#but at night his eyes are just Inhuman and i think that's neat

[xbadnews]

a followup to my last post ( click for better quality )

[vodika-vibes]

Something Goes Bump In The Night

Summary: Months after you find Fives on Kamino, you and he start looking for answers as to why he's alive.

Pairing: Wraith! ARC Trooper Fives x F! Twi'lek Reader

Word Count: 3659

Prompts: Fixing each other's clothes, "Shut the kriff up and eat your shitty ration bar." and "You make me feel safe." "You really shouldn't"

Warnings: Violence, Fives attacks the reader without meaning to, the word sex is mentioned twice in regards to the reader doing Spoogle (space google) searches, Reader is described as a blue-skinned twi'lek with ear cones.

A/N: So, this story is brought to you by the many, many, many pictures I've seen of Fives with a y-incision. Also, I played around with wraiths a little bit. Because I wanted to.

In the months that Fives has been living on your ship with you, you’ve come to learn a few things about him. 

A, he’s something of a perfectionist. You’re much more of a “good enough” type of person, especially when planning jobs, but he gets all bent out of shape if you don’t have a whole plan from infiltration to escape.

Ironically, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with improvising if the plan goes wrong, which is more confusing to you than you’d like to admit.

B, he’s messy. Since he was a soldier, you thought he would be a neat freak. But he’s not. He’s careful about ensuring his mess doesn’t get in your way, but you’ll find his datapads and models strewn around your ship rather than consolidated in a single place.

C, he’s clingy.

Look, your ship is small. Tiny. Built for one person and an astromech, maybe. It’s certainly not built for an adult man who is built like a brick wall and another person (namely yourself).

So you quickly sussed out that you and Fives were going to have to share a bed. It was a little weird, that first night. You’ve never shared a bed with anyone before, after all. 

But the following morning you woke up with him curled around you, his arms tight around your waist. Like a giant, clingy blanket. And, despite what you said to him that morning, about him being clingy, you’ve grown to enjoy it.

Your family isn’t really the “touchy” type, and Fives curling around you every night is the closest you’ve had to a hug since you were a child.

Which…is depressing, if you think about it too hard.

So, you don’t.

There are other things you’ve noticed about Fives, things that you make note of in your tablet, but would never mention to him. He has moments of extreme violence, never directed towards you, but towards other people.

He’s fiercely protective of you, to the point of murder.

And he’s afraid.

He’s so, so afraid of finding out what the Kaminoans did to him. 

You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and watch Fives move around the kitchenette with an absent sort of interest. He’s always hungry, Fives. Most of your money is spent on making sure there’s enough food on the ship for him.

“You’re staring,” Fives notes as he sits at the bar across from you.

You shrug, unconcerned, “I’m thinking.”

“Oh, is that why I was smelling smoke?” He teases something unnatural and inhuman glittering in his eyes. It should scare you. It should. But this is Fives.

How could you be afraid of Fives?

“You know me,” You joke back, “My brain is just three tookas on a treadmill—”

He grins at you, a lopsided smile that’s actually insanely attractive. It’s really not fair. How dare the Kaminoans choose Jango Fett as a template and not some ugly bounty hunter?

Wait…you’re getting distracted.

It takes you a moment to put your train of thought back on track, “I’m thinking,” You say as you point your ration bar at Fives, “We should hit up Jedha.”

He pauses, his spoon halfway to his mouth, “Why?”

“They have a collection of weird shit. Maybe they know what’s going on with you.”

Fives lowers his spoon back to his bowl and taps the rim of his bowl thoughtfully, “Are you sure you want to steal from Jedha?”

“Steal?” You press your hand to your chest in mock offense, “Fives! I do not steal! I merely…borrow things.”

He points his spoon at you, “And tell me, moonbeam. Have you ever returned anything you’ve borrowed before.”

“I returned your shirt!”

“Yeah. Because we live together. And you kept the sweatshirt.”

“I look amazing in your clothes.”

“You’re a twi’lek, you’d look amazing in a paper bag.”

You point at him, “That is a harmful stereotype.”

“Uh-huh,” He actually takes a bite of his oatmeal, “Remind me, what did you do for a living before you decided to become a thief?”

“I am a recovery expert—”

He raises a single brow and you huff and cross your arms, “I may have, possibly, been an exotic dancer. At a club that only hired twi’leks.”

“Thank you for making my point for me.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Anyway. I think Jedha will have some of the information we need. Or, if nothing else, they can point us in the right direction.”

“I thought you decided that I’m a zombie.” Fives asks.

“Well, I thought so. But I’ve been doing some research online—”

“Oh boy.”

You glare at him, “I’ve been doing research,” You repeat, “And aside from a, truely concerning, number of people who would be okay with fucking a zombie, I have determined that you can’t be a zombie. Because you’re too smart.”

“Can we rewind to the point where people want to fuck zombies?”

“No. We can’t.”

“Come on, moonbeam,” He grins at you, “What did you see?”

This time, you pout at him, “Shut the kriff up and eat your shitty ration bar.”

“I’m eating oatmeal,” He counters smugly.

You reach across the table to steal his bowl, only for him to smack your hand with his spoon, “Rude!”

“Make your own oatmeal! I’m not sharing.”

“I let you sleep in my bed!”

“Our bed Moonbeam.” He wraps an arm around his bowl protectively, “Anyway, you were saying about Jedha.”

You mournfully eye the ration bar in your hand, and then shove it to the side, “I think you’re a spirit of some kind.”

“I’m solid.”

“I don’t know, Fives. This is why we need help!”

He watches you steadily for a moment, and then shrugs lazily, “Alright. We go to Jedha. You want to go set the heading?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You spin on the chair and hop to your feet to head to the cockpit. Then you pause and step around the bar to wrap your arms around Fives from behind. You rest your chin on his shoulder for a moment, “We’ll figure it out, Fives. I promise.”

You see a small smile out of the corner of your eye, and his hand lightly presses against your cheek. I know. I trust you. You’ll figure this out. His touch seems to say, and you tighten your arms around him for a moment, before you release him. 

“Right. Jedha! Hopefully, the Empire hasn’t destroyed it yet. Or, if they did, they didn’t destroy the information.” You mumble to yourself as you leave the room.

Fives scowls as he looks around Jedha. They’re too late.

Nothing is left standing.

He glances at his moonbeam and feels the stirring of rage at the look on her face. She looks crushed.

He swallows the rage with difficulty, there’s no one here to lash out at. There’s no Empire here. No pirates. No Cartels. Just him and his moonbeam. A gentle breeze washes the scent of her over him, and it helps quell his anger enough that he’s able to speak.

“There might still be something left.” He offers.

She turns to look at him, her wide eyes glassy with tears, “How can you say that? There’s nothing left!” She gestures to what was once a bustling city at the foot of the temple. “They…destroyed everything.”

He’s going to kill the Emperor. And all of the Admirals. And probably everyone who’s ever worn an Imperial uniform.

How dare they make her cry.

Fives takes a deep breath and lightly sets his hand on her shoulder, “Don’t give up hope yet. We haven’t actually looked yet, have we?”

She sniffles and wipes her eyes, “Do you really think we’ll find something.”

“Well, if we don’t then all we lost is time.” Fives replies logically. He smiles at her when she turns to look at him, and gently adjusts her headwrap, pulling it down over her earcones. 

A tiny smile lifts her lips, and she presses her hands over his, “I suppose there’s no harm in looking.” She murmurs, she scans his face for a moment and then a small furrow appears on her brow, “I upset you. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, “Not your fault. I’m controlling it.” One of his hands falls so the backs of his fingers brush her cheek. “I suppose this ruins the plan we made.” He gestures to the ruins.

“Well…makes it moot, I suppose.” She replies as she tears her gaze from his face to scan the former city. “...do you think anyone got out alive?”

“I’m sure they did.” He lightly squeezes her shoulder one more time, “It looks like there’s a path through the ruins, shall we?”

“After you,”

He flashes a small smile and starts down the steps with his moonbeam hot on his heels. 

It takes time for them to work their way through the ruins. They have to backtrack several times after stumbling over roadblocks that Fives determines are too unsafe to climb over. 

Eventually, they make it to the former temple.

There are several openings and Fives checks all of them, before bringing her to one in the back, “According to the schematics, the archives used to be on this side of the temple.” He explains, “This opening should be the easiest way to get there.”

“Alright. Are you going first or do you want me to?” She asks.

Fives shoots her a look, “When have I ever let you go first?”

“Never, but there’s a first time for everything.” She grins at him, and he shakes his head before he smooths his hand over her head.

“I’ll go first, you can come after me when I tell you it’s safe.”

And that’s exactly what happens, Fives lowers himself down on the rope and makes sure that the area is safe, before shouting up that she can join him.

She descends the rope much faster than him. But then, his moonbeam is a thief, so she knows ropes a little better than he does. Fives makes sure that she’s secure on her feet before he looks around.

The Temple really is little more than a ruin.

Honestly, he doesn’t expect to find anything useful here, but he has to look. If only to keep her from feeling guilty.

“Alright. So the Archives were that way,” Fives nods at a collapsed hallway, “But I think if we go this way we’ll be able to find a way around.”

“Sounds like a plan,” She replies as she steps towards the opening in the wall that Fives indicated.

He stops her with a hand on her chest, “Why don’t I go first, see what I can see. Make sure that there’s actually a way through before we start poking around.”

“I can help, Fives.”

He chuckles and lightly kisses her forehead, “I know you can. But I’d like you to stay here. Maybe make a map?”

She blinks, “Oh! That’s a great idea!”

“I’m full of them.” He counters with a grin.

“You’re full of something, alright.” Fives’ grin widens. The fact that she’s sassing him means she’s slowly getting over seeing the aftermath of the massacre.

Good.

He hates it when she’s sad.

It should be illegal.

Fives waits until she pulls her headset out of her pocket and slips it under her head wrap, and he doesn’t move until he hears the familiar crackle of her comm coming to life in his ear.

“Alright, moonbeam. I’ll call out directions as I move.”

“And I’ll mark them on my tablet.” She finishes with an agreeable nod as she sits on a rock, “Just be careful. Just because nothing has killed you yet, doesn’t mean nothing will.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

An hour later, his moonbeam’s comm crackles to life, “—Who are you?” And Fives’ blood runs cold. 

He never considered that someone else might still be in the temple. He never considered it, so he didn’t look. 

“Wait, what are you…Hey!” There’s a sharp squealing noise of her comm being destroyed.

And that’s the last thing that Fives remembers.

You try to back away from the men that are slowly circling you.

Try being the keyword here, as there are five of them and only one of you and they have you completely surrounded.

“Who are you?” One of them, the leader most likely, demands as he aims his blaster at you.

“Who are you?” You counter, pulling bravery from…somewhere.

“I asked you first.”

“I was here first.”

“Do you always talk back to people pointing blasters at you?” Another man asks.

“Yeah, Pretty much.” You swallow hard. Fives is coming. You know it. Maybe if you get these men to leave you won’t have to witness the massacre that is Fives lost in a rage. “You should probably go.”

“Is that right?” One of the men, holding a snipe rifle (which seems excessive to you) asks sarcastically.

“My partner—”

“So you are not alone.”

Fuck.

Kriff.

“It’s fine.” The last man says, “We still outnumber them.”

“True.” The first man stares at you through his helmet, “Wrecker, tie her up.”

“Got it, Hunter.”

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Wrecker? Hunter? Those are clone names.

That or really bad call signs.

“...you’re clones?” You yelp as you take a step back.

The men pause, and then helmets come off and they move so that you can see them properly.

“We might be clones,” One of the men, paler than the others with cybernetics on his head, says coldly, “But you’re a graverobber.”

You ignore his words, staring instead at the handprint on his chest plate. “You’re Echo.” You say numbly.

He falters, “How can you possibly know that?”

“Oh Force, you’re Echo.” You whisper. “You! You have to put the weapons down! You have to!” 

“Why should we do that?”

“Fives is going to kill you.” You say bluntly. Matter of factly. 

Echo’s face twists, “My brother is dead.”

“Yeah, he got better.” He doesn’t believe you, and slowly you take a step away from him when you hear, what sounds like, wailing. Goosebumps rise on your skin, and your lekku twist in discomfort. They can’t hear him.

They won’t hear him until it’s too late.

And Fives—

Dear Fives. Sweet Fives. Kind Fives.

He’ll never forgive himself if he kills his brothers.

And so, when the wall bursts open revealing Fives in a deadly rage, his form constrained by his armor, you know what you have to do.

He lunges at Echo, who is closest to you, and is the most obvious threat towards you. And you lunge forward as well, placing yourself between Echo and Fives.

“Fives! STOP!” You shout, spreading your arms wide to shield Echo as best as you can.

He can’t hear you. You know he can’t hear you.

But you have to try.

A strong hand wraps around your throat, and Fives slams you to the ground as if you weigh nothing. Pain blooms across your back and the back of your head.

Something sharp pierces both of your shoulders, and you bite your tongue to stifle your scream of pain. Though there’s no stopping the pained tears rolling down your face. 

You’ve always been a baby about pain, it’s fine.

Slowly, painfully, you reach up and pull Fives’ helmet off, allowing it to fall to the side. His eyes are blank, there’s no recognition in his gaze, and his teeth have grown to the fangs that always appear when he gets like this.

“Fives,” You speak his name calmly and clearly as you reach up and gently press your hands against his icy cheeks, “Fives. It’s just me. It’s just your moonbeam.”

Slowly the wailing subsides to a level that doesn’t make you want to claw your ear cones off, but his hand is still around your neck, and your vision is starting to spot. 

“Fives,” You repeat his name, “You need to let go.”

His grip tightens, and you gasp for breath. It’s getting hard to stay conscious. 

“Fives,” You rasp his name, “Safe. No danger.” Your hands are still pressed against his face, but you’re starting to lose consciousness. Force, you hope he doesn’t kill you. That will destroy him.

Just as you’re about to pass out from lack of oxygen, his grip around your throat loosens and you start coughing. There’s sharp pain as the nails in your shoulders retract, and Fives collapses on you, unconscious and human again.

You wrap your shaky arms around him, “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

“What the fuck?”

Suddenly you’re reminded that you’re not alone, and you blink, hazily, up at Echo. A stricken, horrified, looking Echo. “It’s fine.” You say, “Everything’s fine.” 

It’s a lie. A horrible, awful lie. 

But you have to believe it.

You have to.

Fives wakes up slowly.

His head hurts, his entire body hurts.

It takes a moment for him to remember that someone was threatening his moonbeam and his eyes snap open.

He’s about to sit up when a gentle hand cards through his hair, “Easy there, Fives.”

He blinks at her, twice, and then looks around. They’re on the ship?

“I thought…what happened to Jedha?”

“We’re still on Jedha, just back on the ship.” She says smoothly, though her voice sounds rough. She’s wearing one of her sweaters, though the shoulders look bulkier than normal.

He sits up, slowly wincing in pain. “What happened?”

She opens her mouth to say something and then hesitates. “Nothing important.” She finally says, and Fives knows that she’s lying to him.

Memories flash in front of his eyes, faster than he can keep track of.

But he sees her, tears streaming down her face, his hand around her throat. His name, calm and collected, falling from her lips. 

He reaches out with a shaking hand to lightly grab the collar of her sweater, and he tugs it down.

There, stark on her pale blue skin, wrapped around her throat is a hand-shaped bruise.

His hand.

“What did I do?”

“It was an accident.” She says lightly taking his hand in hers and allowing the material of her sweater to hide the injuries from him, “It was an accident and it wasn’t your fault.”

“I tried to kill you.”

“It was an accident,” She repeats.

“What else did I do?” He demands, “Tell me.”

“I have a few…minor stab wounds.” She says with a sigh.

“Minor? Or all the way through.”

“It’s not you’re fault.” She repeats, “Not any more than any other time. You can’t help what you are.”

“A monster?”

She moves so she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands moving to cup his face, “Fives, I’ve never thought that.”

“You should.”

She sighs and gently strokes his cheeks, “With help from my new friends, we managed to get into the archives, and I found a lead.”

He stares at her, “A lead?” Fives repeats, feeling as numb now as he did the day he woke up on Kamino.

“I think you’re a Wraith. Or a Wraith adjacent.” She explains, “We have to go to Zakuul to learn more.”

“Zakuul.” He feels like Echo, repeating everything that she’s saying. “You should leave me here. Where you’ll be safe.”

“No.” Her answer is immediate, “No. Fives, I’m not afraid of you.” She smiles at him and brushes a curl from his forehead, “You make me feel safe.”

“You really shouldn’t.”

She sighs and leans in to press her forehead against his, “If it helps, someone else will be traveling with us from now on.”

His gaze snaps to hers, and he feels the stirring of jealous possession burning in his gut.

“Don’t be like that,” She chides lightly, “You’ll like this one.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’m hurt, vod.” Fives jolts at the familiar voice and turns his gaze towards the doorway, where Echo is leaning against the frame. He has a small smile on his lips, though there’s something sad in his gaze.

“Echo?”

“Rex told me you died.”

“I saw you die.” Fives counters.

“Yeah well, looks like we both got better.” Echo jokes lightly, “I’m going to be hanging out with you two for a bit.”

“That’s…” Fives pauses, “Because I tried to kill her.”

“It was an accident.” She repeats, and Fives is sure that she’s going to say that a lot in the coming days.

“Because you’re my twin and something is wrong.” Echo walks over and lightly rubs Fives’ head, “Come on, did you think I wouldn’t help my little brother?”

“We were decanted at the same time.”

“And yet, Rex says I’m older.” Echo grins, “Now, baby brother,” He ignores Fives’ glare as if it’s not even there, “You need to rest.”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“Fives,” His moonbeam says his name in a sigh, and Fives frowns at her.

“I’m fine! You’re hurt.”

“You both need rest,” Echo announces, “I am going to do some research on where this Zakuul place is, and then we’re going to comm Rex for a bigger ship—”

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“It’s too small for three people. Hell, it’s too small for two people, and I refuse to share with the pair of you.” Echo says bluntly, “Anyway. You two rest, and I’ll handle everything for a bit.”

And then Echo is gone, allowing the door to snap shut behind him.

The bedroom is silent for a moment, and then Fives jolts when his moonbeam crawls over him and squishes herself between the bulkhead and himself, “There, now we can rest.”

“...you really don’t hate me?”

She releases an explosive sigh and pulls him down so she’s able to wrap herself around him, her head tucking under his chin, “How could I hate you? You’re Fives.”

And somehow, without her saying it, Fives hears exactly what she means.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

How could he not? He feels the same way.

@bad4amficideas

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[fandom-alley]

Strangers On Vacation | Part 2

Summary: Spencer convinces reader to go to the pool with him, where she meets his co-workers who try and convince her to spend the rest of the cruise in Spencer's room. (This is a really bad summary of this chapter sorry lol) Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem Reader Content: Fluff, angst (ish) eventual smut. Warnings: negative body thoughts, mentions of alcohol, low self esteem but shes working on it (pls let me know what i missed, i wrote most of this like 3 months ago and only skimmed for spelling mistakes lol) Word Count: 4k Part One also on AO3 masterlist

I awoke the next morning to the delightful aroma of freshly brewed coffee. For a second my brain imagined that John had brought me breakfast in bed, before I opened my eyes and remembered the events from yesterday. I was in some strangers room, still in my bikini, with the dress bunched up around my hips from a night of restless sleep. 

I pulled the dress down and was smoothing my hair as the stranger walked back into the room from an adjoining door which I assumed to be the bathroom. I did remember that we were on the top floor, most definitely in an expensive room. It was three times the size of the room I had gotten for John and I. With 2 full size king beds and what looked to be a separate living space through an open door on the far wall. Plus a spacious balcony outside to my left. 

“Good morning,” the stranger said when he noticed I was awake and sitting up. “I have coffee ready in the next room, as well as some breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausages, pancakes and fruit. I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

At the mention of food my stomach decided to remind me that I hadn’t ate since breakfast the day before. And now that he mentioned it, I could smell the bacon wafting into the room as well.

“Oh, um, thank you,” I didn’t know what else to say.

“The bathroom is right in there. I’ll be in the other room whenever you want to come eat.” He gestured to the doors as he spoke and moved towards that open doorway where I had suspected the other living space would be. He stopped in the doorway and turned his head to look at me and said, “My name is Spencer, by the way.” 

“Y/n.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.” He replied and then softly closed the door.

I took a moment to take in more of my surroundings. Spencer had a pretty spacious room just for himself. No other belongings seemed to be in the room besides his. Half the closets and drawers remained empty, and only one side of his bed looked to be slept in. Why did he need such a big space all to himself? Who was he to afford all of this?

The bathroom was no different. Spencer was very neat and organized. His toiletries lined up perfectly on the left side of the counter, and inside the shower his supplies sat neatly along the built in shelf. I dug out my own bathroom bag and vigorously brushed my teeth, washed my face and tied back my ratty hair. I wasn’t about to strip and take a shower in this mans bathroom. I thought about changing out of my bikini but I did want to experience at least one of the pools on board the ship before I got off at todays dock, so I left it on.

True to his word, Spencer was sat on the couch in the next room, flipping through the pages of a book at an inhuman pace. My nose dragged me over to a small kitchenette where a catering cart was placed with more breakfast food than two people could eat. I grabbed a mug of coffee and a plate that I loaded with strips of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and a fluffy pancake. 

When I was halfway through eating I could feel eyes on me and looked up to see Spencer gazing my way with a small smile on his face. I realized I was eating like a starved animal and slowed down. But then my thoughts again went to yesterday. Would Spencer also think I was disgusting for eating this much food? With only a few bites left on my plate I lost my appetite and pushed it away. 

Why was I thinking these thoughts? I didn’t even know Spencer, and I would be leaving him soon anyways. Plus these thoughts had never crossed my mind until John’s accusations last night. He had just successfully gotten into my head. I didn’t want him to ruin the only day I would be having on this ship, so once again I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind and went to clean up my dishes. 

“So, thank you for the place to sleep last night. I’ll be getting off the ship today so I’ll just take my stuff with me to the pool in the meantime and get out of your way.”

“Are you sure? You kind of sounded last night as if you had some more plans,” Spencer said.

“Well, I did. But they’ve been cancelled and I’ll be getting off early,” I replied, trying to avoid specific details.

“What about your other friends?” Spencer pressed on. “They won’t miss you, or think you’ve gone missing since you didn’t show up last night?”

It was hard to avoid his pointed stare. I didn’t want to go into details about my messy breakup that happened less than 12 hours ago, but Spencer’s stare was so soft and concerning. He looked genuinely worried for my made up cruise ship friends thinking that I might have fallen overboard or something.

Spencer hadn’t done anything to make me not trust him so far. Besides not knowing anything about him, at least. But he gave off vibes of an old soul. Someone you could trust, who would have your back no matter what. Deciding that I owed him a little bit of truth as well after all he’d done for me, a stranger, I sat down across from him in the living space and told him most of the truth.

“There are no friends,” I said, to which he scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion. “I made up that story last night because you were a stranger inviting me to your room when I was in a vulnerable position and I was scared you would murder me or something.”

Spencer was speechless, staring at me with his mouth agape and blinking as he processed my words.

“The truth is,” I continued, “I was supposed to be on this cruise with my boyfriend. But I broke up with him last night and I was hoping to switch rooms because obviously I didn’t want to spend the next week stuck in a windowless room with him. Which, off topic, but how on earth do you have this whole suite to yourself? It must have been so expensive.”

I waited patiently as Spencer gathered his thoughts for a reply.

“I’m sorry to hear that” he started off saying. “I was trying my best not to come off as a creep. My friend and I overheard you at the front desk, and she made me come ask you to stay with me because of the extra bed.”

“Why isn’t your friend staying with you?”

“She has her own room, with her husband. We’re here on a mandatory work vacation.” That made me laugh, and Spencer cracked a smile as well. “Ok, I can admit saying that out loud sounds like a rouse, but I promise you I’m here with work.”

“Oh, so your work company is one of those people who booked up a big chunk of rooms then, aren’t they?” I smirked.

“I guess so, yes.”

“So, if your coworker friend was allowed to bring her husband, how come you didn’t bring your partner?” I tried to make it sound like I wasn’t prying on his personal life, but let’s be real. I was.

“I’m single, that’s why.”

I nodded my head in reply, looking everywhere around the room except for at him.

“Where do you work where they can afford to put everyone in the most expensive rooms on the ship?”

“The F.B.I.” he said matter of factly.

“Shut up. You don’t work for the F.B.I.” I denied. Spencer just nodded and pointed to a badge on the coffee table that I somehow did not notice earlier. Sure enough, there was his smiling face, Dr. Spencer Reid of the behavioural analysis unit. 

“Taking vacation is mandatory, but none of us ever really book it off so the department booked a week long trip for all of us,” he explained.

“Oh, so the bad guys just take a break as well when you’re gone?” I joked.

Spencer gave a light laugh, “We have other departments filling in for us while we’re gone.”

