#drifting further & further away from your original question all the while

[ekingston]

Apart from show canon, at which point did u think it was too late for lena's immediate forgiveness to kara's identity reveal

oh boy. anon, here is where i come clean about my shoddy recollection of canon’s chronology. i’ve done so many fragmented rewatches and skipping back and forth—there’s a reason i rarely dabble with canon-adjacent stuff! and that even when i do, i create worlds where Lena figures it out herself! 

second road bump to answering this question is that i have a LOT of feelings about how things played out on the show, and most of them are incongruent with the tone of sgcw. i understand their narrative reasons for keeping the secret from Lena for so long! but the execution is so, so terrible! ignoring large swathes of canon and replacing them with my own is the only way i’m able to enjoy at least the last tiny handful of seasons!

here is where i spend an hour procrastinating from my WIPs, while not successfully answering your question at all:

to be perfectly clear: i adore most parts of canon Kara. and i think i may be hard on her in ways i wouldn't be if i didn’t relate to her so much. i think her backstory is extremely compelling and i admire her ability to hold on to her kindness and hope and joy even after losing everything that was important to her, even when she’s tired and lonely and mad. 

BUT. a healthy Lena—one who we were made to believe was finally freeing herself from Lex and Lillian, rising above the coping mechanisms she’d developed as an unwanted and emotionally neglected child? i don’t think that Lena would (should?) have forgiven canon Kara at all.

after the rift, canon Kara flitted between telling Lena she’d lied to her ‘to protect you’ to ‘one person who sees me only as Kara’ to ‘your last name’ to ‘didn’t want to lose you’ until she literally told Lena she was on her own, and she’d treat her like any other villain until Lena repented, even rejecting her apology at first, as if Kara’s own decisions had played no part in Lena’s downward spiral at all.

the Kara Lena would have forgiven is the much more cohesive and coherent Kara brought to us by our talented fix-it writers: a Kara who is willing to let herself be vulnerable and to second-guess her motivations, one who is able to put together a proper apology and actually listen to Lena's own. 

but, okay, lets table all of that. this is me trying really, really hard to entertain canon:

Kara and Lena’s friendship became painfully lopsided by season 3. i think that was, if i recall correctly, when the super-friends decided to trust Lena enough to regularly ask her for assistance—but not enough to let her be part of their in-group; it’s where they left Lena in the dark about the fact that her best friend had come close to plunging to her death right in front of Lena's eyes, and was actively still fighting for her life; where they tricked Lena into having an extremely personal conversation with J’onn, while he was wearing Kara’s features, only to make belly-laughing fun of her about it later. 

and even then, honestly, it might already have been too late. what about the aftermath of Jack’s death? was that season 2? Jack was Lena’s ex-everything, someone who genuinely loved her, who saw her through the fallout of Lex’s arrest. he was one of her last remaining friends, and Lena pressed the button to let him die in order to save Supergirl’s life. how would Lena knowing that Kara went through that with her, knowing Lena had chosen to save the life of her favorite person in addition to National City’s hero, have changed the way she felt about that horrible situation? that’s where that extremely wonderful heart-to-heart on the L-Corp couch happened, right? Kara swore she’d always be Lena’s friend—while keeping silent about the fact that she was there when Jack drew his last breath, that she had witnessed their final moments.

so—i really can’t tell you anon, i’m so sorry. the 100th episode already fabricated reasons why Kara couldn’t possibly come clean to Lena back when she made the conscious decision to be her friend (and not in a ‘keep your enemies close’ kind of way!), and i’m beginning to think that was the only moment Kara could have told Lena that would have kept her conscience completely clear. Kara should have made it part of her decision—either she was going to be Lena’s friend and give her the same trust Lena was giving her, or she would keep things professional, and keep her identity a secret from her. 

Kara tried to do both, and if i really think about it, i don’t believe that was ever fair.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

my angel

part 2 to angel

words: 3.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, protected sex, p in v sex, reader is a stripper, reader also gets called a bitch and assaulted but its not very graphic or "bad", f receiving oral

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @spear-bearing-bi-witch @ghostlycrystobalove

“there’s my favorite regular.” you smile, plopping down on rafes lap before he even pays. you know that he’s good for it.

“angel.” rafes hands land on your hips, rubbing his thumbs over the bare skin there. security already knows that you consent to his touches.

as promised, rafe has become a regular at your strip club. some days he comes with his friends, who you have learned are named topper and kelce, but it’s usually just him, alone in his regular seat, eyes not drifting from you, ignoring all the other strippers who try to get his attention, especially after seeing how much he tips.

you sometimes take him in back, depending on the day and how long it’s been since he’s last been in. he’s always more needy, willing to pay for more when he’s away for a couple nights, but you stick to your original rule of mouth only.

“lap dance?” you ask, watching rafe pull a bill out of his shirt pocket.

“how about i pay you for a lap dance and you sit here and talk to me instead? just for five minutes, i want to get to know you better.” rafe has been trying to get closer to you every week, and as he spends more time there, you start to let him, but still say no politely every time he asks you out.

“mmm, fine.” you hum, letting yourself relax on his lap, feeling your core press against his thigh. “stick it here.” you pull on the cup of your bra, allowing rafe to slot the folded up bill against your breast. he lets his fingers skim down the soft white fabric, teasing over your nipple briefly before dropping back down to hold onto your hips.

“where are you from?” rafe asks, and you respond with your hometown, about an hour further inland.

he continues to ask you basic questions, like your favorite color, food, and so on. you feel so natural talking back and forth that you forget that you’re even at work, until the stripper right before your set comes on stage, and you know you have to go in back to get ready.

“well, thanks for that chat, rafe.” you stand up, his hands hesitating to leave your body. “i’ll be watching you while i’m on stage.” you give him a wink and walk away, making sure to sway your ass, knowing he’s watching.

you don’t perform solo every night, so it’s a real treat for rafe when you do. you prepare backstage, putting on a few more layers and your favorite accessory, a small white befeathered pair of angel wings, to go along with your stripper name.

when your music starts, you head out onto the stage, dancing slowly to the music, keeping the act up by pretending to be shy and demure as you slowly strip off the layers of clothing that you just put on until you’re in a simple pair of white lingerie.

you twirl around the pole, every time turning to keep your eyes on rafe in the crowd, although you do try to glance at the other men, you just can’t help but be drawn to your most loyal regular.

the song changes to the last one of your set, the one where you will strip off that final layer of clothes. you’ve danced topless, but tonight is your first night going fully nude, and you feel some excitement rise over the nerves at getting to do this for rafe specifically.

you shed your top, covering your nipples with your fingertips while the crowd cheers. you finally raise your hands up, hips still moving to the beat of the song, dollars being thrown onto the stage.

you turn your back to the audience, finally ready to reveal the final part of yourself. you pull your underwear down your legs, keeping your movements as innocent as you can while dancing fully naked.

you meet rafes eyes, a look of lust in them that you hadn’t seen before. you smile, just for him, as you finish your dance before moving off the stage. 

you take a deep breath, pulling on your second look of the night, only having to perform one more time in a group later on, but you were just in the back for that. you take a minute to eat some food before heading out onto the floor for lap dances.

you head straight towards rafe, wanting to get his reaction to your final dance, when your wrist is suddenly grabbed by an older man.

“hey!” you shout, tugging your arm away. “no touching.” 

you know he knows the rule. everyone gets told it a thousand times before they’re allowed to enter. no touching the dancers without express permission, anywhere on their body.

“sorry, sweets, you just keep going to pretty boy over there.” the man says, and you glance up to see rafe watching the interaction with his jaw locked.

“would you like a dance?” you ask, flicking your eyes back to the man, his entire body reeking of alcohol. it’s one thing you like about rafe, he always orders a glass of whiskey, but he’s never drunk when you dance for him.

the man pulls out a $20 bill, and you snatch it out of his hand more rude than you should for a paying customer, but he put you off by grabbing your wrist, and the $20 gives you a good reason to keep it short, it doesn’t pay for a lot.

you turn around, keeping yourself hovering over the mans lap as you dance half-heartedly, letting your mind drift elsewhere than what you’re currently doing. you eventually lower down so you’re just barely touching him, but when the song ends you pull away.

“you’re not done yet, bitch.” he grabs your hips, pulling you back down as you let out a squeal, losing your footing and falling against him.

rafe is over to you quicker than security is, pulling you off of his lap and into his arms. you turn in his hold as security grabs the man, leading him towards the door as he screams about how much of a bitch you are.

“are you okay?” rafe asks, rubbing your arms, walking you to the outskirts of the room as the final number hits the stage, something you’re supposed to join in the next couple minutes, but you know security already relayed it to your boss what happened.

“yeah, i’m fine.” you shiver, glancing at the door to double check that he is actually gone. “thanks for rescuing me.”

“no problem, angel.” rafe says softly, pulling you into a hug, that you graciously accept, surprised how natural the intimate touch feels, especially considering all of your previous interactions have been sexual.

“i need to get backstage.” you sigh, forcing yourself to step away.

“of course.” rafe squeezes your hand before letting you go. 

you complete the final dance of the night, body working on autopilot as you try to forget the sound of the mans voice calling you a bitch. you finish the dance and head backstage, only glancing briefly at rafe as you leave the stage.

you chat idly with the other dancers, but you mostly keep to yourself tonight as you wash your face free of makeup, change out of your lingerie for a comfy sweat set, and to your biggest relief, take off your heels for a pair of crocs.

“bye, girls!” you call, making sure to have counted your money and cleaned up your locker before leaving. 

you head out the back door, swinging your car keys in your hand as you head towards your vehicle. you get the feeling of being watched, your step quickening when you hear the one voice you don’t want to.

“hey, bitch!” you don’t turn to look, breaking into a run, but the man, even in his inebriated state is faster than your tired legs, grabbing you and shoving you against your car. you hope security is watching the footage of the parking lot as you leave like they’re supposed to, but even then it will take them a full minute.

“please, let me go!” you shout, trying to force the mans hands off of you.

“hey!” you turn your head to the side, coming face to face with your savior once again as rafe shoves the guy off of you and onto the ground, his head smacking against the pavement, but he stays conscious as rafe shouts at him to never touch you or come back here again.

security runs out as you sink to the ground, dropping your head to your knees as you cry. you can tell just from the scent and feel that it’s rafe who wraps his arms around you.

“shh, you’re okay. i got you.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

you wipe away your tears as security escorts him away, bringing him back inside to do who knows what. you’ll let your boss handle that.

“i’m okay.” you whisper, not sure how much you actually mean it as rafe helps you up off the ground. 

you stand in silence for a minute, just holding his hand as you calm down.

“thank you for rescuing me. i guess you’re my angel.” you giggle, making rafe smile. “what were you still doing here anyways?” “well…” rafe trails off, looking guilty. “i always stay until i see you get into your car. just to make sure that you’re safe. you really shouldn’t be walking out alone.”

“rafe, oh my god.” you pitch yourself forward, wrapping your arms around his torso. “you really don’t have to do that, that’s so sweet.” “i wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, angel.” he squeezes you against him.

“y/n.” you pull away to look rafe in the eye as you tell him. “my name is y/n.” 

rafes mouth breaks into a wide grin. “nice to finally meet you, y/n.” 

you turn to look at your car before turning back to rafe. “i really don’t want to be alone tonight.” you tell him, hoping he gets the hint, and you can tell from the look in his eye that he understands exactly what you want, lacing your hands together and leading you towards his car.

you keep quiet on the drive, not even sure how long it is, focusing on the music and rafes hand on your thigh to quell the negative thoughts of if it’s a bad idea to go back with someone who you’ve never seen outside of the strip club.

rafe pulls up to a huge house, and you gape for a moment, but you knew he had money, so it’s not too much of a surprise as he heads around the car to open the door for you.

“thanks for letting me stay over.” you say, admiring how beautiful rafe looks in the moonlight.

“of course, y/n.” rafe smiles, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek and pulling you into a kiss. you kiss back instantly, keeping it sweet but still passionate as you enjoy the moment before rafe pulls away to lead you inside, and up into his bedroom, not wanting to waste any time.

“did you like my dance today?” you ask as rafe sits on the bed. you stand in between his legs, letting his hands run over your hips and thighs. 

