look of thoughtfulness on his face.

“Well to me it’s somewhere in the middle, I suppose to most people it’s somewhere in the middle. And this is only romantic love after all. Love is so big, so all encompassing, I think it’s hard to pin down. But to me romantic love is both; it is the passion that causes people to do crazy things and espouse crazy sorts of ideals, and it is the staid comfort of knowing there is someone who will always understand you, and always support you in that understanding.” You paused, realizing you’d been prattling on a bit. “Why, may I ask? Is there a reason you want to know.”

“Yes,” Zhongli admitted, voice slightly less calm than usual. “I, I’ve been thinking about my feelings towards someone a great deal recently; they’ve been alien, although not distressing per se. They feel as if I’m always on some sort of edge, but I don’t feel upset by it. Instead I want to approach it, want to be around the person who makes me feel that way. I wanted to understand that emotion more. I wondered if it was love. Thank you for answering my question, it was most enlightening.”

“That person must be very lucky.” You replied, keeping your tone as light as possible, trying to ignore your emotions, which had risen and dropped so very quickly. “I suppose I’ll have to lay off on the affection now. Part of love is sometimes being a little bit jealous, at least in the beginning, at least for some people. It’s silly, really, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Zhongli’s tone was surprisingly wry, as if there was a joke somewhere you’d missed.

“Why?” You asked, brow furrowing slightly.

“Because the person whom I was enquiring about is you.”

Honestly you would’ve been less surprised if Zhongli had told you that he was going to run away from Liyue and join the circus. All you could manage to sputter out was: “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Zhongli chuckled slightly. He raised his hand, gloved fingers ghosting your cheek as he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ve suspected it for some time, but I wanted to be sure. Are you alright with me telling you this?”

Alright? You were over the moon! Had you ever been this happy before? You weren’t sure, but you were happy now.

“Of course it’s alright. Zhongli, I’ve liked you for months now.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Zhongli tilted his head slightly in confusion. You stared down at your hands, slightly embarrassed.

“I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. I mean you’re an archon and I’m a mortal. I’m hardly different from the other people of Liyue, and I just, I don’t know, I was scared of rejection, I was scared you’d think I was overstepping and that our friendship would crumble. And I didn’t think I could stand that.”

At first Zhongli said nothing, instead he held out his hand. You gladly placed your palm in his, comforted by its warmth.

“You shouldn’t hold yourself so cheaply,” Zhongli spoke softly, “there are a great many extraordinary things about you. Your affectionate nature, your determination to live even when the world is dark and dangerous, your willingness to open your heart to some ancient archon who knows little of humans. If that’s not extraordinary, I don’t know what is. I don’t feel towards anyone as I do towards you, at least I haven’t in a long time. So don’t think of yourself that way anymore, please.”

“I won’t.” You replied. And it was true. You knew you wouldn’t be able to, not anymore. Zhongli would make sure of that, already you could tell.

To some love burns like fire in the mind, to other it wraps you up in a blanket of comfort. You felt incredibly lucky, for you despite yourself demanded both, and somehow fate had bestowed it upon you. And for that you would be forever grateful.

[tvshowfanfics12]

Running from the mob

Chapter 3: 

Lucy’s POV: 

I didn’t hear them come in, but soon Nyla, Angla, and Tim were in the office with Nolan and I. Nolan stood up and gave his friendly smile before saying, “So, we got everything written down. I don’t think we have anything to worry about immediately, but Lucy should get a hotel room or something.” 

“A hotel room?” Nyla shook her head. “I am sure we can find room for her at one of our houses. Right, Tim?” Nyla gave Tim a strange look, to which Tim responded by glaring at her. 

“I am fine,” I stand up and bud in before a war breaks out in this room.

“Stop trying to act tough,” Tim turned his anger to me. “You can’t possibly stay at your apartment. It is unsafe. It is not safe for any of us really.” 

“I will be fine,” I roll my eyes, annoyed and too tired to think straight.

“Don’t fight,” Nolan turned to me in a calming and in friendly tone. “Just let one of us take you home for the night. We can go to your apartment and get your things, but if they know where you live already, they might have a way of getting into your apartment.” 

That sent shivers down my spine. 

“You can stay with me,” Tim offered while he searched through the papers at his desk. “And where is that form you need to sign to get it on file that your personal property was damaged at work. We have to get one of those filled out before we leave.” 

“Already done,” I walked over and handed him the form. “I thought you would want to file it before the morning.” 

“Good,” Tim took it and went to his computer. As he was typing in the information, the others were talking about all the damage done to my car. Though my car wasn’t perfect, after today it was pretty much totaled, which meant I would have to get a new car. 

“What?” Tim said, looking up from his computer as he noticed I was staring off into space. “What is the matter?” 

“Nothing,” I turned back to him. “And there is no need to host me. I will be fine at a hotel.”

“What is the problem? You have stayed at my place before without this much protest.” Tim pointed out the obvious, but I didn’t care. It was still embarrassing to have to ask my old T.O. to host me for the night. 

“I don’t want to intrude,” I take a step back. “Besides, this is sort of my mess. I don’t want to drag you into it.” 

“I was dragged into it the second we took this case,” Tim leaned back in his chair and reached into his front pocket to hand me a few pictures. “I grabbed these while we were searching your car. The forensic team will be here in an hour, so I thought you would want these in case we can’t get your car back for a while.” 

“Thanks,” I smiled, looking down at the photos. I have one of Nolan, Jackson, and I on the first day of being a rookie. Then I have one of my parents and I at a holiday party. And the last was one of Tim and I after a run with Cujo. These are all precious to me. 

“It was nothing,” Tim stood up. “So, let's get home. It's already two in the morning, so you should just come back to my place for the night.” 

“I don’t know…” 

“Lucy,” the way Tim says my name makes my heart skip a beat. 

“Alright,” I nod. 

“Good,” Tim smiles in triumph before turning to the others. “Nightshift is taking over for now and casing the car. There is nothing else we can do, so everyone should go home and get some rest. We have the day off tomorrow, so sleep in if you need and we can meet later in the afternoon.” 

I always liked when Tim takes command like this. He is so strict and knows what he talks about, which turns me on. I know it is wrong to crush on your old T.O. the way that I do, but something about Tim makes me feel safe when I am around him. 

“Sounds good,” Angla nods in agreement with her friend. “Besides, the coffee was not enough to keep me up all night.” 

“Yeah,” Nyla nods. “I feel ready to slump over and sleep a whole day. Who knows how Nolan feels. He missed his nightly nap.” 

“Hey!” Nolan looked offended. “Just because you are tired doesn’t give you the right to hurt me with your words.” 

“Oh, calm down,” Nyla pats Nolan’s shoulder. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.” 

“Alright everyone,” I step forward before everyone's lack of sleep causes us to get into a fight. “It is time for us to head home.” 

Everyone started to gather their things and Tim locked up his office before we headed down to the parking area. On the ride down from the elevator, Angela leaned over my shoulder and looked at the photos in my hands. 

“Those are nice,” she commented. 

“Thanks,” I smiled and hand her my photos to look at. 

“What do they mean? Any special meaning?” Nyla came into our conversation. 

“They are just important moments in my life and people I care about. I have been meaning to get the group photo from Angela’s wedding printed, but I keep forgetting.” I explain to them. 

“I have a couple extra from my wedding,” Angela says. “I can bring in one if you would like?” 

“I would love that,” I smiled. 

“I will send myself a reminder to bring one in on my next shift.” Angela pats my shoulder. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, letting all of us get out. I say goodbye to everyone before leaving with Tim to his special parking area. Without a word, I climb into Tim’s large truck and he pulls out into the busy street. It wasn’t a long ride to Tim’s house, but my eyelids grew heavy and I didn’t notice until it was too late, but I had fallen asleep. 

“Hey,” Tim’s voice broke through my dreams. “We are at my place, Lucy. Wake up.” Tim’s voice was comforting, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Lucy? Lucy, you have to wake up now. Or else I will have to carry you inside.” 

“No,” I shake my head, but the smile doesn’t fade. “I can walk.” 

“Come on,” Tim said before opening his car door and getting out. A few seconds later my door opens and Tim helps me to unbuckle my seat belt. “Can you walk?” 

“Yeah,” I nod and sit up. “I am fine.” Tim helps me down from his truck and gives me his arm to lean on while we walk to his front door. Once inside Tim let Cujo outside for the bathroom and I head over to his living room and fall onto his couch. 

“What are you doing?” Tim asks as he walks into the room. 

“Going to bed,” I mumbled into the cushions. 

“Not here,” Tim walks over. “You can sleep on the bed tonight.” 

“We already had this conversation,” I rolled my eyes, even though I was only doing it to the couch and Tim couldn’t actually see me. “I am fine sleeping on your couch, and you can sleep on your bed.” 

“You are my guest,” Tim protests. 

“And I don’t want to put you out of your way,” I sit up enough to turn my head towards him. “Now, stop arguing and go to bed. It is three in the morning and if I don’t get some sleep soon I am going to be a zombie.” 

“We wouldn’t want that,” Tim chuckles. 

With that, I lay my head back onto his couch and close my eyes. Tim walks over and drapes a blanket over me before whispering goodnight and leaving to his room. Cujo comes over and lays by my hand, and I pet him until I fall asleep. 

[arrivisting]

would it be rude to ask about "to the sound of trumpets"? like, obviously no pressure and every understanding, but i'm still interested :D thank you!

you can ask, but I'm not sure I can tell! I would if I could! that one stalled out when I started my PhD - I didn't have the brainwidth left over for finishing a long, chaptered wip - and I don't remember most of the intended plot or beats now, eight years later. Obviously Enjolras/Grantaire got back together, but...

It was a few computers and many losses ago, so I don't have much left of what I had that wasn't published. If you'll forgive my rough prose from 2013(!), here's a scrap I do have:

The oracle has dropped a word into other ears than Grantaire's, it seems. When he shows up at the offices the next day, Enjolras sends Marius back to his cubicle to deal with paperwork and the grilling starts before Grantaire's even sat down.

“Do you enjoy keeping things I should know from me? Is it pleasurable for you?”

“Pardon?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about.”

“I truly do not,” Grantaire says, sprawling in his accustomed chair and opening his eyes to impossibly innocent limits.

“Everything that happens with Patron-Minette is my business,” Enjolras grits out. “They're not supposed to have any form of contact with you, direct or indirect, except through me. When they breach that, I need to know.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says. The little present in his hotel room. “That.”

“That,” Enjolras echoes, with a sweet sarcasm almost worthy of Grantaire himself. “You didn't think that was something I should know about?”

“Frankly, Apollo,” Grantaire says, and enjoys the tiny little twitch he gets at the word frankly – the oracle has spoken, indeed – “No, I didn't. I didn't think I needed to. It's not like it was a secret. I told Combeferre straight away, and he is part of the firm, isn't he?” Probably not a good idea to mention that Combeferre had consequently told Éponine, unless he wants to reopen the whole conspiracy of silence thing that had made Enjolras so angry last time. “And he told you – admittedly, a little later than I thought he would – so I fail to see the problem.”

Enjolras looks at him. The high colour in his face is fading, but his lips are pressed together. If he's not still mad, he wants to be. “You should have come to me, not Combeferre. If you don't trust me, I shouldn't be handling your case.”

Grantaire stares back – unfair, unfair – and after a moment, Enjolras's furious blue eyes drop. “You don't trust me, is the problem. What difference would it have made, calling you over? Would it have made you believe me? I already told you I was clean.”

Enjolras's mouth compresses further, then suddenly decompresses. “You did,” he says. “I should have – I may owe you an apology.”

“You definitely owe me an apology,” Grantaire says. He could draw this out, wallow in triumph and rub Enjolras's perfectly straight nose in his un-lawyerly jumping of conclusions, his own very good reasons for returning distrust for distrust, but a sudden rush of generosity prompts him to add, “I may owe you one, too. You should have had all the facts from the beginning.”

“I definitely ought to have had all the facts,” Enjolras agrees, and the equation balances. Sort of. “That part wasn't wholly your fault. You had some help.”

Grantaire shrugs, more mocking than bitter. “What can I say? They worry.”

They stare at each other. This is another turning-point, but Grantaire's not quite sure where it could lead. After a moment, it's Enjolras who moves; he holds out his hand, like he did after that first meeting in this office.

“A new start,” he says. “A better start. I want to help you, Grantaire. I want to flay Patron-Minette to the bone and take your freedom-price out of their hide. I want to tell the DA in New York to go to hell, and to stop trying to claim jurisdiction in my city.”

“I want to be helped?” Grantaire says. “It's not much of an equal bargain. I can't really give much back – filthy lucre aside, obviously, I know you don't count that.”

“Just - trust me, next time there's something to deal with,” Enjolras says. “I promise that I won't betray it.”

That's usually my job, Grantaire thinks. He doesn't say it, but grasps Enjolras's hand. It's been waiting, offering, and if Grantaire was younger and pettier, he'd slap it down. No, that's a lie; a younger Grantaire would be on his knees already, begging to kiss that palm.

They shake. It's business-like, and then Enjolras's fingers tighten around his. “Will you stop being so muted now? It's been disturbing.”

“I thought all you wanted was for me to keep my mouth shut,” Grantaire says. “Now you're telling me you like it better when my mouth is open?”

“That's exactly the kind of thing– if you could refrain – no, restrain yourself from that kind of expression – Remember that we're in a place of work, and that we have a professional relationship. But don't shut down. It was... uncanny. And unpleasant.”

“So you want my mouth a little bit open, but a little bit closed?”

“Yes - in a professional sense.”

“Oh, and now you've gone right back to insulting me. I'm not that kind of whore.”

“You know perfectly well that that's not what I meant,” Enjolras says, sounding exasperated, but a certain relief leaks through his voice. His fingers loosen, and Grantaire's hand drops away.

He feels a certain relief, too, that the worst ice is broken, that if Enjolras isn't offering him his body – or his heart – he's at least offering him a real chance. He feels a certain dread, too. He hadn't been lying when he told Éponine that there was a comfort to hopeless pining. Back in college, he'd been okay, if not happy, in those distant days when the idea of the perfect, shining Enjolras coming to him and asking for anything ever had seemed completely impossible. Grantaire would have been the first to laugh hysterically at the idea. When you have even a little, you're not only more starkly aware of what you don't have; you have something to lose again. To get back the fraction of warmth and regard he'd pulled out of Enjolras in the first week or two of taking his case means bracing again for losing it. He'd like to trust that he won't fuck it up somehow, but he doesn't.