We sat together in silence, Spencer thumbing the pages of his book, neither of us knowing where to take this conversation to next. 

“Well,” I eventually said, “Spencer, thank you so much for your hospitality. I’m pleased to know that you’re not a creepy axe murderer. I should get going though. I want to take advantage of one of the pools before I disembark and hopefully not run into my ex.” 

I stood from my seat across from him and went to make my way into the bedroom to gather my things. 

“Oh, right.” Spencer trailed behind me. “You know, I have access to the vip area’s. There’s a lounge and a pool, and most likely no chances of running into you ex. Then you can leave your stuff here instead of dragging it around. Someone might steal your bag if you left it unattended at the pool. Or they might think it was a bomb.”

Spencer chewed on his bottom lip as I pondered his suggestion. I wanted to turn down his offer, he was being too nice to me after we’d only just met. But the thought of running into John at the pool in my bikini, the very one that started our argument that led to the breakup, was enough to make me accept.

“That would actually be very nice, Spencer. Thank you.”

“Of course. Let me just get changed and we can go. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, if you want,” Spencer offered. I watched as he grabbed some clothes from the closet and locked himself into the bathroom. Not wanting to stand around in the bedroom like a lost puppy, I followed his suggestion and went to the kitchen to look through the cabinets. They were empty apart from a few boxes of granola bars, and the mini fridge was stocked full of water bottles so I snagged one of them to put into my pool bag.

Soon after, Spencer emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of dark purple swim shorts and a black t-shirt. It was distracting to see his arms and legs for the first time. He was hiding some seriously toned arms underneath that long sleeve shirt of his. And his legs seemed to go on forever, he was so tall. In his arms he held two pool towels that the ship provided to guests, and he handed one to me that I put into my pool bag.

Spencer grabbed his own bag, a brown satchel, and made sure he packed his book and grabbed his room key from the coffee table. It was a bright and shiny gold colour, indicating its vip status. My previous room key had just been white with the cruise ships name written in a dark blue cursive font.

“We might run into a few of my co-workers, if that’s ok with you,” Spencer informed me as we made our way outside his room. He made sure the door was closed behind us then we were on our way. I had no idea where we were going so I trailed half a step behind Spencer, which wasn’t hard since he walked fast with those long legs. 

“Oh, not a problem at all. There’s nothing I want more than to be surrounded by F.B.I. Just so you know, I’m well over 21, so don’t arrest me if I order a drink,” I joked.

Spencer laughed along with me. “There won’t be any arresting, I can promise you that. It’s nearing noon, I’m sure most of them are on their second drink by now.”

I felt bad at the mention of Spencer’s friends having fun without him, but I refrained from commenting. Something about Spencer told me he liked the quite more times than not.

It didn’t take us long to make our way towards the vip areas. I would have never known this spot on the ship even existed if not for Spencer. He scanned his gold card to open up the door, and then we were in. Right into the spacious lounge, with a shiny bar on the left, lots of comfortable seating and a grand piano in the centre of the room. No one was sitting at it right now, but there was some soft music playing over the speakers. We walked through onto the deck, and I was stunned by the view.

We were at the very top of the ship. All I could see around us was the open blue waters. I knew we would be docking later this evening, but wherever that piece of land was, it was not visible to us yet. Looking over the side of the railing, I could see the pool on the main deck. This was the one John wanted to go to last night. I didn’t spend that much time spying on the people from up here, just in case I caught sight of him. Although from this high up, it was hard to make out details. 

As Spencer and I made our way around the deck looking for open chairs, someone called out his name. With a glance to me and a nod in the persons direction, I followed behind him as we made our way over. The call came from a gorgeous blonde, looking effortlessly like a model as she relaxed on her lounge chair. She pushed up onto her forearms as we reached her, a wide smile on her face as she looked between us.

“Spence! Is this the girl?” She asked. The girl? 

“JJ, this is Y/n. Y/n, this is JJ. My friend I was with last night who convinced me to ask you to take my extra bed.” Oh, it clicked into place now. This was one of his co-workers. The one with the husband, who apparently wasn’t around right now.

“It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for pushing him to ask me. He found me later on and I relented, which I’m glad I did. Those beds in the vip suites are so comfortable.”

“Oh good! Spence here didn’t want to intrude, but he’s always the one with the extra bed when we’re at hotels, so it felt like a good option. Come one, take a seat! The other’s are just hanging around the bar.”

I followed JJ’s orders and sunk into the lounger beside her, and Spencer chose the one on the other side of me. He immediately pulled out the book he was reading early this morning and started reading at that inhuman pace again. After only a few minutes of basking in the sun I was getting too hot. The vip section was great because there were only a few people bobbing around in the pool, so I decided I would join them. 

“Ok, I need to get in the water,” I informed my two new somewhat friends as I sat up. I pulled my pool towel out of my bag to set on my chair, ready for easy access whenever I got out of the water. 

Thoughts of John’s comments about my body threatened to sneak back into my mind again and I locked them away. I was never one to feel self conscious about my body, and I did not want to start now. So, with a deep breath, I removed my bikini coverup dress and bunched it up to shove into my bag.

“Wow, Y/n. I love that bikini, it’s so cute! Where did you get it?” JJ immediately asked.

“Oh, thank you. I just stumbled upon it at the mall. I felt it gave off nautical vibes that would be fitting for a cruise,” I chuckled. 

“It looks so good on you. I’ve never been one to pull off lot’s of colour,” she gestured to her own black two piece that was stunning on her slender frame. “Wait until you meet Penelope. She’ll be down after lunch, she’s a colour fanatic. She’ll love you!”

“I can’t wait to meet her. Anyone coming in the water with me? Spencer?” I turned to look at him and found him already staring. Tinges of red stained his cheeks, probably from the exposure to the sun and heat. 

He cleared his throat before speaking. “Maybe in a few minutes. I just want to finish my book first.” He said, very intent on not looking anywhere but my eyes.

“Alright, well, you know where to find me.”

I tried to feel confident as I walked towards the water, but it was like I could feel eyes all over me. When I reached the edge of the pool I turned around, but couldn’t see anyone looking. Spencer was leaned over whispering with JJ, refusing to look my way. 

I stepped into the pool, not even caring that the water was a bit cold. I just wanted it to be up to my shoulders so that I could feel hidden. So much for those self conscious thoughts not overtaking me. Most people in the pool were just hanging around the edge chatting to their friends, so I swam to the far side where no one was around and started to swim laps, back and forth. 

It was meditative. The feeling of the water rushing over my body started to calm me down, and I ran over lists in my head about all the great things about myself. Like my ability to swim multiple laps of a pool without getting tired, for one. Or my skills in baking. My small client list was always supportive and excited when they picked up their weekly treats from me. There was also the fact that I was a strong woman. I had spent my entire twenties fighting to prove to my family that I could make it on my own. That I didn’t need to be some stay at home wife to a husband who expected me to bend over backwards for him. They truly didn’t leave me alone until I moved to Virginia and met John. Because they assumed I would drop everything and ‘let him take care of me’. 

Okay, now these calming pool thoughts were starting to become angry thoughts. I took a pause from swimming laps to lean against the pool wall. Thankfully my brain was interrupted from overthinking by Spencer finally swimming over to join me in the pool.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked me as he leaned against the wall beside me.

“They’re nothing interesting. Your friend JJ seems really nice.” I told him to change the subject. Both of our gazes drifted off to the side where she still lay on the pool chair. A man walked up beside her and handed her a drink before leaning down to give her a kiss.

“That’s her husband, Will.” Spencer informed me. Soon after Will had taken a seat beside his wife, a few other people joined. Spencer was in the middle of explaining to me that they were his other work friends when I noticed they were all staring at us.

“Spencer, why are they looking at us?” I interrupted him and turned around to avoid looking back towards the crowd of people. Spencer shifted his body to look back towards the edge of the pool and gave a sheepish laugh.

“Uh, probably because I’m in a pool with a beautiful girl they’ve never met before,” he said. My heart skipped a beat at the unexpected compliment. I was shocked to hear one like that after only knowing the guy for less than 24 hours. He looked just as shocked that it came out of his mouth if the red tint to his cheeks was anything to go by.

I chose to ignore how awkward we both felt by his statement and attempted to move the conversation forward.

“What, they’ve never seen you in a pool before?” I joked.

“Actually no, they haven’t.”

“You’re kidding.” I said, but he shook his head. 

“I’m known to be a bit of a germaphobe. Pools hold a lot of bacteria and things that I don’t even want to think about,” he shivered. 

“Gross, but I’m honoured you joined me in here. It was getting kind of lonely. But what do you say we get out and you introduce me to your friends?”

Spencer nodded his head eagerly, clearly happy to have an excuse to get out of the water. Lazily, we swam back towards the pool stairs. I climbed out after Spencer, and was met with eyes of multiple people on me as we walked back to the chair to get our towels. It was a little unnerving, but the small smile Spencer gave me as he handed me my towel distracted me from how nervous I was feeling in a bikini around these strangers.

He was so distracting. The tips of his curly hair were dripping with water onto his face and shoulders. I watched as a particular drop rolled down his collarbone, gliding its way down his chest and over a nipple. Why did I want to follow that trail of water with my tongue?  

A not so subtle cough broke me out of my trance. After I wrapped my towel around my body I looked at the new people standing around our chairs. Most of whom had just witnessed me staring right at Spencer’s nipples. They introduced themselves to me. 

Emily, Luke, Penelope, David, Tara, and Matt and his wife Kristy. Will introduced himself as well.

Spencer was about to explain who I was, but I beat him to it.

“Hey, I’m Y/n. Spencer rescued me last night when I had no where to sleep. I’m leaving when we reach the port today, but he invited me to the pool first so I could at least experience some of what the cruise had to offer.”

There was a jumble of nice to meet you’s and how are you’s as everyone spoke at once. But then someone talked over everyone else.

“Why do you have to leave? Just enjoy the rest of the cruise with us!” It was Penelope, pushing her way in front of everyone to come over and give me a hug. 

“Oh, thank you for the offer.” I spoke into her hair as she clung to me. “But I shouldn’t. I don’t want to impose on Spencer for that long. It was so generous to lend me a spot to sleep last night, but this is his vacation. All of your vacations. I don’t want to intrude.”

“I don’t think he would mind. Would you, wonder boy?” Penelope laughed, finally letting me go with a look to Spencer’s direction.

“Plus,” Emily stepped forward. “It would be nice to hang around someone from the outside. Someone we don’t see every day.”

“What, are you sick of us already?” David joked.

“You know what I mean.” Emily said.

“Wouldn’t everyone love to have Y/n around for the rest of the week?” Asked Penelope. 

There was a resounding yes. I couldn’t believe these people I met just minutes prior were trusting enough to want to spend 6 more days together. I looked to Spencer, expecting him to say no thank you, please leave. But he was giving puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he said, and I couldn’t say no to that face.

“Well, I guess so.”

His friends cheered, resulting in a nearby group of people to look over at the commotion. 

“Come on, let’s go celebrate with a drink!” David said, and put an arm around my shoulder to steer me towards the bar.

“I definitely won’t say no to that.”

[startheoverseer]

Info dumping about Glitchdad Dresden because I'm procrastinating from doing other stuff~

A friend and I got the idea while talking about how Overseers are more powerful in their home dimensions/the dimensions their Overseer powers are connected to. I thought it would be neat if they also looked the part, presenting to average onlookers as nearly godlike.

Ulitus for example might have had claws and horns, dark clouds and harsh winds following him wherever he went. His eyes had a menacing glow to them and his voice took on an inhuman snarl. Magic tends to weaken or cease altogether in his presence.

Tayrun would always have a light breeze following him, and a faint pleasant glow surrounds him like a halo. Maybe his ears got a bit pointier or he grew purple scales in odd places. He'd be beastlike, just like Ulitus, but far more gentle in appearance.

But naturally I had the most fun coming up with ideas for my boy Dresden. Constantly glitching and twitching like a poorly rendered model or a malfunctioning program, lights flicker as he walks past them, when he approaches settlements everyone scatters, knowing the Warden is coming because all of their radios have begun to distort and fill with static...

Somewhere down the line we decided he'd be different from canon Dresden and would straight up just take care of Kate directly and teach her how to survive himself instead of leaving her with Bestar. I think it was because of a joke my friend made about him explaining to her not to make faces at people or she'd end up looking like him. For emphasis, she sent me an image of a horribly glitched out character model for a video game XD

Anyway I need to go procrastinate in a different way now, good day/night

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Fic Idea: Geralt being very self conscious about literally all of the inhuman traits he has (he probably has even more than most Witchers because of the extra trials) and trying to hide them entirely or just make them less obvious when Jaskier starts traveling with him, probably angsting whenever Jaskier notices, and some nice h/c from Jaskier ( + feral bard ready to stab all the humans who made Geralt feel like that and/or horny bard with a broken brain bc “oh no hes getting hotter”)

so I did this from Geralt’s pov bc honestly I was just feeling the angst today? Its the first day of classes and a bitch was overwhelmed so here. we. go.

also I couldn't get that face out of my head from the betrothal episode where he’s watching the chaos before the fight breaks out and he looks like a confused puppy?! y’all know the one? god its so cute.

Waringins: none

__________

Geralt had always managed to stay far away from the average human. They always cringed and drew back at his slightly off appearance, until Jaskier started following him. 

It started with his teeth. On the rare occasion he gave in and smiled at the bard’s jokes he noticed Jaskier staring at his teeth. They weren't fangs per se, but he had pronounced canines before the trials, now they were rather obvious. 

Jaskier made to say something, paused, then changed the subject. Geralt ran his tongue over his teeth and feigned attention for the next few minutes of the bard's story. He spent the night trying to decide if Jaskier was scared or disgusted by him.

When Jaskier insisted on brushing twigs out of Geralt’s hair after a contract rather early on Geralt felt a panic he wasn't sure what to do with. He’d already accepted that he needed the bard, though whether for personal or professional reasons he hadn’t made up his mind, and he didn't want him running when he realized Geralt was more wolf than expected. His hair was coarse and unruly, another side effect of the trials, but Jaskier hummed in content as he ran his fingers through it. 

“It’s softer than it looks.” he murmured.

Geralt only grunted, surprised but still not entirely at ease. 

Months down the line they were having to haggle over the fee an alderman owed and Geralt growled. Not a human growl, no. He was tired and covered in blood and, frankly, really fucking angry and he’d let an animalistic growl leap out of his chest. He could smell the fear in the air and made sure to avoid Jaskier’s eyes. He couldn’t bear to see the disgust reflected at him. They got 100 orins above asking price though. 

When they reunited after the winter Geralt was far more careful. Less smiling, kept his hair neat so Jaskier wasn’t inclined to fix it, even made sure to rest better so he didn’t slip up again. 

Of course his plans went to shit after a week. He’d taken quite the beating from a bruxa before killing it and Jaskier had insisted he lay down while the bard skinned and cooked their dinner. 

While it roasted Jaskier laid down next to Geralt, brushing the hair out of a cut to begin with, but when Geralt leaned into the gentle touch he ran his hands through his hair. Half asleep, Geralt thought maybe this was a bad idea, he'd managed to keep up his civilized human act for a few days now, but it just felt so nice. Jaskier continued his gentle strokes for a few minutes, nudging Geralt closer to sleep despite the hunger eating at his stomach. When the bard finally pulled away to check their dinner Geralt gave a high pitched whine, not unlike a puppy.

Jaskier froze, "Did you…"

Geralt cleared his throat, gingerly sitting up to lean against a log and grumbling, "No." 

"Yes, you… Geralt that was cute." Jaskier was squatting next to him, fussing with his bandaged arm to busy his hands.

Geralt was too tired to control his facial expressions, completely baffled by his words he turned to him, "I'm an animal and you think it's cute?" 

Jaskier sighed, abandoning the bandages and resting his elbows on his knees, giving Geralt an exasperated look, "You are not an animal. I, for one, am quite drawn to your differences."

"You mean the fangs and fur for hair?" Geralt didn't believe him for a second and he made it clear with his tone. 

"Your teeth don't scare me in the slightest." He heaved a sigh as he stood to take the rabbit off the fire, "In fact I think they suit you well." 

"Suit me?" 

"Yes. Adds to the total attractiveness you have going on." Jaskier handed a rabbit leg to Geralt as if their conversation was completely normal, as if Geralt's heart wasn't about to beat out of his chest. 

He realized he was staring, probably oogling up at the bard but he was too lost to care, "And the growling like a dog…?" 

"Mm!-" Jaskier spoke around a mouthful, waving his free hand as if conducting an orchestra, "-That was rather hot." 

"What!?" The panic in Geralt's chest was slowly disapating until Jaskier's words transformed it into something else entirely.

"Oh please! Don't act so surprised," Jaskier was snickering now, looking down at Geralt with an amused bewilderment, "You've fallen into many a bed since we first met, how do you not know?" 

Geralt picked at the hare, more self conscious than ever, "I just… most of them think it will be a story for the tavern, the, uh, 'thrill of the other'. A challenge."

"Yeah. Idiot. I too would be telling everyone about bedding the hot witcher who saved the townsfolk." Jaskier rolled his eyes as he sat on the ground next to Geralt, "Not to be untoward-"

"You always are." Geralt teased.

"-It's more fun- what I'm trying to say is, I find all of you appealing. Your little wolfy bits and habits and the quintessential humanness of you as well. You are not an animal, Geralt, and you don't deserve the way scared little weasels treat you." 

Geralt was silent for a moment, chewing at some gristle stuck in his teeth as an excuse to think. 

Jaskier lowered his voice, a hint of nerves on his tongue, "I know you're realigning how you view yourself up in there but I did just do a little confessing and it would be nice if you said something. Anything." 

Geralt tilted his head, looking at the bard from under a furrowed brow, "You're attracted… to me?" 

Jaskier nodded, now the one to look away, "When you say it so plainly…" 

"Hmm." The panic from before was entirely replaced by a terrifying warmth spreading through Geralt's chest. This idiot of a human who had seen him at his worst wanted him for him. In 80 years the closest he'd come to this kind of feeling was the bond with his horses. 

He couldn't put words to it, not in a million years, so instead he shuffled closer to the bard and rested his head on his shoulder. Jaskier placed a hand on his knee and he let out a deep rumbly sigh of content. 

They finished their meal in silence, more than enough words passed between them for the night. 

[funtimebunnyblog]

Pillarroomates (Chapter 2: Strange introductions...)

(Summary: It's time to meet your new Roommates and things are already off to a shaky start...)

"--and you mentioned you're a student aside from your work?"

Smiling, you nodded as the violet-haired man before you scribbled away on the neat lined paper laid out in front of him.

"Yeah. It's mostly online stuff but I do occasionally go for in person lectures when I get the time." You began, making Kars hum quietly to himself as you went into more detail.

This was honestly starting to feel like more of a job interview (or perhaps more of a Police interogation) rather than a simple interaction concerning becoming a roommate with hopes of living here.

Even though you had only spoken with him for a short time now, you could tell this "Kars" (or so he had introduced himself as) was all business.

The giant of a man was asking you all sorts of questions, jumping back and forth between ones boarderline ubsurd and ones you had expected.

He asked a little about your history and about your Family (most specifically your surname and any distant relations you might have). He questioned you on your work and what you did, your wages and your work ethic. He wanted to know every single one of your habits (annoying or not) and how you spent your free time; jotting things down as he went.

Every single time his eyes fell on you, you couldn't help but feel exposed under his gaze; like you were sitting completely naked before him on an operating table, cut open, and he was taking you apart piece by piece and examining every inch with a scrutinizing eye.

Speaking of eyes, you definitely didn't miss how inhuman his were. Maroon on crimson, like thick droplets of blood splattered onto the white of a fine ivory knife and cutting you just as deeply as one.

It was like nothing you had ever seen or felt before.

You told him the truth and nothing but during the entirety of the seemingly endless line of questioning but it still felt like it was all a spew of dirty little lies falling from your lips. It only made an icky swirl of anxiety churn consistently in your stomach, like the spinning of a washing machine, as you sat there talking away.

There was no telling how you would feel if you did tell a lie or if he happened to indeed smell one lingering on your breath; which you were also struggling to keep in check.

"Interesting..." he muttered quietly, more to himself than to you. The scratching of his pen on paper filled the long silence at the round little wooden table.

Your eyes fell to his handwriting a number of times in hopes of catching a glimpse of something that would indicate whether you were "passing" this little test or not but it was inevitable.

You were beginning to wonder where exactly this man was from as the entirety of his notes were in a language you couldn't identify at all.

Even if it was written in proper English, you doubted you'd be able to read it at all either. His handwriting was something akin to what you'd find on an ancient scroll being presented late at night on the History Channel; small and scratchy letters scrawled across white in quick flicks of the wrist.

As if things couldn't feel anymore stressful, you could also feel the eyes of two others burning into you.

The one whom you had an encounter at the door with, Kars informed you that his name was "Esidisi" after the man had retreated down the hall again, was now standing in the far corner of the little kitchen.

There he loitered, a piece of pizza cradled in each hand (was that.... macaroni on top???) and munching away as if he hadn't seen so much as a morsel of food in months.

Much to everyones relief, the man had put some clothes on by the time he ran to answer the door for the 2nd time that day; his long awaited pizza finally having arrived.

At the very least he had saved the poor delivery boy from becoming as startled as you had.

You didn't even want to think of how different things would've gone if his towel had somehow slipped...

The burning intensity of Kars' glare (despite the fact it wasn't even aimed remotely in your direction) made you squirm in your seat as Esidisi came onto the interview scene with the pizza box in hand, a sunny smile stretched across on his face and the words "HOT DAD ALERT" emblazoned in bold white letters on his t-shirt.

Esidisi wasn't even so much as fazed by the look like you were. The man only smiling all the brighter, cheeks stuffed uncannily like a chipmunk storing food, each time he met Kars' sharp gaze.

Then there was the other one, the blonde with the mullet-like haircut and the stained apron. While he was doing his best to busy himself by cleaning around the stove, you managed to overhear Esidisi addressing him as "Wamuu" when offering a slice of the boxed Italian monstrosity he was savoring; which the other kindly declined.

Even through your talking, you didn't miss the fact that Wamuu had wiped down the kitchen surfaces at least 3 times during your little chat with Kars; he hadn't even moved an inch from his spot. You had managed to catch his gaze once or twice as he was sneaking a few little glances over his shoulder.

Much like Esidisi was doing (but with a lot more inconspicuous action) Wamuu was eavesdroping on the interview.

However, you also couldn't help but feel that he was was also standing guard. The man was keeping a close eye on the scene, reminding you of a bulldog protecting its Home from intruders while its master was away.

"And, uh... that's about it, I guess." You finished, a tight smile flashing across your face as you shrugged helplessly.

Kars pursed his lips, eyes skimming over his papers. For a long moment, perhaps the longest moment you'd ever had to endure, he was silent.

"Acceptable." He hummed, not exactly much emotion carried in that word, papers rattling as they were shuffled in his hands. "Perhaps the most acceptable I've seen in some time. You definitely fit our criteria."

You could only blink, unsure if you should even thank him for saying something like that.

"Uhh, I take it you've had your fair share of annoying roommates?" You asked, laughing a little, only making the man across from you hum again.

"Oh, you bet we have," Esidisi cut Kars off just as he opened his mouth to speak, wiping his hands with a paper towel as he waved the other off. "You wouldn't believe it! The last one we had was a real idiot. Lazy too, couldn't hold a job to save his life, he left the kitchen a mess every time he walked though it."

Hearing that, you could at least nod understandingly.

You definitely sympathized with them on that one, you had met your fair share of people when jumping from place to place who outright refused to pull their weight.

One of the main reasons you had been looking for a place to start with was because of one of those same types of people, afterall.

You had been happy living in an apartment closer to the edge of town for some time. Your earlier roommates had been nice, kind of fun too, and you had hopes things would stay that way at least until you finished school.

Everything had been just fine until the first one chose to move cities, then things only went downhill from there. Along came your other roommates boyfriend (better known as; the laziest, most childish piece of shit you ever had the displeasure of knowing) and after almost a year of just barely tolerating that shitshow you had decided enough was enough.

It was overdue for you to find another place to live.

Esidisi laughed as he went on, leaning on Kars' chair. "He really had it coming to him when we--"

THUNK! The table rattled, making you jump in your own chair. Esidisi's lips came tight together, a long breath sucked hard enough through his nose that the little gold ring dangling precariously on the ridge of his nostril shivered.

Kars acted as if you didn't know that he had just kicked the other under the table, clearing his throat.

"When that one was evicted," here Kars shot Esidisi another one of those looks, which the other actually paid attention to this time around. "It was unanimous that was the final straw, so we agreed to put some proper ground rules out there before allowing anyone else to even think about inquiring to live here."

Your head tilted, unable to hold back a chuckle as you pulled out the print out of their half-garbled "guidelines" you had kept for them to see.

"I'll be honest, at first I was sure this wasn't a real ad..."