“i loved it.” he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your stomach over your hoodie. “such a pretty pussy.”

he tugs at the zipper, pulling it down and letting it fall from your shoulders, leaving you in a thin tanktop, clearly not wearing any bra. rafe smiles, cupping your breasts. “i may see these every week, but i still am breathless every time i see your body.”

you pull your top off, rafes hands quickly taking the same place without the layer of fabric in between. you moan as his thumbs rub over your nipples.

“fuck, it feels so good.” you moan as rafe leans forward, his lips wrapping around your nipple and giving it a suck. you press your chest into his mouth as his fingers toy with the other nipple, giving you equal stimulation before switching to taste the other one.

rafe pulls away to take his shirt off, and your eyes widen at the muscles revealed. you could tell he was fit, but seeing him shirtless has you in awe.

“take your pants off and get on the bed.” rafe stands when you take a step back to pull your sweatpants and underwear off all at once, no point in hiding it when rafes seen it all before. you lay down on the bed, not sure what position rafe is going to want to fuck you in, all you know is that you want him.

rafe pulls his pants off but leaves his underwear on as he climbs onto the bed. you expect him to continue up and kiss you, but he drops to his stomach in between your legs.

“rafe-” you gasp when he presses kisses to your thighs, trying to get him to stop by closing your legs.

“shh, no.” rafe says gently, pushing your legs back open. “you’ve given me blowjobs with nothing in return, let me eat you out.”

“you paid me in return!” you argue back, feeling your wetness grow at the thought of rafes mouth against your cunt. you’ve never had such an intimate moment with a man before, all of the ones you’ve been with in the past just wanting to use your pussy for their pleasure then leave.

“those were pennies compared to what you deserve. come on baby, let me taste this pretty pussy.” “i’ve never…” you sigh, ashamed to admit this, “i’ve never had someone eat me out before.”

rafe is silent for a moment, and you worry what he’s thinking. “i know i’m a stripper and everything but i’m not super experienced and i’ve just never-” “baby.” rafe says softly, getting you to shut your mouth. “i am only mad that no man has ever done this to you before. you absolutely deserve the pleasure i am about to give you.”

and with that, rafe leans forward, going straight for your clit as he licks broad strokes over the most sensitive part of you, making you see stars from the sudden pleasure he brings you.

“oh my god, yes!” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure overwhelms you. rafe drops his mouth lower, tongue lapping against your entrance and greedily tasting your wetness, gathering it all into his mouth.

he swirls his tongue along your folds, touching new parts of you with every movement, keeping his focus on your pleasure as he darts back to your clit to press kisses to it, your back arching off the bed as you cry out.

“you’ve had a hard day, y/n.” rafe says, barely pulling his mouth away from your pussy, letting his words vibrate. “just relax and let me make you feel good.”

you take a deep breath and settle into the bed, bringing your hands to his hair as you push his head back between your spread thighs. rafe juts his tongue out, letting you move him as he licks obsessively over your pussy.

he brings his mouth back to your clit, kissing and licking gently as one of his fingers prods at your entrance, easily being able to slip in due to how wet you are.

rafe moans against your clit as he pumps his finger in and out of you. you want to squeal at the movement, but you manage to control yourself to just moans as you feel your high getting closer, never having it come so quickly with a partner before.

“fuck, rafe, i’m close!” you warn, but he doesn’t pull away, doubling down on his efforts until you burst, flooding his mouth as you squirt onto the bed sheets, but it doesn’t phase him as he continues to eat you out as you ride out your orgasm.

he finally pulls his face away from your soaked cunt, wiping his mouth against a dry part of the bed sheets. 

“oh my god, i’m so sorry, i didn’t think i was gonna squirt.” you cover your face with your hands.

“y/n.” rafe says gently, draping his body over yours and pulling your hands away from your face. “you have nothing to be embarrassed about. that was the hottest thing ever. look how hard you made me.”

rafe presses against your core, and you moan out from your oversensitive clit being stimulated so soon after an orgasm, wishing the fabric of his underwear wasn’t in the way so rafe could plunge inside of you.

“can i fuck you now or do you need a break?” rafe smirks when you scoff, you need him immediately and you think your body might just explode if he isn’t inside of you soon.

rafe tugs his underwear off, revealing his cock that you’ve had in your mouth so many times, now about to cross the final boundary. rafe grabs a condom he must have tossed onto the bed at some point, rolling it over his cock before getting back into position, hovering over you.

you don’t bother to argue about letting you ride him after he ate you out, knowing rafe is focused on your pleasure right now, not like guys you’ve been with in the past wanting you to ride them and then bust within minutes.

“god, i’ve wanted this so bad since i first laid eyes on you.” rafe mumbles, mostly speaking to himself as his cock presses against your entrance. 

you connect your lips in a kiss as he pushes inside, both simultaneously moaning as he sinks deeper into your cunt until he’s completely nestled in your heat.

“you can move.” you whisper after a moment, not needing anymore time to adjust, craving his quick thrusts into you, but while rafe starts to move, he keeps it slow and passionate, rolling his hips against yours in a steady motion. 

“heaven.” rafe kisses your forehead, then both your cheeks, before connecting your mouth in a kiss. “your pussy is heaven.”

you blush under the praise, not used to something so intimate, used to sex being impersonal, being seen just as an object.

“god, you have to keep letting me fuck you after this, angel, i’m never gonna get enough.” rafe moans, grinding against you to give your clit some stimulation.

“you can fuck me whenever you want if you-” you gasp at a particularly deep thrust from rafe “move faster.” rafe smiles, hips starting to buck into you with earnest now, his cock pressing so deep that it has you seeing stars.

“fuck, that’s good.” you whine, squirming underneath rafe as he ignores your movements underneath him, focusing on thrusting into you.

rafe grunts as you feel his cock move against your walls, his face twisting in pleasure. you grab his shoulders, needing to feel connected to him.

“this…” you pant, moving your body on the bed to match rafes thrusts, bringing your hips up despite the burn in your stretched thighs. “is the best sex i’ve ever had.” you tell him honestly.

the side of rafes lip quirks up in a cocky smile, bending to press your lips together as he keeps his rhythm. you regret not agreeing to this earlier. you would have fucked rafe the first night he came to the club if you knew he was this good in bed.

“sounds like you should be the one paying me.” rafe jokes, making you slap his shoulder gently, unable to really laugh as he keeps you moaning with his cock touching every part of you, his pelvic hitting your clit with every thrust.

“close.” you tell rafe, feeling your orgasm building up again, hoping rafe is also close because you’re not sure how much longer you can hold back.

“me too, baby.” rafe groans, his cock swelling inside of you. you’re unable to hold back the rush any longer, entire body shaking as rafes cock forces your orgasm from you, again a rush of liquid being expelled as your arms tighten around rafes shoulders, pulling his body flush against yours, wanting to feel as much of him as possible.

you barely even notice rafe pulling out and tugging the condom off, rutting against your stomach until he cums, covering your torso. 

you breathe deeply as you let go, letting rafe flop to the side to lay on the bed next to you, both recovering from the activity, heartbeat slowly coming back to normal. when you’re able to move your body again, you turn on your side to come face to face with rafe.

“hey.” he smiles gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“hey.” you giggle.

“i knew you wouldn’t regret coming home to me.” rafe says, rubbing his hand over your back.

“i made a mess of your bed though.” you feel a flush of embarrassment, looking down at the wetness that has soaked into the sheets.

“we will just shower than sleep in one of the guest beds. you can make a mess of all of them for all i care, anything to have you again…” rafe pauses for a moment, letting you enjoy his rough hand smoothing over your skin. “you will let me have you again, right?” “yeah.” you nod, there’s no way you can give up rafe now that you’ve gotten a taste. “you can even take me on that date if you still want to.”

rafe smiles, positioning himself on top of your body, pressing kisses all over your face, hands tickling at your sides as you squirm with laughter underneath him. “my angel.” rafe sighs happily, pressing a kiss to your lips.

[lucozadehulahoop]

A Question of Time (Astarion x afab!Tav) part 4/?

Chapter summary: Astarion comes to terms with the peculiar effects of Tav's blood running through his veins, and leaving her is becoming more difficult than he'd originally anticipated.

Also: Astarion unwillingly finds himself reading a smut fic.

Tags and T.W.:pre-bg3!Astarion, slave!Astarion, demi-goddess!tav, kinda NSFW (minors stay away kindly, thank you darlings).

words: 2.5k

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

Tav felt the bite before she could even see it coming.

In her complete state of confusion, he twisted her hands even tighter in Astarion's shirt, frightened yet seeking comfort from the strong hold he had on her at the same time.

They were completely locked in on each other, almost as if letting a single breath of air between them would have been a fatal mistake.

Tav whimpered softly as her mind finally caught up with the sharp pain in her neck, the languid pull of her blood being drained from her flesh. She would have been lying if she said she hadn't already suspected something about Astarion's nature, but it had never quite mattered to her in the grand scheme of things.

"A-Astarion..." She pleaded with him, uncertain on whether he'd be able to stop himself. Tav wasn't human, she could withstand most perils situations that others couldn't, but neither of them could know the consequences of a vampire drinking her blood of all people.

Astarion was completely lost in his bliss. Not only had he just broken one of his Master's cardinal commandments by drinking the blood of a thinking creature, but he'd just switched from two centuries of eating rats and dogs to sipping on the very ambrosia of the gods.

He felt strong. No, more than that, he felt invincible, like he could walk right up to Cazador and snap him in half if he wanted to.

The next thing he felt was warmth begin to spread through his body in the first time since forever. He let out a groan of relief, sinking his teeth even deeper into Tav's neck, making her cry out. "Astarion, please!" And that, was when he finally remembered himself and what he was doing, his eyes flying open in alarm.

He was very careful to hold her still as to not hurt her while he retracted his fangs in the most gentle manner he could muster. "Oh what have I done-- what have I done?" Astarion cursed himself as he looked at Tav' vacant eyes and the giant gaping wound he'd just given her. In a fit of panic, he first attempted to stop the bleeding by putting pressure on her neck with his hand, then opted to do the same with the nearest, cleanest piece of fabric he could find.

He brought her over to the bed so she could lay down, never once stopping the pressure he was keeping over he wound. "Tav? Tav, darling, keep those pretty eyes on me now--" Astarion tried his best to keep her from drifting further away from him, but his attempts were seeming more and more fruitless by the second. "No, no don't you do this to me, okay? I made a mistake --- a truly wretched mistake. I never meant-I never wanted to hurt you please-"

Astarion suddenly heard the words he was speaking out loud in his own head. Was he worried? For someone else other than him? Was he afraid to... lose Tav? He blinked a single tear and realised his face wasn't just wet with Tav's blood. He was... crying.

"Tav, just... just say something... please darling, I'd give anything to... hear that bratty little voice of yours right now..." Astarion pleaded with her silently, undecided if he was more afraid about her dying in his arms or how much it hurt to care about another person again after so long. And why did he care so much about her? The two of them weren't lovers, nor had they known each other long.

Maybe it was the fact Astarion was now aware of what she'd sacrificed for him. That despite appearances, she was just as much of a prisoner inside the Crimson Palace as he was.

It could have been because he saw an affinity in their rather different tragidies. Or maybe... Tav had been the only person he'd met in his undead life that had tried her best to help him without seemingly wanting anything back from him. It could have been that Astarion may have possibly been harbouring the small hope of having found a friend, someone who didn't treat him like a monster or use him for his body. Someone he was beginning to like, that drew him in with her insufferable self righteousness and her pouty lips---

"Shh, quiet..." Her sweet voice came to him finally. "Can't you hear it? Your heart... it's beating." She murmured weakly before falling asleep with her head on his chest.

Astarion feared the worst. Tav was clearly delirious, thinking that she could hear the heart beat of a vampire --- then he felt it too. Incredulously, Astarion put a hand over his chest and listened. His heart... was truly beating.

He laughed in shock, welcoming the tears of joy that ran down his face as he tried his best not to hurt Tav while his hand was still keeping pressure on the wound.

For five more minutes Astarion lay in bed and revelled in the fact he had a beating heart once more. Then, slowly, the steady rhythm began to de down until it finally came to a familiar halt. Tav's blood had briefly, but undoubtedly made him human.

With a cool head once again, Astarion managed to rationalise the intense feelings he'd felt while he'd been worried sick over Tav. He wouldn't have been able to fret over her so much in his normal state, but that didn’t mean they hadn't been real. For a brief moment he'd been yanked out of the hardened selfish shell that came with being a vampire and he'd remembered what it felt like to care for someone else.