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, after all; singing the song without tune, and never asking for a crumb.

Grantaire's life didn't wholly suck before he walked into <i>EC&C</i>. He had a dark five years of self-destruction after college; but after that, it got better. It was empty and grey, compared with the bright warmth and light and glitter of the ABC en masse, but it was tolerable, and there had been art again. His deal with Patron-Minette hadn't chafed for years; he'd had security, financial and otherwise. A roof over his head, enough money to indulge in little charities of his own. A stability he'd never really had before – the kind of equilibrium you couldn't hold onto once you started hoping or trying for anything. He'd been stable enough to get clean, finally, and stick to it; and then foolish enough to snap at the chance of actual and measurable critical glory, held out to him in a letter from the Galeries d'Arcole, the kind of real success he'd given up on back in college. That had been the first slip on a path from fuzzy grey mediocrity to this real and sometimes happy, sometimes incredibly painful state: he'd finally been stable enough to start thinking, to do more than the frantic paddling of someone trying to keep their head above the water, and he'd finally looked around and thought, where does this stability come from? How does this work? What's going on?

Coming into <i>EC&C</i>, back into the warmth – Grantaire had never ever intended to stay. He still doesn't, exactly, but he can't imagine leaving completely again either. It terrifies him to have something to lose.

-

[sometime later] Enjolras turns Grantaire's hand in his grasp, running his thumb over the skin just inside the curl of his wrist, the inky curl of an old tattoo. “I haven't asked you about this. You didn't have that before.”

“Oh, now we're talking about before?”

“That's not fair. I wanted to talk. You're the one who wanted to–” Enjolras breaks off.

“Suck your cock,” Grantaire fills in helpfully. “But I always want to suck your cock, and you weren't exactly complaining. I never do get any complaints on that front, it's very peculiar... Anyway, that's not what I meant. You never wanted to talk about what we were doing back in college when we were doing it, let alone after. Why should I think that you had changed your stripes? If we talked, I probably would have punched you. If you shut up, you got your dick sucked. It wasn't much of a choice.”

Anyway not what I meant After - we never talked about it back in college , during or after I was angry, enjolras said simply and okay that's fair, g could take that, but then he goes on - and it had been - suggested to me that It would be better to leave you alone, if - if I didn't, if I wasn't serious about what I was doing with you. It was suggested, in fact, that I'd done enough damage G - does his usual bitter light thing -

-

Grantaire feels most comfortable in places where alcohol flows freely; places with a bit of character, with a few scrapes and the sharp edges knocked off them. Therefore, he feels desperately uncomfortable waiting for Marius's errant wife in what is possibly the most upmarket ice-cream parlour he's ever imagined; it's enough to make him break out in a nervous sweat. It's just so – fancy. The walls are a glossy oxblood, the colour pink wants to be when it grows up, the tables are spread with white linen, and one side of the restaurant – can it be called a restaurant if it only serves sweet confections? – Is nothing but elaborately carved black screens backlit with white light, sending tangled lacy shadows across the room. The effect is partly briar-rose, and partly jungle.

Grantaire likes the screens. They remind him of Islamic art, curlicues and arabesques, a thousand delicacies of patterning. They remind him of his own frantic doodling these days. He still can't bring himself to draw or paint anything without feeling violently ill, but there are only so many cigarettes he can smoke, and drawing is a compulsion; without it he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Impossible patterns and tangles are where he starts when the urge kicks in irresistibly, on any available surface, but they tend to end up obliterated by furious jagged strokes of pen.

He could live with the parlour, but the name sets his teeth on edge – Sucre – and the other patrons are watching him. He could be imagining some of it, but the guy running the place, an Abercrombie model with thirties-style short-sides, definitely is. He can't blame them: he's the unshaven guy in the corner in an old t-shirt and plaid shirt, ratty jeans and sneakers, he clearly doesn't fit in here. Maybe it's not even the outfit as much as it is the fidgeting. He can't smoke and he can't drink and he can't draw: the waiting is torture.

Grantaire

bored bored bored bored

Enjolras

This number is for emergencies.

Grantaire

thats why im using it

Enjolras

What do you expect me to do?

Grantaire

tell me im wasting yr time. tell me im a mess.

Enjolras

You want me to tell you that?

Grantaire

obviously

Enjolras

We seem to have been operating at cross-purposes if that's something you actually enjoy.

Grantaire

im revealing all my secrets and youll never scold me again?!

Enjolras

This number is for emergencies. Please stop wasting my time with personal communications inside working hours. If you want diversion, try Courfeyrac.

Grantaire

thank you <3

Enjolras

Please reread the previous message.

Cosette is nearly twenty minutes late, altogether, and by the time she arrives Grantaire's put away two teeny-tiny espresso-flavoured macarons and started on a black forest Bombe Alaska, also disturbingly minute. He's trading bad puns with Courfeyrac by text when someone takes the seat opposite him, and looks up, startled, into Cosette's face.

“Hello, Grantaire.”

“Mme. Pontmercy.”

“Dr. Fauchelevent,” she corrects him.

Grantaire laughs. “Changed your name back already? Fast work. Or, wait – did you ever change it? No? Odd, I had you pegged as one of those sweet old-fashioned girls – you modern women,” he says, and shakes his head in mock despair. Éponine would punch him lightly, to keep him in line; Musichetta would laugh. Cosette simply looks at him.

At thirty-two, she's nothing like the sophomore Grantaire remembers Marius falling so wildly in love with so many years ago. What he remembers about Cosette at nineteen is almost purely visual; blue eyes and fresh pink cheeks and hair like spun-gold from a fairy-tale. What he thought about Cosette could have been reduced to fairy-tale archetypes, too. Toiling goose-girl; Aschenputtel stealing the prince's heart with one look, one dance; impossible princess on a glass mountain, placed out of reach of all suitors.

He'd never thought about Cosette as a person, he realises, confronted with Cosette the person, neither Cosette the picture nor Cosette the fable. Cosette is still impossibly beautiful at thirty-two, no longer pink-and-white, but faintly tan from the sun. She still has the sad eyes of a little girl, but when she raises them to look at him, he's sharply aware of the strong will behind the lovely face, the peremptory force of her personality without the former softening of extreme innocence.

“It's been a long time,” Grantaire says, dropping the light babble. “Sorry I missed the wedding, and everything. It's great to see you, don't get me wrong, but why are we here? We were never – I mean, you were a sweet girl, but we weren't exactly close, so the whole catching-up-on-old-times thing doesn't really apply.”

Cosette doesn't answer; she signals to the Abercrombie model instead. Once she's ordered, she looks back at Grantaire, fixing him with her great blue eyes again. “Marius told me quite a lot about you at dinner the other night,” she says. “About you, and about your past, and about your current predicament.”

“Yes?” Grantaire asks. Poor Marius, eternally wrung for information like a sponge. “It's not exactly great dinner conversation, but these lawyers, getting them to stop talking shop – sorry, I guess.”

“You don't understand,” Cosette says. “I think you might have a piece of the puzzle I'm putting together, and I might be able to give you a piece of yours, too.”

“I fail to see how.”

Cosette Fauchelevent with her pearl-drop earrings and cream silk shirt is a thousand worlds removed from his life and his problems, whatever she thinks she might be able to do, whatever she wants. Which is – what? He has absolutely no idea. A miraculous cure for addictive personality, discovered somewhere in the tropics? A test case for some kind of herbal supplement? He'll try anything once, but playing guinea pig is not at all his thing.

“I'm going to tell you a story,” she says. “That might help to explain.”

“ A fairy-tale?”

“If you like,” she says. The Abercrombie model brings her her coffee, and she gives him one of her well-bred little smile-and-nods, thanks and dismissal at the same time. The silence draws out after he's gone; she stirs her drink with her long-handled spoon until Grantaire is twitching with impatience. This is so completely not his bag. “Do you know anything about Sarawak?”

“I know that it's not the same thing as Sarajevo,” Grantaire says, and gets a polite smile-and-nod of his own. “I think that's something. I mean, it's not exactly in the public consciousness, is it?”

“It's part of the island of Borneo," Cosette says, "which is one of the biggest non-continental islands in the world, and it has one of the very oldest rainforests on earth, although it's disappearing fast – so fast I'm afraid to blink.” Her voice has gone sweet and creamy, like her coffee. “The island's divided up into territories – Sarawak is one of Malaysia's, but it used to be a little individual kingdom of its own. For just over one hundred years, it was ruled by the White Rajahs of Sarawak, who started with an adventurer called Jim Brooke. Isn't that strange, this wild corner of the world ruled over by an Englishman who had absolutely no right to it, and no real claims of birth back in England, because he killed quite a few pirates and pleased the Sultan of Brunei? Victorian England loved that story. They loved to read about the Great White Father with grateful natives kneeling at his feet and taking their problems to him, but it wasn't at all like that. They had this idea of him as a kind and loving god and father, but he waded in blood to the knees to claim it, and he was equally ruthless in putting down attempts at rebellion and self-rule. His name is even stamped all over the native species. Plants - Rhododendron brookei and Nepenthes rajah – a butterfly, Trogonoptera brookiana – and a squirrel, Sundasciurus brookei.” She sips at her coffee, meditatively. “It's rather cute, actually. Slightly more lizardy than the grey squirrel common to North America.”

“Is this a metaphor?” Grantaire asks. “Who's the White Rajah standing in for? Marius? Your dad?”

“Not Marius – well, neither of them, precisely,” Cosette says, stirring with her spoon. “It's only a story. They tell other stories about Brooke, too. He never married. He was supposed to have fallen in love with this beautiful heiress back in England, but he'd been mysteriously wounded in his war against the pirates in a way that meant he could never honourably be a husband to her, so he swore to stay silent and be faithful to her memory forever. That's another lovely fairy-tale that doesn't seem to have been at all true. The current scholarship suggests that, in fact, he was madly in love with a Sarawak prince. It's funny, isn't it, these mythic stories that have so much power and turn out to be something entirely else?”

“Cosette,” Grantaire says, although she hasn't given him her name to use, because Dr. Fauchelevent seems ridiculous, and he's pretty sure she was just making a point with it. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I'll show you,” she says, and sets her purse on the table. She takes out a manila folder, leafing through its contents with the tips of her fingers until she finds what she's looking forward. It's a photograph, and she holds it framed in her hands for a moment before she passes it over to him.

Grantaire takes it.

It's a photo of a girl, somewhat dated. She's staring into the camera like a challenge. She has a strange and compelling face; a thin face, in which the features are slightly exaggerated and not quite balanced. Huge dark eyes and full mouth. Sharp cheekbones and a collarbone you could cut yourself on. Dark hair clipped close to the shape of her skull at the nape and left a little longer on top, almost the hint of a fauxhawk. The whole photo has that faint touch of punk: the torn jeans and beat-up boots completely at odds with the frail, ungainly body.

“My mother,” Cosette says softly.

Grantaire would never, ever have guessed. She doesn't look anything like Cosette. Cosette's features are all perfect and harmonious; her chin is the only thing that saves her from the boring perfection of an angel on a Victorian chocolate box. It's a touch too pointed, a touch too strong, and it gives a foxy look to her features. Grantaire can't see anything of Cosette in her mother. Maybe if the girl in the picture had been less thin; maybe some of the features that seem strangely put together in the mother are similar to the ones that balance in Cosette. There's still a yawning distance of time and space between her daughter's clean, well-kept hands with their shell-pink nails, and the ragged and fiercely alive girl with her dirty fingerless gloves.

(Cosette is still wearing her rings, the distant, note-taking part of Grantaire's brain registers. The little sweetheart ring with its tiny pearls, all that Marius had been able to afford at twenty-one, and which he'd promised fervently to replace with a diamond one day; and a narrow gold band that matches the one Marius himself still wears. And Grantaire, himself, he was wrong in his diagnosis: this isn't a case of daddy issues, but mommy ones).

“Her name was Fantine,” Cosette says, tilting her head so she can see the photo too. Her expression is more suited to a mother looking at her daughter than a daughter looking at her mother. She looks like a Raphaelite Madonna. “She was an orphan, like me. I only have a few pictures of her, and this one is my favourite, because I think you can see something of who she was in it.”

“She's striking,” Grantaire says, and passes the picture back. He's careful with it, the way Cosette was. “Do you remember her at all? Have you found her?”

“She's dead. She died when I was about six. I don't remember her. I was in foster care from the time I was two or three. No one ever told me what happened to her. Not until last year, when he finally told me.”

Grantaire quirks his mouth, trying to remember. “Papa Valjean, he's not – he adopted you, right? He's not your actual–”

“No,” Cosette agrees. Her voice has changed again, to something crisper. “He knew her, though. I always wondered – he never spoke of her at all to me, not even her name. All he ever told me was that she had loved me very much, and that she had had a very hard life, and he had promised her he'd take care of me. He didn't like talking about it, and growing up, I thought – it seemed like it hurt him to talk about, very much.”

“Was he in love with her?”

“I thought he must have been,” Cosette says. “I wanted to know about her, but I never pushed him. I respected his pain. It hurt him, but it didn't hurt me because I didn't remember her, so it seemed kinder not to ask. I trusted him,” she adds. “I thought that if he didn't want to talk about it, he must have a very good reason.”

“Did he?” Grantaire asks, and he still has no idea where the hell this is going or what the hell it has to do with him, but he's hooked now; he's been hooked since he met the tragic eyes of the girl in the photograph. Whatever else it is, it's a good story. Stories, little windows into other people's lives, are one of his enduring fascinations. The lost Fantine looks like someone he would have painted.

“He thought so,” Cosette says. “I don't agree. She did have a very hard life, and she did suffer. He didn't lie about that.” She looks down at the photograph again, and now she looks more like the mourning Pieta than one of Raphael's doting mamas. “He was her appointed lawyer; that's how he met her. She was arrested for prostitution and solicitation, over and over again. Possession, too. He got her off, mostly, but she died of pneumonia in a hospital bed, too weak to lift her head from the pillow. She had something – an auto-immune disease, they thought, but we call it something else now.” She looks up at him. “That's why I wanted to reach out to you, you see. I thought you'd understand.”

Grantaire doesn't know exactly what he's supposed to have in common with a young prostitute junkie who lived and died on the streets of New York City in the dirty eighties. “Right,” he says uselessly. “Because... I understand addiction? Do you want me to talk you through it, or something?”

“No,” Cosette says. “You're still not listening.”

“You're not explaining.”

“I'm getting there.”