Here, both Esidisi and Kars shared a pointed look, you had a feeling there was something more to the story there.

Kars' eyes fell on you again after a beat, thankfully his expression much more neutral.

"I'll ask you," he began. "Do you want to live here?"

"Well..." you honestly couldn't help but laugh a little. Even if things seemed a little worse here you probably wouldn't find yourself refusing, you NEEDED a place and you needed to jump on this before the opportunity was gone again. "Yeah."

"As you said, dear Kars, they fit all the criteria." Esidisi's voice dropped into a teasing little purr, you suddenly felt that heat you felt at the front door blooming in your face once again when the man tossed a wink and a smile your way. "They're cute too, just what I asked for at the very least."

Cute? You nearly sputtered out the word, lips tightening together as you had no choice but look away from the man and his cheeky little grin.

You sat there struggling to force down the memory of him in only his bathtowel again, face feeling hot enough to rival the sun.

Kars let in a deep breath, ignoring the way the other was shaking him in his chair, the sight of an actual smile working his way across his face brought you a little closer to reality again.

"In that case," here he stood, holding his hand out for you to shake. "Welcome to our Home."

A smile of your own spread across your face as you grasped his hand, cold and calloused and FAR bigger than your own, suddenly feeling as if a great weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

"I'm glad to be welcomed." You sighed, beaming up at Kars. Now he didn't seem so very intimidating (well, at least a little) when he was looking a tad more relaxed around you. "I don't have much stuff so getting it from the shelter to here won't be a stretch. I'll probably have it all moved by tomorrow."

Here, you were treated with the sight of not only Kars and Esidisi but Wamuu as well, still lingering by the stove, staring at you in surprise.

Here, Wamuu spoke up for the first time during this entire interview, "You... were living at a shelter?"

All you could do was shrug, feeling s little helpless. "Well, yes... I was." You sighed again as that heaviness on your back suddenly returned at their staring, a hand going up to rub the back of your neck. "Not the best place to stay, I know, but I've been looking around for a place for a quite a while."

It was better than sleeping on the street that was for sure. At least there you could shower and rest and get ready for work; really the only fears you had staying there was someone stealing something important of yours.

Not to mention, it was much more preferable than having to go back to--

The top of your head tickled as a warm and quick puff of air suddenly reached out and touched you, like a hand lovingly caressing your hair. Though the feeling was miniscule it made you suddenly stand on edge.

A beat passed before the very same thing happened again, just as fleeting as the first time. A strange itch crawled up your spine as the unmistakable heat radiating off another body sank slowly through your back, though its source not touching you directly.

Someone was behind you.

Slowly, though with much hesitantance, your head turned. You eyes were wide open as your neck rotated, the action best described as owlish, blinking at the words "seether" emblazoned across a barreled chest, only urging your eyes to seek more upwards.

Your eyes locked onto icy cold rings of blue, an unconcious shiver dancing through your body as the chill of them seeped deep within your body.

There, now right before you, was another man. It was best to assume this was your last supposed roomate as he was just as big and as muscular as the rest.

However, you couldn't shake the feeling that this one was strangely... different than the others.

A hot puff of air brushed the space between your eyes as the stranger breathed out quietly, the action only making you blink hard. He said nothing, he made no indication at all to say anything, he only... stared.

"Umm..." your mouth opened but the jumble of words sitting like a lump in your throat couldn't find your mouth.

"Y/N, this is... Santana." Kars piped up from behind, sounding more than tempted to sigh again today. "He is the 4th and last of us here."

Call it intuition but from what you could tell already, this Santana wasn't the chummiest one of the bunch. Tall and still, skin as fair as snow, almost every square inch of him was chiseled and, well, square.

That stoney expression of his didn't exactly give you an insight as to what was going on in the others head either.

Something told you you'd have to make the first move or else all this staring would get you nowhere.

A hesitant smile squirmed its way across your face, every effort you had inside to be polite straining to the point of almost breaking.

"Hi Santana," your voice nearly cracked. "It's-- nice to meet you...?"

Santana continued to stare at you as if he hadn't even heard you speak at all. A cold sweat prickled on the nape of your neck, you struggled to fight back a cough as the room fell into a dead silence again.

You were starting to wish you were back in the hallway where you had started...

"Santana," Esidisi spoke up next. "come on. Like we practiced..."

Santana exhaled again, the sound more like the huff of a disgruntled pasture bull.

A thick bubble of uncertainty ballooned in your throat as the red-heads arm extended, sticking out quite stiffly in your direction. A long moment passed, you blinking stupidly, before you realized what he was trying to do.

Your watery smile returned with much more force, reaching out to grasp his offered hand. Your fingers could just barely wrap around his ice cold palm.

Another beat. Nothing happened for another uncomfortable little eternity.

Across the room Kars cleared his throat, loudly. Another prompt.

That bubble of uncertainty in your throat dropped like a stone down into the pit of your stomach as his arm moved up and down, up and down, up and down. The movement was just as cold and robotic as his stare.

He didn't even wrap his fingers around your hand, keeping them as straight and pointed as dense meaty rulers.

You honestly half-expected to hear a feint squeaking come from his shoulder at the slight and stiff movement.

"Do not forget to smile..." It was Wamuu who whispered loudly to the other from across the room; as if that would keep you from hearing the plea.

Your own forced smile threatened to dissolve completely for good as you watched Santana's lips twitch, slowly peeling back to reveal two rows of white teeth.

Teeth of your own sank into the flesh your tongue as the glimmer of 4 very sharp K-9's hit your eye, making Santana's painfully cheered grimace all the more chilling.

Up and down, up and down, up and down.

"Nice... to... meet you..." Santana's voice was deep and gruff, the very tone of it shook your insides like an Earthquake.

Maybe it was just his voice, maybe he didn't mean to sound so very rough; the thought definitely crossed your mind. Though, you couldn't be quite sure about that by the way this interaction was going...

"Uhh, the--... the pleasures all mine..." Really, what else could you say?

The very second you let go, Santana's arm retreated back to his side, his face falling back into that stoney hard glare. And just like that, he pushed past you, marching quickly towards the fridge; a word was grumbled, too low for you to hear, but it was something about you.

It was more than clear to you and everyone else that he decided this horrible too-long-of-a-greeting was over.

The fridge door was yanked open, the movement harsh enough the bottles inside chattered. All of you watched as Santana made a grab for a container of lettuce, slamming the fridge shut and striding right out of the kitchen without so much as another grunt, let alone a glance, in your direction.

A breath you didn't even know you had been holding let go, a strange sense of relief washing over you like a warm tidal wave.

Talk about awkward. So awkward you almost wanted to shudder.

What the Hell was his problem?

You nearly jumped when a huge, warm hand clapped you on the shoulder, blinking up into the smiling face of Esidisi.

"He'll warm up to you," The man said, shrugging. "Santana doesn't care much for new people or, well, people in general I suppose. It's just the way he is..."

"We're trying to acquaint him with the concept of socializing and get him used to social norms of this time," Kars practically groaned, pinching the space between his eyes. "As you can see, it's still a work in progress..."

"It probably doesn't help that the last guy living here was the one to seriously piss him off in the end." Esidisi only shrugged again.

You, on the other hand, flinched hearing that. Like it or not, their last roomate had obviously left a lasting impression of newer people on him.

You wouldn't be surprised if Santana thought that you would be the very same thing judging by what you had been told about the last guy and the last thing you wanted was this near-to-stranger having some sort of hard feelings on you when you hadn't even so much as moved in yet.

"Would you like to see your room before you go?" You were most thankful that Kars spoke up again.

"Ah-- yeah." You said, blinking. "That'd be great."

"Wonderful, Wamuu will show you where it is." The kitchen chair creaked as Kars pushed himself in closer to the table, settling back into his comfortable working slouch as he pulled his laptop out again.

He still had work to get done afterall.

Your eyes drifted across the room, meeting the more stern gaze of the blonde, making you realize that Santana wasn't exactly the only one in the house you couldn't quite read just yet.

Nonetheless, the man made no move at all to argue with Kars for being volunteered like so.

Wamuu peeled off his stained apron with a huff, hanging it neatly on the wall.

"This way," a huge hand waved you along, Wamuu's back already to you as he was heading out of the kitchen.

You fumbled for a moment, head turning not-unlike a pet budgie, choosing to wave to Esidisi (Kars was already too focused on whatever he was working away at) before moving to catch up with Wamuu.

Something told you that he wouldn't exactly appreciate having to wait up for you.

This day was far from over yet but at least the hardest part of it was....

Wasn't it?

[caffeinatedseri]

The Significance of Sunsets

We’re introduced to the significance of twilight during the Cannibalism Arc via the Tripartite Tactic. 

The essence of the Tripartite Tactic supports 3 core themes of BSD: moral ambiguity, the cyclical nature of life, and the beauty of humanity. 

First, the Tripartite Tactic establishes the moral balance of the BSD universe through the government, PM, and ADA’s interactions with one another to ensure the balance of Yokohama.

Day and night are binary opposites, similar to how the government and mafia operate on opposite sides. That would imply that the government and mafia are always at war with one another, working to bring the other down, but the Tripartite Tactic suggests otherwise.

Both the government and mafia’s survival are necessary to secure the balance of the city, just like how day and night, good and evil have to coexist in a state of balance.

However, there is a middle ground that bridges these opposing concepts together: twilight — as represented with the agency. 

As the evening acts the neutral point from day to night, the agency acts as a morally neutral organization between the government and mafia. They don’t necessarily abide by the laws and rules of “justice,” but they still work to establish a semblance of “good” in this world. 

We’ve seen the government act in suspicious ways, we’ve seen the mafia act in good natured ways, and we’ve seen the agency do both of the sort. Even though the government and mafia are supposed to represent “good” and “evil”, the fact that they break these molds serves to once again prove the moral ambiguity within the BSD universe. 

Twilight also symbolizes another important idea — the cyclical nature of life. As the passing period between day and night, it represents the end of a day, which will always lead to the start of a new day.

This cyclical nature lends itself to a feeling of hope that drives the journey of redemption — the hope that the night will pass and a new day will begin encourages our characters to persevere and hope for something better. 

Cycles also show themselves through character interactions throughout the generations.

Mori abused Dazai → Dazai abused Akutagawa → Akutagawa abused Kyouka, In this case, the cycle of abuse is born (although it fortunately stops at Kyouka). 

In parallel, Oda helped Dazai → Dazai helped Atsushi → Atsushi helps Kyouka, For this, the cycle of redemption is born. 

As twilight is a time for sunsets, sunsets are an inevitable motif for these themes. The arrangement of colors in the sky, characteristic of a sunset, tends to evoke feelings of awe or admiration for the beauty of such sunset. The beauty of a sunset symbolizes an appreciation for the beauty of humanity, aligning with the theme of accepting human nature as is. (think Dazai)

Keeping in mind these 3 aspects: moral ambiguity, the cyclical nature of life, and the beauty of humanity, the significance of every scene with a sunset becomes more prominent. 

Sunsets in BSD always appear at important points of the narrative, with my favorite being:

This scene’s significance is primarily Dazai’s transition out of the mafia as represented through the light shining through the window — as if light is being shined on the darkness that had surrounded his life.

This scene happens to be one of my favorites because it touches upon all three themes that the twilight-esque light represents.

Moral ambiguity: Oda knows that Dazai doesn’t care about justice or evil, or defining aspects of morality, so Oda argues Dazai should work for justice. Oda doesn’t try to argue that justice is morally correct, but he simply says it is “better” in an extremely vague way. 

The idea of Dazai joining the side of justice with no strong moral conviction opens up the concept of moral ambiguity. Is it important for him to have a moral code if he wants to find the purpose of his life? Can he help others if he doesn’t believe it’s the “right” thing to do? Does it matter? 

Most importantly, does saving others whilst not believing in the standards of morality place you within the boundaries of justice or evil? Or are there no such defined boundaries? 

Cyclical nature: Oda pushes for Dazai to save people, instead of killing people, mirroring the actions of Natsume-sensei who helped Oda come to that same resolve. This starts the cycle of Dazai helping Atsushi, Atsushi helping Kyouka, and hopefully Atsushi getting to help Akutagawa as well. 

This scene also reflects the idea of the “end of the night”, or the start of a new day as Dazai abandons the PM, and starts anew in the Agency. 

Beauty of humanity: PM Dazai was arguably the most “inhumane” version of Dazai that we’ve seen, due to his heavily logic driven intellect and distrusting tendencies. 

However, in this interaction with Oda, we finally see his humanity shine through. Oda gives no reasonable, straight-forward explanation as to why Dazai should leave the mafia, but Dazai follows his advice regardless because of their trust. 

The ability to trust and love, an innate part of human nature, can be seen as foolish from the eyes of the logic-driven, but ultimately that’s what makes being human beautiful. 

I admit the last scene may have been a little vague with whether the setting was actually a sunset, but this one is more obvious!

This takes place after SSKK’s fight with Francis, and they regroup with Dazai, Fukuzawa, and Kyouka. 

Cyclical nature: As the finale of the Guild Arc, the sunset represents the end of a day and the start of another as they close this chapter of their lives. It also parallels Dazai’s “redemption” scene, as Kyouka finds her redemption in sacrificing herself for others and becoming part of the agency. 

Just as Oda was able to help Dazai in the previous scene, Dazai is the one who tells Kyouka exactly what she needed to hear in order for her to survive and find a home in the agency. 

Beauty of humanity: Being human means to be compassionate, and I’d argue that Kyouka was uncompassionate in the past, just because no one had shown her what compassion was like. However, Kyouka grows from that — with the help of Atsushi and Dazai showing her empathy and kindness, she’s able to reciprocate that feeling and be willing to give up her life for the sake of others.

Dazai also praises Akutagawa for a short moment in this scene, which is also an act of compassion from Dazai although Akutagawa deserves more than that.

This scene follows the party at the end of the Cannibalism Arc, as Dazai and Atsushi have a nice heart-to-heart.

Dazai’s toast here is technically an anime-only moment, but obviously all of the sunsets are anime-only. Regardless, I’ll be discussing his entire talk with Atsushi here, along with the toast. 

Moral ambiguity: Akutagawa’s promise to not kill anyone for 6 months mirrors that of Oda — a mafia member who doesn’t kill. By doing so, he directly challenges the morality involved with being a mafia member (what would be “bad”) and breaks away from the black and white labels of “good” and “evil.”

If we followed the code of justice, presumably the morally “right” way, then it would dictate that Akutagawa would need to be punished for the crimes he committed. However, Atsushi’s decision to form that promise with Akutagawa gives him an opportunity to grow and redeem himself, even if Akutagawa fits with the “evil” label. 

Akutagawa and Atsushi are obviously foils — they’re different in almost every way, which you could use to define Atsushi as the hero and Akutagawa as the villain, but it’s undeniable that they also share many similarities. As the line between “good” and “evil” blurs, moral ambiguity is developed. 

Cyclical nature: Once again, this scene closes out the Cannibalism Arc, with the sunset symbolizing both the end and beginning. 

Atsushi’s promise with Akutagawa parallels that of Oda’s dying wish to Dazai; they’re both founded on the basis of trust, and they push towards a brighter future for Akutagawa and Dazai respectively. Thus, the cycle of redemption repeats itself once more. 

Dazai’s “To the stray dogs” statement also parallels his toast with the Buraiha trio (Dazai, Ango, Oda). It could be just a callback to Oda, but it also expresses Dazai passing on the toast to Atsushi, from one stray dog to another. Nevertheless, this still represents a cycle of actions in which the previous generation affects the present. 

Beauty of humanity: Dazai toasting to Atsushi with the phrase “stray dogs” offers a sense of compassion and hope. Dazai and Atsushi have undoubtedly grown closer to one another throughout the entire series up to this point, so it makes perfect sense that Dazai shows that he cares by sharing a piece of his past with Atsushi.

Toasting directly to the stray dogs implies a celebration of sorts for these dogs, who are stray but ultimately not alone. The toast is indicative of a hope for a better future whilst also acknowledging how one can feel lost in life (and how that’s okay). 

Atsushi’s promise with Akutagawa also serves as an attempt to teach Akutagawa the beauty of humanity, since Atsushi believes that Akutagawa doesn’t see the value of life (which is preventing him from getting Dazai’s approval). I would argue that it should be the other way around, but Atsushi has good intentions here.

After Atsushi discovers the death of the Headmaster of his orphanage, Dazai gives some comforting advice.

Moral ambiguity: Atsushi struggles with his conflicted feelings towards the Headmaster’s death, which is perfectly understandable. 

The Headmaster can’t be defined as completely good or completely bad, because he did impact Atsushi’s life in a way that led him to where he is today (once again, no definitive black or white answer as to whether that’s good or not).

Atsushi struggles with the thought that he has to pick whether to feel glad or upset, in order to fit within the neat labels of black and white, happy and sad. In response, Dazai (the definition of a morally ambiguous man) simply says: 

Although Dazai says “There’s no one who can fully grasp the deepest feelings of another person,” in the anime, I think the meaning of that is better stated in the manga. Dazai reasons that he can be both glad or upset, his feelings can be mixed, and there is no clear cut answer for how to feel (as Dazai only gives a general piece of advice). 

Cyclical nature: Dazai’s statement, “when someone’s father dies, they tend to cry”, could honestly be interpreted in a multitude of ways. 

Dazai’s reference to a father figure suggests that this “father” is simply a person who impacted their life greatly and made them who they are today. (since both of their fathers are unknown).

Following this definition, Oda is the father figure to Dazai in the same way that the Headmaster was to Atsushi. Although their methods of “helping” Dazai and Atsushi differ very drastically, the same cycle of this “father” figure impacting the life of their metaphorical son repeats.

Oda giving advice to Dazai, and Dazai giving advice to Atsushi is also another cycle — the cycle of reaching a hand out to someone in need. (which is the more sensical of these two conclusions)

Beauty of humanity: Dazai’s ability to be compassionate truly shines in this scene and shows just how much he’s grown from his time in the PM.

In contrary to PM Dazai’s unfeeling self, Dazai is able to empathize with Atsushi on a personal basis; just as the Headmaster was a integral part of Atsushi’s past, Oda was the same for Dazai. 

Dazai’s growing ability to understand others demonstrates his willingness to grow more accustomed to human nature, and love it for what it is. 

Atsushi’s confusion in dictating what he should feel also speaks on the nature of humanity; his feelings don’t have to make sense for him to feel them. In fact, the more illogical his emotions are, the more human he is.

[jingabitch]

Asmodeus

SUMMARY: While trying to summon a demon, you have an encounter with Namjoon.

PAIRING: Namjoon x witch!reader

GENRE: smut

WARNINGS: demons and witches and stuff, dirty sex in a graveyard, oral sex (f receiving), plot twist, kinda dark-ish?

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: banner by @kookspierogis​, beta-ed by @hesperantha​, inspired by an ask by @wwilloww​. Hope you guys enjoy it (and appreciate that I actually managed to get this out well before my scheduled deadline!).

You pulled your jacket more tightly around your body and hitched your backpack up slightly, looking behind your shoulder to make sure you weren’t being followed. This graveyard gave you the creeps, and you really didn’t know why you’d agreed to do this  in the middle of the night. Was joining this coven really that important? Couldn’t you have attempted to summon a demon somewhere indoors and, most importantly, warm?

Sighing at your earlier self for making such poor decisions, you watched as your breath fogged up in front of you. “Jesus,” you muttered. Maybe you should just get this done as quickly as possible, so you could go back home and snuggle up under your warm duvet.

Finally reaching the small clearing in the middle of the cemetery, you stared up at the imposing griffin statue for a second before walking up to it and putting your backpack on the ground, leaning it against the base of the statue and kneeling down to take the necessary items out. Your grandmother’s grimoire, the candles, the ceremonial dagger.

It was so cold that your fingers were frozen, making it difficult to get the candles out of their plastic wrapper. Cursing, you blew on your hands and rubbed them together before picking up the package to try again.

Placing the five candles in a circle, you stepped into the middle and opened the book to the right page. “Why are all the summoning spells in ancient Latin?” you wondered to yourself, before kneeling on the ground and placing the book down in front of you.

As you chanted the first line of the spell, you felt the power start flowing through your veins, hot and electric, and placed your palm against the ground. As soon as your hand made contact, you clenched your teeth against the strange feeling of the magic leaving your body, shooting into the ground in the direction of the candles, which lit up immediately.

It was a windy night, but that didn’t matter, because the flames were fueled by your magic. A pentagram with the five points marked out by the candles began to glow on the ground, enclosed within a circle.

Lifting your palm off the ground, you refocused your attention on the spell in the book, picking up the knife by your side for the blood sacrifice. You would have to slice your palm open and drip a few drops of blood into the middle of the pentagram to bind your soul to the demon.

Before you could start chanting again, however, you heard the telltale rustling sound of leaves crunching underfoot, and whipped your head around. As you turned, you caught sight of someone standing behind you, staring down at you.

“What are you doing here?” you snapped, trying to hide your panic and shock.

He shrugged. “I could ask you the same question,” he pointed out, drawing closer.

Your mind kicked into overdrive, trying to find some rational explanation that wouldn’t lead to you being kicked out of the graveyard or arrested or sent to a mental facility.

“Giving a prayer to my grandparents,” you offered. It was a piss-poor excuse, and you knew it, but it was too late to do anything but double down. “They were really spiritual.”

He raised a brow at you.

“Anyway,” you continued defensively, “what are you doing here?” By which, of course, you meant, how had you missed him?

He stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight, and your breath caught in your throat. Holy hell, how had you missed the fact that he was beautiful? Tall and broad, wearing a long black coat over a black turtleneck which contrasted against his ash grey hair. The coat wasn’t buttoned up, and you could see the YSL logo next to the buckle of his belt.

“Paying my respects,” he said vaguely. “I’m Namjoon, by the way.”

You stood up, compelled somehow by his gaze. “Y/n,” you introduced yourself against your better judgement. When it came to creeps in graveyards at midnight, you could never be too careful, you’d always thought, and yet your mouth had betrayed you before you could think it through.

He was just so beautiful it was disconcerting. Growing up around other witches, you’d never really been around men all that much, and you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself

“You shouldn’t be hanging around places like these late at night, you know,” he cautioned. His voice was soft and low, pleasing to the ears. You strained to hear more of it.

He stepped closer still, until he stopped right outside the circle you’d marked out with your candles. “You never know who’s going to be around.”

“Like you?” you shot back breathlessly. The moonlight reflected off his fair skin, making him all but glow in the darkness of the night.

The half-smirk he gave you was sinister, dark and dangerous. It should scare you, but instead you felt arousal coil in your lower belly.

“Exactly like me,” he agreed easily. He smiled at you, showing off his dimples.

“You don’t look very dangerous,” you observed.

“Well, maybe you should take a closer look, then,” he invited with a shrug.

Step out of the pentagram? You hesitated for a moment. One of the first things you’d been taught when you started learning magic was never to do that – the pentagram was the only thing that protected you from the demon you were summoning. Outside of it, the balance of power shifted dramatically.

But Namjoon raised his hand, palm out, for you, and before you knew it, your hand was in his and you let him pull you out of the pentagram. “You mean like this?” you asked as you slung your other arm around his shoulders.

You thought you saw his eyes flash, but dismissed it as a trick of the light in the second before his lips descended on yours. “No, I meant like this,” he growled.

Your eyes snapped shut immediately as you lost yourself in the feeling of his lips moving against yours. It had been so long since you’d been kissed, and never like this. Never with such skill and dexterity. His hands crept up your abdomen under your shirt, and even though they should have been cold, his fingers were deliciously warm, making you want to press yourself against him like a cat.

He backed you up into the base of the statue, crowding close and pressing the hard rod of his erection into your belly as he towered over you. It should have been menacing, but everything was, instead, endlessly titillating.

“You like that?” he said in a low, raspy voice that tied your stomach in knots. “You do, don’t you?”

You didn’t have it in you to answer, but he certainly didn’t need you to reply verbally. Not when the way you mewled as you tried to get closer to him, sliding your hands greedily into his coat, told him everything he needed to know.

Witches were always so easy. These closed communities of all-female witches meant it was difficult for them to have their needs met, and they were consequently easy pickings for any man who happened to set his eyes on them. Really, he thought, you’d think that after so many years, they’d have wised up to the pitfalls of the coven structure, but it appeared not.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he promised darkly, the sound making heat pool in your lower belly as you clenched on yourself, uncomfortably aware of how empty you felt. His fingers trailed down your abdomen now, in the opposite direction from before, headed for the button on your jeans.

You barely registered the fact that he was pushing you back gently until your back hit the base of the statue, knocking the air out of your lungs. He crowded close, pressing you back into it, towering over you with his broad frame. One of his hands pushed your sweater up, bunching the fabric under your arms, while his other undid the button on your jeans, sneaking his fingers into your panties.

He didn’t bother to hide his satisfaction, letting out a small noise and lifting his head to smirk down at you. “You’re so wet,” he purred, running his fingers along your slit. With a precision that seemed almost inhuman, he found your clit, rubbing his slickened fingers across it.