So... he hadn't always been such a bad person, he thought as he gazed down at Tav, who was still sleeping on his chest. Thankfully, he wound had been healing fast, at almost unnatural speed.

That still didn't make things right.

He'd taken something from her forcefully, used her for his own needs. And he would have been a dirty liar if he said he hadn't liked it too. A single taste of her blood and he'd been brought to ecstasy.

Now back in the seat of power, his selfish mind told him Tav was too valuable to let go. She made him strong, gave him unimaginable pleasure. What if... he could walk in daylight if he just drank enough of her blood? Even if only for a few hours...

Things would be even more complicated if Astarion were willing to openly acknowledge how deeply he desired Tav. The mere thought of it scratched at a possessive itch at the back of his brain he hadn't even been aware he had. She may have been powerful, but she was too sweet, too trusting of the world despite the environment she'd experienced. Shouldn't it have been... Astarion's responsibility to keep her from harm? From the terrible monsters out there who wouldn't have thought twice about exploiting her? After all, he owed her, considering everything she had done for him...

...☆...

When Tav woke up, she found tea and biscuits on the bedside table. She tentatively touched the cup with her fingers and found it to be cold, almost as if the beverage had been prepared hours ago.

She looked around to find she was back in her room, snugly tucked into her bed. Reaching for her neck, she let out a slight hiss at how tender her flesh still felt.

"Thought you might like to know... prince charming himself is here... and I doubt he's looking for me..." Astarion sneered as he looked out the window, his sharp eyes zeroing in on the valiant young knight who'd come to court Tav. It should have been none of his business. The sun had nearly almost set and it was about time he himself go going before he wasted another night.

Tav barely managed to sit up on the bed. It didn't usually take her so long to recover whenever she got hurt. Yet, she was feeling rather... sluggish and warn out. "Oh... is it one of those people asking for handkerchiefs again?" Tav huffed, closing her eyes and rubbing her midriff a little. "Just throw one down for him, will you Astarion? I don't understand... is there a shortage of cloth in the city? There's always a new one coming around... singing a song or asking very nicely..."

Astarion gave Tav a look of pure confusion. Did she really think that knights and nobles trying to serenate her at dusk were simply people who needed handkerchiefs? It clicked in his head then, that when a lady would give a token of her favour, the token usually resembled something akin to an embroidered cloth or handkerchief.

When the realisation hit, he burst out laughing in Tav's face.

"What?" Tav searched his face for a reason to his hilarity, now she was the one to be confused. "The first time it happened... this gentleman showed up, he was a terrible singer, kept me up all night with his... whining... so I started throwing things at him. Out of the pile, he picked at a handkerchief, seemed pretty happy, and left. Never saw him again. The others have been more or less the same."

It wasn't hard to believe they never came back. Trespassing on Cazador's grounds at night was dangerous business. Astarion grinned to himself in a rather evil thought. Tav had been unknowingly drawing in a fair amount of unsuspecting prey, and for some reason, it gave him great satisfaction to know all of her suitors up to that point had come to a rather sticky end.

"Darling, let me explain something to you—" Astarion began to say as he walked towards her, but he was interrupted by the lousy notes of a poorly strummed lute. The terrible sound of it made him visibly cringe.

"My lady — oh, fair lady —" The voice outside began to sing out of tune.

"Oh no..." Tav whined. "Just, throw something down the window of the tower for him, will you? I really am not in the right state to deal with this right now..."

"Sure, how about that priceless pianoforte in your music room?" Astarion snickered. "I bet that will keep him quiet. For good."

"No! I do not want you to flatten the poor man with my piano!... just... let's just try to ignore it..." Tav searched through a pile of books next to her bed, deciding to attempt reading as a distraction.

"Oh lady, lady of the tower-

Why, oh why would you leave me so... sour?"

"Oh sweet hells, is this guy actually serious?" Astarion cursed and shook his head, marching over to open the window and peek his head out. The knight was unsurprisingly taken back by seeing him instead of Tav.

"I say, are you incapable of taking a hint?" Astarion shouted down at him. The man was gobsmacked, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. "The lady of the tower is rather indisposed at this moment..." He said languidly, purposely making the man draw the wrong conclusions. "In fact, she is completely bedridden... if you catch my meaning... I do apologize as it is completely my fault..."

Okay, so maybe he was laying it on a bit too thick. But it wasn't as if Astarion was jealous or anything. He just enjoyed messing with people. It was one of life's little pleasures.

"Now get lost, the last thing you want is to get caught out there after dark..." Astarion gave him one last warning before closing the windows shut.

"You didn't have to be so mean to him, you know?" Tav said as Astarion turned back to face her.

He took in the state he'd left her in and hated the fact he was sprouting a sense of empathy at an incredibly inconvenient time for him. Tav had done so much for him, and he'd yet to hear her screaming at him for taking a chunk out of her without permission.

Astarion didn't want to say goodbye. He decided then and there he was going to leave as soon as Tav fell back to sleep, which in her condition was probably going to be soon. All he needed to do was speed the process along.

He picked up the first book he could find on her drawing desk and sat down in a chair next to her bed.

Astarion looked at the title on the cover and tried his best not to roll his eyes. Tristan and Iseult. Of course, he had to go and pick a love story.

"You really don't have to read to me just because you feel bad-" Tav began to say, but Astarion cut her off.

"Excuse me, I'll have you know I am a very prolific reader, and you, my dear, seem to have a lack of understanding when it comes to courtship so this will be... an informative way to pass the time." He said, and swallowed thickly, already dreading the experience.

"How so?" Tav asked, blinking up at him curiously.

"Because-" Astarion huffed, already feeling uncomfortable in his chair. "This-" he said, wagging the book up in the air. "Is one of greatest love stories of all time and maybe you'll be... more aware of what's going on the next time some fool comes singing underneath your window..."

Tav raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, but asked no further questions. Astarion cleared his throat and began the reading. He was surprised to find the story was a lot less boring than he'd remembered, clearly catching on to the fact it was an unofficial re-telling of some sorts, due to new characters and extra encounters he'd never known from the original version.

Unfortunately, Tav was very interested too, hanging off his every word. She didn't seem like she was about to fall asleep any time soon. Astarion did his best to counteract this by letting his voice drone on in a deep soothing tone, yet his eyes almost jumped out of his skull when the tender love story took a very unexpected turn.

"Tristan watched as his fair love drank down the potion so hastily, the liquid spilled down her perfect neck and between the curves of her---" Astarion coughed nervously and turned the page, hoping Tav wouldn't notice as he skipped to the following passage. "Both drunk on the intense effects of the love potion, with trembling hands they reached for----- t-their, um, thriving bodies---"

"Hey! You skipped a section!" Tav protested.

"No, I didn't!" Astarion huffed back, pressing a hand to his forehead. How in the hells had he ended up recanting some bard's published smut-fic, he would never know.

"Let me see that..." Tav snatched the book from his hands and it was all Astarion could do as he jumped on her bed like a cat to get it back.

---

tag list (if you want to be added to the tag list, just let me know!): @d0nutkaky0in @i-just-want-to-sleep-97 @omggiannarosa @dead-giirl-walking @warbwarts @mrsfullbuster500 @uwomina @iyaesakura @cheeslyy @dragon-kazansky @bambamwolf87 @chibi-chi @orsomethingelseentirely @davenswitcher @adequate-superstar @ophelias-flowerss @tragedybunny @yaimlight @the-golden-ouroboros @candyladycry @babygirlbrainrot @mariposakitten @blobs-away @biganddrunkunicorn @astarionmisc @the-garbage-central @raviolixxx @banana-beans-police @screechingphantommaker @sunnanse @faefanatic @in-the-bleak-midwinters

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 6 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: At the Hard Deck, Bradley learns something about the origins of your friendship with Cam that leaves him feeling out of sorts. You call him out on his behavior and reassure him that he's always more than enough for you. Then he takes you away for a Valentine's trip, and he can finally surprise you with something unique.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, swearing

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley thought he was hilarious with the way he refused to tell you where you and he were going for the night on Friday. He wouldn't even tell you how you were getting there. All he said every time you asked was, "Just pack a bag and find out."

"Infuriating," you whispered to yourself at work on Thursday. When you heard footsteps coming up behind you in the hallway, you turned to see Jake rushing your way. "Seriously? Don't you ever work?"

"Come on, Angel," he whined. "I'm gonna ask her out. I just need one more shot at talking to her."

You sighed and said, "Fine. Come on. We could actually use your help."

A few minutes later, Jake looked absolutely delighted as Cat had him sit down on the stool next to hers. "Ready?" she asked him. "There are a lot of questions."

"I'm ready," he replied, eyes glued to her face as she opened the aviation survey document on her computer. It wasn't like this needed to be completed today. The software was still in the testing stage. But you knew this would be a good excuse to keep Jake in the lab for a little while and let him engage with Cat.

"Name, age, rank and aircraft. Please," she asked him. You tried to sit quietly and work further down the counter, but you were half focused on them. 

"Jacob C. Seresin. Thirty three. Lieutenant. F/A-18." His voice was calm and even as he answered her, but you could see his leg bouncing a little bit. He was so smitten it was absolutely ridiculous. 

"What does the C stand for?" she asked, entering his information.

"That's classified," he told her with a smirk.

She turned to look at him with a smirk of her own. "Your full name is Jacob Classified Seresin?"

You had to press your lips together as Jake started laughing. "Shoulda thought that one through a little better," he drawled with a blush. "It actually stands for Christopher." 

"Where are you from, Lieutenant Classified?" she asked, and he leaned in to look at her screen. 

"Is that actually a question?"

"No," she said softly. "I was just curious about your accent."

Jake's voice sounded smug as hell as he said, "It's not an accent, Lieutenant Coleman. It's a drawl." And then you were forced to listen to their flirtation mixed in with the real survey questions for the better part of an hour. 

When Cat was finally done gathering information about Jake's flight history, you were surprised she didn't also have his phone number. "Thanks for your help," she told him as they both stood. 

"Anytime, Lieutenant," Jake replied. And when he walked past you, he whispered, "I owe you one, Angel."

Once he was gone, you stared at Cat until she looked at you. "If you're interested in big, strong aviators, all you have to do is ask," you told her. "I think he'd happily go out with you."

She scoffed and waved you off. "He's just fun to flirt with a tiny bit. Absolutely none of that was serious." 

"Speak for yourself," you muttered.

"Besides, he would never go for a woman like me. At least not for more than a date or two. Maybe a long weekend, if you catch my drift. And after my ex husband, I'm done playing games. Like I said, Lieutenant Seresin is nice to look at, but under no circumstances will I touch."

"Never?" you asked softly.

Cat planted her hand on the counter and leaned toward you. "He gets around, Lieutenant Commander. Women on base brag about it. And I've seen how he is at the bar. Just surrounded at all times."

Once again, you didn't know how to respond.

"But your friend, Cam?" she asked, giving you a pointed look. "He seems sweet."

You remained silent. Cat was beautiful. If she wanted to go out with Jake, she could go out with Jake. If she wanted to go out with Cam, she could go out with Cam. She could probably get pretty much any guy to ask her out if she wanted to. But if she was just going to flirt with Jake, because she thought it was no big deal, then Jake might end up getting hurt in the process if she moved on with someone else. 

And then your suspicions started to come true. When you went down to eat lunch with Bradley at noon, you saw Cat and Jake at a small table together. So his reputation was terrible, but not so bad that she didn't want to keep flirting? You sat with your head in your hands until Bradley and Nat joined you.

"What's wrong?" Nat asked, taking the seat across from you. "And where's Jake? He told me he was eating with us."

"He's over there," you said, nodding your head in his direction where he was sitting with Cat. "And she's flirting with him."

"Isn't that good?" Bradley asked, dropping down into the seat next to you. 

"No," you groaned. "She likes Cam. She thinks Jake is a womanizer who would never be interested in her. She thinks this is just some harmless flirting."

"Oof, he's about to get shot down isn't he?" Nat asked, and now all there of you were watching across the cafeteria as Cat and Jake smiled at each other. Then Jake leaned in a little closer, and Cat bit her lip. 

"Oh no," you whispered, reaching for Bradley's hand as your heart pounded. "Maybe he is a bit of a womanizer?" you asked. "I've seen that look on his face before. He's asking her out."

Bradley laced his fingers with yours. "He's not doing that kind of thing anymore," he told you and Nat. "He seems to be ready to settle down in a relationship. Been talking about it for months. Oh no, there he goes."