“What brought this all up, anyway?” Grantaire asks. Privately, he finds himself agreeing with Valjean, high-handed and paternalistic as the decision may have been; Cosette had been happy without this knowledge, married and settled and blithely unaware. Now she's anything but happy, and her marriage is in tatters, and her relationship with her father seems to be shattered.

“He got married,” Cosette says, “my father,” and her voice goes all ruffled and hurt.

Grantaire knew that. He still fails to see why it matters, even knowing Cosette's all-consuming bond with Papa Valjean. Even knowing that as a little girl she treasured some sort of fairy-tale about her unknown mother and her adoptive father, imagined some sort of sacred perfect love resting in the tomb. It seems extreme, but Cosette is starting to strike him as an extreme kind of person; actually, all things considered, she was an extreme sort of person even back in college, the same way Marius was, falling in love for the first time and deciding it was for forever and always, something worth devoting her entire unknown adult life to.

Grantaire prides himself on his judgment of character, so it's a problem that he took her for the china doll she looked like; that he dismissed her as a harmless sort of butterfly rather than the scientist who grew up to catalogue butterflies and stick them to cardboard with pins. Do they still do that? He can't really imagine Cosette stabbing butterflies, even all grown up and in the name of science.

He must roll his eyes a little more obviously than he supposes, because Cosette fixes hers on him again – really, there's no other way to describe the clamping power of her stare. Maybe that's something she does have in common with her mother, although Fantine's gaze had been combative, aware she would have to do her own fighting against the world alone; Cosette's is more convinced of her own ability to persuade.

“Do you have any idea who he married?” she asks. It's rhetorical. “As soon as it was legal, they went to the registry office and did it quietly, like it was just something they'd been waiting for. He married the police officer who arrested my mother so many times. He married the police officer who made his life and his clients' lives hell, all through his time in public defense. He married the police officer who followed us out here when I went to college – I thought to continue persecuting Papa – the one who authorised the use of batons and rubber bullets.”

And that – well. That's a good reason. That's a fuckton of reasons, a metaphorical cornucopia; never-ending, constantly spewing forth, a bottomless pit with no end in sight. Grantaire genuinely doesn't know what to say. Bahorel's nose got broken for the second time by one of those batons during the protests, and most of his friends had ended up covered in knots of red and purple, turning slowly into black and blue. There were cracked ribs and concussions, and even Enjolras had ended up on a hundred front pages of newspapers painted in blood; Combeferre still breathes a little funny in the cold, he'd told Grantaire that while they were watching television the other night.

Whatever she sees on his face, something of her intensity lets up, like all she was waiting for was someone who would agree that everything about that marriage is a terrible betrayal. Her mother's sad history aside – her mother's history alone – Javert is not someone you want your father to marry; Javert is someone who, if your father marries him, you salt and burn the earth.

“Does Marius know?”

“Of course.”

“He didn't tell me – he said your father had gotten married and that you'd been upset, but not that it was - Javert–”

“He doesn't know that Javert was my mother's arresting officer.” She's playing with the little pearl ring, twisting it on her finger. “I didn't find that part out until later – but he certainly knew what that man did to all of you. Isn't that enough?”

“More than enough for me,” Grantaire says, and a little more of Cosette's fierceness slips away in gratitude. “Jesus. I got him to tell me – to talk about why your marriage broke up, and he had all sorts of reasons, and none, but he gave me the impression it was a mystery. Jesus.”

“It probably is a mystery to Marius,” Cosette says, and the bitter edge is new, and all kinds of interesting – to Grantaire, anyway. “He thought Papa deserved to be happy. He and my father were very close, you know. More like father and son than father-in-law and son-in-law. It's funny, given how they started, but they formed a bond, I think, when he persuaded Papa to represent the ABC after the protests – well, after I persuaded Papa for him – and then followed him around like a puppy, helping. When Papa got sick, Marius was happy to leave everything and go to him when I asked. I loved him so much for that.”

“Are you still in love with him?” Grantaire asks.

It's amazing how he feels like it's something he can ask, that he knows already that Cosette will tell him. Cosette is a very straightforward person, and she has decided, for whatever reason, to talk to him. He's not asking out of schadenfreude, or even an ulterior desire to pass information back to Marius; he just wants to know.

“Of course.” Cosette says it the way Éponine said it back in the dive bar – god, Éponine – a blank statement of obvious fact that needs no embroidery or qualification. “I've loved him all my life. Since I was nineteen, but it feels longer; when I met him I felt like I'd already been in love with him forever.”

“But."

“But,” she says. “Even if he'd minded Papa's marriage as much as I did – Children grow up basing their ideas of love and marriage on their parents' model, I think. For good or bad, as an example of what to do, or what not to do. I had this base, bedrock idea about how my father thought and felt and loved, and then everything turned to quicksand under my feet. How could I not question my own conception of love? How could I not look at my marriage, built on that? It's a long time, between nineteen and thirty-two – thirty-one, then. You grow, and you change.”

“It's not normal to love someone like that,” Grantaire says. “I mean, it's just not – if it's not working out, it's not surprising. It's not your fault. Teenage love doesn't last like that.”

He wonders, for a moment, if this is why Cosette thought he would be the right person to talk to, despite being almost a complete stranger to him, for all their shared friends; because Cosette fell in love as a teenager and decided to make it last her lifetime, and Grantaire was struck by a bolt of human lightning at eighteen and decided to make Enjolras the one true thing in the universe he did believe in.

He still does; it's another of his fucked-up little habits, one he can't quit.

“We were supposed to start our family this year, before it all happened,” Cosette says. “We'd planned it out, and waited until we were in the right place in our lives – I want to go back to that possibility, I want what I had before all of this, but –” She looks at the manila folder on the table. “I can't leave it.”

“What can you do, though?” Grantaire asks, and for Cosette, for Marius, he tries very hard to be the kind of sage giver of wisdom Marius had claimed he was. “She's been dead a long time, Cosette. You can't bring her back. You can only go on.”

“And now we're finally at the part of the conversation I wanted to get to,” she says.

Everything so far has just been backstory?

Cosette opens up the manila folder, and inside are the gathered documentary traces of her mother: pages and pages of photocopies stapled together, arrest records, ancient typewritten notes and faded leaves from legal pads, mug shots. One torn-out photo from Fantine's high school yearbook that's so grainy it could almost be anyone: any dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked teenager with her life ahead of her. Under the records of her mother, there are more pages, wads and wads of them, and it's those she gives Grantaire, separating them from her private materials with precision.

“What is all of this?”

“My research,” she says. “What I've been doing since I found out about my mother.”

“II thought you were murdering butterflies in Sara-whatever,” Grantaire says. “You weren't?”

“I was,” Cosette says. “For three months. It really is a very valuable and very threatened ecoregion. The other three months–” She shrugs. “My mother didn't end up on the streets because of an accident or an addiction, Grantaire. That was a reaction to her situation. She ended up there because she was left with no other choice, and she was forced to make that choice by a little criminal group that was just starting up in New York at the time. They didn't start calling themselves Patron-Minette for many years later, but that's where it began.”

He just stares at her, and she reaches across the table and sets the masses of paper in his hands.

“There's nothing I can do to them right now,” she says. “I can't punish them for what they did to my mother; I can't prove anything. I only have what she told my father about how she ended up where she did. Even he couldn't use it. And since then they've spread, they've come here, and they've come up in the world. They're a lot flashier now than they were then, and they didn't cover their tracks as smoothly as they do these days. They've diversified their interests, I think the expression is. I want them gone.”

--

I don't remember much else! they had to confront the past - the past then, the past at college, the protests, everything, as they settled Patron-Minette's has and got Grantaire free and Valjean and Javert crashed the narrative with the fruits of their own investigation. I just don't remember! I am sorry.

[passionate-reply]

Kraftwerk are best known for being innovative pioneers in the field of electronic music, but by 1981, the rest of the world was finally catching up to them. Faced with living in the future they’d helped create, they released their last truly great album, Computer World, as a sort of reaction to the times. Find out more in my video, or by reading the transcript below the break.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums. Today, we’re talking about Kraftwerk, and what is perhaps their last truly “great” release: 1981’s Computer World.

Kraftwerk were, of course, one of the first groups to popularize the creation of music through chiefly electronic means. From their icy and robotic onstage demeanour to their stiff-shirted sense of style, just one look at them makes it clear the outsized influence that Kraftwerk have had on the genre we now think of as “electronic music.” While, at times, their significance can be over-emphasized, and I’ve always been critical of the way that the discourse on this all-male quartet has often squeezed out even earlier electronic pioneers like Wendy Carlos and Delia Derbyshire, it isn’t all for no reason. While Kraftwerk’s actual music often comes across as more accessible than experimental, the fact that they were doing it in the 1970s, long before synthesisers became a commonplace sight in popular music, should fill anyone with the sense that they were architects of the future.

Music: “The Model”

While “The Model” first debuted on Kraftwerk’s 1978 LP The Man-Machine, it was re-released as a single in 1981, where it saw substantial success in the charts. In those few short years, the musical landscape had changed, with younger artists like Gary Numan and OMD making headway in the charts with similarly synthesiser-centered songwriting. For almost the entirety of the 1970s, Kraftwerk had been contentedly putting along, secure in the knowledge that they represented the future of music. But now, as the 80s began, they were finally living in the world that they had made possible. The future had arrived for them--so what were they possibly going to do now? I think the best way to frame Computer World, and perhaps what makes it such an interesting album for me, is that it represents a reaction to the ways that the landscape of electronic music had shifted around the artists in these intervening years. On Computer World, Kraftwerk would both reflect as well as critique what younger artists inspired by them had started doing. It’s the first Kraftwerk album that seems to represent a true challenge being posed to these by now august and illustrious pioneers, forcing them to respond in new ways.

Music: “Pocket Calculator”

In many ways, “The Model” is a pop song--compared to most previous Kraftwerk compositions, it’s heavy on lyrics, and focused, surprisingly, on a human being, and a love story involving her. But I think the Computer World single “Pocket Calculator” is almost as good of a pop song as “The Model” is. Highly melodic, and almost candy-coated in its simpering exuberance, it has perhaps the hookiest hook anywhere in the Kraftwerk discography. I’m tempted to compare it to similarly bright and upbeat tracks from Yellow Magic Orchestra, such as “Ongaku”--particularly since it was also released in a Japanese-language version, as “Dentaku,” for that market. Still, there’s no avoiding that the subject matter of “Pocket Calculator” has taken a sharp turn back towards an iconically Kraftwerk subject matter: the inner life of the titular machine. While the narrator of the lyrics announces themself as “the operator” with the titular calculator, it’s also possible to interpret the lyrics as the voice of the machine itself. “I am adding and subtracting, I’m controlling and composing”--but who, indeed, is really performing these tasks: the operator, or the calculator itself? Perhaps a stronger example of Kraftwerk gone pop is “Computer Love.”

Music: “Computer Love”

Melodic, but also balladlike, “Computer Love” is an unambiguous return to the traditional pop theme of romantic love, absent from the asexual and perhaps childlike glee of “Pocket Calculator.” Its more plaintive hook is also an easy one to appreciate, and its theme is perhaps more universal: while listeners at the time may not have necessarily owned rapidly miniaturizing digital technology, surely, all of us have, at some point, felt lonely. “Computer Love” doesn’t just connect to that feeling, but it also offers us hope, in the form of an almost magical, futuristic solution for finding love. I think it’s the internal balance of “Computer Love” that makes me find it so captivating: it’s a song about despair at being alone, perhaps even intensified by the alienation of modern society in particular, but it’s also suffused with the romantic dream of computerized matchmaking services, which might, like so many other technological developments, tremendously improve one’s day-to-day life. In “Computer Love,” the machine is only a tool, a small piece of the overall human picture, and not the chief focus of the work--much as the camera for which “The Model” was posing was little more than a prop in that love story. But despite this optimism about online matchmaking, other tracks on the album seem more skeptical about our computerized future, including the opener and title track.

Music: “Computer World”

While Kraftwerk are best remembered as utopian thinkers, many of their compositions hint at the potential downsides to technological advancements, albeit subtly. Much like *The Man-Machine* alluded to works like Fritz Lang’s Metropolis and Karel Čapek’s R.U.R., the title track of *Computer World* prominently notes organizations like Interpol and Scotland Yard among those who may benefit from computers, hinting at fears of oppressive techno-surveillance expressed by works like Philip K. Dick’s “The Minority Report.” With its slinking rhythm and overall ominous feel, this track implies that we should be apprehensive, without necessarily stating what to fear, and I think that’s part of why it’s remained resonant. In today’s world of deepfakes and location tracking, we’re constantly vigilant over the nameless potential dangers presented by the machines in our pockets and handbags, even when we couldn’t explicitly state what they are. Our increasing distance from the album, in both time and technological progress, may present an obstacle to appreciating it as art. While it’s easy for me to get into the mindset of computers as something newfangled and exciting, having grown up earlier in the personal computer age and able to recall the way they were advertised and talked about in the 90s and 00s, I do wonder how this album sounds to my younger peers. At any rate, “Numbers” is the track that I think sounds the most like it could have been on any Kraftwerk album, and not just this one.

Music: “Numbers”

A classic example of how a simple conceit can fill a whole composition to its brim, “Numbers” remains one of Kraftwerk’s most iconic tracks. Nowadays, it might be best known for how heavily it’s been sampled by later artists, and the influence it’s had on hip-hop, that nephew of electronic music that is nowadays, somewhat arbitrarily, considered a separate genre unto itself. But ultimately, “Numbers” and its famous beat stand up perfectly well on their own. As a cosmopolitan panoply of languages recites the names of the numbers, we are reminded of the ways in which mathematics is a universal language. Not only does it unite mankind, but many have also wondered if it might someday be the key to communicating with people from beyond the stars--an honour also bestowed upon music itself. Structurally, “Numbers” is the second-to-last song on the album’s first side, and like many earlier Kraftwerk albums, it transitions directly into another part of a larger “suite,” connected both musically and thematically. “Numbers” becomes “Computer World 2,” which is not simply a reprise of the title track, but a sort of medley which also incorporates the whispering vocoders of “Numbers.” While in many ways, Computer World feels like an attempt by Kraftwerk to keep up with the times, the overall structure of the album maintains a sense of continuous, symphonic composition, not unlike the seamless “transfer” between “Trans-Europe Express” and “Metal on Metal” some years before.