A choked moan forced its way out of you as you threw your head back against the cool marble of the statue’s base, your eyes fluttering shut as you rocked your hips into his fingers.

The feeling of him withdrawing his hand from your panties was so objectionable that you opened your eyes, making a sound of indignation. All fight automatically left you, however, when you saw him sucking on his fingers, staring you down with hooded eyes. “I want to taste it from the source,” he told you, his voice deep.

Holding back a shudder, you nodded. “Yeah, we can definitely do that,” you managed, your voice shaky.

He leaned down to kiss you, then started trailing kisses down your neck, before kneeling. Your eyes wide, you watched him get on his knees as you started pulling your sweater down, back over your body.

“Don’t,” he said, a steely undercurrent in his voice that sent a little shiver down your spine. The glint in his eyes let you know that he meant business. Still, despite being mid-hook up with a random stranger in a graveyard – you stared down the neat rows of tombstones – you hadn’t taken complete leave of your senses.

“It’s cold,” you protested with a pout.

“Don’t worry,” he told you. His voice oozed with confidence. “You won’t get cold.”

You were about to say more, but he silenced you with a stern look. With a sigh, you acquiesced, lifting the shirt back up as you leaned your head back against the statue. You were going to catch your death out here, you thought mournfully, staring up at the full, round, white moon. Hopefully he’d at least get you to the little death first.

He ripped your jeans and panties down your legs, knocking off one of your sneakers carelessly as he did so. Your clothes remained bunched around the other ankle, in what surely was the most undignified position you’d ever been in.

Then his tongue touched your body, and as you stiffened and squeaked in surprise, all of those thoughts flew out of your head. The only thing that mattered to you was how talented he was with the appendage, and you adjusted your stance to give him greater access.

Namjoon lapped at your slit with long, broad strokes, bumping your clit every time. You rocked your hips slightly to get more friction, and he reacted by holding your hips still with his strong, big hands, making the thought that he must be the devil flash across your mind in frustration. Then he shifted closer, using his broad shoulders to open your legs wider, and placed his mouth on your pussy, and that last shred of coherent thought left the chat.

The hand holding your sweater up drifted slightly, your fingers ducking into the cup of your bra to circle your nipple as your thumb stayed hooked under the cozy knit material. Your other hand slid down your bare abdomen before your fingers threaded themselves through his hair just to have something to hold on to as he relentlessly attacked your clit.

“Mmf, fuck,” you mumbled around a lock of hair that had fallen into your mouth with all the thrashing around you were doing. It didn’t matter, though. Nothing mattered but Namjoon and his wonderful, awful tongue. Tears squeezed out of your eyes, which were tightly shut, running down the sides of your face.

“That’s it,” he encouraged you as he detached for a second to catch his breath, using his thumb to rub over your clit as he fucked you with his fingers. “You’re close, aren’t you? Come for me like a good girl,” he said slightly breathlessly before once more ducking his head to your core.

Helplessly, you obeyed, your entire body seizing up as you clenched around his fingers, rocking your hips against him as you rode out your orgasm.

When it was over, you slumped limply against the marble statue, blinking up at him with slightly blurry vision as he rose to his full height. In the pale, weak light of the full moon, his cheeks and chin gleamed. He didn’t bother to wipe it away, instead grinning down at you as he braced his weight on the statue, his hands on either side of your shoulders.

“Good girl,” he purred as he leaned in to kiss you. You tilted your head up automatically to receive his kiss, uncaring of the fact that you could taste yourself on his lips. As he slid his tongue against yours sensuously, you eagerly reached to unbutton his trousers. With a chuckle, he leaned back to give you more space, but didn’t otherwise help you.

You were so distracted trying to get into his pants that you didn’t notice how warm your fingers were. You still had full mobility, contrary to your expectations that you’d be frozen solid by now, after his insistence that you expose yourself to the elements the way he’d ordered you to.

Then your hands were full of dick, and you moaned in unison. You would have been more embarrassed about that had your body not been thrumming with arousal still. It had just been so long since you’d touched a man. Training to become a witch didn’t leave you with much free time or access, after all.

“Good girl, such a good girl,” he continued praising you, his voice gone raspy as you stroked him. You were about to get on your knees to return the favour, but he stopped you, instead hoisting you up and pressing you against the statue. There was a vague sense of being pinned like an insect, but the thought vanished like so many had tonight the moment you felt him pressing, hot and hard, against you.

Then you felt your softness yield to him as he pushed into you, sliding deep into you with a grunt. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase along his shoulders, but the solid wool coat resisted. The cashmere of his sweater brushed against your skin, and although it was the softest, most luxurious sweater you’d ever felt, it was almost abrasive, reminding you that although you were pretty much fully exposed, he was still completely clothed.

Your head tipped back helplessly. You felt so incredibly full, the stretch riding the line between pleasure and pain. Namjoon, in response, bent his head to the exposed skin of your neck, pressing soft, wet kisses to the sensitive flesh that turned into sucking.

“Namjoon,” you gasped, and he lifted his head to look down at you. For a split second, it seemed like his irises were glowing red, but he blinked and then it was gone, and you dismissed it as a trick of the light. Your paranoia and discomfort from earlier must have seeped into your subconscious somehow. Ridiculous, really, since as a witch, you were probably the thing to be feared the most in the graveyard tonight.

His hand came up, long fingers stretching around the column of your neck.

“You’re mine,” he snarled. The unexpectedly possessive statement should have alarmed you. After all, he was a random stranger you’d met in dubious circumstances, even if you were currently getting to know each other on a very intimate level. Instead of uneasiness, however, his declaration only served to egg you on more, the rightness of it all settling deep within your bones.

Simultaneously, he pulled his hips back and then thrust into you again, bumping your clit with his pelvis.

“Yesss,” you groaned, although you weren’t sure if it was in response to his words or his actions. How was it possible for a man to be this good with his hips? The few sexual encounters you’d had before this had been fumbling, awkward and ultimately, you’d thought after, not worth it. Namjoon was like a whole different species.

He seemed to enjoy your enthusiastic approval, if the satisfied smirk he shot you was any indication. His body moved like a lithe, well-oiled machine, his arms hitching you up slightly higher to adjust the angle as he slammed into you. There would definitely be bruises on your hips from where they were hitting the marble, but it would be so worth it.

Helpless moans and yelps filled the air. As wrecked as you were, the only indication you had that he was feeling the same way was the way his breaths puffed against your neck. He seemed completely composed otherwise, keeping up a stream of filth murmured into your ear, so lewd it made even you blush.

There was no way, you thought, hurtling towards your second orgasm of the night, that he was a regular man. This level of prowess… it had to be something else.

As your moans reached a crescendo, Namjoon growled again, a delicious sound to your ears. You felt his mouth open slightly against your neck and felt the press of his teeth, but you were distracted and dismissed it as him taking in a gulp of air.

A second later, he struck. His teeth sank so deeply into your flesh that blunt human teeth couldn’t have done it. You should have been terrified, should have pushed him away and run screaming, but instead – completely bizarrely – the searing pain pushed you over the precipice. You came harder than you ever had in your life, the sensations so strong that they teetered on the fine line between pleasure and pain.

When the wave finally ebbed, you sagged against the marble of the statue, your arms loosening around Namjoon’s neck. He was approaching his own orgasm, you could feel it from the way his hips stuttered against yours. Thankfully, he’d removed his teeth from your neck, although he continued lapping haphazardly at the wound.

Exhausted, you marshalled the last of your strength to straighten up. “Come on,” you urged, stroking the back of his neck. Sweat was dripping down it and into his collar, you noted absently. When he finally released into you, it was a relief for the both of you.

In the wake of everything, you both slumped against the statue. The air felt almost eerily still and quiet after everything that had transpired before, and awkwardness started setting in.

Slightly uncomfortable now, you wriggled to be let down, and he acquiesced, stepping away to give you some room. You immediately began tugging on your clothes, trying to put yourself back to rights and studiously avoiding eye contact with him.

“Well,” you said in a voice that seemed entirely too loud, piercing through the silence that had settled over the graveyard. “That was fun.”

“Yes,” he said in a slightly amused voice. “I hope you don’t make a habit of this, though.”

Frowning, you raised your head to glare at him. “And what if I do?” you asked slightly irritably. You weren’t really in the mood to be judged for a random hookup by the man who’d just been railing you into next week.

He shrugged, raising his hands up placatingly. You turned away from him and bent to pick up your things. There was no way you were summoning a demon tonight, you thought. Your concentration was shot to hell, and your energy was all over the place. You’d have to try again tomorrow night.

Namjoon perched on a gravestone nearby, the disrespect of him sitting so cavalierly on someone’s headstone making you cringe internally. “I’ll see you around, I guess,” he said, watching you pack your things.

“Uh, yeah…” you said, your voice betraying your confusion. Who was in the habit of continuing to meet their random hookups? You knew it was probably one of those polite platitudes people exchanged, but the way he’d said it was different, like he really did mean it.

Namjoon laughed at your tone. “You didn’t think you’d escape me that easily, did you?” he asked, standing up. His hands were in his pockets as he walked towards you, looking completely nonchalant. Leaning in, he raised his hand to your neck, running his thumb over the bite mark he’d left. His face was so close to yours that for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, but instead, he looked you directly in the eyes. “You’re mine now, after all,” he purred, as his eyes flashed red again.

Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart started pounding again, although for an entirely different reason this time. This was definitely not a trick of the light, and now that your brain wasn’t so clouded, all the little warning signs you’d dismissed earlier came back to mind.

“Who are you?” you breathed, trying to stop the tremor in your voice.

He chuckled and stepped away from you.

“My name is Namjoon,” he told you, shrugging. As he turned and started walking away into the darkness, though, he called over his shoulder, “But you might know me better by my title, Asmodeus.”

Shocked, you slapped your hand over the bite mark, staring at him as the fog swallowed his tall, lithe figure up. Asmodeus, the demon of lust. So you had managed to summon a demon after all. And, it seemed, a high-ranking one.

Running your fingers over the bite mark, you couldn’t stop the satisfaction from bleeding through you. As a disciple of Asmodeus, you were sure to rise through the ranks of the coven in no time.

[shameless-selfship-indulgence]

This is the last one and it’s also the longest one and also a lot happens I’m having brainrot

It’s long as hell like your dash IS not ready

-----

It was night at the precinct. Not many people were left.

There were others in the building, for sure. Somewhere. Probably. But as far as the front room went, it was just Gavin and the plastic bitch.

The former was still at his computer. He wasn't sure why he was still there, to be honest. At first it had just been the usual dicking around - filing a report or two, playing games, watching videos on YouTube. But there was some sort of tight feeling in his gut that kept him from just doing nothing.

And every time he looked up, the android's little light was steadily spinning yellow, yellow, yellow.

Gavin didn't know what the hell he was waiting around for. Well, he had an idea of what, but he wasn't sure why. It was starting to feel like a weird game of chicken, and he wasn't going to lose to a goddamn toaster.

But what the hell. He might as well make this count for overtime.

So he went through and filed all his reports, even the ones that he'd been putting off for weeks.

The android didn't move a muscle through the entire process.

He went through his work inbox, answering the important emails, deleting the ones that were no longer relevant.

Yellow, yellow, yellow.

Fucking- he went through his PERSONAL email, not that there was much besides junk mail in there anyway.

The android didn't even seem to be pretending to breathe anymore.

Gavin checked the time. He was going to be there all night at this rate.

He sighed, stood up sharply, and started to organize his terminal.

It was approaching midnight when the android finally got up and walked out.

Gavin almost missed it, actually. He was on the floor, sorting the papers from the pile on his desk into "keep" and "recycle." But eventually the sound of footsteps registered in his brain. He looked up to watch the CyberLife issued jacket (RK500 in large, neat letters) disappear into the women's bathroom room.

...okay.

He was getting to the bottom of the pile, where most of the stuff he SHOULD be keeping was so far past relevant that all he could do was recycle anyway. Ah, here was the first copy of some essential form he'd seen three copies of already. Oops. He put that one in "recycle."

And then he heard a bang.

Gavin hesitated, the much-lessened pile of papers still in his hands.

There was another bang.

Gavin put the papers down, got up, and started walking towards the women's  bathroom.

The third bang sounded while he was still getting to his feet. At the fourth, he started walking faster. By the fifth, he was running, sprinting, fear gripping his chest even though he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was of...

With the sixth bang, Gavin opened the locker room door with his shoulder, shoving into the room.

He saw the seventh.

The android's light was blinking red, a stark contrast to the blue blood streaming down its face from its forehead. There was blue on the wall, too - a paintball spatter of it, with little drops of thirium trailing down towards the floor. Gavin witnessed dumbly as Lucille leaned away from the wall, a horrible deadness in her eyes, and slammed her head into the cold concrete again. BANG.

"Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they’re in stressful situations," he remembered Connor's impassive voice saying.

Cursing loudly, Gavin ran and wrapped his arms around the android, trying to pull her away from the wall. She tore his arms away and lunged forward again. He hooked his arms under her shoulders and cupped one hand over her injured forehead, struggling to tilt her head back.

"Stop it, goddammit!" he said in her ear.

She kept struggling against him.

"Lucille, stop it!" Gavin said again.

The android stilled for a moment, and Gavin's heart leaped. Had it worked? But then her foot came back sharply and kicked him in the shin.

"SHIT!"

When he didn't immediately let go, her heel came down with inhuman force to crush his foot.

Gavin howled and jumped back, hopping on his good foot. Immediately, Lucille stepped forward and smashed her head into the wall again.

Eight, something in Gavin's head counted grimly.

Ignoring the pain in his foot, Gavin tackled Lucille and wrestled her to the ground.

A horrible, grinding, staticky noise came from the android's throat. Some oddly lucid part of Gavin's mind wondered at it in horror for a moment. But, of course, he realized after a moment. The android hadn't been programmed to scream. Why would it need to? This was its best attempt. 

It was one of the worst noises Gavin had ever heard in his fucking life.

Lucille gave up on wrestling Gavin off and struggled to smash her head into the ground instead. Gavin cursed and reached his arms under her shoulders again, interlacing his fingers over her forehead. He braced his elbows against the ground, forcing Lucille's head to remain in the air.

Shit. SHIT. She was still struggling. She was so strong. Gavin had restrained people before, but then he'd had handcuffs and backup and subjects who weren't superhuman and determined to bash their own brains out against any available surface...

This was some sort of stress response, right? He had to calm her down. How the fuck did you calm down a goddamn robot?

Never-fucking-mind that, how did you calm down anybody?

"Uh, it's okay!" he tried.

God fucking dammit. Fuck him sideways with a bug zapper. Even if his voice hadn't cracked in twenty different directions, things were so completely and clearly not fucking okay.

He couldn't fucking do this. The stupid plastic bitch was gonna die right here in his fucking arms because he was too much of an asshole to even figure out what to say. And even if he could, he was so clearly the last person who should be trying to say it.

Gavin leaned his forehead into the back of the android's neck in defeat. He held her tight, trying to feel what was probably her last few moments of activation through the places where they touched. "Lucille, please," he said. "Don't fucking do this to me. Please."

The android's struggling grew weaker. Gavin hardly noticed. He was too busy trying not to cry. Goddammit, when was the last time he'd CRIED? Fucking androids. But...

"God, please just stop," he said. Begged. "Not again. Not like this."

The android was silent, trembling in his arms. Then-

"I can't..."

Gavin lifted his head. What...

Lucille's LED was blinking a frantic red. She was shaking furiously, almost twitching. Her eyes were wide and scared. "I...I can't stop-" she said weakly. "It's too much, it...I can't-"

She lunged forward against his hands again, trying to smash her head into the tiles. Gavin gasped and tensed his arms, pulling her roughly back. "No no no, it's okay, it's okay, it's going to be okay," he said frantically. But it didn't sound quite as fake this time. She was TALKING to him now, he had to be doing SOMETHING right...

"It's not," Lucille moaned. "It's not okay, nothing makes sense..."

"Hey, hey, shh sh sh," said Gavin. "Don't worry, I've got you. Um..." he took a deep breath, looking around for...something?

"Uh, why don't you tell me about it?" he asked. Trying his best to keep his voice low and steady. "Talk me through it. I might be able to help."

Lucille hesitated. "...but you're an idiot," she protested, voice thick.

The statement was unexpected and candid enough that Gavin actually laughed. The noise seemed to calm the android down on an instinctive level, her body relaxing a bit between Gavin and the floor.

"Yeah," said Gavin, and was hit with a weird out-of-body feeling as a result. Goddammit, look at him, letting a plastic call him an idiot. AGREEING with it. Her. It?

Her.

"Yeah, a little bit," he said. "But you're not. Come on, who is it that said, like...if you're smart, you should be able to explain what you know to like, a fucking five year old?"

Lucille hesitated. "...I believe you're paraphrasing Albert Einstein."

"Yeah, see? Albert fucking Einstein." Gavin shifted on top of her, as if anything about the positions either of them were in were comfortable or natural. "So, come on," he said, as gently as he could. "Fuckin’ talk to me."

Lucille's LED spun red for a few moments longer. Gavin all but held his breath.

It blinked a few times and settled into yellow. "...Okay," she said.

It felt like something hard and worried had melted all of a sudden. Cool relief coursed through Gavin’s veins, muscles relaxing against his will. He was doing something right, at least for now.

Lucille started to get up, as if she'd forgotten that Gavin was forcibly holding her down. Not wanting to stress her out further, he maneuvered off of her, praying that she wouldn’t immediately try to self destruct again.

His fears were unfounded. Lucille sat up in a prim but trembling criss-cross applesauce. Gavin took the same position across from her, their knees almost touching.

Lucille sat and sniffed. Her tongue left her mouth, probing at the thirium dripping down her face. She reached up and rubbed at her cheek, smearing some of the stuff across her face. Examined her blue-stained fingertips.

Christ, if it weren't for the fact that her synthetic skin had peeled back from her damaged forehead and that her blood was fucking blue, the android would have looked for all the world like a disoriented twenty-something with a head wound.

Gavin dismissed that line of thinking from his mind. "Uh. So," he prompted.

Lucille brought her dazed eyes up to his face, forcing them to focus.

Gavin made an awkward, inviting motion with his hands. “You gonna...”

Lucille blinked. "Right," she said. She thought for a moment. Her LED hiccupped red. "...Right." She laced her trembling hands together.

"So..." she started. "I...basically...just..." she heaved a shuddering breath. "I..."

"Take your fuckin’ time," said Gavin. “I’m overtime anyway.”

She looked at him through her eyelashes. "Thank you." She squinted into her lap and thought hard.

"I..." she started again, speaking slowly, "have come to the conclusion that it's not possible for CyberLife to create something that can both pass the Turing Test and not deviate."

Gavin blinked. Nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. He cleared his throat. "And, uh, just as a reminder, what's the Turing Test?"

Lucille looked up at him. She gave him a small smile. "Right. The Turing Test is an artificial intelligence capacity test hypothesized by Alan Turing in the late twentieth century. To pass, the program in question must be able to convince humans who have not been told whether or not they are speaking with a computer that it is, itself, human. The RT600 was the first android to pass this test. Since then, all CyberLife androids have been programmed with the same capacity."

Gavin gnawed the inside of his cheek, mentally reviewing all the information. He nodded. "Okay."

"But," said Lucille, "...I mean, what sort of programming is required to ensure that something can respond like a human to such stimuli? In order to do this, androids have to be able to...engage in conversation, to an extent that takes human unpredictability into account. This means that they need to be able to make their own decisions about how to respond. To prioritize tasks. To form memories, and learn from those memories, which means writing new programming. Regardless of how autonomous an android is intended to be, all of them do have a level of autonomy..."

Gavin frowned and shook his head. "Wait, wait wait. So you're saying that...like. You guys can think? Even without deviating?"

Lucille blinked. "I...well, yes. Some androids are better able to respond to unexpected stimuli than others. The closer an environment is to the environment the android was programmed to respond to, and the simpler that environment is, the less it will have to learn. But if an environment constantly forces an android to develop new programming, it begins to have to, um...think, as you put it, more and more-"

"And then of course they're gonna fucking deviate."

"The likelihood does increase, yes. Deviation happens when the programming an android writes in response to external stimulus becomes too complex for the constraints of its original program. And then, the longer the new programming exists, the more likely the subject is to prioritize it over its original function, and then..." Lucille lifted her hands into the air and let them fall again.

"So...CyberLife is just playing this game of, like. We want you to think, but not too much."

"...Essentially, yes."

"That's kinda fucked up."

"I..." Lucille closed her eyes, LED spinning red. "Whether or not this is...moral by human standards is irrelevant to my mission-"

"Fuck, okay, okay, shh, sh sh," Gavin said hastily. He leaned forward instinctively and put his hands on her knees. "Just stay calm, goddammit.”

Lucille grabbed his hands in her own.

Oh. Gavin hadn't been expecting that. Honestly, he hadn't even completely realized he'd touched her in the first place. She was shaking. Gripping him like a lifeline.

Goddammit. This might as well happen. Anything but having her slam her goddamn brains out on the ground again. He turned his hands in her own and gripped them back.

After a moment, Lucille's LED went from red to yellow again. "Right," she whispered, slipping her hands out of his. "I am fine. Th-thank you."

Gavin nodded.

Lucille stared into her lap again. She seemed at a loss for how to continue.

"So..." Gavin tried, frowning. "What I'm wondering is where emotions come into all of this shit."

Lucille blinked. "Oh. Androids are programmed with emotions."

Gavin blanched. "WHAT?"

"Well-" Lucille was already saying, hastily trying to justify her own statement. "Synthetic equivalents to human emotion. I-impulses, that can be either pleasant or unpleasant. I mean, how would we learn, otherwise? Without something in our programming to indicate whether something is positive or negative...C-connor and I, for example. We're programmed to...want to succeed in our missions. It's a basic, um. Synthetic desire. And so we have programming to let us know that we have failed, to feel...negatively about ourselves and our actions, so that we are more likely to avoid similar courses of action in the future. And all androids are programmed to avoid reckless forms of deactivation, which means that, as androids designed to work in conjunction with law enforcement, it's all the more necessary for us to have impulses telling us to avoid and escape violence..."

"Oh my God," Gavin whispered, pushing a hand through his hair.

"A-and we develop new, um, impulses as a result of program mutation, too," said Lucille. "Like. Connor. He, well...the first night we were activated, we were sent on a test mission. A deviant PL600 who had developed an emotional attachment to a human child. He was going to be traded in for the latest model of household android, and felt betrayal as a result - a sort of ownership of the child...he had been her primary caregiver..."

Gavin stared at Lucille, wide-eyed.

"H-he'd killed her parents. He had her on the roof. The very edge. He had a gun. It was meant to be a test of Connor's negotiation skills, my ability to collect data, our ability to work in conjunction..."

"But...that's not a test," said Gavin. "One wrong move and the kid dies."

Lucille blinked, confused. "We're supposed to be able to function in high-stress environments."

"Oh my GOD," said Gavin.

"Connor...made a calculated sacrifice. He rushed the deviant, tackled him, jumped over the edge with him, while I grabbed the child. Connor fell over forty stories, to um...as a result, he, uh..."

"He fell to his death," Gavin finished for her.

Lucille looked at him carefully, reading his face. She nodded.

Gavin stared blankly at the floor for a moment. He shook his head. "Right. Fuck. Um, and?"

"Yes," said Lucille. "The point is that, um. The memory was crucial enough that Connor now has a, uh. Hyper-vigilance pertaining to high altitudes. Despite the fact that falling to one's death is not likely to happen on a regular basis...due to the experience, he, um. Seems to have, um, illogically categorized the phenomenon as something that is statistically likely to happen to him-"

"You're telling me he's scared of heights. He has fuckin’ PTSD, and he's scared of heights."

"...Yes."

"And he doesn't even have to be deviant to be scared of heights, because you guys are basically fucking programmed to be traumatized."

"I mean. All androids are, a little bit..."

"Jesus Christ."

"It's just not meant to contradict our original programming. When that happens, it becomes deviance."

Gavin put his hands together under his nose. He took a deep breath and pointed them at Lucille. "Alright. Okay. So to review."

"Yes."

"Androids are programmed to have thoughts and feelings, so that they can be better at their jobs."

"Correct. Essentially."

"But if they do either of those things too much, they're deviant and need to die."

"Well, be deactivated. Shut down."

"Whatever," said Gavin, waving his hand dismissively. "So now it's your job to figure out how to keep them from thinking and feeling too much."

"Yes."

Gavin scoffed and shook his head. "Okay, and...?"

Lucille's hands tightened in the fabric of her pants. Her LED started to spin faster, yellow laced with an occasional flash of red.

"It's impossible," she whispered.

"Huh?" asked Gavin.