Nat gasped as Jake stroked the back of Cat's hand with his thumb. Her smile faltered and she kind of shrugged and shook her head. Even though you couldn't hear them, you had a pretty good idea of how the conversation was going. Cat's hand slid away from his, and soon she was standing to leave.

"Yikes," Nat whispered as the three of you scrambled to make it appear as though you hadn't been watching Jake get turned down. "That was so surreal. Looked exactly like the day you asked your wife out and she told you no," she added to Bradley, trying not to laugh now. "Remember that, Soul Sister?"

Bradley placed a loud, sloppy kiss on your cheek and said, "She came around eventually. One kiss and she was begging me to take her on a date."

You rolled your eyes. "I would love to dispute that, but it's actually the truth."

"Hey, guys," Jake said, gingerly sitting down next to Nat. His face was completely neutral, and his voice was even. But you could tell he was upset. 

"Hangman," Bradley grunted. And then he and Nat filled up the silence before it became too much while you picked at your food. And Jake just sat quietly. 

--------------------------

"Hard Deck night, Baby Girl," Bradley reminded you when you walked inside after work. 

You were tired, and you didn't really feel like going out. The bar would be packed, just like it was every Thursday night, and you were starting to get crampy, which meant your period was coming. "You don't want to stay in?" you asked, pouting up at him. "We could take a bath together."

Bradley ran his thumb along your pouty lips. "We can stay in if you want to, Sweetheart. Let me text Nat and tell her."

Then you kissed his thumb and said, "No, we can go. But maybe we can leave early. I'm exhausted."

Famous last words. At ten o'clock, you were kind of drunk, Bradley's hands were all over you, and Cat was waving you up to the bar. "I'll be right back, Roo," you told him, slipping away before he could keep you with him. Bradley watched you chatting with you coworker, happy you seemed to be getting along with her now. 

"I gotta know, man. How do you grow such a good mustache?"

Bradley turned just in time for Cam to try to lean against the edge of the pool table, miss completely and nealy land on his face. Shit, he was as at least as drunk as you were. 

"Genetics," Bradley said, thinking of nearly every damn photo he had of Goose sporting the same facial hair. Cam had a bit of a baby face, and the idea of him with a mustache was almost laughable. 

Then you walked back over in a state of annoyance. "Oh good, you're here," you said to Cam. "Mr. Popularity."

"What do you mean?" he asked, stroking his bare upper lip. 

"You know my coworker Cat? She just told me Jake asked her out, but that she'd rather go out with you."

Cam blinked a few times and then burst into laughter, leaning on Bradley while he hooted. "That's such a funny joke!"

"I'm serious! Roo, tell him I'm serious."

"She's serious," Bradley said, sipping his beer and trying not to get involved in this conversation. 

"Nobody would pick me over that guy," Cam replied, pointing to Jake. "He's fucking ripped! And his hair is always perfect. And he can do that thing with his mouth and the toothpicks!"

You started laughing and said, "I tried to tell Cat you're nothing special."

"Wow," Cam said, feigning offense, "you're the worst friend ever. Where's Maria?"

"Wait," you said, still laughing while you grabbed his hand. "Just because your repertoire of talents did nothing for me doesn't mean you're not as good as Jake!"

Bradley choked on his beer, remembering what he had overheard you say to Jake. "I'm sorry. What?"

You both turned to look at him, and Cam's cheeks were turning pink. 

"The two of you hooked up?" Bradley asked, wondering why this was something he'd only been hearing about recently. Cam slowly backed away from him, suddenly looking like he was afraid Bradley might hit him. And that's when Bradley realized that his tone definitely sounded a little threatening, but he couldn't take it back now.

"It was ten years ago!" Cam quickly supplied, taking a step to his left once he realized he was standing right next to you. 

"Didn't I tell you this, Roo?" you asked, still smiling at Bradley as you cocked your head to the side. 

"No. Never," he replied, annoyed at himself for being annoyed about this. It clearly didn't matter at all. It had nothing to do with your marriage. But Cam was the same age as you, and in many ways he was probably well suited for you. 

"There's literally nothing to tell," Cam insisted.

"Yeah," you agreed. "It didn't mean anything. We were twenty one. It didn't work for either of us, so we stopped what we were doing and decided to just be friends. Because Cam's moves were decidedly terrible at that age."

"God, you're so annoying," Cam told you with a grin. "You think you had moves? You did not. All you had back then was nice tits."

"Jesus," Bradley growled, pinching the bridge of his nose. Because even though this happened ten years ago, suddenly he was wondering about all the details. 

"There was no penetration," you said casually.

"No penetration of any kind," Cam confirmed. 

"Then what was there?" Bradley asked as you laced your fingers with his.

"Wait, do fingers count?" Cam asked you, scratching his head. "No, fingers don't count, right? Whatever, all I did was feel her up."

"I wasn't good," you added. "Just friends after that."

"Yep," Cam confirmed, giving Bradley some side eye. "She likes big guys. Muscular ones. Mustaches. Which is exactly why nobody who turned down Jake Seresin would say yes to me."

You rolled your eyes and said, "That's so not true."

Bradley wanted all of the details and none of them at the same time as he pulled you a little closer. But then Cam handed you his drink and said, "Really? Watch this."

"Oh no," you muttered, gasping and clinging to Bradley as Cam walked away.

"Sweetheart, why didn't you ever tell me you and Cam messed around? I hate being blindsided by this shit. You hang out with him all the time."

But you weren't listening to him. You weren't even looking at him. Cam was walking confidently over to Cat, and suddenly he was leaning against the bar next to her, occasionally glancing this way. After a moment, Cat looked delighted, and Cam looked completely shocked. 

"He asked her out!" you moaned, burying your face against Bradley's chest. "Poor Jake!"

When Bradley's eyes found Jake, he was glaring daggers from the dartboard over toward Cam and Cat. "Oh, shit," he muttered, wrapping his arm a little tighter around you. "This is a fucking disaster."

"It really is," you whispered.

-------------------------

Jake was upset. You could see it on his face. And now Cam looked concerned. When you tried to talk to him, all he said was, "Apparently I have a date on Saturday night."

And before Cat left the bar for the night, she had a smile on her face as she came over to you and Bradley. "Any idea where I might be able to find a good babysitter for Saturday evening?"

"Babysitter?" Bradley asked her, and you couldn't help but see how his expression changed as he asked Cat, "Do you have a kid?"

"Yes," she replied, looking a little surprised. "I thought you would have told your husband. I have a son. He's a year old."

You desperately wanted her date with Cam to suck, and that made you feel like a shitty person all around. So you were suddenly blurting out, "We can watch him." The look on Bradley's face as he registered that he'd get to spend a few hours playing with a one year old, made your heart clench. 

"Yeah, you can drop him off with us," he told Cat, and tears stung your eyes. You had cramps. You'd probably get your period right in the middle of the overnight trip tomorrow night. But you just nodded, because even though Cat was going out with Cam instead of Jake, and even though you still weren't pregnant, you knew Bradley would have fun babysitting.

On the ride home, you were starting to get upset as you sobered up a bit more. You didn't want your mood to make you miserable for your night away. 

Bradley was pretty quiet until he asked, "Why didn't you tell me about you and Cam?"

"Nothing to tell," you replied softly. It was the truth. You'd harbored a bit of a crush on your friend at first; he was sweet and funny and you had all of your classes with him. You had spent a lot of time together, and you trusted him. And one night, despite both of your best efforts, it just didn't work when you tried to hookup. 

"But you spend a lot of time with him now. So what? Your attraction to him just stopped after one night?" Bradley grunted. "You go out to brunch with Cam and Maria all the time for that disgusting avocado toast. Hell, you make me spend so much time with him, I know what kind of pizza he likes and what he orders at the burger shack."

"Oh my god, Bradley. Exactly. He's just my friend! You know what kind of pizza he likes, because I want you to spend time with my friends!"

"But you clearly care about him."

"Bradley! You lived a whole life with other women before we met!"

"I never cared about them! I never loved them! Cam is your friend, and you care about him."

As soon as he parked the Bronco in the driveway, you were unbuckling your seatbelt and crawling into his lap. "What has gotten into you, Roo?" you asked, straddling his thighs and forcing him to look at you. "Cam? You're jealous of Cam in this moment? Knock it the fuck off."

"I'm sorry," he muttered, wrapping his arms around you. "I just didn't like the way I found out about it. Which isn't fair to you at all. Because you're right...about my past. And I know it has to embarrass you sometimes-"

You silenced him with a kiss as you brushed your fingers through his hair. When your forehead came to rest against his, you said, "Don't talk about yourself like that. You want all the details? We did not date. Cam and I ended up in his bed exactly one time. He was hard until I put my hand down his pants. I was excited until he took my bra off. Then we laughed awkwardly, called it quits, and watched a movie with three feet of space between us. So if you can't get onboard with the avocado toast brunches now, I don't even know what to say."

Bradley laughed a little bit. "I love you, and I'm sorry. I've just been... feeling my age recently, Baby Girl."

"What does that mean?" you asked, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek. 

He sighed. "Just trying to make sure I can keep up with you and everything you want."

"I want you."

"I know you do," he whispered.

"Then start acting like it, Bradley. Or I'll call you Grandpa instead of Daddy."

He was silent for a beat as you ran your hand down the front of his body. "You wanna go have some Daddy time right now?"

"It's like you can read my mind."

-------------------------

Bradley wore you out on Thursday night, and you were still tired on Friday after work when he drove up the coastal roads to the mysterious hotel he booked for the night. "Will you please tell me where you're taking me?" you asked for the millionth time. 

But he just laughed and said, "The funny thing is, I'm not really sure, Sweetheart. It's some crazy hotel called Le Chateau California, and I'm really only taking you there because they have something I think you'll love."

"What is it?" you asked, suddenly even more curious. 

"I'm not telling. We'll have to experience it for ourselves," he said, reaching for your bare thigh and stroking your skin.

"Are we there yet?" you whined. "How much further? I want my surprise." 

"You're worse than a child," he said with a smile, inching his hand further up under your dress. "We'll be there in twenty minutes. We're having dinner at eight, and you'll see the surprise then."

Bradley was great at teasing you, but this was perhaps his best effort to date. His fingers were just tucked inside your panties, stroking you while you tried to sit patiently, as he pulled up to a colorful boutique hotel on the outskirts of Newport Beach. "What is this place?" you asked him, whining again as he pulled his hand free before the valet could see where it had been. 

"Let's go find out," he said with a smirk. When you strolled into the lobby that looked like you'd fallen down the rabbit hole into Wonderland, Bradley wrapped his arm around your waist. 

"This is so cool," you gasped, still a little wound up from Bradley's fingers on your pussy. 

You were looking up at him with barely concealed lust. He had both overnight bags slung over his left shoulder like it was nothing. And when the woman at the concierge desk asked for the last name on the reservation, your core clenched as he rasped, "The Bradshaws."

As he handed over his credit card, you whimpered softly. His wide brown eyes were on yours as you pressed your lips together. Then he was smiling, but he didn't pick up the pace like you wanted him to. He asked the woman where the restaurant was located. He listened to her tell him more about the history of the hotel. He asked her another question as she handed over the room keys. He forced your hand. 

"Please?" you whispered, pressing yourself to his side. 

When he finally led you across the technicolor lobby toward the purple elevators, he pushed the up arrow and said, "We have dinner in twenty minutes."

You nearly wanted to stomp your foot. "You can fuck me in less time than that."

"You told me I'm never fast," he replied as the doors slid open. "So, probably not, Baby Girl."

"Bradley!" you screeched as soon as you and he were alone in the elevator. "I won't make it through dinner and you know it!" 

He kissed your lips so softly before the elevator stopped on your floor. "I love it when you get like this," he said as you tripped down the hallway next to him. "Go in and get ready for me." He handed you one of the keys, and you ran down the hallway that looked like a multicolored fever dream, barely taking the time to enjoy any of it. 

The hotel room was colorful and spacious with a king bed and a Juliet balcony. There was a view of the beach and some champagne in an ice bucket. But all you were concerned about was getting your underwear off and getting on the bed. 

Bradley strolled in and set the bags down before adjusting the thermostat. He tossed his sunglasses on the nightstand and combed his fingers through his hair before turning to watch you where you were laying on the bed with your dress pulled up to your waist. "Get on your knees," he rasped, and you did as you were told. Then his hands and lips were all over your butt and thighs before tasting you from behind.