The cover design of Computer World is another in the long list of the aesthetic triumphs of Kraftwerk, which, I maintain, are perhaps as important and influential as their music itself. Its bright yellows and greens remain eye-catching, as does its portrayal of the band members’ portraits, rendered on a computer terminal. Despite seemingly now only existing in cyberspace, their faces remain in the position we saw them in on The Man-Machine, projecting their beatific gazes towards the leftward horizon of the future. The struggle between the reality of a human being, and that which is affected by their simulacrum, is a strong theme throughout Kraftwerk’s discography, stretching back, at least, to “Showroom Dummies,” and the cover of Computer World seems to take it another step further. Now, we don’t even contend with the idea of physical replicas of humanity, in the form of trudging robots or glib mannequins, but rather with the idea of an ethereal, holographic doppelgaenger. With its title, the album asks us not only to consider computers as technologies in and of themselves, but about an entire new era, and a new way of being, which is brought about by their arrival and proliferation. In many ways, this way of thinking about the future was more correct than perhaps anyone knew at the time, and I think it’s this sense of vision that makes Computer World remain a vital artwork as opposed to a curiosity.

As I said in the beginning, Computer World is often considered to be the last great album Kraftwerk made, putting an end to their streak of classics that began with 1974’s Autobahn. Their follow-up to it was the troubled and controversial Electric Cafe, released in 1986, which attempted, unsuccessfully, to add more dance influences and samples with the textures of more traditional instruments into their sound. While I think Electric Cafe is an album not without its merits, it is certainly a substantial departure from the Kraftwerk sound we’ve gotten familiar with so far. I might characterize it as an album that perhaps went too far into the territory of attempting to keep up with the times, extending Computer World’s lunge for more accessible, lyrical pop further than it could reach. Whatever the motivations, it’s hard to hear Electric Cafe tracks such as “Sex Object” without being at least a bit startled at the group’s willingness to tackle the topic of sex so frankly. It might be the only Kraftwerk song in which being like an object or a machine is portrayed in an unambiguously negative light.

Music: “Sex Object”

I think my favourite track on Computer World is its closing track, “It’s More Fun To Compute.” With a straightforward repetition of the title as its sole lyrical content, and a brazen, strident synth blast propelling it forward, it’s another one of those simple, but utterly compelling tracks that Kraftwerk seem to have been full of. Despite the way it flips into something much more melodic later on, it’s the tumult of the opening bars that really sells me on “It’s More Fun To Compute.” I think the textural qualities are almost a bit reminiscent of the grating oscillations of their often overlooked earlier album, Radio-Activity. That’s everything for today, thanks for listening!

Music: “It’s More Fun To Compute”

[love-and-monsters]

Cold Sea Monster

M sea monster X GN reader, 2,713 words.

Winter is a rough time for monsters who usually live in the tropics. Luckily, he can rely on you to keep him warm. 

There was a lump in the blankets of your bed. You prodded at it, lips pressed together to hold back a giggle. “You can’t stay in there all day. You know that, right?” The lump wriggled away from your touch. “Come on. I need to make the bed.”

“No, you don’t.” The voice was muffled beneath the cloth. The lump curled into a tighter ball.

 “I do. And you need to get out of bed sometime today.” You tugged at the edges of the blanket, trying to force it up. Claws hooked it from the other side, pulled it back down. You swallowed hard against the tidal wave of giggles.

“I’m hibernating.” The lump shifted and you managed to get the grip you needed to wrench the covers up. Your partner wailed as the cold air touched him. “No! Give me back the blankets!”

 “Get out of bed,” you said, staring firmly down at him. “It’s past noon.”

He slunk slowly out from under the covers, gazing at you with enormous, sorrowful eyes. His dark, fishy eyes gave him a look like a kicked puppy. Luckily, he’d given you the look so many times, you were immune.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said. “You can go get in the hot tub, if you want.”

Getting a hot tub had been expensive, but absolutely necessary when your partner was amphibious. He was covered in pale blue scales that melted into skin on his belly. Brightly colored fins stood on the top and sides of his head and his long tail ended in an enormous, frilly fin, though it was folded down most of the time. He crouched on his long, digitigrade legs, peering at you with soulful, sad eyes.

“It’s so cold,” he whimpered. You rolled your eyes.

“I turned the thermostat up.” Keeping a tropical boyfriend warm in the winter was a pretty big task- even with the thermostat in the seventies, he still shivered and complained.

He looked sorrowfully at the electric blanket as you tucked it away. His mouth gaped in an enormous yawn. It was quite a change to see him now from the summer- he was usually energetic, but the instant the temperature started to dip into the forties, all his enthusiasm seemed to drain out of him.

“I set up a fire downstairs,” you said. “And a humidifier.” The drying effect of heating a house wasn’t great for an amphibian either. He yawned again, standing to his full height. He was much taller than you, with long limbs that helped him move through the water.

“Okay.” He snagged a quilt from his blanket pile and wrapped it over his shoulders. “Are you done?”

You smoothed down the last of the bedsheets. “Yeah, I’m done. Do you need me for-”

Before you could finish your sentence, he had seized you and pulled you into his arms. You yelped, startled, though not entirely surprised. He had a habit of picking you up and hauling you around. “Where are we going?”

Instead of answering, he simply pulled you into the living room. The fireplace was going, and there was a humidifier humming away in the corner. A heating pad sat tucked in a pile of soft blankets.

He wasted no time burrowing into them, you still in his arms. “Hey,” you said, squirming. “Come on, Morgen, I have to go to work.”

He rolled over, smushing you underneath him. “You work from home!”

“Yeah, on my laptop. Which is in the office. And not here,” you said. Morgen grumbled.

“What I mean is, there’s no way they can tell if you’re in the office on time or not. So���” He squirmed over, trying to give you another sorrowful, big-eyed look. It was a bit diminished by the fact that he was mostly covered in blankets and it was hard to see his face.

 “Look,” you said. “It’s past twelve. I’m technically on a lunch break right now, but I am going to have to go back to work eventually. And you’re going to have to let me go eventually.”

 “That’s what you think,” Morgen said, puffing up his chest. “I could lie here all day. And you’re going to lie here with me!”

You stuck out your tongue at him. “What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

“Ugh.” He gave you a playful shove. “Why do you always have to ruin all my perfectly laid plans?”

“If reality has started screwing up your plans, maybe they weren’t perfectly laid in the first place,” you pointed out. Morgen wrapped you in his arms and pulled you further into his enormous nest of blankets.

“Shh,” he said. “Be quiet. Let’s take a nap.”

There was more work to be done and a billion other things you could be taking care of at the moment. But it was so warm under the blankets and Morgen was rubbing at your tense shoulders in a way that felt so nice after hours of bending over a computer, and the idea of crawling back into the cold office and staring into a screen was sort of depression.

You groaned and rolled over, pressing your face into his shoulder. He made a quiet noise of triumph next to your ear, squeezing you even tighter. “Yes. I win!”

“Yeah, sure,” you grumbled. “Hope you like going to bed alone because I’m going to be staying up late finishing all my editing.”

“Noooooo,” Morgen wailed. “I hate going to bed alone! It’s so cold.” Despite that, he didn’t make any attempt to release you. If anything, he clung tighter. You snorted, stroking your fingers along the top of his head. His fins twitched as you ran your fingers along them. They twitched and jerked under your ministrations. His fins were so delicate and sensitive. Apparently, they could pick up subtle changes in the currents when he was underwater. On land, they made him very ticklish if you played your cards just right.

One of his ear fins twitched wildly as you ran a calloused fingertip over it. “Cut that out,” Morgen said sleepily.

“Yeah?” you said, scratching at the thin membrane. “What are you going to do about it?”

Morgen made a noise that could generously be described as a snarl and less generously described as a snore and rolled over onto you. “Gotcha,” he mumbled, wrapping his tail around you. “Now you’re never getting out.” You were completely smushed under him, though he was leaning back so you could still breathe. His tail was twitching, fins slapping against your back. It was rather funny, the way he wagged his tail when he was comfortable.

There was very little you could do to actually get him off you. He was pretty heavy and as he started to relax, the weight only seemed to increase. It was still pleasantly warm under the blankets, though his skin was cool against you. You closed your eyes, running your hand along the top of his head.

You startled awake abruptly. Your head was hazy and confused and your sense of timing was completely lost. It could have been thirty minutes or six hours for all you knew.

Muzzily, you poked your head out from under the pile of blankets. Morgen was still on top of you and he protested sleepily against your movements. After a moment of craning your neck, you caught a glance at the clock.

“Morgen, you need to get up. It’s two thirty.” He groaned, attaching himself even tighter to your side. “I need to work, come on!”

“No! I’m sleepy and you’re so warm.” It was impossible to get up with Morgen attached to you. He was so tall and his gangly limbs meant that he could very easily attach himself to you and he couldn’t be pried off.

“It’s past two! I need to work.” You kicked the blankets away from you and shivered. Even with the fire on, the warm was still pretty chilly. Morgen whined and retreated back into the blankets like a deep-sea creature recoiling from sunlight.

“You’re going to abandon me,” he said. He blinked at you from under the blankets. Somehow, having the blankets tangled around him only served to make him more pathetic. “Your boyfriend… all alone… cold and abandoned.”

“I’m not abandoning you! I’m going to be one room over! You’re going to be asleep, you’re not even going to notice that I’m gone.”

“I’ll notice,” Morgen said sorrowfully. “I always notice.”

You hesitated, then crouched down next to him again. “Okay. I think I have a plan. I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

 He looked suspiciously at you, but he let you leave. You trotted to the office and carefully pulled your laptop free from its nest of wires.

Morgen had fully buried himself under the blanket when you returned. He peeked out as you stopped next to him. “You brought your computer,” he said.

“Yeah. Budge over, make some space for me in the blanket.” Morgen was only too happy to do so, rolling over and lifting the blankets so you could shuffle in next to him.

It was sort of hard to write while lying on your stomach. Resting all your weight on your elbows hurt after a bit, and it was awkward to type. Morgen didn’t help in any way. He was half-sprawled over your back, a heavy weight that pressed you into the ground. Despite all the discomfort, though, you didn’t want to change your position. Morgen made little, sleepy noises of contentment as he pressed his face into your shoulders. Occasionally, he would even move to press kisses to the base of your neck. It was utterly delightful.

The afternoon dragged on. It was impressive how much Morgen could sleep, really. And such a change. It was strange to think about how much temperature affected his mood. You looked at him, curled against your side. He wasn’t quite entirely asleep, you thought. It was more like the sleepy hazes your childhood cats had gone into. His eyes were closed, but his fins twitched at the slightest sound and you could see his eyelids twitching every now and then.

You only ended up working for a couple of hours. Not only were you getting stiff from trying to type on the floor, but you were also growing increasingly distracted by Morgen. He had started to stir and was clearly trying to get your attention.

“Do you need something?” you said, finally pushing your laptop away. Morgen beamed, tail wagging so hard it shifted the blankets aside.

“I think I just got it,” he said. He tucked the blankets securely around you. “Want to put on a movie?”

“Are you actually going to stay awake through the whole thing or do you just want something in the background while you go to sleep?” you asked. Morgen tried to look innocent and utterly failed.

“It’s not my fault the cold makes me sleepy,” he said. “You can put on whatever movie you want! I won’t even complain if it’s one of those really boring ones.”

“The Poltergeist is not a boring movie. You just have no appreciation for subtlety,” you said.

 “It’s so subtle that nothing happens,” Morgen said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t get why humans are so scared by it.”

There was no way either of you were going to win the argument, so you just grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Morgen wasted no time in sprawling himself across your lap, still smothered under several blankets. In the end, you put on an animated move you’d both seen several times before. Morgen said the way the water was shown reminded him of home, and you liked the story and bright colors.

Morgen dozed on your lap as you half-watched the movie. In truth, you were more paying attention to him. you worked your fingers over his scalp, scratching against the fins. He made little noises of satisfaction, leaning into your touch. For a water creature, his cat-like behavior was rather funny.

“I can’t believe how much you can sleep,” you said as he started awake and shifted his position on her lap. “You’ve barely been awake for two consecutive hours.”

“It’s the cold,” Morgen said. You ran your hand along his head and he pressed into the touch enthusiastically.

“Does the cold just make you more sluggish or does it actually make you need to sleep more?” you asked. Morgen rolled onto his back, his head still resting on your lap.

“This is just a guess,” he said. “I’m totally speculating here based on some stuff I’ve heard, but I think it’s mostly accurate. So, my species lives in tropical areas, yeah? But it was thought that in the past, we lived somewhere a little more temperate, that sometimes got cold snaps. And when there were cold snaps, in order to conserve energy, we went into a hibernation mode, where we all gathered together and slept until temperatures rose again.” He yawned, showing off his large canines. “Sorry. Anyway, when we moved to more tropical areas, we stopped needing to hibernate, but we still have the genes for it.”

“Which means that spending time in the cold is triggering your need to hibernate,” you said. “That’s why you’re sleeping so much. Your body is trying to hibernate.”

“Mm,” Morgen murmured. “My body wants to find somewhere warm where I can sleep until the temperature rises.”

You stroked your hand over his head again, fingers twitching. There was an abrupt feeling of nervousness coalescing in your stomach. “It must be hard. To fight that.” You played with one of his fins. “Is it uncomfortable?”

“I’m sleepy a lot. And cold a lot,” he said. “It’s a little uncomfortable, I suppose.”

You pursed your lips. “Would it…” There was something choking happening in your throat. Morgen blinked up at you, waiting for you to keep speaking. You cleared your throat a couple of times. “Er. Would it maybe be easier for you if you did hibernate? I mean… If that’s’ what you’re supposed to do in the winter? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Morgen looked up at you with his big, soulful eyes. “If I’m asleep, then I can’t spend time with you.”

You snorted. “You’re avoiding hibernating because you’re afraid I’m going to miss you?” It was unreasonably sweet and it was also fairly accurate. You pushed your sorrow away, though. It wasn’t fair to him, to force him to stay awake for you. “I mean, I will, but it’s only during the winter. And you’ll be awake sometimes. I’ll manage. You’re not the only person I talk to, you know.”

Morgen’s fins drew close to his face and he gave a small, slightly sheepish smile. “I wasn’t really worried about you missing me, exactly. I was more worried about me missing you.”

You made a noise of surprise. “You’ll be asleep. Are you even going to notice?”

He flicked his fins out and in, his version of a small shrug. “I think so,” he said. “I haven’t just been wanting you around because you’re warm. I love you a lot. I want to be with you.”