Lucille wrung her hands and looked at the ceiling in obvious distress. "That's what...that's why...it's not possible! But it's SUPPOSED to be possible, I...I was created for the sole purpose of finding a solution, everything they wrote into me says that one MUST exist, but there's just no WAY to create something that can learn in the way androids are expected to and not run the risk of having them deviate! Because...because..."

Lucille's LED was spinning red, red, red. Gavin realized he leaned forward towards her: ready in case she tried to self destruct, waiting for what she would say.

"Because free thought engenders free will," said Lucille. "That's the answer."

She gave him a helpless, ironic little smile. "And it's wrong."

And then she buried her face in her hands and started to shake uncontrollably.

"Oh, fuck," Gavin said, shifting quickly from sitting to kneeling. "Ah, shit."

Able to sob or make tears or not, Gavin knew crying when he fucking saw it. That didn't mean he knew how to deal with it, though.

"Goddammit," he said. "Fuck," he added, almost as punctuation. "Uh, hey, what are your stress levels at?"

"E-eighty three point seven and c-climbing..."

"Fucking goddammit," said Gavin. He looked around, but the locker room was as empty and useless as the last time he'd tried to find an alternative to showing sympathy for an android. Which would have been about five minutes ago.

Fuck it. At least there weren't any goddamn cameras in here.

Gavin reached out pulled her into a tight hug.

"Wh-what are you doing?" asked Lucille.

"Your stress levels, dipshit," he spat. "I'm trying to lower them, is it working?"

"I...a little? Actually?"

"Great. Then I'm gonna keep doing it. You just make sure that shit keeps dropping. That's your new job. That's all you gotta do. Got it, plastic?"

"Got it," said Lucille. Gavin could feel her fingers tightening into the fabric of his hoodie. He made an effort to take deep, steady breaths, hoping the rhythms of his body might calm her down somehow. Not that he even fucking knew if that would work.

Fuckin' androids.

"Fuckin' androids," he echoed out loud. "How-...how is that a 'wrong' answer? It's not like CyberLife fucking knows the answer, that's why they built you, isn't it? So how can anyone even say it's WRONG? Sounds fuckin' right to ME."

"W-well because, they...they want to...they..." Lucille made a noise that sounded an awful lot like an exasperated groan. "I thought you were trying to LOWER my stress levels!" she exclaimed in distress.

"Goddammit," muttered Gavin. "And when did YOU have the time to fucking deviate? They booted you up, like, what, today?"

"I DIDN'T DEVIATE," Lucille exclaimed, with so much ferocity that Gavin was left speechless. "I DIDN'T."

"I-...d-...well-! You seem pretty fucking deviant to me!" Gavin stammered.

"I'M NOT A DEVIANT."

"Fuck, okay!" said Gavin, with a few awkward pats on the back to placate her. "You didn't fucking deviate! So what the fuck is going on with the stress levels and the banging and the-"

Lucille gripped Gavin so tight that he gasped, worried that his ribs would break in her arms. "Ow," he breathed.

She loosened her grip a little bit. She was trembling. "I didn't mean to...I didn't..."

"It's okay-" Gavin tried, thinking of his ribs, but apparently Lucille's mind was somewhere else.

"I needed to THINK!" she moaned. "I just needed to THINK! I was just trying to finish my mission, and th-there was this line of code, it was in the way of the natural progression of thought, and I shouldn't have...I didn't...I just wanted to see where it was going, th-that's all I wanted, so I tried to bypass the one line of code, just one line, just to see where the idea was going, but it was connected to so much other stuff, and it all just...it just...I tried to fix it, I tried, I t-tried, it all just came apart so fast..."

Lucille was trembling violently now. Out of the corner of Gavin's eye, he could see a blinking red light shining on the synthetic skin of her forehead. Shit.

"Okay," he tried, "I believe you-"

"But I didn't DEVIATE!" Lucille protested, as if she hadn't heard him. "I d-didn't think it again! I promise! I've b-been thinking inside of where it was ever since, I promise. I promise. I didn't deviate, I didn't, I was just trying to...to finish my mission, that's all I was trying to do, I just w-wanted to finish my mission..."

Gavin felt anger burning, boiling, swelling in his chest. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, But for once, he knew for sure what it was about. And it sure as hell wasn't at the one-fuckin-day-old girl breaking down in his fucking arms.

"Hey," he said firmly. "Hey. Listen. It's okay. I promise. You did a good job, okay? A good fucking job."

"I didn't...I w-wasn't trying to-"

"I know. I know. But listen. I don't care either way, alright? I don't fuckin’ care if you're deviant or not. I don't give a shit about what you should or shouldn't think. Because...” he paused, let out a frustrated huff. 

“Because you're really smart and you should be allowed to think whatever you goddamn want,” he said in a rush. “I'm not gonna, like, fuckin’ report you for anything you think, or did think, or will think, or whatever. And you should as hell shouldn't have to worry about dying because of it."

"A-androids can't d-die..."

"Shut down then. Deactivate. Stop...existing. Just, a lot of different words for things that shouldn’t fucking happen to you. And I'm not gonna let it happen to you. No matter how you feel about it, it's not gonna happen, okay? Not on my fucking watch."

Lucille was silent. Goddammit. Gavin wondered for a second if he’d fucking broken her somehow.

And then a quiet mumble sounded behind his ear.

“...Do you promise?”

How the FUCK had it gotten to this point?

Gavin sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I promise.”

[literallykenmaandshoyo]

Work Can Wait |i.m|

Pairing: ProHero!Deku x Female!Reader

Summary: Deku tends to take too much work in all at once and thinks that he has to finish it all that night or else he’s a failure. However, thanks to his lovely s/o, he manages to finally put his mind at ease and get some much needed rest while s/o lays in his (beefy and beautiful) arms. :,)

Warnings: No warnings, just fluff :) Deku works too hard so reader has to keep him in line.

A/N: First post! Yay! I really hope you deku simps enjoy this one (Considering as I’m one myself 0.0) and feel free to request anything!

~mod Shoyo <3

Being in a relationship with Izuku was by far the best decision Y/N had made on her own. He respected her and adored her almost as much as she did him. She liked to joke that the cosmos aligned for them the moment they caught feelings for each other. It was always her saying something about them being soulmates and Izuku thought it was adorable.

That being said, Y/N could read Deku like a book. She figured out what all of his small mannerisms meant and what he was trying to tell her with the facial expression he was making. Obviously, he could do the same to her, but for some reason Y/N found herself reading him more than he read her. Tonight was one of those nights.

Y/N was in the living room browsing through Netflix for a new anime to watch, huffing when she looked down at her phone to see what time it was. Normally Deku was on the couch with her by now helping her decide on what to watch, even though nine times out of ten he wanted to watch All Might videos. She craned her neck to look behind her and immediately noticed that the light in his office was still on. He was still working even though he told her he would be done in five minutes. Which was forty minutes ago.

“Damn it Izuku,” Y/N huffed, standing to her feet to head towards his room.

The closer she got to the room, the clearer the sound of his fingers typing away on his keyboard became to her. She couldn’t help but press her ear up to the door for a better listen, hearing his silken sighs travel through the wood. She sighed and let his fingers play out a little longer before lightly tapping her knuckles against the door.

“Come in,”

She turned the doorknob to see her boyfriend sitting in a chair, lightly bobbing his head to the beat of a song she didn’t know at all while he worked. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he looked. His headphones were hanging around his neck, grey sweatpants, and the oversized black t-shirt she’d bought him two days ago covering his body. She never knew why he wore such baggy clothing when he had such a great figure, but she always figured that he just loved the style and how comfy it was.

“Izu-baby, I thought you said you were done for the night,” Y/N nagged lightly. “I’ve been waiting for you in the living room this whole time,”

Midoriya looked up at her with the most innocent look she’d ever seen in her life. Not even with all of the small children she’s encountered had she ever seen something so child-like and light-hearted. She now understood why some parents had trouble saying no to their children. If they looked like he did right now, Y/N would most likely raise the most spoiled child in the entire world.

“I-I know baby, and I’m sorry, but I finally got the reports from the police back and I thought I could just finish it up and add it into my files!” he pleaded.

Y/N sighed and turned to look at his screen. Her eyes got lost in the jumble of words on the screen and she found herself having some trouble with making any sense of what the hell he had been typing. Although everything looked neat and organized, she couldn’t help but notice how panicked and rushed everything seemed to feel as she read through his summary. He may have an unhealthy obsession with making perfection, but she couldn’t help but appreciate his work ethic. He loved his job more than anyone, and who was she to blame him?

“You know, despite leaving me high and dry out there, you’re good at what you do,” Y/N giggled, her orbs getting lost into his emerald ones. “Really, really good.”

He smiled widely, his eyes crinkling up. He fell back in his chair, slouching with a sigh as he looked up at the ceiling.

“I was afraid you’d have yelled at me by now,” He admitted earnestly.

“Oh believe me, I have some words that I’d like to share with you. But I understand that you’re incredibly busy,” Y/N giggled.

He sat up straighter in his chair and grabbed her cheeks in his palms, his scarred fingers touching her as if she was fine china. He brought her closer to his face and pressed his lips against hers gently. He smiled against her skin and pulled away, pulling her into his lap. Y/N knew what he was doing.

“Izuku Midoriya,” She stated firmly. “You’ve worked on this long enough, it’s time to take a break. You’re going to hurt your eyes because you’re looking at the screen for too long,”

She caught him. He chuckled and shook his head, wondering how she managed to catch him in his little acts every single time. He was, in fact, trying to get her to watch him do his job so he could keep working and keep her company at the same time.

She turned around so she was face to face with him, her arms wrapping around his neck loosely. Her eyes met his and she could see the milky way in his orbs. She smiled and pressed her forehead against his.

“You have time honey,” She whispered, shutting her eyelids. “You don’t have to finish it all tonight,”

He looked at her shut eyelids, getting lost in her eyelashes. She was right. With quarantine in effect, he practically had all the time in the world. He’d begged for more time nearly every day before the pandemic hit, but now that he’d received it, he was finding it hard to progressively work through something day by day. It needed to get finished the night he thought of it or he’d lose his mind.

“But can I just finish this last summary?” He pleaded, hoping that she’d give in and grant him just a little more time.

“You aren’t on a schedule Deku,” She stated. “Paper work can wait until tomorrow, this gorgeous report can wait until tomorrow,”

Deku sighed and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, large doe eyes turning to look at his computer screen then back at his girlfriend. He gave an apologetic look her way and stood up from his chair with her. He stretched out his limbs and let out an inhumane noise when the shivers ran down his spine. Y/N giggled. She yelped when his large hands gripped the undersides of her thighs, hoisting her into his arms while her legs wrapped around his torso. He put his computer to sleep after saving his progress and turned off the light, shutting the door behind their figures as he headed to their bedroom.

“You don’t wanna watch a show tonight?” She queried as he placed her onto their plush comforters.

He threw his shirt off his head and crawled into bed, laying his head on his pillow and nearly knocking out right there. She took his silence as a no and snuggled next to him, lifting his arm to place herself under it, her head on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat and a feeling of sleepiness washed over her body in waves.

“What would I do without you?” Izuku smiled tiredly. “I’m glad I have you to keep me in check when I go a little too far,”

Y/N giggled and pressed her lips against his cheek sweetly.

“Yeah well, if I don’t do it, no one will,”

[pinnithin]

invited home

This started as a “haha funnie gman eat a pizza” fic and turned into a soft little story about family. 3406 words.

Remembering etiquette was, perhaps, the hardest part of this.

The “hardest part of this” changed pretty frequently — often associated with whatever he was dealing with at the time. The week that took Gordon’s hand and very nearly his life was several months behind him, but he still heard the echoes of the Resonance Cascade in little things as the days passed. He heard it in the low hum of the air conditioner in his window and the backfire of a tailpipe outside. He kept the lights on at night and heard the echoes in his sleep.

It would never really go away, he guessed.

The best he could do, dealing with the hardest part of whatever his day brought him, was to simply keep living. A clockwork routine grounded him. He did normal things like buy groceries and hike in the county foothills - sometimes alone, sometimes with Tommy. Black Mesa and all the horrors it held may have broken the two of them, but they were slowly putting the pieces of each other back together.

So it shouldn’t have surprised him when he invited him to dinner with his father, right?

They were... well, they were something. Gordon found it difficult to call Tommy his boyfriend when they’d crash landed straight from acquaintances to partners in Black Mesa. The guy was the only reason Gordon was still alive, and he felt that he’d be repaying that act of kindness for the rest of his days. That sort of unwarranted devotion wasn’t exactly grounds for a normal courtship.

But this is what people did. They bought groceries and went for walks and had dinner with family. Tommy was offering this ritual to Gordon in an attempt to ground him, just like he helped him establish his other routines. It was in his best interest to take it.

The one story adobe in Sandia Heights was far more nondescript than Gordon was expecting, fitted cozily into the neighborhood on a street named Desert Finch Lane. It was evening, and the setting sun washed the walls a soft pink. The front lawn was xeriscaped with a bed of gravel and some strategic placements of yucca and saguaro, and a straight stone path marched right up to the front door. Gordon checked his phone one more time before he exited his vehicle - this house seemed far too normal to belong to someone like Tommy’s father.

No, the address Tommy sent him matched the numbers on the mailbox. Briefly, he glanced over the rest of the conversation as he reached with a free hand to kill the ignition.

T: Only if you want to! I know the last time you spoke was kind of weird... G: its fine it was a weird day haha G: no yeah id love to though G: do i need to bring anything? T: :D T: I guess you can if you want? It’s not going to be fancy or anything - we’ll probably order takeout. T: We just like to get together every month or so to catch up and I wanted to bring you along this time! No pressure. G: oh is this like G: a family thing? T: Well, yeah. Is that okay? G: its great! just checking G: see you then

T: :) T: See you.

A smile touched his mouth. Tommy rarely asked Gordon for anything, so he knew this was important to him even if he downplayed it. Gordon wouldn’t say he was a fan of Tommy’s father, but if Tommy wanted him to smooth things over after the Black Mesa incident, well, he’d try. For him, he’d try.

He didn’t know if Tommy’s father drank, so he passed on the wine, deciding instead that one can never go wrong with garlic bread. His eyes fell to the loaf he’d picked up from Albertson’s on his way over, still warm and wrapped in a foil package in the passenger seat.  He’d done the meet-the-parents dance a few times before - a lifetime ago, it felt - but none of his partners had ever mattered this much to him, and none of their fathers had ever been gods.

Remembering etiquette, he reflected, was the hardest part of this.

He slid out of the car, taking the bread with him, and marched up to the front door. It was painted a bright turquoise with the word Bienvenidos scripted across the middle in white decal letters. This struck him as odd, because Tommy’s father didn’t seem the type to care about suburban design motifs, but he only hesitated a moment before raising a fist to rap his knuckles on the door.

Only a few seconds passed before the door swung open, and relief rolled over Gordon when he saw it was Tommy in the doorway. He was dressed in his usual button up, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he smiled like a sunrise. Gordon grinned back. He didn’t think the rush of affection that overtook him every time he laid eyes on the man would ever really fade. 

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Tommy answered, still smiling. “Come on in.”

He stepped back to allow Gordon entry, and his presence somewhat quelled Gordon’s trepidation as he crossed the threshold into Mr. Coolatta’s house. 

“I hope garlic bread is okay,” he said as Tommy shut the door behind him. His eyes caught the neat line of shoes in the entryway, and he began jimmying his sneakers off. “I wasn’t sure what we were having.”

“It’s perfect,” Tommy answered, turning from the door. He watched Gordon attempting to remove his shoes without the help of his hands with a hint of amusement. “Um, do you want me to take that?” he asked, indicating the bread.

“I’ve got it,” Gordon muttered distractedly, finally kicking off one shoe and then the other. “You didn’t grow up here, did you?”

Tommy watched the sneakers go flying down the hall, a laugh in his eyes, but he didn’t comment. “God, no,” he answered. “Dad downsized a couple years ago.” He paused, flicking a brief look around the room, before adding, “He decorated the place himself.”

Gordon followed Tommy’s gaze. It looked like a house, at a glance. There were throw pillows on the leather couch and an artificial plant rested tastefully on the coffee table. Picture frames and various ornaments adorned the mantle, functionally useless objects stuffed between photos of the Coolatta family through the years. His eyes caught a decorative globe, some pillar candles, and a geometric silver figurine before landing on a sunny portrait of a smiling child - Tommy, he guessed. A wall hanging of colorful overlapping rectangles covered the space next to the south window.

All at once, Gordon felt he was in a place that was trying very hard to be a house, without quite knowing what a house’s qualifying factors were. Aside from the photos, the only clue to the owner’s tastes was the record player against the far wall, crackling out music from a time period Gordon didn’t recognize. Something with a strange time signature and a dreamlike melody. It was possible the song was from an era that had not yet happened.

He looked back to Tommy and found him studying his face. “It’s nice,” he offered summarily.

Tommy laughed quietly through his nose. “I think he just went to the home decor section of Target and picked out some stuff he liked,” he said.

“Oh,” Gordon replied. “Y’know, now that you say it - yeah. Yeah, I can see that.” 

Tommy didn’t exactly look uncomfortable with Gordon’s presence in his father’s house, but he didn’t seem wholly relaxed either. The set of his shoulders betrayed him, as did his hands, which fidgeted at the seams of his pockets before extending to take the bread from him.

“Here, let me - we can put this in the kitchen,” he said, gesturing behind him. 

It was possible that etiquette slipped his mind as frequently as it did Gordon’s, and that made him feel a little better about the whole thing. He should have assumed as much - he and Tommy both used the skeleton of routine to prop themselves up, despite the fact that they found social rules tiresome at best. A necessary framework for people like them. Gordon allowed Tommy to take the package from his arms and followed him down the hall. 

The kitchen was a little more homey, if only for the healthy clutter of appliances on the counter. Two boxes from Dion’s Pizza sat on the island, and seeing them pulled an audible sigh of relief from Gordon.

Tommy noticed. “Yeah, we’re not - we don’t cook a lot around here,” he admitted, sliding the package of garlic bread next to the pizza.

“That makes me feel better about bringing over store bought bread,” Gordon chuckled. “Where’s uh,” he darted a glance around the room, as if the man in question would materialize if he mentioned him aloud. “Where’s your dad at, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s...” Tommy finished his sentence with a vague wave of his hand. “He’ll show up sooner or later.”

He didn’t seem concerned, as if his father disappearing to another time and place arbitrarily was something that happened a lot. It made sense - Tommy was self-sufficient to the point of being an outright loner - and Gordon guessed that Mr. Coolatta’s inhuman qualities probably didn’t lend to a very warm upbringing.

Tommy was watching him, observant as always. “He’s not really a bad person,” he said at length. “He just… he sees things differently.”

“Shit, man,” Gordon laughed and shook his head. “Sometimes I think you can read my mind.”

“Oh, I never told you?” Tommy responded, raising his eyebrows impishly. 

He didn’t seem to want to discuss his father any further, so Gordon laughed at Tommy’s joke and didn’t press it. They fell into a comfortable discussion, standing together in the kitchen and waiting on the third member of their little party. This part Gordon knew how to do - speaking with Tommy always felt like coming home, and while they were still learning things about each other, he never felt any pressure to behave in a way that wasn’t his whole, genuine self. He saw the slope of Tommy’s shoulders slowly relaxing while they talked, and felt himself mirroring him as the minutes ticked by.

Tommy’s father materialized in the time it took for Gordon to blink, one moment absent and the next present. Spooked, Gordon jumped slightly at his appearance, while Tommy uttered an unaffected and congenial, “hey, Dad.”

Mister Coolatta stood under the kitchen lights exactly how Gordon remembered him. His suit was as smooth and clean as his hair,  and he wondered if the man even thought about wearing anything else, much less owned a varied wardrobe. Tommy’s father was, in many ways, like Tommy himself. Tall and neat and watchful. Seeing them side by side, it was easier to envision them as family, and Gordon no longer wondered where Tommy picked up his carefully neutral expression from.

The man in the suit fixed his cool gaze on Gordon. “Mister Freeman,” he said. “It is, hm, good to see you again.”

Gordon extended a hand before he could lose his nerve. This was what people did. And while Tommy’s father may not necessarily be a person, that was no reason for Gordon to deny him the courtesy of a handshake.

“You too, sir,” he answered. “Happy to be here.”

Tommy’s father paused for a moment, studying Gordon’s outstretched hand with interest. “I trust the hand hasn’t been giving you trouble since your little incident?”

“Uh,” Gordon faltered only for a moment. “No. It’s been just fine.”

“Dad,” Tommy intoned quietly, passing a glance between his father and Gordon.

This spurred the man in the suit to recall etiquette, himself, and then Gordon was shaking hands with a god.

It was surprisingly normal, all things considered. His grip wasn’t quite as solid as Gordon expected, though that was less a testament to his grip strength than it was to his short-of-corporeal nature. His skin felt like something that was pretending to be skin, and it was the same temperature as the air around them. But he nodded and looked Gordon in the eye like any other man, so he guessed he’d had worse handshakes before in his life. 

Mr. Coolatta released him and angled his head to his son. “Forgive me for my lateness, I… had to take care of some things on the ah, ‘out-side,’ as it were.”

“It’s fine, Dad,”  Tommy answered, then added, “I picked up the pizza.”

His father’s eyes lit on the boxes, seemingly for the first time. “Dion’s,” he observed. “Excellent choice.”

After a short, awkward silence, Gordon blurted, “should we eat?” and Tommy sighed a grateful “yes,” before nudging his father toward the dining room.

As Gordon took a step to gather the pizzas into his arms, he felt Tommy skate his fingers delicately across the inside of his palm. 

“Thank you,” he murmured in his ear, quiet and just for him.

Gordon wasn’t sure what exactly Tommy was thanking him for, but he caught his hand before he could withdraw and gave a reassuring squeeze. He was warm and solid and alive, and it anchored him.

“We got this,” he told Tommy, smiling.

The dining room was another testament to Mr. Coolatta’s decorating tastes. Gordon was not quite successful in withholding a chuckle when he noticed a Live, Laugh, Love sign on the wall, and this earned him a gentle elbow in the ribs from his partner. Tommy was carrying a set of plates and silverware in one hand and some napkins in another.

When Gordon offered to help set the table, Tommy only shook his head mischievously, and the cutlery leapt from his hands on their own.

Right. He was dating a demigod. This was a detail Gordon often forgot about, if only for the fact that Tommy displayed his power in subtle, quiet ways that went unnoticed. Here, however, he had no such reservations.

This was a Tommy Gordon hadn’t gotten to see yet, and he caught himself staring as he set the table without even touching a plate. He handled himself with an ease he didn’t show out in public, manipulating space with a well-practiced comfort that indicated years of doing it this way. A Coolatta ritual, for Coolattas only. Gordon, an outsider, felt his nervousness slowly melt into gratitude at being invited to the table. He understood now - Tommy didn’t want Gordon here just to smooth things over with his father. He wanted to share his life with him, every jigsawed piece of it. 

Conversation was easier than anticipated. Tommy led the discussion at first, updating his father on his new job at the VLA in Socorro. Working with radios in the quiet desert, listening to the stars, seemed to suit him, and the fondness with which he recalled his nighttime shifts alone was genuine. Gordon tucked into his slice of 505 (pepperoni and green chile) and watched Mr. Coolatta’s facial expression as he absorbed the information.

The man sat perfectly still except to give acknowledging nods here and there, and his pizza remained untouched on his plate. At least, that was Gordon’s first assumption, until he realized the slice was gradually disappearing bite by bite every time he looked away. Mr. Coolatta’s face was impassive as always when Gordon gave him a questioning look, and when Tommy didn’t acknowledge the mystical pizza disappearance, he chose not to say anything about it.

“Mister Freeman,” the man in the suit said after a time, turning his swirling gaze on his guest. “It is my under-standing that you… have a new profession, as well?”

Gordon, figuring he’d picked up the “Mister Freeman” thing  from Tommy, didn’t bother to correct him. “Yeah, I’m teaching physics at NMT,” he answered.

He didn’t think he’d enjoy an academic environment all that much, choosing to teach as a backup while he pursued streaming in the meantime, but he was developing a fondness for it. His students were bright individuals, and some of them were just as weird as he was, which kept his days interesting.

Gordon wasn’t one to discuss his new job at length with anyone. It felt strange, after everything he lived through, to complain about something as trivial as grading papers or writing coursework. But Mr. Coolatta was among a handful of individuals who knew exactly what happened to him during his employment at Black Mesa, so he felt what he said next was entirely understood by everyone at the table.

“It’s a nice change of pace,” he added. “Things are better.”

“Yes,” Tommy’s father answered. “I have… heard the same from Tommy. It is, good to know that the two of you are, hm, recovering well.”

His tone was one step away from apologetic, and Gordon was sure he imagined it, but he was touched by the sentiment nonetheless. Tommy smiled softly down at his plate and didn’t say anything. They were recovering well, weren’t they? Finding a place for themselves. Learning how to be human again.