"Bradley!" you gasped. You'd never get used to how good it felt to have him surprise you there with his mustache. And then you heard him unzip his jeans before wrapping one muscular arm around you and fucking you hard. You rocked forward onto your hands as he slammed into you. 

"You're so impatient," he grunted. "Can't even make it to dinner and to your surprise unless you're full of my cum."

It was going to be embarrassing how quickly you came for him when he was dishing out the smug dirty talk. But when his fingers stroked you in time with his thrusts, you smiled and bit your lip. The colorful bedding and walls around the room made you feel a little dizzy, but nothing compared to the sensation when Bradley hit just the right spot inside you and gently spanked your clit.

"Fuck!" you squealed, clenching so hard he groaned your name. 

"Shit, Baby Girl," he growled, filling you up with his cum. But you were already there, face planted in the pillows to keep yourself quiet as you came. When you picked your head up a few inches and turned to look back at him while he was still inside you, he rubbed one big palm along your butt. "Sorry I finished so fast. You look pretty with your ass in the air," he whispered. 

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms. "And you look pretty with your cock inside me."

He chuckled and withdrew himself, and then he ran his fingers along your pussy like he was massaging his cum back inside you. "I'm not ovulating anymore, Roo," you reminded him. He could cum inside you all weekend and it wouldn't make a difference. 

"Doesn't matter," he whispered, leaning down to kiss your butt, thighs and pussy once more. "It's not going to make me want to stop giving you creampies all the time." You sighed softly as he finally stood, and you watched him walk around the bed with his cock hanging out of his jeans. "It's almost time for our dinner reservation," he reminded you as he walked into the bathroom. 

You rolled onto your back, legs clenched together as his mess coated your thighs. While you listened to him wash his hands, you closed your eyes and wished desperately that you were pregnant. You thought about everything that would change for you if you were, and you knew you'd be ready for it. 

"Coming?" he asked, reaching out for your hand. Bradley pulled you to your feet and helped you back into your underwear, looking up at you and shaking his head at the sight of his cum everywhere. He wasn't old. It blew your mind that he sometimes thought he was. He was better and sexier and stronger than anyone younger. He was everything you wanted.

"Let's go."

----------------------------

Bradley spent almost seven hundred dollars for the hotel room for the night. It was another fifty bucks to valet the Bronco, and the prices on the dinner menu in the swanky restaurant were so high, he thought they must be joking. But he wanted you to have whatever you wanted, so he ordered a twenty dollar beer so you would, too. And he ordered exactly what he wanted to eat so you would, too. 

He'd tapped out his savings when he bought the craftsman for the two of you, including the money his mom left for him. But he'd been working on building up his savings again. The dream of making one of the bedrooms a nursery sometime in the near future was clawing away at his mind. He thought about it a lot: colorful airplanes and clouds on the walls and a crib with a sweet baby that had his hair and your eyes. 

His attention was drawn back to the present as soon as the waiter returned with your beers and a platter of bread and fruit. The colorful overhead light was reflecting blue, green and orange onto your pretty face as you glanced up with a look of wonder at the waiter. Because he was now saying the words Bradley had been waiting weeks for you to hear. It was the reason he wanted to book a room as soon as he heard about this hotel. 

"While you wait for your entrees, feel free to walk around and explore our wall of condiments from around the world, our champagne waterfall, and our hot sauce vending machine."

You lurched in your seat. "Did you say hot sauce vending machine?!"

"Yes," the waiter replied with a smile, nodding to the far end of the restaurant. "Have fun."

"Bradley!" you shrieked. "They have a hot sauce vending machine!"

He grinned as you pulled him to his feet. "I know, Baby Girl. That's why I brought you here."

You wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss that was better suited for the bedroom, but Bradley didn't care that there was a couple trying to eat at the next table. You were happy right now when there were times recently that you clearly hadn't been, so they'd just have to deal. 

Bradley eventually led you to the vending machine which was enormous and filled with tiny bottles of hundreds of different kinds of sauces. You stood before it in the colorful wonderland of a restaurant, analyzing each one like this was the most important work assignment of your career. 

"That's one's from Japan," you mused out loud, pointing to a green bottle. "I've always wanted to try it. Oh, and that one is made in Maryland! We need to get that one."

"Pick as many as you want, Sweetheart. They come with the meal." You actually jumped up and down and clapped your hands as you pushed the buttons to select twenty two different hot sauces, loading Bradley's arms up with the little bottles one at a time.

Then you stopped at the champagne fountain and got two glasses to take back as well. The waiter brought your dinners and some extra plates for all of the hot sauces, and you lined them up across the table. "I think I'm in heaven," you said, dipping your fork into a sauce and tasting it. 

Bradley watched you enjoy the flavor before dipping the fork again and holding it out to him. Your smile and the expectant look on your face as he tasted it made him happy, too. "I know I'm in heaven."

------------------------

How do we feel about Cam and Cat? How do we feel about Cam and BG? I also have a Cam face grab. The hot sauce vending machine is for @dakotakazansky !Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 7

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@throwinsauce

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@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

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@katiebby04

@marantha

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@xoxabs88xox

[in1-nutshell]

RAN BERE AS SOON AS I GOT THE NOTIFCATION, LOVE YOUR WORK BRO 😭

I had a VISION, a EPIPHANY…. Liaison human reader (with any characters, just the Idw continuity though) BUT PLOTWKST: they’re somehow the Allspark!!!!! CUE RHE DRAMA!!!!!!! THERE IS NO PEACE OF MIND, EVER! I WANT PROBLEMS, ALWAYS!!!!!!!!!

This is a funny concept! I took some liberty to create this... Super powerd Buddy if you will. Not too many shenanigans all around, but Buddy is asking the real question here. Now they aren't exactly the Allspark, but that thing certainly made it seem that way!

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy and the Allspark

SFW, platonic, slight angst but things turn up in the end

MTMTE

The Lost Light had recently come across a strange artifact while on their travels. The artifact was brought to the lab for further inspection.

Rodimus accidentally activated it when his chassis came close to it. Preceptor and Brainstorm believed it was because he was a holder of the matrix and that's why it opened to him.

A stray blue light came out of the relic and began bouncing around the room before escaping into the halls of the ship.

It didn't make it too far from the lab.

Because it hit Buddy.

Because apparently exciting things happen when they take a break from their work.

They had been on Drift's shoulder when a blue light filled their vision and then they blacked out.

When Buddy regained consciousness they found themselves in the medbay with a group of worried faces.

Ratchet is the one who breaks the news.

That light they saw had somehow cyberformed half of their body and now had levels of energy that rivaled that of the matrix itself.

There was one thing Buddy needed to know at that moment...

"Do I look cool though?"--Buddy

Drift

Drift feels like part of this was his fault.

He feels like he should have blocked it or something. Ratchet has to literally knock some sense into him.

He is just as shock as everyone in the room when Buddy's condition is revealed. Even more worried for them when they let their little comment go.

"Buddy, I don't know how to word it. Maybe worrying about how you look isn't your main priority right now."--Drift

"But do I look cool though?"--Buddy

"Yes you do--"--Drift

"Then that's what matters right now."--Buddy

"..."--Drift

Drift is concerned over the origins of the relic and the energy source.

He has a theory that the power source chose Buddy to use it's power.

That theory however has earned him more dents in the helm via Ratchet.

Drift helps Buddy keep their new power in check with their regular meditation session.

Rodimus

Rodimus feels like this is his fault.

If he hadn't gone into the room, he wouldn't have activated the relic and then it wouldn't have gotten to Buddy.

That being said, he laughs at Buddy's comment.

"You sure do look cool Buddy!"--Rodimus

"Really?!"--Buddy

"Absolutely!"--Rodimus

Rodimus does take the new conditions seriously though. His friend just had part of their organic body turned into part bot body. He understands that this is a serious situation.

He can get behind Drift theory about Buddy being chosen for this Allspark like power. He has also been the victim of Ratchet's wrenches.

He makes sure to watch over Buddy and tries to help them in whatever way he can.

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the crowds?

Rodimus is now driving Buddy away to their room

Buddy getting tired of walking around?

Rodimus has them in his servos walking to the next designation.

He helps Buddy with their new found powers by giving some tips that help him with his flames.

Perceptor

Perceptor is extremely concerned over Buddy's new transformation.

None of this should be possible, in fact they should have been dead from a logical view point.

Not that he's complaining though.

He facepalms at Buddy's comment.

"Buddy, with all due respect, that is not what you should be asking!"--Perceptor

"But do I look cool?"--Buddy

"What-How-you... Nevermind."--Perceptor

He has to stop Brainstorm from wanting to experiment on Buddy immediately.

Don't get him wrong he also wants to study this new found power source but one thing at a time.

Perceptor watches over Buddy from time to time collecting data to study further. He has also joined Ratchet in hitting the others with wrenches as soon as he heard about Drift's theory.

Drift is his friend and all but he has to draw the science line somewhere.

He helps Buddy with their new power source by offering them a place to wind down and sleep.

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕖

⋆ ★ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 2023 ʟɪɴᴇᴜᴘ

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ʜᴀʀᴅᴄᴀꜱᴇ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴠɪɢᴏʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴇɴᴇᴛʀᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱᴇx, ꜱᴡᴇᴀᴛ… ᴏʙᴠɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ (ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ)

⋆ ★ ɪᴍ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇᴅ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ɪᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀʀ (ᴅᴀʏ 4)… ʟᴍꜰᴀᴏ

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

The two of you have been fucking for hours now.

Hardcase’s grip on your thighs keeps you in place while he ruts into you like a rabid animal, desperate for release, desperate for you. You’re keening, hands left strayed by your sides and fingers twitching, unable to do anything else but moan and encourage him enthusiastically while he continues resolutely to get his fill.

He isn't done with you, somehow, even after rubbing one spend all over your chest and the other on the insides of your thighs. You wonder what will finally satiate his passionate need to keep you impaled on his cock for as long as possible.

Crumpled sheets cling to each of your skin, drenched fabric molding to your naked figures. There’s a sticky consistency, an uncomfortable feeling of detaching as you lift your neck up from the pillow. Each of you drenched in the droplets and sudor of sex, disheveled panting the only thing let out between your enthusiastic cries.

“Oh, fuck cyar’ika,” Hardcase groans on and on, eyes fluttering close for split moments of respite while he hunches over you, “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He peels back his eyelids fully and flashes you the most wicked smile. You just manage to reciprocate before tilting your head back with another moan as he pushes back into you again, slower and rougher than before, making you feel him entirely before returning to the original pace.

“Yes,” You squeal, ending with a breathy exhale. A droplet of sweat treks down your forehead, dropping from your temple to your cheek. There’s another on your neck and the crook between it and your shoulders, more collecting on the expanse of your chest; you’re suddenly uncomfortably aware of it.

Hardcase suddenly dips down, mouth falling ajar and giving your neck a kitten lick, collecting the bead of sweat on his tongue. He smacks his lips, staying there for a minute. His pace doesn’t falter.

It does when he trails his tongue over more of your collected sweat on your chest.

You blink, tipping your chin down and raising an eyebrow. Hardcase notices the change in position, and his eyes move up to look at you; the rest of his face remains.

“Did you just… lick off my sweat?” You ask incredulously.

Hardcase pouts obliviously and nods.

“...Yeah?” He’s genuinely baffled at the question.

Suddenly, you’re giggling with a heaving chest, and forcing him to move up again. He’s still seated in you, pushing in a little further as he leans over your body. You’re too busy tittering on to really notice. Hardcase raises an eyebrow.

“What?” He questions again.

“Babe, that’s so gross!” You remark, eyes blowing wide. He blinks at you, once, twice, trying to understand your perspective. 

“Really?” Seems like he hasn’t got it. Shrugging dejectively and slumping, he curls further into you and tilts his head. “`Kinda thought it was hot.”

With a snort, you slap his chest, rising and falling with his soft, self-deprecating laughs. You’re gazing away, but his eyes have never left your pretty smile. That joy of yours dissipates into a blissful sigh when Hardcase decides to thrust into you again, and again, slowly building up the pace again.

He’s back to fucking you like you never stopped.

Your hands drift up to his neck, interlocking fingers at the back of his neck. More beads of sweat drip down each of your bodies. After he’d done such an abrupt thing, lapping up your sweat like a delectable meal, almost how he’d kitten lick your sex after giving you a mind-shattering orgasm, you got curious.