“I know,” you said. You couldn’t keep the emotion out of your voice and Morgen smiled, pressing his face into your stomach. “But I don’t want you to make yourself sick or something because you’re not doing what you should during the winter. And I really don’t want you doing that on my behalf.”

“I’m not doing it on your behalf,” Morgen said, his voice muffled. “I’m doing it because I want to.” He turned his head to blink sleepily up at you. “Trust me. I’d much rather spend time with you, even if I’m a little sleepy, than spend all winter asleep.”

Your eyes stung with tears. You sniffed. “That’s the sweetest thing I think anyone’s ever said to me.”

Morgen lifted his head toward yours, smiling. “It’s true.” You bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He sighed, reaching a hand up and pulling you down to kiss you more firmly.

“See?” he said as you broke apart. “I can’t get that when I’m sleeping.”

[girlmeetsliv3]

Violent Delights: One

Violent Delights

(In collaboration with @jooniescupcakes​)

Genre: Horror, Suspense, & Psychological Thriller

Pairings: Gang!Jimin x reader ; BTS x Reader

Sypnosis:“These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume.”

Release Date: Sept 29, 2020 @ 8 p.m. (GMT-4)

Word Count: 9.2k

Author's Note: It's finally here! Almost a year in the works, but Violent Delights The Series is finally kicking off. Thank you for all the love, support, as well as critiques the one-shot received. I hope this re-telling can both capture and surpass the twisted charm of the original. I would like to thank Min (@jooniescupcakes) for helping me outline and plot the story and for contributing. I greatly appreciate it. This story will be darker, gore-y, and a lot more twisted than the original. So strap in & happy early Halloween! Trigger Warning: This story contains subject matter not appropriate for all ages. This story contains mental illness, emotional, physical, and mental abuse; as well as abuse of power, manipulation, and toxic relationships. All of which play a big part in this story. It is never my intention to sensationalize or spread misinformation about mental disorders, please take the "medicine" used in this story with a grain of salt. Links to helplines can be found in the navigation of my blog. Lastly, this is a work of fiction and does not portray the character of Bangtan Sonyeondan.

The door slammed shut harshly as Hanbin rushed to bolt it locked, by his side, he tugged an inconsolable YN through the small house. There was very little time until she arrived. He maneuvered his way through the piles of old dirty clothes, the children had long become accustomed to the stench coming from the kitchen, the dust, and grime that covered their home. It’s why no one came over. Not that anyone was allowed over. In the center of the room framed on the wall shined a family portrait mockingly. Hanbin was short for his age, just eight years old, but it allowed him to navigate through small openings and hide in tight spaces. It was a survival tactic.

“Shh, YN. You need to calm down. She’ll be here soon.”

“i-I wuh-wanted to help, Binnie. She was hurt -”

Hanbin pulled on his sister a little too harshly trying to draw her attention, it caused her lower lip to quiver as she tried to hold the tears back. That wouldn’t do she didn’t like it when they cried. “Helping people only gets you into trouble.” Outside, the slamming of a car door could be heard. Quickly Hanbin located the small broom closet and helped YN inside. The jiggling of the doorknob was barely above a whisper, but it rang as loud as the fire alarm in the children’s heads. YN began to hyperventilate knowing what was coming even if she didn’t truly understand why. 

“It’s okay,” Hanbin rubs her cheek affectionately. “Just stay inside, be quiet, and don’t try to help.” Just like that he closed the door and locked it. He silently hoped YN hadn’t skipped lunch that day. YN cowered under the old headboards, her only company the dusty cleaning products and cobwebs, the second the screaming started she covered her ears and closed her eyes.

“Miss YN?” The nurse’s bright pink scrubs served as a strong contrast to the muted tones of the rest of the building. YN cast a glance around she was likely the youngest person there, but everyone around her shared a similar air of ennui that YN had long grown to associate with doctor’s offices. Slowly she stood up following the nurse as she guided her through what appeared to be an endless labyrinth of doors. After stopping abruptly the nurse turns around and smiles though it’s evidently rehearsed. “Don’t be nervous, Dr. Kang is one of the best doctors here.” How many times hadn’t she heard that before? YN offers the nurse a smile making sure it is wide enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes. That seems to suffice the woman enough for her to finally knock on the door.

Dr. Kang Daniel was certainly young for his profession, but that provided some relief for YN. It would be nice not to spend almost an hour with someone that looked to have been around when Freud was. “Please take a seat.” He gestures over to a chair in front of the desk and YN notices there is little decoration around the room. It’s also missing a clock, but thankfully she sees Kang is wearing one. YN notes the time: 5:36 pm. Forty-three more minutes to go. 

“I apologize that we’re going to have to go through all of this, but its procedure.” He lightly shakes the file in his hand. Most doctors operated digitally now, so that stood out.

“It’s fine.”

“Let’s get to it then. Why are you here YN?”

They went over the usual things and YN was quickly growing a bit bored, her eyes danced around the room as she did find it very strange that it seemed so vacant for a personal office. “Bored?” Her eyes snapped back to his, Kang wearing an unreadable expression. “I apologize for the lack of decor. I recently moved offices, so this will be my last day here.” YN frowned, “I thought I was to be your new patient.” Kang nods, “Yes, but our sessions will be held in my consultation. It’s closer to downtown so you might save yourself the trip.” How does he know I live closer to downtown? Perhaps seeing the further furrowing of her brow Kang speaks once more. “Unless you live far from downtown?” YN shakes her head feeling the tension leave her body just a bit.

Slowly he closes the file and leans forward, resting on his elbows. “I know this isn’t the most comfortable environment. I also know how jarring transfers can be and that they can halt any sort of process…” YN zones out of the conversation having heard it a thousand times since she was eleven years old. The rambling tends to have the same conclusion every single time.

‘I want us to be friends.’

“I want us to be friends or something similar. I know there are some barriers and guidelines in our relationship, but don’t think they aren’t malleable. I’m here if you need me.” 

YN mulls over what might serve as an appropriate response, aware that taking too long might ruin the pseudo-friendly atmosphere and she doesn’t want to have any more problems with psychiatrists. “Thank you, Dr. Kang. I’m sorry I’m just a bit nervous.” The sheepish smile that follows afterward is enough to convince Kang. Perhaps he isn’t a bad man but YN has encountered his type far too often: those striving to make a difference. Always trying to make things better. Always trying to help. 

“No one will help us, YN. No one cares about us.”

“So let’s move onto your family YN -”

“Actually I wanted to ask you about my medication.” Kang seemed surprised at her interruption but encouraged her to continue. “Dr. Lee only gave me enough medication to last the transfer, so I’m almost out.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll be taking you off the medication for a short time anyway.” What? Kang’s attention was now on his computer, not bothering to look at YN in the eye. “I need to run some tests and in order to do that your system has to be clean.” 

YN hadn’t been off her medication for a long time. Sure the dosage varied depending on the treatment, but going completely off was unheard of. Especially so soon. “Don’t worry,” Kang smiled. “There shouldn’t be any potential side effects and if there is I’ll give you my private number. In case of emergencies.” What was supposed to be a soothing smile only unnerved YN even more. YN nodded once more though she felt her anxiety begin to swell up in her stomach. Her heart rate speeding up, but YN knew a panic attack wouldn’t do her any favors. It would make her look like an addict and they would lock her up for sure. It’s only a matter of time. Now that the issue had been cleared Kang cleared his throat, “Now what I was saying about your family -” 

YN stood up abruptly thankful the minute hand had finally landed one above the four. “It’s 6:19 our time is up.” She gestures towards his wristwatch and an annoyed look masks his face before it went just as quickly as it came. “It appears so.” His hand covers the watch in a motion that could hardly be described as casual. Kang waves her off, “It was a pleasure meeting you, YN. I’ll schedule the tests for Friday and I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“In other news….updates...gang violence…”

YN wandered through the aisles looking for inspiration or something to satisfy her cravings. In her hand lay open her phone just so she wouldn’t have to keep making eye contact with the older woman behind the cash register. The employee peered at her as if YN was one of the dangerous criminals the news anchors droned on about.  YN keeps looking over the message her social worker sent her: you have to be there at least a month before I could put in a transfer request. When YN bent down to read the label, she felt the woman lean over the counter. YN rolled her eyes and picked up the packaged bulgogi before grabbing a sports drink and a small fruit salad.

Once she saw YN was an actual paying customer, not a shoplifter, the woman’s expression changed. Her smile far too gleeful for this time of night. “Will that be all, dear?” Her voice too high to be sincere. Nonetheless, YN nods and forces a polite smile on her face. Even wishes the woman a safe night for extra measure. Before YN could walk out of the store, the woman responds with her own form of goodnight. “I would be careful walking home tonight. There’s been a lot of crime recently.”

 It is a bit cruel that the second YN exits the store and turns a corner someone begins to follow her. She becomes aware of it instantly, her senses having been trained from a young age to pick up on the small imperceptible changes. Instinct was not to be ignored. The wind became thicker and the streets a little too quiet. YN wouldn’t look up, but if she did, surely there would be storm clouds looming. Don’t acknowledge him. Just keep walking. People like that enjoyed prey. The game. No one wanted to face off against a predator being one. Unless this was a different kind of predator then YN really ought to call the police. For once she was thankful for the pocketknife stored in the inner pocket of her jacket but disappointed that her pepper spray remained stashed in her bag.

Her groceries hung heavy on her arm, but YN was too far from home to attempt to sprint. So she would have to wait it out, YN could take a few punches. Surely whoever it was would become tired after following her for too long. By the time YN had walked ten blocks, she realized that was not the case. The person was still behind her, though there wasn’t much that she could tell much about the person. They were likely taller and considering their persistence they were a threat.

YN could pick up distantly on the booming bass that likely came from one of the many clubs scattered downtown. It meant she was near her house, that she could likely get home. The houses looked familiar she was probably not too far from home. Hope began to swell in her chest until another idea dawned on her. That’s exactly what they want. If the person had followed her this far they wanted to see where she lived. Abruptly YN turned left towards the direction of the main street, she was likely in a back alley of some sort but the bass only got louder so that helped propel her forward.

Towards the center of the alley, YN saw three figures huddled over on the ground. She was too far off to hear what they were saying, but based on their movements it seemed mocking in nature. YN wasn’t able to decipher what was occurring until it was far too late. A man is wriggling on the ground while bleeding profusely from the side of his head while two men stand above him. Blood is spattered on both walls and their clothes are covered in it. There no longer was a presence behind her the real danger now lay in front. In the form of a tall raven-haired man and a slightly shorter blonde - the latter of which YN made eye contact with.

YN bolts down the alleyway in the opposite direction aware that the blonde is hot on her tails. As she rounds a corner she feels him catching up to her right on her before he abruptly slows down. He doesn’t want the chase to end.

56...57...58…

YN counts the streets aware she’s nearing her apartment but isn’t about to lead him straight to her doorstep. In her peripheral, she sees one of the neighboring buildings which contains a doorman stationed there twenty-four hours. YN uses the last bit of her strength to push through the glass doors tumbling at the steps, but the doorman is there to catch her. “Miss, is everything alright?” YN turns around to catch a glimpse, but there’s no one behind her. Though she does note something disappointing: her groceries are gone.

When YN unlocked her apartment door she felt this immediate wave of tranquility hit her. It had taken a while to convince the doorman not to contact the police, she didn't want to be in bigger trouble, but the man had finally agreed after stating he would walk her back home. Once in the lobby, she took the stairs just to be safe. Quickly, she turned around securing all three locks, and headed straight for the bathroom. YN never understood the sentiment behind showers helping unwind, then again she never spent enough time under the water to allow for that. Baths weren't a treat - they were a utility. Like most utilities YN didn't have a lot of available growing up, so she learned to adapt.

Still, it was long enough to let her mind wander to everything that had occurred today. YN wasn't quite sure about how she felt about Dr. Kang, he unnerved her in a way other doctor's hadn't before. Then there was the issue regarding her medication: YN hadn't been unmedicated since she was eleven and that was a time she didn't want to go back to. Then there was the person that may have followed her and the man that definitely did. My head hurts. She rinsed herself and shut the water off, drying herself quickly with her towel. The chase had been real, too real, everything in YN's body had reacted instinctively once she met his eyes. Those dark eyes that had pierced into hers. The blonde man wasn't just chasing YN - he was hunting her down.

But what about the other person? YN hadn’t seen them, but she had felt them trailing after her. However, why would someone do that and especially for so long? The blonde man had only really tracked YN down for two blocks, but even then it felt shorter. The other person simply observed her. Didn’t do anything. Was there even someone there? YN glanced up, catching her reflection in the foggy mirror. The mist had dispersed in some sections, but not others so the only thing she could see were parts of her face. Faltering in her step, she walked forward and pulled the mirror open. Grabbing the white-labeled bottle with her name printed on it.

Habin sits atop the bathroom sink balancing himself. One of his hands gripping tightly to the side to not slip. This has to be done quickly before she gets back from the store. YN holds his legs or attempts to, while Habin finally manages to grab the bottle. “Is it this one?” He sticks his hand out for YN to see. The young girl squints her eyes, “Are they blue and little?” Hanbin looks through the orange tint of the bottle before nodding. “I think so.”

“Do they smell like fruits?”

“I can’t open the bottle YN. I don’t know if they smell like fruit.”

YN nods and Habin notes how hollowed out her face has become. Once round and plump, full of life, now looks as frail as his. “I think those are the ones.” Habin closes the medicine cabinet and cautiously jumps off, the medicine bottle still tight in his hands. “Why does she give them to you?” YN can note the confusion in her brother’s face, she was confused before too. “She says I need them to go to sleep. They help me sleep.” Habin stays quiet before in the blink of an eye he throws the pill bottle against the wall, breaking the seal causing all the pills to spill all over the floor.

“Bin why did you do that?! I need -”

“No! You don’t need anything YN. You aren’t sick, she's just lying to you!” Habin screamed in frustration. He could see the tears starting to well up in YN’s eyes and he felt regret pool in his stomach. “Please YN. You aren’t sick. We aren’t sick. Okay?”

YN took a deep breath, the way her brother had shown her would help stop the tears, the inside of her cheek was bitten harshly until her throat cleared up. “Okay.”

YN looks at the white bottle in her hand considering taking the medicine despite what Kang said. It would just be one more. Just to calm her down. To make sure that what happened tonight wasn't a side effect of going off so quickly. Her hand twisted the bottle cap, but instead of grabbing one and placing it in her mouth, she headed towards the toilet flushing them all away. Though she might not agree with his treatment plans Dr.Kang was a professional and surely knew more than she did. Plus, YN couldn't afford to be transferred again; her social worker might drop her altogether. It’s just until the blood work is completed.