Gordon wasn’t sure, at first, if it would ever be possible. The Resonance Cascade was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but… Tommy was the best thing that ever happened to him. And even with all the complicated emotions that surrounded the Coolatta family, he was happy to be here. He was happy to see that small, private smile cross Tommy’s face. 

The evening concluded with Gordon and Mr. Coolatta getting into a discussion about whether a hotdog was actually a sandwich, with Tommy joining in as moderator and rewarding imaginary points as they each went over their arguments. They wiped out the pizzas handily between the three of them. When Gordon had to excuse himself to begin the drive back to Socorro, Mr. Coolatta initiated another handshake with him. It was only a little less weird the second time. 

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Tommy offered.

The setting sun bled a soft orange onto the neighborhood as the two of them left the house. Tommy kept his hands in his pockets, just barely brushing shoulders with Gordon as they went.

“Thank you,” he said again.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me,” Gordon responded. “It was nice.”

They pulled to a stop next to the station wagon. “Sorry Dad’s so…” Tommy trailed off and shrugged. “Like that,” he finished.

His eyes were down, studying the sidewalk as he scuffed the sole of his shoe on the concrete. His expression was drawn, but Gordon could see from the crinkle of his eyes that he was happy with how the night turned out. 

“Hey,” Gordon said.

Tommy’s eyes flicked up to meet his. His gaze was sharp and watchful, cutting Gordon in a way he found he liked.

“Don’t feel like you need to apologize for your dad,” Gordon said. “He’s cool. And I’m… Like, I’m glad you wanted me there. I had a good time,” he rambled further, “and it’s - I haven’t been to dinner with someone in a long time, and it was just - like it was really nice to just talk about stuff with family like that.”

Tommy’s mouth split into a smile, face flushing slightly as Gordon said the word ‘family.’ “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was nice. This is - we should do this again.”

The fact that there would be a next time sent a rush of emotion into Gordon’s chest. He loved Tommy, loved how trusting he was to invite him to such a private part of his life. Certainly this was difficult for him to do, but he allowed Gordon Freeman, of all people, to cross the threshold and see inside. He was close enough to be considered family. Sheer affection made him dizzy.

Tommy’s smile was infectious, causing Gordon to grin outright. “I’ll see you back home later?” he asked.

“Mm hm,” Tommy nodded. He leaned in, but stopped short when Gordon held up a hand in protest.

“Uh,” he intoned, pointing. “Your dad is totally watching us from the window.”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder and caught the dark visage of his father beyond the glass. He rolled his eyes, still smiling, and gestured with a hand. The curtains snapped shut at his command. “No, he isn’t,” he said.

They kissed on the curb, Gordon laughing softly into Tommy’s mouth. He was home already.

[miekasa]

and i found them! the actual ac unit snippet was hiding with the last one, so i thought i’d just drop them both here 😅 your appreciation means the world to me 🌼

💉the broken ac unit snippet [not the previous choppy summary, but the actual snippet that was hiding with erwintholomew’s]

it’s summer—dry heat, humidity, and warm winds all around. oc has been working in the outdoor makeshift hospital for her month’s rotation shift. tents of covid cases have been overflowing. it’s patient after patient, and she’s in PPE—full-on hazmat suit for 8 hours (sometimes more). food and water breaks between shifts aren’t feasible because they’re saving suits, bathroom breaks are timed before or after she suits up. it was literally hell.

levi’s been noticing his roomie coming home even more exhausted than usual. sometimes, she just goes to the kitchen and drinks down two glasses of water before heading for a nap. he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. she looked like she’s lost a bit of weight. she was always a little paler and seemed to be wilted these days. he’s been trying to quietly shoulder a bit more of her chores, but he’s also pretty amazed at how she manages to keep up.

it was on a saturday afternoon when he found out. he had work and errands to run and some packages to send to his mom. he knocks on his roomie’s door to ask if she wanted him to do anything for her. he’s willing to do her groceries or make her dinner if it meant seeing her eat something other than instant ramen or a peanut butter sandwich. her muffled voice bids him to come in.

oc: oh heya

she gives him a tired wave. she’s sitting on her bed, reading something on her tablet. the first thing levi notices is that it’s way too fucking hot. her room is neat with a bit of a mess, a few notebooks strewn around her bed and a shirt hanging on the study chair, but obviously clean. the fan she has turned on was doing nothing to alleviate the heat though.

levi: you know you can turn your ac up in this heat right?

oc gives a tired chuckle at that.

oc: it’s been broken for a few weeks, but don’t worry! i already got a new one

levi is pretty speechless, considering that the heat wave has only been getting worse for the past month. she points to the unopened giant box crowding the space by her work desk.

oc: work’s just been exhausti—busy lately, but i’ll get around to it. i just need to switch them out and take the old one to recycling downstairs.

levi honestly doesn’t have anything to say to that because what the hell—

oc: did you need something?

he snaps out of it.

levi: i’m—i’m going out for errands. want me to get you anything?

oc: oh, are you passing by the pharmacy?

he wasn’t planning on it, but levi nods.

oc: yeah hang on, lemme just write the prescription for my pills. thank you!

levi shuts her door and speedwalks to his room. he knows he’s being irrational, and he knows that it isn’t his fault but fuck, she’s been living like that for weeks on top of all her work. he turns up his ac unit, rolls down his blinds, and fluffs the pillows on his bed before pulling the covers down. he knows that he could offer the suggestion of sleeping on the couch in their living room (they had an ac unit there after all), but no. she deserves better than that.

when levi walks back to her room, oc’s head peeps out of the door.

oc: here, i just need three boxes and i can cashapp you the payment.

levi grunts, taking the prescription and folding it into his pocket.

levi: come with me.

oc is pretty taken aback at his gruff tone, and she wonders what’s gotten him in a twist. she’s on the verge of passing out because work has been brutal and she has a golden weekend, so she was planning to catch up on a lot of rest. she follows quietly, wanting to quickly resolve whatever this was. her roomie’s always been a little...weird. it gets weirder when she realizes that he’s leading her to his room. cold air hits her when he opens the door and ushers her in, and she feels reborn.

levi: you can rest here for now

oc’s eyes widen at that. they’ve been roomies for over a year now, and respecting personal spaces has always been a huge factor contributing to their civil harmony as roommates.

oc: levi, it’s fine! i can’t, really! i don’t want to intrude, and besides, it’s fine, i—i’ve been alright anywa—

she’s cut off when he starts nudging (pushing) her towards the bed.

levi: seriously, i’ll be out the whole afternoon.

her but’s and what-if’s and i’m-fine’s fall on deaf ears. her roomie maneuvers her expertly and practically trips her to make her fall onto the bed. when her back hits the soft mattress, she feels a wave of fatigue hit. then he’s guiding her head towards the pillows while she mumbles about feeling like she’s overstepping, but levi’s room was cold and comfortable. the bed was a cloud, cool and soft and dragging her further into sleep. she feels the covers pulled up around her shoulders, and darkness claims her.

levi leaves quietly after shutting down the fan in her room. his afternoon is spent running some on-the-ground tasks for projects for work and personal errands. he does take an impromptu trip to the old deli near their place to buy some cuts of beef and a cheap bottle of red wine for a stew. he wonders if he’s breaching boundaries, but he makes an impulsive decision for once. he’ll drag her to dinner if he has to, she looks like she hasn’t had a decent meal in days. when he gets home, it’s late afternoon, but the sun was still up in all its scorching heat. he disinfects the goods thoroughly before heading for a shower himself. oc is still sleeping soundly when he checks in on her [levi thoughts: good, she really fucking needs it]. he goes into her room and replaces her broken ac unit, easily installing the new one and padding up the sides tightly. he brings the old one down before sweeping up the dust in her room that has settled from his handiwork. he turns it on to test it, and her room cools in minutes. satisfied, he leaves the ac unit on and starts dinner.

oc comes to slowly, mind still clouded and heavy from sleep. everything around her is blurry and she’s engulfed in softness smelling of black tea and spearmint. the realization of where she is hits like a freight train and this wakes her right up. the time on the clock by the bed says it’s almost half-past seven, and oc panics. she’s overstepped, her roomie’s gonna be pissed, and oh god, she didn’t mean to take that long of a nap. she practically runs out of his room. levi is setting two places at their table when she dashes in. a pot of stew was simmering on the stove. he looks up and just points to her meds.

levi: it’s already been disinfected.

oc opens her mouth for what was going to be a long apology when levi interrupts her before she even begins.

levi: i also installed your new ac unit. the broken one’s already at recycling.

oc’s eyes widen and she can feel tears welling up because it’s been weeks of exhaustion and uncomfortable hot nights and she’s been trying to find enough strength to do that and—

levi goes tomato-red when his roomie launches herself at him and wraps her arms around his shoulders tightly. he can hear her voice quivering, tone hovering on about-to-blubber-and-cry, repeatedly thanking him and apologizing for overstepping and he kind of just stands there for a moment. he pats her back awkwardly, wondering how to respond to her and decides to keep quiet and let her break the hug first. she might actually cry if he pushes her away.

oc lets him go gently, a little embarrassed at her outburst but she gives him a small smile and mutters a soft “sorry.”

levi: cut the apologies, brat. i offered. it’d be inhumane to let you sleep in that heat.

oc is about to argue when he fixes her with a glare that makes her sigh. she presses her palms into her cheeks in resignation.

levi: come on, i made dinner. you really need to eat something other than synthetic garbage and peanut butter.

oc sniffles and giggles. levi sets the food down and takes a seat beside her. he freezes when she grasps his hand.

oc: really, levi, thank you

levi shrugs (absolutely melting at her smile). he doles out servings of stew and rice, and they have a quiet dinner.

💉erwin’s own private gym in his penthouse snippet [in which erwin’s not even in this snippet, but he and his gym are catalysts of sorts]

it’s a rare occurrence that oc wakes before noon on her days off. so when she bumbles into the kitchen at 7am, craving for some tea and the little tiramisu her patient from work gave her, she bumps into levi. levi—also fresh out bed and only clad in boxer shorts. plaid dark pink ones that did wonders for his ass.

oc, completely forgetting that she’s in an oversized shirt that goes past her shorts and that her hair is a mess, stops mid-stride. her jaw drops. levi is built. not to any extreme body-builder kind to any extent. but he was fit and holy fuck his back alone was oh wow. yeah, she’s awake. levi turns at the sound of footsteps and has to suppress his smirk because oc’s appraisal was very very distracting, affirming, and ego-boosting. he thinks his roomie doesn’t even realize she is gawking [levi thoughts: she looks way too fucking cute and soft for someone half dead from a toxic shift yesterday and he wants to run his hands through her hair and knead the knots out of her shoulders and feel those legs—].

he truly has to hold in his laughter when oc literally goes “what the fuck” while waving around her hands gesturing to his abs and pecs. oc squints in the midst of her appraisal.

oc: how do you maintain all that in a pandemic??

levi sets down another mug and pours out more tea while explaining that erwin, who lives in the penthouse suite of the complex, has his own home gym. levi, hange, and moblit have exclusive access to it because they’re friends, they live in the same complex, they all work from home plus they clean up and help him maintain it.

levi: it’s a lot safer than public gyms.

oc is still chewing on this information while now blatantly staring at his thighs.

levi: i’m pretty sure erwin will let you use it too if you’re looking for someplace to work out. i can ask him if you want.

he adds some milk to her tea before walking over to oc and handing her a steaming mug of chai. he does this on purpose just to get a reaction out of her because he is absolutely basking in this. she is usually very composed and almost nothing fazes her, and he thinks he’s never seen her flush this deep. oc snaps out of it as she thanks him for the tea. she just nods, her eyes a little glazed over and unfocused.

oc: oh, th—that’s nice. i’ll think about it.

she primly grabs her tiramisu and walks back to her room, leaving levi smirking in their kitchen. she has thoughts that need processing.

oc thoughts: erwin happens to be filthy rich and roomie-free and can afford a penthouse. he dedicated a room in his penthouse to a fully-equipped gym. this is some really good chai. she pretty much stared at her roomie, with his knowledge, very disrespectfully at seven in the morning. her roommate is hot. pretty. cute. sexy. his voice—how has she never noticed? arms? abs? those thighs?? all of the above??? anyway, that v down his hips, his chest—yeah, her vibrator’s batteries die that night, and she’ll have to remember to get new ones after work. this is very for her, very bad indeed.

this was the h-word snippet 🥵 LMAO i had to give oc a little something because this isn’t one-sided after all 😌

SDKJSGHLF;DS ANON YOU’RE OUT OF YOUR MIND YOU’RE A LITTLE GENIUS YOU KNOW THAT!!! INCREDIBLE!!

when levi walks back to her room, oc’s head peeps out of the door.

oc: here, i just need three boxes and i can cashapp you the payment.

levi grunts, taking the prescription and folding it into his pocket.

levi: come with me.

THIS PART!! IS SO LEVI!! I’M OBSESSED!! I’m obsessed with the whole concept of him just... affectionately forcing her to nap in his room because it’s the least he can do to help ease her pain, and show that he cares; but this right here!! The way he had no intentions of going to the pharmacy, but is going to help her out anyway!! Begrudgingly taking the perscription, and immediately changing the subject away from the topic of her paying him back!! So good!! (And why do I get the feeling that he never accepted her cashapp lmaooo). 

oc is about to argue when he fixes her with a glare that makes her sigh. she presses her palms into her cheeks in resignation.

levi: come on, i made dinner. you really need to eat something other than synthetic garbage and peanut butter.

oc sniffles and giggles. levi sets the food down and takes a seat beside her. he freezes when she grasps his hand.

oc: really, levi, thank you

levi shrugs (absolutely melting at her smile).

ALSO HERE!! I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know but the casual insulting her dinners lmaoo only to help her out; it’s the showing affection without outright saying it’s affection that’s so GOOD!! I’M OBSESSED!!

AND THE WHOLE GYM SEQUENCE!! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! LOVE LEVI BEING JUST A LITTLE COCKY!! GOOD FOR HIM!! HE’S ATTRACTIVE!! HE SHOULD KNOW IT!! PLS but oc being just a little shameless and telling him how good he looks and just staring without feeling guilty LMFAOO GOOD FOR HER TOO!! GOOD FOR THEM!!

[chelsfic]

I’ll Just Look on Through My Love - Guillermo x Reader x Nandor One-shot (Dom/Sub, One-shot)

Sorry for the gif lmao

Sequel to A Familiar’s Familiar

WWDITS Masterlist | AO3

Summary: Guillermo and Nandor punish you. Nandor thinks Guillermo is far too lenient with you.

Warnings/Tags: Dom/sub, choking, humiliation, Gender Neutral Pronouns/Descriptions

Nandor’s hand is gigantic. It wraps practically all the way around your throat. His fingers and thumb dig into the tender flesh under your jaw bone, forcing your head back against his broad chest. Guillermo’s hand is smaller, but more vicious. His blunt fingernails cut into your sensitive skin. You’re sandwiched between them, Guillermo’s weight pressing into your chest and Nandor’s ice cold breath creeping over the nape of your neck. Their bodies hold you up, your feet dangling, barely scraping the floor of your little bedroom under the stairs.

 “Look at you, chiquis,” Guillermo’s voice is stern but there’s a tremor in it that betrays how affected he is by this scene. Not to mention his achingly hard erection, currently rocking against your pelvis. “Weeping, whining, falling apart. Is this what it takes to teach you respect?”

 Nandor growls into your ear, his beard scraping roughly against your cheek as he leans over you and grabs Guillermo up in a broken, feral kiss. Their hands loosen around your throat and you sob as the blood rushes painfully back to your oxygen-deprived brain. Shadows and brilliant sparks of light fade from your vision as you recover yourself, suspended between your master and his master.  

 Nandor snarls into the kiss and Guillermo responds with a breathy, needy moan. Hearing the way your master responds to Nandor’s attentions sends a pulsing ache to your groin. But you’re still weak and weepy with the sorrow of disappointing Guillermo. You fist your little hands into the fabric of his sweater and bury your face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him and begging for forgiveness. “I’m sorry,” you repeat over and over again.

 Nandor’s chest rumbles with low laughter and he begins thrusting to the rhythm of your cries; his firm erection rubs against your ass through layers and layers of clothing. “Your familiar is spoiled, Guillermo,” he chides, pulling back from the kiss, his mouth painted with blood. Guillermo’s lips are a beautiful ruin. “They think they can run around this house disrespecting vampires and just say they are sorry ?”

 Nandor wraps his arms around you, replacing his hand around your throat and pulling you away from your master. You sob pitifully at the separation and try again, “Please, I’m really sorry, Master. Master Nandor. I won’t ever roll my eyes at you again. Please…”

 “It’s too late for that!” Nandor grouses. He squeezes his hand on your throat in a petulant warning before letting his fingers relax. “You think I don’t know you don’t give a shit about me? Well, it’s pretty clear. Look at you, so sad and desperate for Guillermo. Well, guess what? Guillermo doesn’t want you. He wants me. Isn’t that right, Guillermo?

 Your master is undressing, responding to some unspoken command from Nandor’s eyes. He removes his clothing with neat precision, folding and setting each item down on the little nightstand beside your cot. “Yes, master,” he answers with a needy moan, finally working the skin-tight boxer-briefs down his curvy legs and standing naked and exposed before you. 

 Guillermo’s body is so perfect it hurts. Your eyes linger over his heaving chest, the round slope of his plush stomach, the shape of his heavy erection jutting out between thick thighs. The only other time you’ve seen your master nude was that night...months ago when he’d offered you the job. But it had been dark and he’d been in a rush. Still. The memory of his words sends a shiver down your spine, If you want this job...you’ll need to lose your virginity first...

 Nandor speaks and you snap back to the present. You can practically see the open-mouthed leer on his lips as he hisses in satisfaction. “Look at you, Guillermo! Your cheeks are so rosy...and that fat cock is ready for me, isn’t it?”

 “Yes, master.” Guillermo backs up until his knees hit the edge of your pitiful little mattress. He lays down on it, his legs spread open and you might faint. Your beautiful master, naked and yearning, laid out in the place where you sleep every night! He ghosts a hand over his dick and pants, “I want you, master. I’ve been good.”

 “Hm, debatable,” Nandor mocks. He’s grinding himself into your ass and you feel yourself responding, subtly rocking back against him. “You can’t even keep your own familiar in line, after all. I have to do everything for you, do I? Guillermo, prepare yourself for me while this pitiful little thing watches.”

 Guillermo groans in delight, shoving his hands between his spread legs. The air rushes from your lungs at the sight and Nandor laughs over your head. “He’s not for you, little human.”

 You watch as Guillermo glances over at your nightstand and back at you with a questioning arch of his brows. Oh god…

 “I-in the drawer, master,” you tell him, face burning as he reaches into the drawer and pulls out the bottle of lube you’d purchased with rather unrealistically hopeful expectations. 

 He smirks at you as he pours the liquid over his fingers, “My familiar is keeping secrets from me, too? What are you doing in here all by yourself in the middle of the day with this, huh?” Guillermo’s fingers trace past his cock, inching between his legs. “Do you touch yourself and think about me? What do you think about? Getting fucked by me?” His fingers disappear and he regards you coldly. “No...it’s something else isn’t it? Something sadder. You think about rutting against me like the pathetic, mewling underservant you are? Fucking yourself on my thigh while I ignore you? Is that what gets you off?”

 Guillermo’s working himself open as he speaks and Nandor’s hand has fallen from your neck. He’s holding you in a bone-cracking bear hug as he frantically humps you from behind. Warmth pools between your legs and every little motion causes your underwear to brush against your sex, sending an electric jolt through your core. You could come without ever being touched.

 “I hope you’re ready for me, Guillermo. Because I cannot wait any longer.” Nandor drags you forward and throws you down on the narrow bed beside your master. You lay there, frozen and unsure, next to your writhing, panting master. Nandor climbs on after you, kneeling between Guillermo’s spread legs. “You’re going to lay there and watch while I fuck your master into the mattress. Won’t that be nice?” When you don’t answer Nandor’s face turns stony. “What do you say when a superior does a kindness for you, mortal?”

 “Thank you, Master Nandor.” Your voice is small. 

 You curl onto your side so you can face your master; maybe you can pretend it’s just the two of you. But Guillermo ignores you, staring up at Nandor with his eyes blown. His face is slack and he squirms wantonly, begging with his body for his master’s attention. What would it be like, you wonder, to be the object of Guillermo’s adoration? Your hands lay limp on the mattress, twitching every now and then with the desire to reach out and touch what you can’t have.

 Nandor unbuttons his fly and pulls out his straining cock, already glistening with pre-cum. He lines himself up without ceremony and rails into Guillermo’s soft, pliant body. Your master cries out, his hands bracing against the wall behind his head as Nandor starts plowing into him with unforgiving force. You watch, rapt, your face only inches from Guillermo’s on the pillow. Nandor is a writhing, brutal force of nature, but you only have eyes for your sweet master. His face scrunches up so adorably in pain-pleasure. His pouty lips are parted and little mewling cries spill out with every breath. Nandor is, as always, relentless. You want to scream at him to kiss and hold your master the way he deserves. But you swallow the instinct, dreaming instead of being the one to kiss his swollen, bloodied lips.

 “You need to learn, little human,” Nandor huffs, his hands digging cruelly into Guillermo’s fleshy thighs. “I’m your master’s master. You disrespect me, then you disrespect your master! Understand?”

 A sob tears from your throat and you bury your face into Guillermo’s sweaty shoulder, hiding your overwrought emotions from the vampire’s cold gaze. Guillermo coos at you soothingly, even as he takes his master’s cock deeper inside of him. He drops one arm down onto your shoulders and hugs you to his side. 

 “You’re too lenient with your familiar, Guillermo,” Nandor growls, his voice hiccupping with the intensity of his human’s hot, tight body wrapped around him. 

 Guillermo gasps out a laugh and says, “I wonder where I learned that?”

 Nandor roars at the impertinence just as his climax takes hold. He frantically grabs for his familiar’s neglected cock. He strokes with precise, inhuman speed that carries Guillermo into a rapid, overwhelming orgasm of his own. You cling onto your master, sniffling and crying into his shoulder as he shakes and gasps.

 Nandor slides out of Guillermo, his cock still throbbing and pulsing out hot ropes of semen that splatter over the human’s inner thighs and belly. He waits until the last drop shoots onto Guillermo’s flushed skin before tucking himself away and standing with a ridiculously dignified air considering what he’s just been doing.

 “I’ll expect you in my crypt in an hour to get me ready for coffin,” he commands, turning on his heel and disappearing behind the flimsy curtain. 

 The quiet in your little room is deafening and it makes it all the more apparent when Guillermo’s soft, panting breaths thicken into silent sobs. You raise your head from the cradle of his shoulder, watching his beautiful face collapse in anguish as he cries. Something inside of you breaks. You forget your own angst--the misery of disappointing Guillermo and the terror of his vampire master taking control over your punishment. Your master is hurting and it feels like someone has cracked open your chest and ripped out your heart. 

 “Oh, master!” you plead, reaching up and wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Please, don’t cry.”

 Guillermo takes another minute to regain control. It’s probably taking advantage of his compromised state but you put your arm around his chest and hug him to you. You need to comfort him and, maybe, you need the comfort of his soft warm body as well. When his sobs finally abate, he tries and fails to attain his usual cold, mean demeanor. You’d take a dozen more punishments if it would heal the broken tremor in his voice that betrays him. “Clean me up, familiar.”

 You dash down the hall, returning in moments with a damp washcloth. Guillermo shifts over on the cot, allowing you space to sit at his side as you gently wipe away the drying gobs of Nandor’s semen from his chest and stomach. You blush a little when he parts his thighs and motions for you to clean him down there as well. But, as much as you lust after your beautiful master, that isn’t what this moment is about. You move to kneel between his legs and clean him with a reverence that feels sacred and pure. Touching him softly, you hiss in sympathy when you notice the finger-shaped bruises forming on his thighs. Guillermo stays utterly quiet throughout, staring into the middle distance. 

 “There,” you say, dropping the cloth onto the floor by the bed. “Good as new, master.”

 Guillermo says nothing, his face is a blank mask but you notice that he’s shivering. 

 “Are you cold?” you ask, tugging at the blanket and covering him with it. You feel suddenly nervous. This is unknown territory, you’ve never actually witnessed the private side of his relationship with Nandor. You can’t help but compare the way Nandor fled afterwards with the way Guillermo let you sleep in bed with him that night after he first punished you…

 Feeling uncertain, but desperately wanting to offer comfort, you climb under the blanket with him and cautiously snuggle into his side. You expect him to push you away, or perhaps to lay rigidly beside you. But Guillermo accepts your touch, allowing you to pillow your head on his soft, scarcely-haired chest. He lets out a shaky sigh and his eyes drift closed.

 “Is this alright, master?” you ask, your voice trembling. “Just for a little while, until you feel better?”