So you lean up and lick the sweat off his neck, eyes fluttering close as you get a penchant, and oh. This isn’t nearly as bad as you thought.

Above you, the sound of Hardcase’s deep chuckle catches you off guard, and you gaze up. You hadn’t said anything purposefully just to avoid this boy’s frustrating smugness in any situation that plays out in his favor; he gets to be smug anyway.

“Gross, huh?” He taunts.

“Shut up,” you snap back.

The sound of your squeal and his deep rumble flood the room as he pinches your hip and turns you over.

ragu list: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dukeoftheblackstar @meshlaxbunny @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @aconstructofamind @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @crosshairlovebot @wizardofrozz @dangraccoon @lickylickylicky @urmomsmattress @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen @eyeluvmusic21 @mythical-illustrator @imarvelatthestars

[potatosoupei]

I have never in my life posted writing on Tumblr so forgive me if I did this wrong but here we gooooooo. I refuses to watch troll hunters for so long but I finally cracked and now all I can do it read and draw fan shit and here's a continuation to a fanfic I read but lost so like credits to whoever wrote the original Bular x Pregnant!Reader somewhere on here. This is based off that.

16+ warning for suggestive content but like not really?

Bular x Human!Reader Nursing

Bular sat and watched as you nursed your halfbreed child. It was something history had never seen before, a babe born from both human and troll. It was a unheard of, and something his lost father would never approve of.

The whelp looked human. Some of the impure had made comments about the child not being the heir of Bular in the beginning. None of them dared make those claims while the massive brute was around though, knowing their skulls would be crushed effectively ending their gossip and their lives.

All accusations were put to rest when the child opened their eyes for the first time. They were the eyes of a troll.

No, they were the eyes of their father.

Big amber pools contained the most beautiful ruby irises. The whelp may have looked human but Bular's troll blood ran strong through in their veins.

The gurgles and fussing of his child caused the gumgum to return from his thoughts. "Not hungry anymore?" You coo, gently bouncing the child in your arms as they had unlatched. The babe babbled a little but was already beginning to settle, and you couldn't help but bare the warmest smile as you held your little bundle of joy.

Bular's large body shifted with little stealth, and sat just behind you as you doted over baby.

Since his final fight with the Trollhunter, and the early arrival of your baby you and your gumgum mate had to leave Arcadia. Strictlander had set it all up for you. He'd gotten you a truck and a driver that didn't ask questions to drive you both over the border and into Canada. You had ridden in the cab and Bular had been some very large cargo in the back. As far as anyone knew, Bular was dead. And you never existed.

"You're stewing again." You say, bundling the babe further as they began to slip away into sweet sleep.

"I do not *stew*." Bular snorted, and bent down to nuzzle the side of your face. He was massive in comparison to you, and it was a wonder how the two of you even ended up here in the first place.

Bular let out a chuff, causing some of your stray hairs to tickle your skin. This was what it was like to be the mate of a gumgum. Leaning into his gentle nuzzles you let the babe in your arms sleep while you got comfortable with a little peace and quiet.

It didn't last for long.

Between all his nuzzling and little huffs Bular caught the scent of something that intrigued him. One of your arms instinctively shot back, pushing Bular's face away as he had gotten a little too curious about what your breast milk tasted like.

"That's not for you." You chided, hand still firm on the Troll's face as you pushed him back. Bular's tongue slipped back into his mouth. "It smells sweet." he grunted in reply.

With a sigh you pulled your arm back and settled back into your Troll to get comfortable, "You don't like sweet. You eat cans, and cats and-" "Humans." He replied, and before you could protest you found him dipping back down again.

"Bular!" You squawked in surprise and lifted the baby away while you tried to cover your chest. You really hoped they wouldn't wake from the commotion.

This got a few amused rumbles from Bular and he pulled back again. The troll watched you settle the stirring whelp and how you sighed when they drifted back off to sleep. "You should put the whelp down. It is my turn." he said, his tusks and teeth bared in a mischievous grin.

You give him a light glare, and he laughs.

When you finally do manage put the babe down for a nap in their cradle, Bular is already scooping you up and dragging you into your shared nest.

That's allll folks. I don't know if I'll ever write anymore of these cause I know this fandom was dead before I started watching the series 😂 but I have to get my fanfic fill somehow

[whump-cravings]

The Harem - Snap

Masterlist

1.5k words | The Harem - AU of The Royal Three (original work) - this is pretty far into Hakon's imprisonment at the Vusen palace as a member of the royal harem. He was recently subject to a vicious gang-rape and has gone mute and compliant.

Content: public self genital mutilation, heavily referenced noncon, long-term captivity, forced surgery

taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @i-can-even-burn-salad @mylifeisonthebookshelf @thecyrulik @honey-is-mesi @spookyceph @melennui

Hakon was thinner.

Out the corner of his eye, Sevae watched the man docilely refill empty cups, drifting around the table. He never sought out Sevae's eyes anymore. The bruises, previously a constant, had all but faded, which Sevae supposed was... good.

Except it meant he wasn't fighting back anymore.

"I humbly ask again for custody of the foreign prince," Sevae had said, kneeling before his queen.

"We settled this matter months ago, lieutenant general," Queen Hemuh said. "Why now? Naetehu's finally reformed him into a model citizen."

"Forgive me for impertinence, my queen, but his altered behavior is the cause of my concern. A prisoner subject to extreme stress over a prolonged period is—"

The queen gave a dismissive scoff. "An outlet for manly urges and moderate correction is hardly 'extreme stress.'"

Sevae bit his cheek to keep anger contained, eyes trained on the steps to the throne. What callous words, what casual cruelty. Had he truly once admired these people?

"Be as that may, your majesty," he tried once more, for Hakon, "I expect that this is but a precursor to far more worrisome behavior."

"Perhaps," she said dubiously. "But for now, you may bring your concerns to my son. It is not befitting for a man of your station to subvert the proper channels of authority."

Bitter frustration on his tongue, Sevae bowed his head further at the chastising dismissal.

Sevae stabbed at a cut of boar, hand tightening at the memory. Prince Naetehu would not so much as grant him an audience since that first time Sevae had approached him with 'concerns.' It was hard enough to secure time with Hakon, who didn't have the power to turn him away.

"Your mind seems elsewhere today," Ebaeru commented.

Realizing the woman had been speaking for the last minute or so, Sevae grimaced. "Apologies. You were saying?" This was hardly the time to allow alliances to dwindle from inattention.

"No worries, friend," his dinner companion said. "Could your distraction have something to do with your recent audience with the queen?"

Sevae shifted with a tilting acknowledgment of his head and a tight smile. "You read my mind, madam. It is not a subject for polite conversation, I'm afraid."

"Ah, I see," she said. "Perhaps you can—"

A scream set Sevae's blood pumping, his shield bumping up against others as the war mages in attendance instinctively threw up protection. Already on his feet, Sevae looked towards the source. Nobles were backing up from a scene, which Sevae was only able to glimpse.

Hakon laid on the ground in a fetal position, blood pooling out below him.

Sevae's heart bottomed out in his stomach. Taking up a silver knife, he used his chair as step a to leap onto and over the table. As he encountered resistance from another's shield, he slashed through it with his knife, driving a wedge of magic into the opening to allow him passage.

He fell to his knees while running, sliding the remaining distance to Hakon's side. "What happened?!" He directed this question upward at the table of pale-faced nobles as he grabbed Hakon's shoulder to lay him flat.

"He just—he cut it off," Lord Rethu exclaimed.

Hakon gave a weak laugh as his body unfolded, a knife slipping from his hand. The blood was concentrated about his groin. Sevae severed the waistband of the soaked harem skirt, finding only gore where Hakon's manhood ought to be.

"Put your shields down," Doctor Cecel called. "Let me through!"

Horror rose up and Sevae shoved it aside, forcing himself into a clinical mindset as he spread a barrier across the gaping wound. Contouring to the body slowed him down, but he swiftly ensured the entire injury was covered, keeping the blood contained much like skin.

"Where is it?" Naetehu's voice rose above everything else. "Find it!"

Sevae wanted to shake Hakon, to ask what on earth he was thinking, but that was obvious, wasn't it? He shrugged out of his jacket to lay it upon Hakon, both for the man's dignity—whatever was left of it—and to keep him warm in light of the blood loss and shock.

"Prince Hakon," Sevae said, grasping the man's shoulder.

The foreign prince looked at him, mouth twisted in some mockery of a smile. "Hurts more than I expected," he remarked deliriously.

Words of comfort settled on the front of Sevae's tongue, but what could he say that would truly bring hope? I am working towards your freedom, I swear. Hang on.

But his efforts could never have come to fruition soon enough to spare Hakon from hell.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as the doctor finally made it to Hakon's side. The woman knelt as well, flipping back the now-bloodied jacket to examine the injury, stone-faced.

"Good work," she said to Sevae. "You may have saved his life."

For what good that does him.

"There it is," someone cried, and Sevae lifted his head to see Naetehu marching to retrieve the severed part.

Rage surged through him, heat burning in his chest and pressure constricting his head. Hakon had wounded himself, had almost bled out, and Naetehu's greatest concern was having him in one piece.

Seldom did Sevae find himself so overcome, but he found himself shaking from the force of his fury, jaw creaking. What he wouldn't give to switch which prince laid on the ground, to take Hakon from this place, to tear down this corrupt nation.

"Friend," Ebaeru's voice commented, hand settling cautiously on Sevae's shoulder. "You've done what you can." Her tone conveyed an unsaid message: it's not the time.

The much-needed anchor to reality let Sevae breathe and loosen his fists, nodding as he stood and stepped back. Two people arrived with a stretcher, perhaps having been sent by the doctor as soon as she saw the commotion. With minimal resistance, Hakon was loaded onto it, along with his manhood wrapped in a napkin.

As Hakon was carried away, Sevae mustered strength to go before his monarchs. He sank to his blood-soaked knees, raising his eyes to meet the king's. He needed not speak his request again; they knew his desire well enough.

Gazing with displeasure at the scene and his son, King Aeret gave a sigh as he met Sevae's gaze. He glanced to his wife, whose expression was similarly displeased. She dropped her napkin across her plate before standing.

"Your petition is granted, Sir Sevae," she said. "You are entrusted with the custody and well-being of Prince Hakon of Ironda."

"What?" Naetehu said. "He's mine! You can't—" The prince flinched as Aeret pierced him with a look. Frustration flashed on his face, mouth twisting, before he stormed out the doors.

"What a mess," the queen muttered as she turned away from the table.

King Aeret picked up his utensils. Glancing at Sevae, his voice spoke to the lieutenant general's mind before he went on to finish his meal. - See to it that this does not happen again.

Sevae bowed his head before taking his leave.

***

"How is he?" Sevae asked, standing as Doctor Cecel stepped into the waiting room.

"It's reattached," Doctor Cecel said, wiping her hands on a cloth, smock spattered with blood. "We'll know with certainty within a few days whether the stitching took, though who knows about functionality. He's still sedated."

Relief rushed through Sevae. "May I see him?"

"Elme and Cudul are about to trundle him back to the harem, so—"

"Not the harem," Sevae said. Never again. "My quarters. I've been granted custody."

"Oh?" Doctor Cecel gave him an appraising look. "Good." She sighed, tucking the rag into the pocket of her smock. "That's good." She folded her arms as she looked at the floor, lips pressed thin, and silence hung in the air.

"It's too little too late, isn't it?" Sevae said softly.

She nodded. "I've seen this sort of thing in veterans before, and it usually isn't a one-time occurrence. You'll need to monitor him closely."

Her two assistants appeared then with a sleeping Hakon on a stretcher, and Cecel said, "Right. Well, the boys will let you know how to tend to him for the next few days, and of course I'll be by daily to check on him. Off you go."

After Sevae and the assistants got Hakon set up in Sevae's bed and Elme and Cudul delivered care instructions, Sevae thanked them and sent them on their way. Finally, quiet descended.

He took the chair from his desk, carrying it to the bedside. Hakon looked... so peaceful in his sleep. Sevae reached out, intending to brush a lock of hair from his face, but hesitated before he could make contact. Hakon had been touched so much against his will.

Sevae dropped his hand. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into the silence. "Had I known it would turn out this way, I would have..." Leaning forward, he cradled his head in his hands.

I would have never taken you alive.

You were right. I regret it.