“Unfortunately Miss YN, we won’t be able to conduct any tests until your insurance approves it.”

YN paces around her apartment, phone in hand. “I understand but my doctor ordered it. It’s necessary in order for him to treat me.”

“It appears that the necessary paperwork hasn’t been sent over to the insurance company. At least not enough to justify the exams. You can go through with them, but it will have to be out of pocket.”

YN sighs, running her hand through her hair as the nurse lists off the prices for each exam. A knock disrupts her causing YN to glance at the door questioningly, no one in her building would ever knock on her door. Looking through the peephole, she sees the manager and doesn't know if that makes her relieved or tenser. "I'm sorry can you just give me a minute?" YN speaks to the phone and mutes it, just to be safe. Upon opening the door, a brown bag is shoved in her face.

“Sorry to interrupt dear, some boy left this for you downstairs.”

Just as quickly as he came, the manager leaves. YN quickly shuts the door and locks it, before hanging up the call. The bag looks simple enough though YN hadn’t ordered anything in the past couple of days. Cautiously she opens it and the horror that spreads through her body is instantaneous. In the bag are her groceries from last night, but with minor changes: The red energy drink is now blue, the fruit salad is replaced with regular salad, and instead of bulgogi it is kimchi now. Though it isn’t the food that upsets YN, but rather the pink sticky note placed on top.

To replace everything you lost ;)

Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Staying locked inside her apartment for the following days seemed like a smart choice. There was someone out there who knew where she lived. What she looked like. YN was used to being preyed upon, but this was a different game. Not one she was accustomed to. There were enough faded white lines and healed over bones to evidence that she was a survivor. That time and time again YN had faced against monsters and gotten out alive. The thing that terrified her about this monster - was how different he was. She kept waiting for the tall blonde man to show up one night: looming over her whilst she slept, crouching in a dark corner of the room. Lurking behind the shower curtain.

YN wasn’t able to sleep, didn’t bathe, and had thrice rearranged the room so there was no furniture to hide behind. Her paranoia was through the roof and it didn’t help that it had been the first time YN was off her medication for an extended amount of time. Which was bound to be causing more problems than she was aware of, or would like to acknowledge. The cycle continued until on her fourth day, sick of the grime, YN picked up the phone and dialed Dr.Kang’s office. Hoping to resolve the issue and be back on medication as soon as possible.

“Unfortunately, Dr. Kang isn’t in the office today. However, I can schedule a house call”

She hung up, not even bothering to respond to the secretary on the other line. If YN would have allowed herself a moment to feel anything except for fear - sympathy would've been felt for the probably nice young woman she had just hung up on. Maybe I can just sleep until my next appointment. Sleep it all away. So YN crawled into her bed, the covers lie somewhere on the floor. Exhaustion taking over as she drifted off to sleep.

It should've been easier to tell her childhood room apart from all the ones she had before. It had the most personality; if stickers on the wall, old pencil marks, and deteriorating plaster counted. Most of them hadn't even been done by her, but rather Habin in time before her. It created a sense of normalcy in YN's life that didn't exist elsewhere. Of course, her safe haven didn't last long, the hole in the wall right near the bed frame was proof enough. YN couldn't remember the last time she had dreamt, the medication helped with the nightmares, now she stood curled in a ball in the center of the room. The way she would always get once she heard the heavy footsteps approach the hallway.

YN had long learned to tell the different patter of the weathered old sneakers. Heavy stomps that scraped against the wood meant she was going to be screamed at. Rhythmic ones that were heavier on the heel, than the toes meant they might get dinner. While footsteps that dragged meant YN would be getting ignored. It was the ones she didn't hear. When the hallway was so quiet that all YN could hear was the sound of her breathing and the fear rushing through her tiny body - those were the steps she feared. Those were typically followed by the gentle, yet suspenseful pushing of her bedroom door. It didn't have a knob. There was no escape.

YN expected to peer up and see the tall large figure that always tormented her. The thick thighs, rounded hips, a bulbous stomach that spoke of all the meals she'd had - all the ones her children hadn't - and her face. It was much like YN's though much more feminine, older, and eyes devoid of life. It had always stood out to YN when she was a child, though she was certain that if she were to look in a mirror now YN would be the spitting image of her mother. Instead of her birth giver stood a man.

His face was angular, rounded cheeks, and sharp eyes highlighted by thick brows. His lips appeared full as if they were meant for bright large smiles, but it was obvious from the man’s expression he rarely did. There was something strangely familiar about him. An amalgamation of someone she knew and her own imagination, filling in the blank spaces. He looked like her, yet not at all. Tears welled in her eyes, “Bin?” Then he morphed. Now slightly taller, more weight to his frame. A rounded face with hooded eyes, the corner of his lips were tilted upwards in a way that was full of mirth. Dr. Kang faded as quickly as he came.

Now all she saw was a silhouette. Despite being mostly obscured, she could at least tell it was a man. He was lean yet muscular. His body was sharply defined in a way that seemed deliberate. Facial features were obscured, but YN was certain he was glaring at her in a way that caused goosebumps to rise all over her body. Plump pink lips parted moving slowly, tauntingly, but no sound exited them. Only by the smirk formed afterward could she tell their salacious nature. He stepped forward drawing closer to her, but the way he moved was inhumane. It wasn't a walk. But a predator's crawl towards her. Now he was finally in the light, entirely visible but all YN could focus on was the blonde mop of hair atop his head. When he pounced, she screamed.

YN awoke covered in sweat, her hair matted against her forehead and neck. She could still taste the saltiness of her tears and when she finally managed to breathe a sob tore out. Get out! Get out! Get out! If she remained locked inside her apartment for one more second, YN was going to reach her breaking point. Quickly she hopped in the shower before throwing on the first thing she saw and grabbing her wallet. YN didn’t know where she was headed, but her body acted on its own. Locking the apartment door before racing towards the stairs, dashing down all seven floors with little care if she tripped. Perhaps a silent part of her wished she did, it would put her out of her misery.

The lobby of her apartment building, if it could even be called that, was always empty. Never a soul in sight to guard the door, even though YN was sure part of her rent went towards security. Not to mention the intercom system, which allowed people to be buzzed in, hadn't worked for several weeks. It was something she was always acutely aware of but pushed towards the back of her mind. Wouldn't do her any favors to obsess over something she had no control over. Now walking through the desolate lobby out into the night - it was all she could think about. He was all she could think about.

YN took a deep breath and opened the glass doors sneakily peeking towards the sides and being thankful when she noted nothing great. Now where to? She wouldn't go very far nor somewhere unknown. It was reckless to be out so late and would be a death wish to try and enter city life. Gang violence was on the rise and YN didn't fancy herself prepared to face off against someone. So, YN went to the one place that felt familiar no matter what. The convenience store was a fifteen-minute walk, but she took the bus. The original plan was to sit towards the back, where she could see everything, but it wasn't empty. An elderly woman, far too frail-looking to be out this late, sat in the center. Whilst three boys huddled over sat in the back, they must have felt her eyes on them. As one of them - the one in the black beanie - stopped his conversation and turned slightly. Before they could make eye contact YN looked away and sat down.

“Which one do you want?” Habin asked as they stared at the ice cream truck. He had counted the cents twice making sure they had enough. “Hm,” YN eye’s glanced all over the various images glued onto the truck. She already knew what she wanted but had long learned that taking your time was important - not too much though. “Mint choco.” Habin grimaced, disgust evident on his face. “Come on YN. We have to share it. Why can’t we get something I like for a change?” He whined, it was only ice cream but it was the only food Habin was likely to have all day. “Okay, let’s get chocolate then.” YN didn’t really care, she wasn’t planning on eating. Habin had sacrificed enough meals to feed her, an ice cream was the least she could do.

As she steps into the cold building, a small bell chimed to signal her entrance, alerting a young employee near the cashier. 

“Welcome!” The boy smiles, wide and welcoming, handing her a basket,

YN didn’t respond. She walks towards the back, looking for some of her usual snacks, and before long, her basket was filled to the brim with all sorts of colorful foods, and she headed towards the till to pay, grimacing under the weight pulling at her arm. As she pulls out her purse, a soft chime catches her attention, making her glance at the door quickly, before trailing her eyes back. A familiar head of blonde flashes in her mind immediately, and despite herself, she found herself clenching her purse tightly, feeling her palms become clammy with sweat. What were the odds..?

“Is that all?” the cheery voice of the employee breaks her out of her trance as she nods back firmly, unable to push aside the nervous feeling from seeing the person walk in. Quickly weighing the options as she sees him bag all her groceries, she forces the question out before she can stop herself.

“Could you...walk me to the bus station?” Her voice was awkward and tight from keeping quiet most of the day, and she internally winced at the confused expression the other gave her.

“Are you..” he pauses, eyeing her carefully, “is someone trying to hurt you?” 

YN doesn’t know what to say. Could she tell him what she saw? Fortunately, she didn’t have to reply. The boy - Kai, as it said on his tag - seemed to assume her pause was a yes. Excusing himself, he disappears behind the counter, and within a moment, hushed voices coming from there. Something was unnerving about standing there alone with the blonde, chilling her to the bone, knowing she was faced away and he could pounce at any moment. As soon as the terrifying thoughts crept in, Kai stepped back out. He takes her bag and silently leads her out the glass doors, warm, still air hitting her face the minute she left the building. They walk side by side silently, and YN could only count her steps as she got closer and closer to the station.

Her steps quicken when she sees the familiar structure, tall gray pillars, and a few large buses waiting. Kai keeps up with her as well, not bothered by the bag that seemed to drag her down, looking around carefully. 

“Thank you.”

He smiles, what she initially assumed to be his practiced ‘customer service’ smile seemed a little more genuine now. Or maybe he was just very good at it - she wasn’t sure. She takes back the plastic bag, letting herself get used to the additional weight before turning to board the bus. 

“Have a safe trip home!” The boy calls out, making her look back.

YN was expecting to see him with his blinding smile, but something eerier catches her eye. The young employee was standing a few steps away from her, and behind him, dangerously close, was the blonde man from before. Her mouth goes dry as she notices his dark gaze fixated on her hand that held the railing inside, something else in them as he cocked an eyebrow. He almost looked as if he was questioning her, asking what she would do now that he was close, much closer, and positioned to attack the boy. Realizing he must have followed her all the way, she felt her heart rate pick up as she found herself rapidly staring between Kai and the perpetrator, the choices dawning on her. She had to choose to leave Kai behind, or possibly die with him. 

She felt her heart drop at the calm expression on the boy's face, not noticing the danger he was in, she knew he was young, but watching him now, she only just realized how young. He was so young, so innocent, with a whole life ahead of him - but because of some unfortunate circumstance, an unforeseeable future, he would have to throw everything away. 

But if she stayed for him, so would she. She would have to give up everything she had struggled for, while in any circumstance, the blonde would kill Kai, regardless of whether she chose to stay or not. However, she could spare her own life. She couldn’t convince Kai to get on with her without alarming the man, but she could save her own life. After everything she had gone through, trouble was the last thing YN needed. Even if it meant someone else had to suffer alone, she had to stay safe. She found herself holding back hot tears as she quickly ducked into a lonely seat, refusing to look back, still clenching the cheap plastic in one hand and forcing herself not to look back as the tears freely slid down her cheeks. 

‘Helping people only gets you into trouble. You do whatever it takes to survive.’

           “They tell me you’ve missed the appointment I had set up.”

           YN is noticeably tense as she sits in the blue velvet mid-century, her nails digging into the denim fabric of her jeans. “The insurance wasn’t notified,” her tone was clipped. Lower with a slight tremble to it as if it were about to break, but never really did. “I also needed a referral.” Dr. Kang frowned, glancing back down at the file before looking at YN questioningly. “That’s strange. I told my secretary to handle all the paperwork. I even told Joy to hand you the referral.” Seeing the confused expression on his patient’s face, he shrugged. “My apologies, Joy must have forgotten.” The smile he shoots her is sincere, or at least looks so, YN has no reason to doubt him any further on this matter.

Her posture slackens somewhat but given everything that has happened these past few days she finds it difficult to truly relax. YN feels that she is tethering at the edge of a breakdown, but that if she were to fall it would only make her circumstances worsen. There is something that has been bothering her though, how pacified everything has been as of late. The blonde man knew where she lived, he'd likely overheard her name as well, yet nothing had happened. Even Kang, with his cold calculating eyes, had not commented on her odd behavior the last session or how worse she had seemed to get after only being off her medication for a week. Why can’t I figure them out?

           “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to assign you any new medication until I have the results from the bloodwork. However, I do want to know how you’ve been feeling lately.” Kang crossed his legs, leaning forward in his seat. “Have you been experiencing any side effects or withdrawals? Anything I should know about?”

There was a glint in his eyes as he spoke, one that warned YN that he may know more than he lets on. As if the man sitting in front of her was single-handedly responsible for everything that had occurred to her recently. "Normal things…" I am being stalked by a homicidal maniac. “Migraines, low blood pressure…” I keep having vivid flashbacks that only serve to increase my paranoia. “Sometimes I dissociate a bit.” Most importantly, doctor, I had a nightmare where you were about to kill me. “And trouble sleeping.” YN looked towards the ceiling, feigning as if she were in deep thought. “I think that’s it.”

Kang Daniel looked affronted as if she had not given a sufficient enough answer. Hadn't given him the answers he wanted. "I see." His eyes darted towards her hands, which had been tightly intertwined on her lap - immediately she relaxes them. When their eyes meet once more she levels with him. YN knows there is no point in engaging with Kang, that is exactly what he wants. To pry. Dig deep. Learn of all her secrets and who knows what else. He won’t win. I’m safe here. YN had suffered too great a loss yesterday, she was determined to win this game.

           “I had time to go over your file YN. There’s a lot to discuss, but I would prefer to dive right in if you don’t mind.”

           “I-”

           “Very well,” She’d upset him. YN wasn’t even truly aware of what she’d specifically done, but it seemed to matter very little. “It states here you’ve been diagnosed with a personality disorder - at quite a young age too.

           “I was ten.” YN’s voice is muted. Her mind blank.