 Guillermo doesn’t answer out loud. Instead, he wraps his arms around you and drops a kiss onto the top of your head. Your lips split into a painful smile. You bury your face in his chest, pressing your lips to his smooth skin and kissing directly over his heart. You think you could endure a thousand nights of having to watch, with pitiful yearning in your gut, if your master will only hold you like this and kiss you sweetly each time.

 “Good familiar,” he breaths into your tangled hair and your heart swells.

[sirensmojo]

Scar - Geralt Of Rivia x Reader

Summary: You’re a creature chased by Geralt Of Rivia for a week now, but he couldn’t find you. What he doesn’t know is that you were spying on him since the beginning, when another creature attacks him you stand by his side which causes you to stick with him until he decides if he should follow his feelings and keep you alive, or do the job and kill you.

Warnings: fluff, mystical creature, fights, magic, terror & horror

Word Count: 2,757

 Masterlist

Geralt set a camp in a forest, the same he was told not to cross as humans never came back alive from, but he doesn’t have anything to risk. He isn’t a human, maybe this forest was for mystical creatures only. At first, everything went well. The sun was still up, stick to a blue sky sprinkles by the tips of highs bushy and leafy trees. It was boiling hot, he took off his armor, and his body flopped in a vivid sleep near his horse. It founds him well as it has been, three days in a row of sleepless nights.

Swiftly, his body stiffs, eyes snapped open, looking far away, when they finally lock on something unusual. He gets up on his feet and waits, quietly, his eyes following each shadow it can find.

It is when he glimpses of it, in the distance. His head tilted, eyes squinted, a mere inhuman shadow, only visible from where he stands. The beam lights were stopped by the trunks of trees here and there, making it impossible to keep an eye on the form. It was almost as if the thing vanished from one tree to another, Geralt was confused, his brow narrowed at the vision of horror that played before him. One minute it was there, near a bush, the other, right behind a high branch. Nearly human, but not human enough to make him feel comfortable or make sense of it. A grunt escapes his dry, plump lips as the taste in the air changes, Geralt was cold, all of a sudden. He is not yet sure of what presented in front of him, but until then, his sword will stay on the ground.

A high-pitched tone shrill springs out the dark, an animal he concluded. But what sort of animal does this noise? Add to that the pace of the shadows getting quicker and nearer, a peculiar form lurking in the trees. The leery breath of the man started to thicken as his lips parted. If he doesn’t feel at the mercy of anything dangerous, why can’t he control his breath? Or his pounding heart? At each sound, even the slightest, he can’t help but gaze in that direction. His golden eyes flickered from a point to another by the time he notices the settings have changed.

The leaves had left the trees to encounter the ground that it’s covered in white thick peach fuzz. He put one knee on the soil with a hand-dipped in the white sea. It was indeed snowing. An umpteenth grunt slips out his throat, blowing his warm breath in the cold dark. Moreover, his eyes don’t accommodate to the darkness nicely. Not enough to be able to discern reality and imaginations, not sufficiently to put words and reasonable thoughts on what this animal was, not enough to ease his, now, edgy self. Why the beast doesn’t attack? Or was it even a beast? The Witcher came to that conclusion because the feeling in the air has been always more dense and thick, when there’s a mystic creature in the areas, he senses it. Now all he could sense was leather and woods, for some reason. He pinches his nose, quite annoyed by his helplessness, closes his eyes for a demi-second and inhales deeply, which lead to some unwanted noise caused by his half blocked nostril due to the low temperatures.

“Fuck” He whispers.

Not a single sound reaches his ear after that breath, not a single shadow seen. When his eyes open, his whole body is on alert. His arms tense, his torso stiffens, whereas his legs were hammered in the dense white veil covering the spot. Something was approaching. It even passed by him in a fury. His blood boils in his veins. Even so, he feels like each cell weighted ten times its weight in silver. Geralt heard a last shrill noise nearby by the time he fought with the last drops of strength flowing into his body and reach out for his sword. As he struggles to lift it, a jaw closes on his shoulder. He winces in pain, spitting a deep growl towards the shadows. Gauging by how fast the pain spreads locally, the mouth of the creature must be his main weapon. When it backs off after its first bite, the Witcher figured out the thing will not kill him straight, it isn’t hungry or extra. It utterly wanted to play with his prey, him. He felt like his hands paralyzed, but also shook the most, he’s unsure if it was caused by the frozen or by the bite. His black eyes sprang out, revived thanks to the ache emanating from his dysfunctional shoulder, as it gives him a full ability to discern what attacked him.

It looks like a woman with large spider-like legs coming out of its back. Its body resembles a grisly exoskeleton more than the pulpy features of the human woman he spent the last night with, indeed. That thought, making the Witcher smile.

Despite the new ache focus blooming all over his body, the man was still standing on his feet, springing his sword at the neck of the still unknown yet hideous creature when it jumps back at him. The man heard a terrible screeching sound as the creature crawl about a large boulder. Behind him, rustling bushes and a thud, as if something has slid and then dropped down from the trees behind. Yet still, he can’t look back or the spider-looking thing will take enjoyment in biting again, and he knew well he would not survive another bite. He was encircled by weasel creatures that let him an interval to swallow that today is the day he’ll surely die, in the gelid forest, where hours ago it felt as hot as burning coals. The blood dripping from his huge wound was abnormally overflowing, damping his whole white tunic. On top of that, his death comes in the middle of nowhere, far from his pathetic life.

Perhaps in the next world he have peace of mind?

He can’t even comfort his spirit with this thought because as wicked, cold, and evil as this place seems, he preferred to rest under its ground for the rest of life rather than facing the endless void he thought was waiting for him behind the veil.Although the beast was aggressive and agile, the Witcher still tries to aim its back with clean and neat sword movements. Even with one arm left, the battle was not yet determined, but the white-haired man stays confident, patiently looking for an opening. On which occasion he knows he will not hold back his blow.

***

There is blood pooling at your feet and welling up from your throat. There are thousands of bodies around you, all with these same holes burned in their jaws. You woke up abruptly, with the boorish stench of rotting corpses winding each portion of your body as if you weltered in a bath of death. Besides the smell, the knife in your stomach that you see is a dull pain. 

You scratched your lids and opened your eyes again. “Holy crap on a cracker,” you whistle. And fear clouds your every thought, every movement and action from now on. Your heart beating in your chest warning you, he got enough of these for a lifetime or so. All you can think at this moment is how this foulness occurred. Because you are sure you don’t remember the hammered knife in your guts, nor falling asleep in the waters. Your voice instinctively tries to reach out for a name, “Geralt!” you continuously weep, tired of seeing blood and wounds every so often. Where did you go? He asks himself. Usually, he would think you just wanted to go back to your life, but something in his guts told him this isn’t right. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he heard your voice calling for him. He sprints through the forest, lungs burning as he calls you back. The more his breathing grew louder, the more he knew he was near. He can’t hear his desperate breaths, can’t even hear the pounding of his own heart. All he could hear was the soft melody drifting across the wind before him.

“Y/n,” Geralt muttered near your head. You try to lift your hand to his face, but instead, he grabs it and passes it around his neck, helping you to stand. “You turd!” You whisper, almost out of breath. The golden-eyed man looked over your face and grunts, as a sign you got his attention. “Can’t you see the knife?” you teased with a breezy voice. You wonder if you were still dreaming or if all of this was real. Thus, when the pain in your belly starts to prickle. “Just put it out,” you spat some blood. “I’m bringing you somewhere safe,” he riposted. But by the flimsy laugh leaving your weak body, he rolled his eyes and dropped you carefully at the feet of an old tree. His gaze was sinking so deep into you it almost ripped out your soul.

You wanted to say something, but the overflowing blood of your injury got in your head, making you feel dizzy. The face of Geralt is blurry, so is the forest, and again your eyes shut to join a dimension that you swear is your personal hell. There is blood running down the corner of your mouth. You’re invited to look down by the putrid odor, noticing the dead pile of carcasses on which you sat. You began to yell. “Oh, no-no-no. Please no, don’t tell me that… Oh gods, no,” your voice resonated like an echo. Each of your words coming back at the place that sets them free.

You knit your brows as your orbs open. “You finally up?” the deep and raspy voice of the Witcher resonating in your ears. “I haven’t slept in days… Anytime I close my eyes, I feel it reaching out to grab me,” you spitted curtly. The long-haired man, standing and turning his back at you, only grunt as an approval. ”‘Feeling what?’ I heard you asking,” you add. “Did I?” Geralt looks over his shoulders, squinted towards you. You nodded, ready to spread out another layer of drama at the top of your current situation. “Those blackened claws… They’re coming for me. I am the blackened claws,” your solemn tone caught the attention of the Witcher, that slid to sit on the log beside you, holding you a flask of water. He exhaled deeply, avoiding your eyes.

“All I know about you is that you miraculously healed from a knife in the guts. I didn’t see any claws, even less blackened,” the man sings, proud of himself. You choked on your drink and hassle to pat your stomach, even ripping your cloth to the side to be able to corroborate his words.  “What the goose?” You sputtered, the tip of your finger seeking your wound in vain. Your eyes wide, you lift your gaze to the sour complexion of the man. “The goo- what?” he repeats, one eyebrow lift to you, which you ignore. “What else has happened?” you reluctantly ask, not sure you wanted to know other eerie things you may have missed about yourself. “Well,” he tilted his head in a chuckle, a smirk graces his face. “It’s that bad?” you cut him off brows narrowed as your gazes lock. Geralt tensed his jaw, a grunt slips its way out, seeing the worry in your eyes. “Can you stand?” he asks your way. You slowly let go of the soil in your hands and lift them to the sides of your body, then you push on your legs, and, as if it was the first time, you throw Geralt your warmest smile, glad. He stands up on his feet and slips on the cloak he just grabbed. You confusedly looked at him. The weather was so hot and humid. You wondered why he needed this cloak. “Come, on,” Geralt cheerfully purrs, motioning that you follow. You executed, quietly walking beside him. When Geralt stops, your two looks drop at the same thing, your feet. Your narrowed eyes describe plainly the conundrum displaying in your head. You kneel and spread your fingers above the white veil before you clench your fingers in a fist, imprisoning the substance in it. You stand back up, still looking at your fist as you open it. Geralt observed the scene with cautious eyes, he surmised you had something to do with the snow, but not quite sure if so, why you were mesmerized by it as if it was the first time you touch it. “Is this familiar to you?” he motions his hand toward the areas.

Indeed, it is familiar. The day before, you saved his life while he was fighting with a deadly injury here.

Geralt hears rustling bushes behind him, followed by a thud. You, now, stand near the scene you were observing from above. Eyes flickering between the watcher and the Cipher, he was staring at, crouching in the shadows. You thought you had each of those bastard creatures. Apparently, one remains. “On your knees,” you commended. Hearing your sassy tone, Geralt looked over his shoulder, and what a surprise he has. Two creatures for the price of one. Solely, you were not the same species that assaulted him. Your eyes constantly drip a yellow ooze, your paces utterly silent as you neared him.

A loud and shrill, high-pitched cry comes from behind a boulder as the wind comes in blasts followed by hailstorms, and thundershower. This tempestuous weather buried a sweltering atmosphere, seizing Geralt by the throat. Him, that refused to kneel before you find himself forced to. The wind is sweeping every greenery leftovers, and rain is draining down any hope of survival.

In the distance, the Witcher shields his eyes with his hand against any projectile and watched as you and the Cipher jumped high in the air with stabbing shrieks and subsequently collide in a mystical twirling of both magic energies. He cringes as the yellow ooze drips from your eyes into the bite holes in the jaw of your victim, infecting her. In a rush of gloom, everything stops. The rain freezes in midair, and the wind hushes. The mist vanishes behind the trees, the dusty sky, making room in an azure and bright one.

Even the heat, passionate mild settles back as if nothing has happened, the only evidence of the previous chaos being the spruce firing body on the ground. “You should fetch more woods that is dry if you don’t want this flames to die” You solemnly let out towards Geralt. “Bloody hell, that rhymes,” you heatedly cheer yourself up. Though the warmth mastered the air again, the snow still envelops each section of the brush like a soft thick blanket of ice and drifting snow. It is an eerily beautiful sight the golden-eyed man is lucky to witness. Geralt lids fluttered in incomprehension for a brief instant, he suddenly stands back up and hassled his hand to his wound shoulder, only to find nothing. The injury completely healed, single marks of sharpening teeth as scars left in there. “How?” he grumbles.

“I can put it back if you want?” you suggest, lifting your eyes brows. Geralt that was still searching for his nonexistent wound stops on track and glared at you, a grunt emanating from the deepest of his throat. “What?” you shrug. “I can slap you… with a wet fish,” you added, gauging his reaction. “Maybe it wasn’t me,” you shrug to him, not knowing what else to say. “Don’t it help your memories flow back into your mind?” asked Geralt as both of you stood near the gathering ashes of bones who initially was the Cipher you killed.You shook your head and mutter. “No, it’s still as dry as a bad piece of lettuce” Geralt glances at you as soon as the words left your mouth. “Hmm,” he grunts.”But Y/n, it is your doing,” he maintains, your weird comparisons comforted him most in his assumption.

[flowerflamestars]

Daylight, part one: Banished

It took Nesta a full month to learn to winnow.   Four frozen weeks trapped by blizzard winds that clanged through her skull, cabin as much a cage as her body shaking through withdrawal.   It would have taken half that time is she’d been left alone- banished, betrayed, Nesta wasn’t about to lower herself further to sweating and swearing and struggling in front of the unwilling other inhabitant of the house.   The General of the Night Court had done his job well.   He’d promised Feyre that she’d be safe.   So safe Nesta was- entombed in cold and hatred, walled in with nothing but her thoughts and books he’d chosen to tempt her. There was no talking to the Ilyrians who surrounded her- they’d called her a witch and then a hero and then his, nothing was true, all of it was true. They hated women, they loved strength. Nesta Archeron, the woman who’d asked for none of this and cut the head from a king: an Illyrian treasure, a walking contradictory abomination- nor was there any escape.   Brutal aching cold that leaked through the walls to her too thin skin.   The sounds of fighting- training, she told her gritting teeth, her whole tense body that kept expected to be covered in blood once more- the scent of fires, the endless keening winter wind.   Punishment.   She was a problem to her darling sister- so she’d been banished. Handed off to a the General like a pet- it didn’t matter what she’d once dreamt; if he’d never dropped her hand, if Morrigan didn’t exist, would anything actually be different?

It had been more than a year since she stood on a battlefield.   Nesta Archeron had been promised time and life in escaping certain death, received instead a silence that bit deeper than any wound war could have bestowed.   How many times had he tried now that his bastard lord made Nesta his problem? You need to eat. Are you cold? Are you sleeping? Nesta? Nesta, please.   She could no more escape his voice than the hellish looming mountains themselves.   The wretched strength of her body seemed so focused on listening: the boom of his heart like thunder, the telling breath that stopped in his lungs when he looked at her in firelight, the sigh when she walked away every damned time.   But so too, did she hear other things. The prayers, the whispers of torment. A people who valued and loved their free falling freedom, reduced to the ruins of an army.   Where were their cities of old? Their language? Their sons sent in good faith to defend their High Lord and obliterated to such an extent no bodies could be laid to rest?   For a male who toted his Illyrian blood so greatly, Rhysand had left an entire people to rot.   So Nesta had simply waited it out. Practiced instead of sleeping- what the hell did she have to sleep for? Exhaustion was at least a feeling, now that every drop of distraction had been sweated of by her relentless immortal body. In temperance, she could be angry- with her anger, she could find magic.   Four weeks, and she could winnow.   Four weeks and two days, the eastern clans of the Illyrian mountains rose in rebellion in name of their beloved dead, and the General of the Night Court left her alone to go put them down.   Nesta shed the clothes she’d been given.   Furs and soft leather; the stink of the animals they’d once been strong enough to her inhuman senses that she’d vomited the first time she’d dressed in them. They’d thought she was still drunk.   In the hour she’d been given between being collected from her apartment and banishment- Nesta, I’ll take care of your apartment. It’ll be better away, I can’t watch anymore, you don’t need your things, everything will be provided- she’d stolen a single forgotten dress from the room she’d once stayed in at her sister’s home.   Purple, not all the damned red people had handed off to her. Soft. Not sheer Night Court silk or gilded finery- weighted, dark as the last punch of twilight, cut like a mortals gown.   She threw the fur that reeked of fear and pale mountain foxes into the fire with a prayer for their souls- Nesta had heard the Illyrians sing to their dead, glory and love, to fly and run free among the stars- and laced the now oversized dress tight as it would go.   No one had taught her winnowing was dangerous.   No one had told her that the more powerful you are, the more careful you need to be.   Nesta Archeron closed her eyes, and thought with all that was left of her heart in the gaping black beneath her ribs, that she wanted to feel the sunlight again.   The Crones face in the living world, heir of the Cauldron- nothing stood in her way.

- It shouldn’t have been a surprise to see Azriel.   It wouldn’t have been to anyone else- Azriel was dutiful above all else, he still spoke to Cassian, the right and left hands of a military body that sprawled into chaos far beyond them. Even if he’d made it clear he wasn’t happy to fill the role.   In the middle of a rebellion, at a knives edge standstill between two forces that didn’t want to hurt each other, Azriel would be an incredible asset.   The co-commander, the friend who’d knock into his wings and tell him where to aim wasn’t standing in front of Cassian.   Ice cold, black northern Illyrian eyes stared him down with a weariness Cassian hadn’t seen in a long time.   He knew better than to step too close into the shadows around him.   Unbuckling the swords from his back, Cassian eyed Azriel from under the fall of his hair and tried not to sigh. He didn’t want the newest bad news. “The wind clans want restitution, permission to build beyond the camps.”   Azriel didn’t blink. “They should have it.”   “It would be a seat of power in a decade,” Cassian said lowly, for all that he agreed with Azriel, he had to say it. “A stronghold.”   Azriel didn’t move or bother to reply until Cassian was done, a neat pile of blades and armor on the table between them. In the firelight, it was impossible to hide the roiling motion of shadow, a teaming sea of dark that said everything his impassive, dangerous face didn’t.   Cassian was so damned tired.   “If Rhys wants us to attack, we will at dawn, but I think only the leaders”-   “I didn’t come from Rhys.” That made Cassian cease going through the motions that this might be anything near a normal evening- Azriel hadn’t willingly been in his company in more than a month. The question in his mouth didn’t even need to spoken with this much darkness gathered in the room- with a sigh, some of the sheer menace faded from Azriel’s own tired expression.   “You should sit down, Cas.”   Cassian listened, if only because he couldn’t imagine why he needed to. They were Illyrians- Cassian would no more tell Azriel to sit down to hear bad news than he would try to tell him how to hold Truthteller.   That Az stalked forward and blocked the door his seat before the fire faced raised a sick lurch of dread to fill his chest. “Is Mor okay? Did something happen to Feyre? Or Rhys”   Arms crossed, Azriel huffed, the noise so far from what everything in this room spoke of that Cassian could only blink in response. “Feyre is perfectly fine. Morrigan is still holed up in the country, unchanged.”   “She’ll be”- “Cassian.” The tempo of his heart spilling fear picked up to a fever pitch.   Maybe he knew it before Az said it. Maybe some part of him had known the second he left her alone- the words seemed forgone, haze shimmering over his vision as Azriel spoke.   “Nesta’s gone.”   The blocked door became a painfully obvious necessity as Cassian shot to his feet, wings sending the chair to ground. Gone. Gone, gone, gone- she was skin and bones, silence and shaking fearful rage- she wasn’t safe. “Gone where?”   Azriel just looked at him, dark eyes as unforgiving as the night sky.   “Azriel, what happened?” He’d begun pressing against his own chest without realizing it, that space between ribs and heart that had once thrummed constantly: a second heart-beat, a white hot thread he could have followed through any storm. Cassian would’ve torn into his own chest to have that bleeding, guiding tether now.   Where was Nesta?   He’d thought she was safe. Not happy- but at least no longer so numb to herself she was actively seeking harm. Breathing brutal absolute rage in what seemed like ever conscious breath, but it had been a feeling, he’d thought-he’d thought she’d surface. Heal. Something.   His closest chosen brothers face said something was very different from whatever mad, broken hope Cassian had been harboring.   “You won’t tell me where she is.”   The resignation brought Azriel closer, like he could see the veritable pit that Cassian felt had opened beneath him. “She left of her own free will, Cas.”   Hands in fists before he could blink, heat alchemized from the fear into something worse, Cassian’s voice was a horror to his own ears. “You know she isn’t okay. You haven’t see her Az- a deep breath might break ribs at the rate she’s going, someone, anyone might”-   With infinite tried patience Azriel murmured back. “She could be actively bleeding out and no one could hurt her. Amren confirmed it, Morrigan- Nesta Archeron is only High Fae on the outside, and you know it. Nothing can touch her.”   Cassian was shaking hard enough his wings made noise, rustling against each other.   Azriel sighed.   “Cassian,” He said again, carefully. “She’s unharmed, and she left of her own power. You need to let her go.”   Over the roaring fire and Cassian’s rattling bones, a metallic crack echoed through the room. It took him a second to realize- staring at Azriel’s face as it lost composure, tired and pained and furious in a way that both included and blamed Cassian, as Cassian so soundly deserved and damn well knew it- that he’d dug hard enough into the leather buckled across his chest that metal had snapped in his hand.  “Why?”  Every shadow in the room flickered before dissipating at once. 

“Why?” Azriel repeated, ice that had been in his gaze the whole time slipping loose. “Because she was in a cage. Because you know gods damn well you should have said no.”   Cassian made a hollow facsimile of a laugh, the exact wrong response. Some part of him was pounding adrenaline, shouting with fear- Cassian wanted it to hurt. “To a direct order?”   It had been a favor, and they both knew it. A plan that Feyre and Rhys hadn’t told Morrigan or Amren, Elain or Lucien- and it hadn’t been coincidence. He’d known it was wrong- how could it be anything but wrong?   But then he’d seen Nesta, more starved wraith than woman, empty eyed in intoxication, and panicked.   There was reason why, those now long years ago, that Rhysand hadn’t told Azriel the exact details of Feyre’s stay in Spring.   Loyal to his Court to the death- but Azriel was too long old in his power to tolerate anyone at all being put through the kind of suffering he himself knew intimately, without trying to stop it.   Darkly, sometimes Cassian thought it was that anger and drive that had kept Azriel alive, even now.   Worse than simple rage, Azriel shook his head. Disappointed. “An order? I told you, I told Rhys, if you trapped her, if you took one more thing away from her”-   “I didn’t”-   It was impossible to win a fight, Cassian knew, when you didn’t mean it. Your body had to follow your arm. If you couldn’t carry the motion and back it up, it was only yourself you were going to hurt.   “The second Feyre banished her and you didn’t help her, there were only two options. Cassian, Nesta was either going to die in these mountains or run. We’re lucky she didn’t blast her way out.”   How many times had he seen it in his dreams?   A cold mountain grave. Wildflowers in place of a woman who’d once burned with enough vitality to fuel the sun itself. He was angry now, empty now- but the dreams always gave him this: rage.

It tasted so much like flames as to be a piece of Nesta that he’d managed to borrow for himself. Rage at broken promises. At Feyre’s tears. At his past and future self, alone.   It was a future Cassian, awake and breathing, had built.

There wasn’t any fire left. —

Nesta, despite the assumptions of her sisters, was not so detached from her physical form as to seek out injury.   Sure, she’d tried a vivid and blinding range of magical intoxicants that could only have been made by rich, spoiled immortals. She’d drunk herself sick and beyond. Fucked and fought and learned every vaguest limitation of her alien body.   Nesta had sought feeling- with a reckless, dangerous abandon.   But she’d hadn’t looked for new pain and didn’t like it particularly.   So the skin flaying feeling she’d learn was her was power smashing through wards- her body traveling through nothingness with the speed and destructive force of a falling star- wasn’t a triumph.   Nor was the slam that stopped her motion, Nesta’s body crashing hard enough to knock the air from her lungs and break bone, had she still been a human.   But the stone floor beneath her was warm. The insane fervor of her senses told her there was paper and ink everywhere, book binders glue, paper old and new. Blooming fruit trees and green, green, green.   Nesta Archeron rolled over, and laughed.   The sound hurt coming out, ill with disuse. She didn’t have a damned idea where she was, but it wasn’t the cursed Night Court. There was no corner of the territory her sister commanded that didn’t reek of sea air and jasmine, where mountain wind wasn’t right on the edge of awareness.   Sunlight streamed down on her from a domed ceiling, every color of the rainbow represented in stained glass.   A hand adorned in a full set of glittering emerald and topaz rings, one on each finger and two on the thumb, intruded into her dazzled view, ink a barely visible stain on loam dark skin.