[mark-of-chrysus]

I was wondering about a time loop in which Big Deal takes in Yohan and he trains under Samuel and in which Samuel was female. I feel like Samuel would definitely still be as tall if not buff and pass as masculine, so a time loop where she either stays with Big Deal and Yohan or she helps Yohan with God Dog and his mom.

I just thought it'd be interesting for one of Big Deal's fighters to be female and none of them except Alexander knowing and finding out.

(Mommy Sammy is simultaneously the most unhinged and brilliant idea I've ever been asked about! Like, does she still tear her clothes off when she fights or is that just me being weird? Nvm. Since most of my loops are from Daniel's perspective we'll just pretend he died early in this loop and is currently spying on various people waiting for his loop to end.)

Sometimes Danny wondered if the loops had been made by some unstable maniac. [Shhh, don't expose me!]

When he had stared the loop already dying it hadn't come as that much of a surprise. It was more annoying after you got used to it. That meant, however, that he hadn't gotten to check on anything that might've been changed from the original setting of the loops. He was a bit further back, that he could tell from how small his body had seemed at first.

He hadn't expected to drift towards a familiar street in search of entertainment and do a spit-take with his immaterial smoothie.

"What in my green god-given mustache?"

It wasn't Big Deal's new addition, in the form of one chestnut-haired dog-lover, that had garnered that reaction from the spirit, though it did add to the oddness of the situation. Danny's eyes drifted from the boy currently pummeling some no-name extra into the ground, to the person keeping a watchful eye over him from a little ways away while traumatizing fighting several other people.

Hovering over Johan like a mother hen was a distinctly-not-how-he-was-supposed-to-be-shaped Samuel. The mullet was there, in all its sexy glory, as was the terrifying signature grin and the usual two-piece suit, though it seemed to fit rather strangely on his body-oh! on her body. Samuel was a woman!

She was a buff strong woman and had Danny not been so utterly besotted with his beloved he would no doubt be slightly crushing on her at first sight. As it was, however, he just shuddered at the thought of her matching her counterpart and his apparent eagerness to rid himself of his tops at any possible opportunity and wondered if she were the same. He hoped that wasn't the case.

He paused, looking back and forth between the small Johan and Sammy (that was a good name to call her for now!). His mouth opened in the shape of an o. There was care in her gaze and even, if he were so bold to dare say it, affection. But not the kind that led people to have butterflies in their stomachs and sweaty palms, it wasn't the kind that burned, no, it was the soft type that came with taking a young one under your wing, it was the type that made you want to cherish and protect, the kind that didn't burn, but merely warmed and warded off the darkness. Sammy saw the little copycat as her ward.

Really, speaking from his own experiences, these tiny humans were really easy to get attached to. Hell, he himself had gone through the same thing with the boy in question at one point or another.

Samuel was a person that Danny associated with greed. A man willing to do anything to reach his goals. The sight of his female counterpart being so parental and openly caring for someone that couldn't do anything to further her position and status settled a part of Danny that had always wanted to believe that there was some semblance of good in the former Worker's member.

A tentative smile pulled at his lips as he watched the one-sided carnage fight end and Sammy's eyes instantaneously move to scan the young prodigy for any wounds in a motion that was so familiar to the spirit that his eyes glazed over for a moment. How many times had it been him doing this for a younger version of Johan? He couldn't recall, but the memory left a faded bitter-sweet taste in his mouth.

His soul shuddered with the pull of the loop. It was time to start anew. This time, however, with the peace of mind he hadn't had in a while, that came with the realization that if Samuel was worthy of redemption, then perhaps so was he.

"When these loops end, I will have that peace." He whispered the promise breathlessly, as the fragments of his soul drifted into the breeze.

The hourglass was turned, and the sand started falling again.

[vixnovacoda]

Doctor's Medicine || Chapter 8

Hannibal Lecter x Original Character

Word Count: ~4.4k

CW/TW: NSFW 18+, graphic, disturbing content, dissociation, canon-typical violence.

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6][Chapter 7]

[ao3 version here]

He didn’t want to save them the way they wanted. After all, it’s not what the good doctor prescribed. No. Hannibal had something else in mind entirely, and soon they too would understand.

———

“This new interest you have acquired begs questioning, Hannibal,” insinuated a starch-stiff blonde woman, the doctor’s very own psychiatrist, Bedelia Du Maurier. She was a temple of collected calmness, exuding a brand of cunning calculations that wasn’t too dissimilar to that of Hannibal Lecter’s, as she sat up straight within the confines of her home, the glowing dawn light filtering through the tall windows just out of reach to paint over her coldness in a warm palette.

   While the other doctor kept to the shadows, placed across from Bedelia inside the otherwise plain and dull room. “I am only doing what is in the purview of my job as her psychiatrist,” dismissed Hannibal without batting a second glance at the accusation, legs crossed, leant back. Relaxed; far too relaxed.

   “There are others who would disagree.”

   His eyes narrowed, whetting knives. “And what is it that you believe?”

   “I,” she said with a pause to mull over her answer, “believe you are indulging Emma Darcy’s sudden mania. Whether it is for her sake or your curiosity, that remains to be seen.”

   “You make it seem as if she is some sort of experiment and not my patient.” 

   “If she’s not, then how do you see her?”

   He drifted his glance elsewhere, to the outside world. “A fox running from its home and hanging onto the tails of a wayward bird,” became his response.

   “Foxes are cunning beasts, both predator and prey, able to recognise a trap when they see it and entirely impossible to tame without having bred them to be against their nature. To do the impossible, you would have to be god.”

   “It is not my intention to tame her.” 

   The calculatedness of their conversation was like a game of tennis, hitting back and forth until one rulents, except they used blades instead of rackets and their strikes were prods at each other’s brains. A game which both excelled at for the little undiscerning reactions on their faces. Until right then, when, ever a master at the game, Hannibal’s body language sharpened on all edges, muscles tightening and snapping his attention Bedelia’s way.

   She had struck true and hit a nerve. “Tell me, Hannibal, is she the predator or the prey caught in your snare?” Bedelia questioned. She dared to go further, though knew whatever glimpse she witnessed would subside itself back into the shadows and under designer flesh to never be seen unless necessary. In the mind of Dr Bedelia Du Maurier, Hannibal Lecter was an endangered species, rarely seen but always there. He might do anything to survive.

   Silence filled the room as a bitter aftertaste. Hannibal took his time to answer, for there wasn’t an acceptable one that sprang to mind, other than this: “I want to help her thrive .”

———

When the FBI’s curious consultant exited the newest site for information on the Ghost Writer case, there was very little left to do on an evening so quickly devoured by night’s starry teeth. Most subsided into their humble abodes, away from terror and horror.

   As the moon rolled up on the horizon, Emma envied those working hard in the labs; stuck in the middle of multiple messed-up murders – in turn, she was disgusted by her envy. The case was just as much hers to work on, given the quite personal circumstances, yet instead of helping find a murderer (and Alex), Marcus had her stuck at a charity gala inside a museum, where forced interactions were a necessity – public image and all that. Emma didn’t just represent her sane self but the Darcy Estate, the family name, her father’s legacy. The pressure hung around her neck in the shape of a noose, where all it took was one wrong move and everything would be gone per the clause in her father’s will, back to the original state it was in before his passing. Sometimes she wanted to kick the stool herself and no longer have anything to do with the whole lot. Sometimes, she saw Marcus, who had been entrusted with the Estate’s funds – he who had been the closest thing to an uncle she knew from her father – and thought the better of it. That’s the thing with family, you have obligations beside the physical bodies. All Emma had left were those obligations and, despite everything, she felt a responsibility to see it through. Perhaps it was spite or some weird form of love.

   People that didn’t know better would say money.

   Imported jewels dangled from ears and an ample neck, and a red pooling fabric shifted snugly over Emma’s form as she took Marcus’ hand out of the car. The long satin dress gathered as a puddle around her feet whenever she remained still. Blood-like. Starting, wrapping from one shoulder and ending on the wet ground with a single slice on the leg to allow movement. Much more extravagant than she was used to; perfect for the occasion; suiting the location of the colossal pillared white stone building, carvings of ancient beings hid on the walls, and a gilded, former observatory roof glistened in the centre.

   She fidgeted with her hair, piling it over her shoulder before following her overly-dressed agent up the steps, passing marbled, nude figures that held up the front of the museum in twisting positions. Every step forward brought the building higher and higher to the point of blocking out the moon. Intimidating with an open wooden maw, pouring out golden light and laughter and swarms of human bodies making their way to and fro. She stared down the entrance, stopping mere feet away while others – elite, chin-up, socialites – swerved around her as her mind briefly went to the case, carrying on with their chosen lives and ignoring how close hers was to ending.

   It should have been easier to walk through that vintage glamour, through marble-encased hallways, past grand hung paintings and champagne flute-carrying servers, but it was too much like her old life, pretentious and fake and overwhelming. Here she felt like a prized beast meant for harvesting till every last drop, made to be worth every last cent. Some people stared from paintings and statues, behind silver trays, luxurious clothed tables, centrepieces and drapery, because they heard of the value the Darcy Estate had accumulated and how its sole fortune heir came out of her reclusive burrow as she so occasionally did. To them, she was a rare sight.

   To Emma, she hated it. Hated the way her revealing flesh shivered and her stomach sunk under their eyes. A reaction she shared with her late mother was that these people cared for one thing and one thing only; wealth and who had the most. They couldn't care less about getting to know the person behind it or anyone unless money was at stake, which practically made this gala a hunting ground for the rich. Add that along to the real danger of a serial killer possibly vying for her attention, that Alex, for all intents and purposes, was still missing, and it could not be any worse timing. If Emma intended to survive the night, then she’d have to move through the underbrush of people with care. Tonight was open season, after all.

   “Do I have to do this?” questioned Emma, her head already on a swivel.

   Marcus sighed. “You know better than I do about your requirements, Emma.” Which meant she had to, and that was a lie. He was there when they were read, she wasn’t. “Tell you what, let’s just stick it out until the first piece is sold, then we can head off, okay?” he offered in a move to please her, and she nodded. But it did not ease the crosshairs aimed at her head.

   What unease she felt did not spill over to Marcus, however, he seemed comfortable, soaking in the light with a ravenous hunger that had been left untouched and rewarding his complexion by way of making him glow. It was safe to say he loved it, greedily. He would take whatever he could get, staying by her side through every held conversation, laughing along and grabbing passing refreshments when required, smoothing back his slicked hair to blend in, and adjusting the ivory cufflinks gifted to him by her father, so he remained pristine. Though he never went far from her. One would say that the agent was more her handler as he showed her off to all those who mattered.

   A tight leash. That’s what the painting beside them read, A Tight Leash . Such an exposing piece – Emma found it odd yet very right to her predicament. A fake, surely. Not that the ogling hundreds cared, and not the living skeletons, trophy pairs or wannabes. As each man and woman had their turn, Emma became more and more stifled. The room shrunk, slowly dragging the ceiling down upon her head while Marcus, ever the artist, played oblivious. He tightened his grab of her arm in what he must have thought was encouraging, but it did the opposite. She wanted out. The noises drowned her head, and she wanted out. She was gasping for air, so she pulled back quite hard and stormed towards the nearest balcony, window or door. She tumbled and twisted. At various points, she lost her footing, and then quickly recovered without care. Half a mad woman amongst the sane; she had no clue where she was going, blurred walls and objects tend to look the same after a while. 

   Eventually, a cold breeze brushed her paled parchment cheeks as doors swung close and there was nothing else but the darkness of night and a stone balcony atop the cliff-edge, where she swore she could hear waves lapping even though there was no water in sight. Safe to say, it was peaceful. Just what the doctor would have ordered; away from bodies, dead and alive.

   Emma leaned against the ledge, soaking in the gentle night with closed eyes, and she could almost imagine she was safe. “That was quite… the scene,” spoke another who entered after her. At first, the recognition didn’t register, but she had heard that man’s voice a thousand times in her mind, and immediately, her body tensed in trepidation. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I just.” Muscles tensed turned clenched, fingers burning bright red. “Actually, I don’t care any more, Marcus. I cannot do—”

   Then everything stopped when she turned around. Her quick-found, righteous anger rolled over her as fast as the confidence originally came to her as she realised her mistake. “Dr. Lecter?” she asked like the clear-cut figure dressed in fine black in front of her was not enough to believe his sudden appearance outside work or their sessions. How could she have ever mistaken that rich, velvet accent?

   “We keep doing this,” said Hannibal, the same as ever. Normal.