           “Do you agree with this diagnosis?” YN shrugs, her eyes move down to the file. She knows what he’s going to say next. Or she can at least predict it: it typically doesn’t vary. No matter how many times she goes through the same process the words and intentions are the same. It isn’t sincere sentiments, but rather rehearsed lies spewed to make her feel better - as if she ever could. No, YN is broken. No fixing her up.

           “I don’t. I think you were misdiagnosed.” YN’s eyes widen as they shoot back up to meet Kang’s. “The main reasoning behind this is because of your apparent lack of empathy, but that isn’t true either is it, YN?” Her mouth felt dry, she struggled to swallow the saliva building up. There was a build-up of breath in her lungs which was starting to become painful and she felt her throat tighten. “It’s a survival tactic. An effective one at that - if I may be honest.” So many thoughts were rushing to the forefront of YN’s head. So many memories. Stop. She wanted to scream. Please stop! She felt like she was going to throw up. Kang bent over, his face so close to YN's that she could see how dilated his pupil was: only leaving a sliver of his iris shines through.

Why is he doing this?!

“You feel something YN. It’s okay to feel things. You aren’t with your mother anymore anymore. You aren’t with your brother anymore. You’re safe and I know the next time something happens you’ll do the right thing.”

YN’s eyes were red, brimming with unshed tears as Kang’s words bounced around her head. “Dr. Kang -” She chokes, a sob threatening to escape, but the man doesn’t allow her to finish. “Our time is up. Pick up your referral at Joy’s desk. I will see you on our next appointment.” The smile given is full of sadistic glee.

YN didn’t know how long she had spent wandering around the city. Last she knew she had passed the bus stop and convenience store from last night. If she were smart YN would’ve gone back to her apartment. She didn’t want to though, not trusting herself to be alone. It had been mid-afternoon when she had left Kang’s office. Now it was pitch black with only a few people walking down the streets and cars passing by. Her phone was tucked away in her bag, YN couldn’t muster up enough energy to reach for it to know her location. The tears she shed had long ago dried, though their evidence remained clear to see on her face due to the streak marks and reddened nose.

Several voices were speaking to her, memories, all pulling her in different directions. One by one, YN blocked them out until only three remained. Her brother’s: “You’re not sick.” Dr. Kang’s: “You’ll do the right thing.” Lastly, the faintest one of all - hers: "What do I do?" She had muttered it without realizing it. A cry for help that traveled through the wind, searching for an answer or a sign. She would be granted one.

The scream was so loud, it tore straight through the foggy haze that had settled in her mind and YN found herself frozen in place. Glancing upwards, she noted that a few feet away to the left was an alleyway. That was it, wasn’t it? Yet her feet wouldn’t move. Her brother’s voice echoed so loudly that it barely allowed her to breathe much less move. Until, a stronger, much more powerful one broke through - “It’s okay to feel things...I know you’ll do the right thing.” Her feet were moving before YN had even a second to dwell on her decision. The alleyway was, deceptively long, but YN could see several silhouettes just from the entrance. Quickly she dug her hand into her bag and pulled out her phone, dialing emergency services but hovering over the call button. YN didn't even know where exactly she was - nor did she know what was going on either. It wouldn't do well to just rush in, thankfully about ten feet inlay a giant dumpster which YN crouched behind.  

Another scream echoed off the brick walls, a cacophony of laughter followed it. There’s more than one. YN had hoped it was a robbery or something simple, now she realized just how in over her head she may be. You can still walk away YN. Just walk away. Cautiously YN moved to sneak a glance. There was a singular lamp attached to one of the buildings that illuminated most of the alley. The faint light didn't allow her to make out specific features, but it was enough for her to bear witness to the disturbing scene. Seven men were standing all loosely crowded around a young couple: a man and woman whose bodies were severely bruised and beaten. The man's skull was cracked open with blood profusely leaking from the side of his head. Several teeth were scattered on the ground and his hand was tightened around his abdomen which seemed to have been cut as well. The woman beside him had most of her clothing ripped and large bruises on her side, an indicator of broken ribs. Her eyes moved deliriously as she muttered to herself.

YN’s attention lay entirely on the victims until she witnessed a crowbar fly through the air and land on the man’s leg, with a sickening ‘crack’ that had YN feeling nauseous. The man was too out of it to do anything but let out a small howl of pain. Her previous assumption had been right, there were seven men: all standing there with blood-stained clothes and mocking the man. There was something familiar about them, but YN couldn’t pinpoint what. All of them cheered as the man’s now dead body slumped to the side. Her phone had been long forgotten, YN observed everything now with a morbid fascination. Taking advantage of the perpetrator’s lack of attention the woman stood up slowly and bolted, her heels clicking loudly on the pavement and alerting them their prey had gotten away.

None of them moved - they simply observed her and YN watched in shock. Why aren’t they chasing her? Would they actually… By now the woman was only a few feet away from the entrance, she passed by YN and must've caught sight of YN's hunched over the figure for the woman's head snapped towards her. Causing both women to miss the figure dashing in their direction until it was too late. The woman was harshly tackled to the ground, her head bouncing off the pavement in sickening motion. There is a glint of something in his hand before a dagger plunges into the young girl's body multiple times. In a desperate move, she extends her hand reaching out towards YN begging for help but YN remains frozen. Eyes wide and teary as she cowers as close as she can to the wall, shaking her head she begs the woman not to speak. Begs her not to draw the perps attention. Please don’t!

“Please help me.”

The perpetrators head snaps towards YN and she finally sees him. He's tall, lean figure, plump lips, cat eyes, and ruffled blonde hair. The blood splattered across his face revealed the dark truth behind his angelic features. His dark hooded eyes trail across YN's body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. The blonde man looks like a predator savoring its next meal. Before he can pounce YN takes off running, unfortunately, he captures her with ease. Caging her body against his own, pillowy lips part and it dawns on YN she has never heard him speak before.

“Caught you.”

Just like that their game has come to an end, surely YN’s life will too. The two of them are so enraptured in each other, they don’t notice the figure slowly standing up and grabbing the abandoned knife on the floor. Not until the blonde man’s body sags slightly and YN notices the woman standing behind them. Don’t. She wants to say, furious that the woman wouldn’t have run away - escaped when she had the chance. For YN couldn’t bear another dead body on her subconscious. The blonde man turned around with pure rage steaming off his body, upset that his prey would dare to fight back. His arms gripped her head and with the slightest flick of his wrist, he broke the girl’s neck. When he turned back around to face his prize, he was shocked to find her expressionless staring at the corpse right in front of her.

YN came to a disturbing conclusion: She wouldn’t have died if she hadn’t helped me. As she once again made eye contact with the monster before her, all YN could see was her reflection in his eyes. Hanbin was right.

The man stepped forward and YN stepped back, crashing into the wall. His hands gripped at her sides, nails digging into her flesh harshly. He was formulating a plan, thinking about how best to kill her - YN could see it. It seems the universe had decided to take pity on her, or further condemn her, for just as his eyes were beginning to light up, the rest of the group made their presence known. “Jimin let’s go. The fun’s over.” Jimin? There was something familiar about that name.

“Funs not over yet, boys.” As if she weighed nothing, Jimin grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. YN struggled against him, aware that if she couldn’t handle one man, there was no way she could survive seven. “I finally found my pet.” What? When Jimin finally put her down, his arms encased her again showing her off to his friends as if she was some shiny new toy, they could look at but not touch. As YN glanced at them she found she recognized some of them, they’re from the bus. At that moment she realized that death had been following YN for a long time and even if she hadn't stepped into the alleyway tonight, their paths would have crossed eventually.  

“Ah, so you’re the girl Jimin’s been obsessed with.” The tall tan one with curly dark hair spoke, his low baritone voice was mocking in nature.

“She’s not that pretty.” muttered another one, with rounded eyes and a tall nose.

“Now, come on kookie. Don’t be mean, she’s a lot prettier than what we’re used to.” The third man’s tone was higher pitched, lips stretched into a heart-shaped smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“What do you think we should do, Namjoon?” spoke the light-haired one dawned in all black. His eyes darting over to the tallest member, his platinum hair shining brightly in the dark alleyway.

When Namjoon spoke it was deliberate and calculated, his eyes boring into YN’s, his words dripping with implication. “We should take this one to go.”

Distantly YN could hear the wailing of sirens rushing towards them before Kookie stepped forward and delivered a right hook to her face, making her lose consciousness.

[chelsfic]

Leftovers - Part 7 - Nandor the Relentless x Reader Fanfic

Previous parts: Masterlist

A/N: Well...this was unexpected. I wasn’t planning to go in this direction quite YET, but the characters had minds of their own...

Summary: While planning for the upcoming biannual orgy, the reader gets a lesson in seduction from Laszlo and Nandor finally surrenders to his desire.

Warnings: Smut, Female reader, Blood drinking, First time, Loss of Virginity

---

Nadja’s voice echoes through the house as she rushes into the library clutching a letter in her hands.

“Laszlo! Nandor! Colin Robinson! House meeting!”

Guillermo trails after her carrying the rest of the mail. Bills, a grocery circular, and a stack of computer parts catalogs addressed to Colin. He drops the pile on an end table and takes an unobtrusive position by the doorway as the other housemates start to file in with varying expressions of annoyance, curiosity and boredom.

You’re the last one to arrive, traipsing into the room looking vastly under dressed, as always, compared to the old world vampires in their elegant finery. Even Colin and Guillermo keep it business casual. You, on the other hand, are dressed in a pair of neon pink capri leggings and the USA Men’s Basketball jersey you stole from Nandor. The jersey falls down to your knees and the wide arm holes reveal the sports bra you’re wearing underneath. When Nandor first caught you wearing it a couple weeks ago he’d groused at you about disrespecting his belongings. But then he found himself strangely pleased with how his garment dwarfed your smaller frame. He rather liked the idea of his human wearing his shirt. So, he stopped complaining.

You give him a cheeky grin and flounce the bottom of the shirt around your thighs saucily as you flop down beside him. It’s been just about a month since the rave and since things between you and Nandor...advanced. You’ve started secretly thinking of him as your vampire boyfriend. You spend more nights in his coffin than you do in your own bed and you’ve both enjoyed the closeness that comes with sleeping in an enclosed box. 

You’ve continued to touch, kiss, and explore each other physically. Your progress has been slow, though you’ve gone further and experienced more with Nandor than you ever have with anyone else. But he is being downright mulish about taking the next logical step. On the one hand it’s comforting to have a more experienced partner who is so willing to go slowly. On the other hand...you’re horny. And you can’t tell if he’s being considerate and cautious or if he’s being selfish and wanting the best of both worlds: sexy times and virgin blood.

You sit so that your leg brushes against his and take his hand, twining your fingers together happily. You probably look like a preteen with her first boyfriend but you don’t really care. 

Colin Robinson grins and his eyes flash blue as he drones, “PDA! Get a room, you guys.”

Nandor hisses angrily and you roll your eyes. You spot Guillermo standing rigidly by the door and wave him over, patting the cushion on your other side.

“Memo! Come sit down for the meeting,” you invite.

Guillermo’s eyes flick to his master automatically and Nandor proclaims, “Vampires--non-familiars only, Guillermo!”

“What!?” you exclaim, slapping his arm. “Stop being mean to Guillermo!”

“Mean!?” Nandor scoffs. “I’m not mean to Guillermo! I saved him from being executed by the Vampiric Council last year, didn’t I?”

Guillermo nods, “Yes, master...although I did save you as well--”

“And I let you have the human giving thanks holiday off, didn’t I?” he interrupts.

“That was...three years ago…” Guillermo mumbles.

Nandor is gearing up for a full on hissy fit but Nadja interrupts, “Enough! Gizmo, go and sit with the human, you know Nandor is going to surrender to her eventually and I have news to announce!”

You smile in triumph and Guillermo reluctantly slinks forward to sit on your other side, eyeing his master over your head with a worried look.

“That’s strike one, Guillermo,” Nandor grumbles irritably, as Nadja takes over.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I had their answer,” Nadja smiles beatifically and folds her hands over her heart, “but I petitioned the vampire orgy committee and they’ve decided to give us a second chance to host the biannual orgy! I explained that my husband had been unnaturally deranged by some putrid blood--”

“Don’t you mean, betrayed by my wife?” Laszlo interjects.

“--and so we’re hosting it this weekend!” Nadja finishes, ignoring her idiot husband.

“Wonderful!” Nandor cries, dropping your hand and standing up to pace the room. “We’ll need to begin preparations at once. Guillermo, I’m giving Nadja permission to boss you around. It needs to be perfect this time!”

“Thank you, Nandor,” Nadja trills, obviously euphoric with plan-making already. “This time we’ll chain the virgins up, so there’s no chance for the cheeky buggers to spoil our fun…”

“Excellent idea, darling!” Laszlo praises, eager to show his support and avoid sleeping in one of the basement coffins tonight.

Nandor nods, “Yes, good suggestion, Nadja. Guillermo, you’ll bring the chains up from the basement...”

Nandor continues rattling off orders and you listen with increasing bafflement and alarm. He’s clearly giddy as he lists the “supplies” they’ll need.

“The sex net, obviously… the swing… assorted dildos… we should get a few Devil’s butt plugs, shouldn’t we? Those were popular at Marcus’s orgy last year…”

You turn, wide-eyed, to Guillermo and find him looking resigned and pulling a notebook from his back pocket to write this down.

Laszlo, Nadja and even Colin Robinson join in the discussion and they don’t seem likely to lose momentum any time soon. 

Finally, you clear your throat and speak up, “Um...I’m sorry. So...you--all of you--go to...sex parties? Like, where you...have sex all--all together?”

God, could you sound more virginy? You direct the question to everyone in the room but your eyes focus on Nandor. He looks away with an uncomfortable grimace.

Nadja tuts and puts a hand to her forehead as she croons, “Oh my sweet, baby virgin! I have forgotten how stupid and innocent you are. Do you not know what an orgy is? It is like a dark, bacchanalia of the flesh… a joining of bodies into one, throbbing mass of pleasure. And it is a great honor to host it! Vampires from all over New York will attend.”

“But…” what you really want to do is talk to Nandor in private. Your mind is racing with half-formed concerns, but mainly you’re hoping your new vampire boyfriend isn’t planning to have casual sex with a dozen strangers after spending the last month refusing to deflower you because he’d rather preserve the taste of your blood than deepen your...well, what you’d thought of as your relationship.

But you can’t give a voice to these worries even if the idea of Nandor with someone else stabs at your heart. You don’t want to be the needy virgin. The silly little girl who thinks a 758-year-old vampire is interested in “going steady.” Are you being unreasonable? Are you being unrealistic? Are you being insensitive to vampire culture? All at once you feel tears stinging your eyes and you blink rapidly to clear them before anyone notices. 