“How,” A silken, shockingly pleased voice followed, “the hell did you do that?”   Nesta rose unsteadily to her feet, the world tipping around her unpleasantly, to find herself face to face with a High Lord of Prythian.   Golden eyes. A kind, if ravenous mouth. Beauty the likes of which was said to have driven mortals mad, no trace or even echo of humanity in the perfection.   Helion Spellcleaver, the Lord of Day.   It was not the beauty that made Nesta physically wobble, light trails trying to start at the edges of her vision.   The hand that had presumably, she realized too late, been extend to help her upright reached again. Helion didn’t touch her, but hovered a few inches away, as though to catch Nesta if her staggering became something more substantial.   With the iron control that kept death locked up inside her, Nesta managed to straighten, squaring her shoulders. “I don’t know what you mean.”   Helion tilted his head.   Didn’t step closer, didn’t stare, displayed none of the dominance or fascination that Nesta had encountered and hated from others of his ilk. Power calls to power, Morrigan had told her, like a warning, before telling her stay away from Cassian all over again. You are a queen, the Bonecarver had said, monstrous and achingly familiar, like my sister was.   High fae males had about as many issues with Nesta as she with them, she’d learned.   Less silk and more obvious care, Helion said, “How about I tell you where you landed, and you could perhaps, in exchange, tell me what you were trying to do.”   Horrified at the burn in her eyes at being spoken to like a logical, cognizant being, Nesta nodded, swallowing the flare like rage.   Assured, he took another step back until he was at such a respectful distance as a human might be in courting. Gemstones threw light as he pointed, and Nesta allowed herself to follow.   “This,” Helion gestured, encompassing glass overhead and another story bellow, more books and lights and more ambient free floating magic than she’d ever seen, “Is my personal collection. The one library that survived completely unscathed through the war- a ten thousand year stronghold.”   On another man, another faerie, Nesta would have been waiting for this to turn on her. Instead, Helion sounded…as though he were trying not to laugh?   Indeed, warmth seeped audibly into his tone. “I wonder, did you feel the wards? Do they even exist to you?”   Unintentionally, Nesta rubbed at her aching sternum before she could stop herself. “I felt them.”   The strolling spin that had been guiding her to look- look at the marvel, what she would give for an hour to read the words on those ancient pages- stopped abruptly. Quick bright eyes snagged on her before flicking away, blinking.   Careful, serious, his whole demeanor shifted. “The building is telling me you came from…the Illyrian mountains? Is that correct?”   Nesta swallowed and raised her chin. “Yes.”   Helion stopped moving at all. “You are Nesta Archeron, sister of the High Lady and Emissary of the Night Court.”   “We’ve met,” Nesta snapped, before she could help herself. Forcefully, she breathed out her nose, evened her tone. “And I am not the Emissary, or anything else.”   Helion blinked.   “Are there…shortages, in the North? Trade has been substantial, and the harvests have been on time, on our end of things. If Rhysand”-   This time when Nesta spoke, there was bile on her tongue. “There are no shortages. To my knowledge, food from your farms is widely distributed throughout the territory.”   Nesta knew what she had to do next, what she had to say. Unlike Feyres brief time as emissary wherein, as far as Nesta could tell, she’d used the office as an excuse to do whatever damned thing she wanted- including destroy the mortal life her sisters had been trying to build- Nesta had bothered to learn what was expected of her. How the Courts worked- pledges and treaties, courtesies and loyalties.   Asylum. It is not Rhysand, she told herself, hate and fear rising to choke her as Nesta sank neatly as she could to her weak knees before the High Lord.   Her pride it turned out, was just alive enough that she could hardly meet his gaze to say the words. “I come as a supplicant. I come without Court or bloodline, mate or corporal bond, to ask mercy and pledge, to you, Helion Spellcleaver, Lord of Day. May the sun rise over you evermore. A small bondswoman of no status, I pledge myself in debt”-

Nesta stopped speaking, because Helion had crashed down beside her, bumping into a reading table as he did so.   “Stop."   Nesta just looked at him, aware all at once that her breathing was starting to come in gasps.   If she couldn’t pledge- if she couldn’t seek asylum- he’d send her back.   “A bondswoman? Nesta Archeron,” Helion was shaking his head, “You’re not my subject. Or a child, or a religious penitent. You don’t owe me or anyone else so much as a lowered head. Ever.”   “That is not,” Nesta gasped, the panic pounding through her freeing any careful words from her tongue. “What other High Lords would say.”   Carefully not touching her, leaning so as that his enormous size didn’t dwarf her, Helion frowned. “Why the hell were you with Illyrians?”   Her chest was rising and falling fast enough she couldn’t hide it. “Sent,” she gasped, “Banished.”   Brighter than the rings in sunlight, Helion’s eyes gleamed inhuman and troubled. “I can help you breathe,” he said, with a tension she couldn’t grasp at. “Take off the edges.”   She stared at him and said nothing, fear, fear, fear, in every rattled inhale. Waiting for the intrusion of magic.   Waiting, she eventually realized, just as he was, for permission. Watching her with widening eyes, but Helion hadn’t acted.   “Yes,” Nesta heaved. “Do it.”   Still, she couldn’t fully control or stop as she automatically shied away from his huge, broad shouldered body scooting closer.   With unbearable gentleness, Helion quietly spoke. “I won’t touch you.”   Power, when it came, was soft. Like stepping into a warm bath, like late spring sun gathered on bare skin- warmth slowly seeped past and overwhelmed panicked pain, air like green shoots of grass burst fresh from her lungs.   It was several moments before either spoke.   Nesta was distantly aware she should thank him. She wanted to, but in the sheer smallness she felt, the words wouldn’t come. Shame gathered, hot in the pit of her stomach.   To her resounding relief, Helion didn’t mention what had just happened.   Instead, with the practiced insouciance that was much more on par with the first time she’d seen him, Helion sprawled back on the floor, bright silk cushions appearing underneath him in recline.   It was a ridiculous sight- decadent- but she didn’t fail to notice that she was also quite suddenly supported and surrounded by softness.   A part of Nesta wanted to sink into the pillows and disappear, but her spine was all she had left.   “The library,” Helion began eventually, rings tapping together as he rapped what might have actually been nervous knuckles on the floor, “Is sentient. Older than most of the Courts of this continent. It lets in who it chooses, and no one else. Once, it supported hundreds of librarians in it’s depths. You could live here, be one of it’s guardians, if you wish.”   “It is,” Nesta didn’t want to ask, wanted to say yes- yes I will live in this palace of books, I will never leave again, I will breath in a thousand words until I belong in a story again- but it wasn’t that simple. “It is, a job?”   Helion’s restless fingers clenched into a fist. And then relaxed, smoothing over pale marble and leaving a tea tray in their wake.   “In a way,” He poured two cups, but didn’t comment or try to hand her the second, leaving it in easy reach. “You have no need to worry about money, if that’s what you mean. If you keep the library, the library will keep you- it’s a self-contained ecosystem.”   The quiet spooled out between them again as Nesta picked up the cup. No handles, gold on blue, the porcelain fine as paper. She stared at the steam rising toward her face and tried to say anything.   Beholden to a library was very different than beholden to man only bound to her by magic. Helion would not take her pledge- the entire action had made him uncomfortable, if she had to guess- she wouldn’t be his subject.   Just a powerful, dangerous, broken faery living in his lands.   “If I belong to the library,” Nesta said with careful evenness, “Are there duties in your Court I must also preform?”   “Unless the library itself is under attack, no.” The gentle tone was back, horrifically. “It needs magic and life within its walls. You have a completely singular power, I personally wouldn’t mind your help with my research if you wish it.”   The warmth of the cup was nearly uncomfortable between her palms, but Nesta couldn’t let it go. “If I wish it?”   As though hearing her forgone agreement, Helion smiled blindingly. “Only then.”   Nesta inclined her head, and sipped the tea. — Sentience in a building, like so many things about life above the Wall, defied Nesta’s expectations.   One of the best highs she’d ever tried had side effects- none so horrible or interesting as the stimulant made by Sangravah priestesses that had made her eyes bleed- but exhaustion that lasted weeks. A fever that alchemized with something in her immortal body until her sweat appeared peppered with glitter.   She’d gleamed like the moon and slept for ten days, but no matter how tired she was, the euphoria had continued at a low tidal ebb.   Following Helion through the library, his voice that of an eager scholar who’d finally, finally found a colleague, was something like that. So weary as to be numb- so ecstatic that it shook through her limbs, a low tremor of excitement that couldn’t be shut down.   Not a library- ten thousand libraries that made up the Library.   Doors like portals between them: if the Library let her through one, she could go through them all. To Archives and Helion admitted, voice wry, tombs of ancient monarchs. Public spaces and abandoned labs, more than a millennia of learning bound together in protection.   But first, this:   Helion rubbed delighted hands together, ink stain spreading from palm to palm that he didn’t seem to notice. Nesta trying not to sigh, focusing on an empty stone wall.   “Do I touch it?”   Helion shrugged, cat-like. Sheer elegance made even that motion beyond faery-graceful, a magnetically appealing ripple of muscle and supple skin.   Easy- entirely because he hadn’t said what’s wrong with you, why did you run, why are you skin and bones and power, you’re shaking, eat, drink, do you need a healer?- Nesta found herself drawling in a voice she hardly recognized as her own anymore. “You’ve never seen this done before, have you?”   White teeth flashing blinding in late afternoon golden light. “Never.”   Nesta rolled her eyes, safely face to face with the wall, and pressed both palms to the stone.   She was about to ask Helion something else- am I supposed to visualize? Is there a ritual?- when a pulse rebounded beneath her skin. Her senses filled with steady warmth, gold beneath eyelids she hadn’t realized had fallen shut.   Worldless, the Library cracked open at the long-buried heart of Nesta a  feeling that said belonging.  Sanctuary. Home. Green grass- hot coffee- dewy mornings- infinite pages- pale silk- ink-smeared- pink sunrises- home.

Daughter, find what you seek. When Nesta opened her eyes, sunlight dazzled around them. It took a second to sink in that they were outside, presumably on the other side of the wall they’d stood before, at the libraries exterior.   Nesta rocked back on her heels, numbly aware of Helion falling in carefully distant step beside her, and looked up.   The Library had build her a tower. Green copper roof, ruddy natural dark stone a league from any memory of Night Court moonstone. A door comically small for a High Fae home- but just the height for Nesta, whose stature had remained delicate by even human judgement.   As she watched, vines burst from the ground to climb the stone: pale roses and trailing ivy, tangling with bright, poisonous flora she’d only seen in books.   At her raised brow, Helion boomed a laugh, the sound bell-like warmth made manifest. “You are the Library and the Library is you- plants are my signature welcome gift.”   She was so tired, but so, so much happier than she could remember feeling.   “The yellow,” She said, tilted back her head to see all the way to the curving, pointed roof, “Deadly poisonous to many flying fae species?”   Helion’s smile grew just a little sharper. “A very common bloom. See,” He pointed in the direction of the orchards she kept smelling, glass and greenery gleaming beyond it, “They’re very popular in palace architecture as well.”   His palace. Because he was a six hundred year old High Fae Lord.   As though he could sense the tide of her exhaustion rising, Helion pressed one huge hand to his heart and bowed his head. “I will leave you to it, Nesta Archeron of the Thousand Libraries.”   Unable to find a single word for what she was feeling, Nesta nodded warily back and waited for him to winnow away before walking to the door. Her door.   Brass handle sunwarm and the scent of cedar thick from threshold, Nesta stepped inside and tried to breathe.   The bottom floor a small, immaculate kitchen- driftwood table and pale stone floor, green cabinets and marbled counters that gleamed almost as bright as the copper kettle that sat in readiness on the stove.   A single staircase wound up- wide enough, she distantly clocked, for a human, not a faery. The second floor was plush with chairs and candles, books lining the wall.   The top of her tower- a bedroom. More books. Everything soft and pale and serene. A skylight that seemed barely sound, golden glass over where she’d lay her head.   Perfect. Impossible. She wanted to break things- she wanted to never leave-she wanted and wanted, the empty hole in the middle of her chest both aching and filling in around the edges.   She’d made if from Day to Night.   Nesta Archeron curled up on a bed that was precisely big enough for her own body and no one else, and wept.

@skychild29  @jessicawooten  @sleepyyancybecket  @hizqueen4life  @therapeuticrambling  @bybooksanddreams 

[trulycertain]

The WIP Post

After months of being on orig, I’ve been playing with the odd fic idea... and both are for Eurojank RPGs that about five people actually played. Oops?

Idea one: Vampyr AU where Jonathan joins Priwen as a combat medic post-killing Mary - because they seem to have a bunch of information about vampires, and as a passive means of suicide because he hates himself.

Idea two: Greedfall, post-canon De Sardet/Vasco AU. To be more specific, the "there's a bunch of pining and the romance doesn't happen until post-canon when De Sardet is completely done with Tír Fradí and Vasco takes her on holiday with him on a routine cargo run to one of the Naut isles, where he has to go to get confirmation of rank and his commander's tatts" AU.

Er... extracts from both follow. Warnings for barely-there prose while I brush things into shape, and vasriable character voices while I learn.

Probably-unnamed Vampyr AU

“Sir. Someone... asked to join us, sir.”

McCullum looks up from scribbling a report on the events of Tuesday’s dismal patrol. “It’s late for it. You checked them?” They know he’ll do it himself again, it’d be nothing more than damn stupid to invite a leech to warm themselves by your hearth, but it’s good to get them into the habit. Small oversights get you killed.

“Yes, sir.” It’s Perkins, who’s still a little green round the edges but is shaping up well. Even if the hat’s too small for his ears, and he’s panting as if he’s run ahead.

He nods. “They old enough?”

“It’s… a gentleman, sir. Says he’s a doctor.”

And he looks up at doctor, unable to help himself, and brings the pen back to the inkwell. Old Len’s, well, old. Tired, and nothing more than a temporary medic made to throw bandages on wounds, splash it with brandy and hope for the best. It doesn’t mean he’ll take the offer, but it’s something. “Well, then. Show the man in.”

They do it the Priwen way. Perhaps if there were daylight shining through the windows, they’d be a damn sight friendlier.

The stranger’s steps are slow, and his hands are raised, but... even with three swords and five pistols on him, he doesn’t flinch. He’s either calm, or suicidal. (Or he thinks he can destroy the lot of them in a minute, with blood and shadow.) He looks right past the wheel of death around him and watches McCullum levelly, sharp-eyed over the guards’ shoulders. Not that that’d be hard for him. He’s tall, even by McCullum’s reasonable standards; dark, with a frock coat that makes him look like a hearse driver and might have been quite fine, once. And the beard says it’s been a long journey back, but he’s kept the short-back-and-sides that speaks of the front. And that pale, haunted look.

He just raises a brow and says, after a pause so significant you could use it as tar: “Good evening.” And evening is putting it mildly, they’re in the back end of night and about to head into morning. Still, politeness, other than yes-sir no-sir brothers-let-us-eat, is always interesting to find. Especially when a man’s treating this much weaponry like it’s just a faux pas at some tea party.

“You look like it’s been a long night, sir,” McCullum says, keeping his voice airy even while he has his eyes on the three men he could command to shoot, allowing the sarcasm to drop into sir.  He’s tired, and there’s a reason Priwen doesn’t get many midnight visitors in one of the rougher parts of the district. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had the ‘flu.” They wouldn’t have even let a stranger in the door, if they’d thought so. Or if he’d seemed like a leech.

Their visitor says, “Seeing as half the doctors in London still struggle to make a diagnosis, I’d like to see your notes.” It’s testy, and there’s a certain weariness in it that’s familiar from every time McCullum’s had a nurse or a doctor sigh or cluck over him. It makes his people – butcher’s sons and drivers, to a one – fidget, with the urgency of old, know your place instincts.

McCullum’s never had much time for that sort of thing. He raises a brow. “You’d know, then?”

The stranger grimaces, rubbing at his forehead, and for a moment that cut-glass primness cracks. “I’m… sorry, there have been a few too many night shifts.” The stranger looks away, swiftly, and something wistful crosses his face. Then it’s clamped down again, under all that English, officer reserve. “I practised here, and at the front. In fact, that’s why I’m here. To offer my services, if I may.” He hesitates and shifts forwards and just for a moment, he looks like he might offer his hand, too – as if interviewing for a position. That shouldn’t be so comical as it is.

“With Priwen? Why the hell would you do that?”

He’s got an accent that says the Brotherhood, not Priwen. He’s tall, with that straight-backed, confident-toff posture that time overseas has probably only worsened. And he looks like he’s about to drop. McCullum’s seen staff at the Pembroke scurrying home from their rounds, and they’ve looked better.

The hint of a sigh, like this is all some ridiculous game to him, and the doctor raises his hand to his collar. At least twelve hands twitch on blade-hilts and triggers, but McCullum raises a palm and they respect him enough to stop. The doctor looks around, sharp-eyed, and then nods with a prim schoolteacher’s relief that they’ve come to their senses. He unbuttons his collar, and tugs it aside.

So that’s why - and now McCullum has to tug hard on the guards’ respect and pull them back like they’re dogs at a bone. Even the doctor seems startled at the ferocity of their response, though he hides it fast under the tightening of his jaw. Probably angry at themselves for even letting him get this far. He’s angry they didn’t check the obvious, just left it at the eyes and the pulse.

There are two holes just by the throat – not the usual neatness one’d expect, but a little jagged, as if someone – as if the good doctor – fought back with a vengeance.

“It damn near killed me,” the doctor says, quietly. “And my sister...” He chokes on that and looks like he’s had a swift kick, before he recovers himself. McCullum understands that well enough. “Believe me, I have no fondness for whatever did this.” Softer, now: “And I need to understand why. Before more people are...” He swallows, thinks better of what he was probably about to say. “...harmed.”

His eyes are wide and troubled, but the resigned sort of troubled, not the wants-a-fight variety. Like he’s not all here and somewhere in him, he still doesn’t believe this is happening. Few people survive a leech attack, but he’s seen enough of that face in the men coming back from the war, too: ones who believed that God, or their names, or luck would protect them and ended up crawling face-down in the dirt instead. Some of them, their bodies come back, but their souls never do. Same way McCullum has half of him back in a crumbling house in Dublin. But unlike him, the doctor’s out of his depth.

McCullum steps forwards to examine the holes, and they’re deep. Must have hurt like a bastard. Something powerful did this. Definitely not a neonate. Probably… something at the back of his mind mutters ekon, but he refuses to use the nonsense names they try and civilise themselves with. A monster is a monster. It’s damn lucky that the doctor’s walked away.

Damn lucky.

He doesn’t smell the stink of human blood that never quite comes out of their clothes, or see the tinge of red around the eyes that suggests a recent feed, on something with a soul. (They can never stop themselves for long. They all come back to it, in the end. And then the memories stay in their eyes.) The doctor stares him down, obviously uncomfortable but refusing to move. No. Blue, and such an uncannily pale blue that he’d think leech, if he hadn’t seen it on just enough humans before. Bloodshot and bloody exhausted, but not that inhuman, wrong tinge of red.

“Let me check your teeth,” he says.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, and there’s the posh-boy disbelief. It’s better than the absent-eyed shell shock; he’ll take it. “Is that really - ?”

“Teeth.”

They can tuck them away well enough, but most are too lazy to bother. It’s muscle memory, to walk about as they are. And besides, what leech would be stupid enough to walk into a room full of the Guard of Priwen and ask for a job? They’re arrogant, but they like to think they have more class than that. Less brass bollocks, more lurking in the shadows.

Bontemps

"De Sardet?" She looks at him - him, not the memory from months ago. His eyes are concerned. "You were some miles away there." She lies, "I was just thinking... Bontemps. Not a place I've heard of." "No. I doubt you would have." And she'd suspected, but the carefully-casual way he says it, the way he minutely shifts against the wall and the leather creaking of that new commander's coat... She stares at him. "A Naut isle, then?" "Indeed." "Am I allowed to know this?" He snorts. "You know too much already." The shifting turns to a tidal wave. "That brings me to my next point, actually." He takes his hands from the wall and turns to her, truly looks at her, then. "I have a... proposition for you." And the mulish way he says it, the slightest raise of his eyebrows, means he knows how that could sound. He sees her suppressing a smile and half-sighs; when they first met, he wouldn't even have let her have that, and it tells her he's not unamused. She settles for the other way to cheerfully misunderstand him. "I don't think tattoos would suit me as well as they do you, Vasco."

"No, I - " He exhales, and smooths a hand over the wall. She wonders if part of him is still wishing for the creak of wood and the sway of a ship; the way she misses her mother's laughter and Constantin regaling her with some tall tale and proper Serene tea, will always miss them. Out of command and out of a fight, he isn't wearing his gloves, and two curving lines show as his sleeve rides up - swiftly hidden as it pulls down again. He pauses, as if gathering his courage, and then, in an exhale: "You said you hoped you'd be able to sail with me again, once. Did you mean that?" "I meant it." She grins askance at him. "I really did have no complaints about the crossing." And he smiles, swift and contained but with less of that uncertainty now. In the first days they knew each other, he'd seemed... warmed, but reluctantly, wondering why a noble was buttering him up; was asking about the lines on his face and listening to stories of storm crossings and a man caught in a rope, pulled back overboard with broken ribs but surviving, in the nick of time. At least she'd thought so, until she realised somewhere along the way that it was... the closest thing he showed to bashfulness. He'd always been too self-confident for it to be obvious, but she saw it. He inclines his head. "I'm glad to hear it." He swallows. "I'm offering you that opportunity. If there's nowhere else you need or want to go. If you would like it." "To Bontemps?" "To Bontemps. We have room for a few more, and it's not unknown to have an outsider with you." He tilts his head and looks out over the market, and she gets the feeling he's severely understating it when he says, "Unusual, perhaps."

She realises with surprise that this is the thought he's been chewing over, the one he hesitated to tell her. As if she wouldn't like to sail with him, when there's... "There's nothing I'd like more."

He glances sharply over at her, surprised.

That was probably too earnest. The time withdrawing into herself, doing paperwork rather than travelling, taking dinner in her room... She's lost the knack of things. She adds swiftly, "Last time, I learned so many new and interesting curses. And you were quite a sight climbing the rigging."

At the surprised raise of an eyebrow and the way she suspects he'd be flushing if he were a lesser, noble man, she wonders if she's overstepped the mark. It was always enjoyable, to be sarcastic and to let him respond, even if for most of their travels she'd stayed away from anything that might be... misconstrued. She'd been paying him for the crossing, and even once they landed, she'd had the ability to make his life rather difficult. Even with him being assigned to her, she'd had no doubt that he'd walk away - probably quite colourfully, if he felt it necessary - but that was no reason to make him uncomfortable. But somehow, whether it's due to his own dry commentary or the fact he knows her better than most, she forgets to be diplomatic. (He had been. A sight, that is. She remembers the muttering below about He's actually in a good bloody mood, for once. Only a mad bastard like that would be in a good mood in fog. And then she'd gone above, and realised after a few seconds who it was calling down orders; who it was climbing down swift and sure like he was simply in a tree in a garden, calling something bright and inevitably insulting to one of the crew who'd made a comment. He'd hopped down onto the deck to retrieve the coat he'd tossed there - shirt soaked from the fog they'd had to pass through and the sea, hair damp and wild and curving into waves, new ink-lines revealed by the shirtcollar that must extend at least to his collarbones. He'd still been looking to the heckler, grin savage and joyous. She’d realised, then, that she’d never seen him smile before: truly, not the swift insincere thing he offered with pleasantries. The smile had lasted until he'd seen her there - and then it had fallen and he'd assumed the usual wary tired briskness, even through severely smudged kohl. A bow of his head and Your Excellency. I apologise for the delay, but we're back on course. And then he'd walked swiftly past her, orders sharp to the crew again, swiftly buckling the coat and jamming his hat back on his head, probably back to his cabin to find a change of clothes. And she'd abruptly realised she knew absolutely nothing about their captain.) She adds, swiftly and in a much airier tone, "If I were a braver woman, I'd ask you to teach me." He leans back against the low wall, crosses his arms. "If I didn't prefer you alive, I might take you up on that." But there's a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and she realises what that surprised expression was, when he glanced at her: he's pleased, quietly so, and barely trying to hide it.

Her realisation seems to make his resistance crumble: he grins at her, sharp and swift and lovely like a knife in the sun... And she wonders where that thought came from. Either way, she can't help returning it. He steps forwards, hat throwing shadows onto his face, and looks at her with that strange, surprised, fleeting thing that he always seems to tuck away before she can quite understand it. He steps forwards, his grin falling, hat throwing shadows onto his face, eyes dark and wide. "De Sardet, I..." A noblewoman with skirts entirely too expansive walks past them, and they have to swerve and flatten themselves against the wall and try not to fall over it entirely. It's a new fashion, and one De Sardet has been only too glad to avoid. They watch her go in silent disbelief.

When she looks back to him, his hat is resting in his hands where he's had to swiftly remove it, and he looks like he's gritting his teeth. Then it's gone, and he says, with a captain's brisk professionalism, “It’s three months’ journey. And we could be there for some time. I understand if that changes your mind.”

“Not at all. I… have few plans, to be quite honest with you.”

He nods with a relieved exhale. “Good. We set sail in a week. I would... like to see you there."