“I know what you’re worrying about, my warrior,” Nadja breaks through your thoughts. “But you’ll be perfectly safe during the orgy. Look!”

She poofs into a cloud of vapor, reappearing a few seconds later holding a pair of matching plain white t-shirts with the words “Do Not Eat” printed on them. 

“One for you and one for Gizmo!” she exclaims with a proud smile as if this solves everything.

---

“So…” you start and then trail off, not really knowing what you want to say.

You’re up in the attic with Nadja and Laszlo, helping them sort through boxes with labels like “Sex Dungeon,” “In Case of Orgy,” and “Emergency Dildos.”

Laszlo uncovers something wedged behind the StairMaster and exults, “My darling! Do you remember this…?”

It looks like a dildo circa the Renaissance period, smooth and hand-carved with a leather harness attached. Laszlo throws his head back and his hands twitch excitedly at his sides as Nadja stalks up to him with a seductive smirk.

“Of course, I do, my naughty boy. And if you are good and don’t ruin this orgy with your moods then maybe we’ll have ourselves a nice little time with it…” her voice goes high-pitched and squeaky as she grabs the phallus out of Laszlo’s hands and strokes it along his jaw, bringing it up to his lips and squealing as he opens his mouth to run his tongue lewdly over the shiny, smooth wood.

“O-okay, I’m just going to give you guys some privacy…” you stand and start to make your way over to the stairs.

Nadja drops the dildo and calls after you, “Wait, mortal! You had something you wanted to ask?”

You stop in your tracks, turning back to the couple and taking a breath to steady yourself. You have to talk to someone about this.

“Yeah, it’s...well, Nandor and I haven’t had sex yet--”

“We can tell that very well, my yummy friend,” Laszlo cuts in and Nadja slaps his arm.

“Go on, little horny infant,” Nadja says encouragingly.

“--but we’ve done other stuff,” you continue, “and I...I have feelings for him. But the thing is, I’m not as comfortable as you all seem to be about...sharing…”

“Ahh!” Laszlo murmurs with an arch look. “And you don’t want a load of randy vampires diddling your man.”

“Right,” you confirm, heat spreading over your face under their scrutiny. “But he seems so excited and I...I still don’t really know if he feels the same way that I do…”

“Hmm, yes this is very tricky,” Nadja muses. “Of course...there are some vampire couples who attend and only pay attention to each other…”

“Bloody boring, if you ask me…”

“Shut up, Laszlo!” Nadja hisses. “Can’t you see our human needs us?”

“Alright, alright!” he says irritably. He turns in a small circle, rubbing his chin abstractly before snapping his fingers and pointing to you in excitement, “I’ve got it! It sounds to me like what you really need is a little help in seducing our warrior friend. Once you’ve done the dirty deed you can enslave him to your feminine wiles just like my darling Nadja did to me.”

“Good idea, Laszlo! Then you can attend the orgy together and if anyone tries to tempt him away you will do the whip on them!” Nadja declares with delight.

You’re not sure if she’s misusing roller derby lingo or actually suggesting that you use a whip on your rivals. Probably both…

“But he won’t have sex with me because he’s obsessed with my stupid blood…” you whine, plopping down on one of the boxes with an exasperated sigh. 

“Trust me, human. With our help, Nandor won’t know how to resist!” Laszlo assures you with a self-satisfied grin. “Nadja, darling, get the projector!”

“Oh, no, Laszlo...she’s just a poor human girl. Don’t subject her to your boring pornos…”

---

By the time you come down from the attic you’re pretty sure the image of Laszlo’s orgasm face is permanently burned into your brain. And you’re not exactly sure how “Vampire Tricked in Steamroom” is supposed to help you with your conundrum, but Laszlo’s proud enthusiasm is adorable. Nadja’s words as you walk down the stairs are a little more helpful.

“Nandor is just thinking too much with his fangs and not enough with his penis. Use your natural talents--” she glances meaningfully at your chest, “--to make him realize his mistake.”

You’re not sure you have it in you to play the seductress like Nadja does. Still, your footsteps automatically take you in the direction of Nandor’s room. When you walk into the crypt you find him bent over a long roll of paper on the floor with a paintbrush in his hand and glitter stuck all over his head. He holds his work up to show you with a proud grin.

It’s a banner with large, bright, sparkly letters spelling out, “Welcome Orgy Guests!”

“What do you think?” he asks shyly. “Too much glitter?”

You blink and bite back a laugh at the sight of your fearsome boyfriend with his hair and beard covered in glitter. He’s smiling at you, revealing the wicked gleam of his fangs and you’re suddenly overcome with the desire to kiss him until you’re covered in glitter too. You stride forward, gingerly taking the banner from his hands and setting it back down on the floor.

“Just the right amount of glitter,” you assure him and then you hop up, wrapping your arms around his neck and trusting that he’ll catch you with his strong arms. His beard is scratchy against your face as you claim his mouth with yours, kissing and nipping his lips with a needy growl. Okay, wow--maybe Laszlo’s cheesy movie instruction has some merit?

“I knew it,” Nandor smirks. “You like the glitter, don’t you? Like Twilight!”

“Shut up, Nandor,” you laugh, stroking your fingers through his thick hair and angling his head so you can kiss along the edge of his jaw. You playfully drag your teeth against his neck and his whole body shudders in response. 

Curious, you do it again and this time he moans low in his throat and gasps out your name. Your lips curl into a mischievous smile and you bite down sharply, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to bruise if he didn’t have supernatural healing.

“Gah! Human…” Nandor pants, walking you over to the luxuriously upholstered couch set against the wall and dropping down with you in his lap. His voice breaks as he begs, “Harder.”

You draw back, locking your eyes with his for a moment, your breath coming quick as you feel the stir of his hardening length beneath you. His eyes are nearly black with desire and he digs his fingers into your hips in encouragement and repeats himself, “Harder, my mortal.”

You bend forward, brushing your lips gently along the crook of his neck like always does before he feeds from you. You bring your hands to his collar and loosen the ruff of his shirt, pulling it aside and cradling his head as you sink down to bite. You’re tentative at first, somehow afraid of hurting him, but he growls in impatience and swats your butt with his open hand to spur you along. You increase the pressure, feeling his skin give beneath the blunt edges of your teeth and the cool, coppery taste of his thick blood spreading over your lips and tongue. You swallow it, lapping at his neck eagerly as he squirms beneath you and mewls in pleasured surrender. 

When you finally pull away, your mouth and chin are painted an obscene red and Nandor goes wild at the sight. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a rough kiss, arching his hips upward so he can grind against you.

“Now, I get to taste you,” He whispers against your lips, shifting out from beneath you and kneeling on the floor between your legs.

“It’s not--” you’re out of breath and your head is spinning. “It’s too soon, baby”

He purrs at your use of the pet name and slides his hands up the outsides of your thighs, catching the waistband of your leggings and dragging them down your legs along with your underwear.

“There’s more than one way to taste you, my human,” he explains, pressing his palms to the insides of your knees and pushing your legs further apart. He drags his beard along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, scenting you with a pleased sigh. He scoops you up in his hands, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch and finally lowering his face between your legs. His breath is cool against your heated flesh and then he’s dragging his tongue along your slit in one long stroke that ends on your needy, throbbing clitoris. 

“Oh my go--”

Nandor rears back, hissing, and you rush an apology, “Sorry, sorry, sorry! I forgot.”

“Be careful with that shit!” he grouses but then he’s dipping his head back down and attacking you with his mouth. 

He’s gentle and thorough and--you think--very good at this. A few times you feel the sharp edge of a fang just brush against your most sensitive skin and you start to flinch away but he shushes you and strokes his fingers along your thighs to settle your nerves. His lips and tongue move against your clitoris in perfect, rolling motions that have you melting under his attention. You let your hands fall down to rest in his glitter-specked hair and stroke your fingers along his temples as he laves and sucks. When the mounting tension in your core grows to be too much you roll your hips up, grinding yourself into his face and twisting your fingers in his hair as you cry out. 

Nandor climbs back onto the couch and settles beside you, watching with a pleased smile as you tremble and gasp through the aftershocks. He’s lazily palming himself through his trousers when you finally turn to him and press the full length of your body into his, capturing his lips for a kiss that tastes of mingled blood and arousal--both your essences combined. 

“I’m ready…” you whisper, sliding your hands beneath his loosened collar and along his shoulders. “If you can possibly stand my blood tasting all ordinary and non-virgin flavored…”

You emphasize the last statement by edging your leg between his and grinding your thigh against his fervent erection. Nandor groans loudly and it sounds like a surrender. 

“Yes…” he pants. “My human...yes. I’ll make you mine. But...but--” he growls in frustration “--wait a moment!”

He hops up, leaving you half naked and bemused on the couch as he darts around the room, locking the door, positioning a fur rug on the floor next to an ornate candelabra, and finally opening a drawer and removing a folded piece of paper.

He comes back to you, kneeling at your feet and handing you the sheet of paper. He watches with a gleam in his eyes as you open it.

Inside he’s written in glitter pen:

“Happy Deflowering!

Love,

Nandor the Relentless”

And there’s a drawing of you laying on a fur rug with an artfully modest sheet draped over your nude body and Nandor floating in the air above you, his cape flying out behind him and his fangs bared. Well...now you know he hasn’t been planning to keep you a virgin for all eternity...

You bark out a laugh and press the drawing to your heart as you look up at him and gush, “I love it, Nandor!”

His lips part in a light smile and he presses forward, taking your face in his hands and catching you with his intense eyes.

“I wanted it to be--” he frowns uncomfortably as he forms the word “--nice...for you, human. Perhaps we had a rocking start…”

“You mean with you kidnapping me, drinking my blood and treating me like a human snack pack?” you deadpan, but you dart in to peck his lips to show you’re only teasing.

“Yes, that,” he continues and his fingers are tracing light patterns through the hair at your temples. “But I...I do care about you, my mortal. For more than just your delicious blood…”

Finally hearing him say the words out loud starts your eyes misting and you set the drawing down on the couch beside you, reaching forward to take him in your arms and kiss his beautiful, stupid, warrior lips. 

Nandor is remarkably quick at removing his layers of clothing. By the time you’ve shed your stolen jersey and squirmed your way out of the sports bra, he’s completely naked. Vampire speed. He kneels on the fur rug before you, his pale skin reflecting the golden light of the candles, glowing with second-hand warmth. You forget to be bashful about your own nudity as you drink him in. Dark hair covers his chest and trails down his stomach into the dark nest around his proudly straining erection. 

His own dark eyes drop to linger on the lines of your body as he reaches out and draws you closer, laying you down on the plush rug and perching beside you. You draw your hands up under your chin automatically, but he takes them and draws your arms down to your sides, baring your body for his hungry gaze.

“You are more breathtaking than the Euphrates running red with the blood of my enemies,” he murmurs, brushing his fingertips over the peaks of your breasts and smiling as your nipples pebble under his touch. 

You smile and shake your head, gazing up at this gorgeous man and feeling, for once, entirely worthy and beautiful in someone else’s eyes. You joined roller derby hoping to gain some body-positivity, some confidence--which you have. But still, you’ve never before felt so attractive and powerful. Nandor bends down to kiss you, running one hand along the line of your neck and letting the other roam over your belly and down between your thighs. He strokes through your still wet slit, spreading your slick and rolling your clit between his fingers until you’re mewling into his lips. 

“You know…” Nandor murmurs, pushing your legs apart and shifting to seat himself between them, “there’s more than one reason they call me relentless, little human.”

The sound that falls from your lips is half-gasp and half-moan. He slides the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your arousal before finally--finally--pressing forward at your entrance. Even after a month of pining and yearning for this you still tense up at the final moment and Nandor kneads his hands into your hips with a soft coo, “Relax yourself, my mortal…”

He leans down to press a rough-stubbled kiss along the edge of your jaw as he finally slips inside of you and you feel, for the first time, the impossible and wonderful sensation of being filled by your lover as he gradually pushes deeper. For several seconds the pressure of him inside of you is all you can think about and it’s overwhelming. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, digging your teeth into the already healed skin.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and there’s a distinctly vampiric edge of lustful curiosity that accompanies his concern. He’s rolling his hips against you in a slow, steady rhythm. 

“Mmhmm,” you murmur without removing your teeth from his neck. 

He slips a hand between your bodies and finds the hardened bud of your nipple with his fingers, rolling and stroking it as he continues rocking into you with deeper and deeper thrusts.

“Not for much longer,” he promises with a teasing pinch to your nipple.

His pace increases as the pain gradually ebbs into a delicious, burning ache that builds and builds. You throw back your head, keening each time he buries himself inside you. Nandor’s mouth falls open and he dips his head to run his lips over the throbbing pulse of your throat, feeling the rush of your hot blood beneath the surface and losing the steady control of his movements as he frantically ruts into you. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” he cries, wrenching his mouth away from your neck and instead slamming his lips to yours with an anguished moan as he goes rigid, pushing deeper inside of you as his release tears through him. He jerks his hips several more times, reaching between you to put his fingers on you and coax you towards your own peak as he softens inside of you.

He finally slips out of you, collapsing onto the rug at your side with a heavy groan. He hugs you to his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin and humming in pleasure. His skin is almost warm with your borrowed body heat, but where you are covered in a fine sheen of human sweat, he is as smooth and unaffected as ever.

Your muscles shake with involuntary tremors and he strokes his hands down your back comfortingly.

“Shut your eyes,” his voice is a low rumble that you can feel where your head rests against his chest. “Rest, my love.”

The word sends a warm rush around your heart and you smile, burying your face into his lovely chest hair. 

All your insecurities about the upcoming orgy are forgotten as your limbs grow heavy with exhaustion. You’re just starting to drift to sleep under the steady feel of his hands smoothing over your back when a sudden thought pops into your head.

“Nandor!” you poke your head up to meet his eyes. “Am I going to turn into a vampire?!”

He furrows his brow as he asks, “Why would you think that, human?”

“Well...I drank your blood…” you explain, relaxing back into his chest now that it seems you’re not on the brink of transitioning into an unholy creature of the night without warning.

Nandor laughs, “I would have to drink your blood first...almost all of it. And then feed you my blood. No, my human, you won’t become a vampire...not yet.”

You nod your head absently, letting your eyes drift shut without fully absorbing his last words.

---

A/N: ?????????

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