   “One of us ought to stop it,” responded Emma.

   “Probably.”

   And neither budged under the quiet dark. Constellations witnesses to their reluctance.

   “Marcus?” he quirked his head, confounded.

   New lines contorted around her nose, eyes, brow and mouth while she ran a hand through her hair and she fumbled her words, “Yeah. My agent. A scene?”

   “Quite a few people noticed. It was hard not to. This would be the same man whose house you borrowed that became a crime scene, the ‘close family friend’, correct?”

   “The very one. Who you obviously aren’t because you’re not going to try and kill me. God, this is a mess. I’m so sorry.” 

   The smallest of smiles crested Hannibal’s face, so small yet discernable nonetheless, then it stopped. He smiled ? At what? Her embarrassment, an inside joke or her insanity? A man like him could be thinking a million things, and it wasn’t fair that he knew her thoughts while she knew nothing of what rattled inside him. Then again, she shouldn’t care. She didn’t want to know (but, oh, how she needed to). “What brings you here?” enquired Emma ever so casually without realising she had spoken before the question left her sober(?) lips, and he slowly took up the space on her right.

   “I was concerned about the welfare of one of my patients,” he said.

   “Ah, I see.” she slumped against the carved grey mass. “So we’re patient and doctor this evening then,” commented her as she returned to facing the night horizon.

   “Being colleagues typically requires us to be near a body

   “Being doctor-patient typically requires a hefty bill.”

   “And you are avoiding my point.”

   “You’re avoiding my question. You know what I meant,” said Emma like a stern reminder, because today of all days, she deemed it fair and, plus, if she knew why a man such as himself was here at a charity art gala, then maybe she could avoid running into him at the next one (or maybe not). Hannibal pierced her fair gaze with an ease akin to sharpened metal slicing paper, careful not to let on too much. Never did give much away; everything he did was so subtle you had to really look. Otherwise, everything moved with purpose.

   “Tit for tat. You tell first, then I will… open myself up for an unpaid therapy session, god knows I could probably use one right now,” she suggested after the brief stifling silence like he was the one demanding she spill her guts to him.

   A slight head tilt; a new perspective. “Fairness for an equal footing. It does seem only right, lest we behave like unmannered beasts,” conceded Hannibal.

   “You first.”

   “The art. Out of all the things man has created, it is quite beautiful. It will never die.”

   Emma stood still, more taken aback by the honest answer than she should have been.

   “Not the answer you were expecting?” he asked.

   “No. I mean, kind of. I’ve always had you down for a man with fine taste and the luxury of being able to afford it, but you’re not like them , the savages,” she replied with a pointed look aimed at the high society scoffing caviar, oysters and champagne down their wide open mouths and cackling imprudently behind the closed glass-paned door.

   Hannibal did neither. If he ever did, Emma imagined he’d be more polite, and as he spoke he seemed to share a similar opinion, following her gaze in every way. “They are a different breed of stock. Though, occasionally, one finds the few worthy of sinking one’s teeth into.”

   “That would make you sound superior.” Hannibal gave her pause from the corner of his periphery. “To which I’d have to wholeheartedly agree upon. Being around them suffocates me in mere seconds, they are a rotten lot, and with you, it’s… different, as is a fresh breeze in old lungs. It is how you put it, I am able to sink my teeth into you,” she admitted, and the truth it was. If he allowed, she would take a bite out of him any day to assuage her monstrous brain – which was another truth, since normal people don’t confess such things. Quickly, she picks back up, “which answers your point. I’m okay now, I think I should be. Just needed to get away and…”

   “Stop wearing the facade you’ve so tightly adorned?”

   “Yes.”

   Hazardous winds slash at the joyous moon, dark clouds covering up the pale light in fractured distillation as curled strands of hair whip across Emma’s bared flesh. But she doesn’t feel pain or the cold or anything like she knows she should, except freedom when their sights lined up in each other's view. Dappled moon rays swarmed along his frame, washing the sharp edges of his silhouette in pale holy light and putting him closer to being a piece of art created by the greats and touched by god with the creases on his face the markings of an oil painting’s brush strokes; the kind of art you couldn’t tear away from. Emma watched as those warm maroon eyes of his trailed down her face and neck, her throat bobbing with a hard, silent gulp until he reached the small, discoloured circular burst indented on her shoulder like a star burning a hole through the deep blue cloth of night, a scar. But hers was anything other than a beautiful constellation. It was pain.

   It was a reminder.

   That is when the sound of waves lapping upon rocky teeth reached her ears. Danger. She was getting too close. But there is no water, only dry land. Dry land surrounded them for miles and miles. Is any of this real? Emma questioned herself, reality and him; if he could just be a figment created by her subconscious to calm her in a moment of stress.

   She withdrew back, breaking contact and covering up the age-old scar once again. The line redrawn. Real or not, she couldn’t make the same mistake thrice. This had to remain professional, no matter how good it felt to think there might be someone who spoke the same language as her soul – that was his job, to ‘understand’ . He couldn’t actually understand her. She was messed up. There was no way.

   Thunderous applause drew her attention to the inside where people emptied the floor and searched for their seats as the band took their thanks. “We missed the dance,” murmured Emma solemnly, realising the long passage of time that must have passed.

   “Must have been an elating experience. Do you dance, Emma?” pondered Hannibal, who, thankfully, maintained the distance she had carved.

   “In the sense that I am trained, yes.”

   “Then it seems we both missed out on a good thing.”

   He tried bringing her back, but her mind was caught elsewhere. Reality came crashing so hard it took her a few seconds to catch up as the professional in her recalled the event’s schedule. Drinks, dancing, then…

   Like it was written across her face, Hannibal interfered, “The auction will start soon. Unless you intend on missing that as well?”

   “No. No, I mustn’t,” sighed Emma, and she rubbed her forehead before straightening up and composing herself for what would be hell on earth the second a man declared her a mine to be dug for its gold, that or the berating Marcus was going to lay out on her. Smoothing out the creases of her dress, she reached for the door handle when Hannibal held it open and followed her inside where the warmth smothered them both upon entry.

   For once here, people ignored the pair as they manoeuvred around and a murmuring silence began to fall into place. What could not so easily be ignored was the slickened Marcus, shoving his way through the crowd with veins and a jaw that looked like it would pop at a moment’s notice. Hannibal regarded the man while the sea of people kept them separated. “That agent of yours doesn’t seem to be too happy,” he said.

   “Yeah, well, he doesn’t appreciate being made a fool when my father’s money is at stake. The man enjoys his fake wealth,” said Emma, searching for an escape from both men, but no door, seat or direction would accomplish such a task unless it meant mingling with the unsavoury. No, she had one choice, and she was not in the mood for Marcus’ reminders of duty and inheritance. Plus, time was drawing near when the auction would start and two single seats glistened in the distance, far from Marcus’ reach, close to an audience he wouldn’t dare start anything in front of. “Do me a favour, Dr. Lecter, please. Sit with me,” she implored the doctor, though it was less of an ask and more of a desperate command.

   Hannibal had to admit that it was almost appealing. “I do not think that is a good idea,” he told her, but he did not leave her side.

   Seats were getting full. Her spot was compromised by a couple walking in its direction. She had to come up with something. “Every second I spend here builds up pressure in the mask I wear. If Marcus speaks to me, I’m not sure how long it will last before I lose myself again. But if you join me instead, I will be okay. Which is what you want, right Dr. Lecter? To ensure I am as you intend me to be, better?” Against her better wishes, she tried to appeal to him. He was her psychiatrist, after all. Emma Darcy’s mental health was his concern.

   “Very well, then,” gave in he, and she swore he smiled, but it must have just been a trick of the lights dimming as they made their way to the front table, not a second wasted. They moved past the couple, taking the last seats at the table, each other only an arm’s reach, and Marcus was forced to stay at the back while the first auctioned piece was put into place on the stage with a large red cloth, and the black-suited auctioneer approached the podium, standing front and centre, ready to do the job he was paid so much to do.

   “You never did mention why it is that you are attending, Emma,” whispered Hannibal, leaning towards her.

   “Oh,” she said unexpectedly, like the thought never occurred to her that someone wouldn’t know because everyone else already did, and she gestured Hannibal’s focus towards the veiled object looming behind the auctioneer. “The painting belongs to my mother. My family’s estate donated it for the auction, so we could help raise money for the gala. We’ve been doing it for years now. Only this time, it just so happened that I was in the area, so Marcus insisted that it would be a good idea,” answered her in a fellow hushed voice, and never removed her eyes from the would-be painting. Silence fell over them all, the spotlight gravitating all focus on that shining stage. Their excitement was so palpable one could taste it in the air, like sweat from the back of a pig fed only on truffles. But none felt as Emma did as she sat on the edge of her seat, not in that same excitement. She sat full of nerves, worms wriggling around her stomach. It had been decades since she last saw this painting, and now she would see it again. It was to be a reunion.

   “Alright, ladies and gentlemen!” echoed the auctioneer’s voice.

   Emma’s fingers tapped, restless.

   “Now, we know you’ve been waiting for this moment so let us not keep you waiting any longer and let’s get to donating some money. Tonight we have a very special piece lined up for you, generously provided by long-time supporters of our wonderful cause.”

   Unknowingly, the rhythm became a pacing heartbeat. A hand enveloped her wrist, making hers look ridiculously small. Hannibal meant nothing by it, only that she should stop and stop she did. Emma really was unsuited to these environments. One would be better off throwing her at a crime scene or the morgue.

   The auctioneer carried on, smiling ever so. “For those with religion on their minds and walls, this is an original, never-before-seen, oil painting done by William-Adolphe Bouguereau that was first discovered by Marie Harker in 1925 and passed down her family for generations until now.” A couple of staff stood ready by the painting. Gloved palms grabbed the red cloth. “The Woman in Red!” cheerily announced the man as off went the covering, blood-like rivers billowing from the motion before pilling into a puddle on the marble below.

   It did not get the reaction he hoped.

   Glass shattered. The first sound: a crescendo of champagne flutes breaking. A dozen, maybe, maybe more. But no oohs or ahhs . In fact, the first sound physically made by a human after the unveiling was shrieks so loud they could shatter the already broken glass. People had even run from their seats, and all because of the blood that dripped from the real-life heart stitched into place, held by an all too real hand where dark skin stretched in a manner that could never be replicated without the use of actual skin, and a face. The face with shiny eyes, rosy cheeks, lips plump, and pores so visible, changing by the light and not paint strokes. The face that seemed alive. The face Emma would recognise a mile away, especially when she sat right up close to that red-robed woman stretched onto a canvas, holding heart and dagger, a solar eclipse purifying the action as it christened the black halo that was her hair.

   A reunion it was indeed, for there solved the mystery of missing Alex Bennet, now deceased.

   The pulse in Emma’s throat throbbed.

   Her stomach felt empty at the sight.

   She did not run like the others. She did not cry. Instead, as Hannibal carefully inspected her reaction, her other hand grabbed his and shock took her in a myriad of ways. But mostly due to the one single thought she disgusted herself to think, yet hungered for nonetheless: it was beautiful.

———

“And have you helped her?” was the question brought up by Bedelia, the psychiatrist’s psychiatrist.

   If this had been asked at the beginning of their doctor-patient relationship, Hannibal would merely admit a fleeting fancy to a woman who struggled on the occasion, that she was merely another patient like any other. He had seen a glimpse of who she could be under the facade society forced her to hide under, an endangered species on the verge of extinction. But that did not have to be the case. Not anymore. Not for either of them. And he was interested in seeing what might happen, more than anything, to the woman who dared to be inspired by the Chesapeake Ripper voluntarily and whose mind drank in crimes against human nature like a fine red wine.

   A short smile deigned his face. “I am beginning.”

   “Then this fox must be careful where she steps.” One wrong move, and she would be better off dead. If Bedelia appeared concerned, then she did not show it.

   Hunger struck a cord inside the man, the doctor, the being. He was well and truly intrigued. So much so that inspiration filled a desire.

   And what is desire if not hunger?

[aphroditesacolyte]

Meryl and Diosia

Ch 11. // Plot Hole // Read on AO3

Masterpost

Summary: Things aren't quite adding up.

Content warnings: "I want to eat him" vibes, god I dunno these guys are weird, profanity as always, please read at your own discretion, thank you!

~Approx word count: 2,610 words

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For a long time in his life, Meryl thought he knew better—like that he knew better than to spend time with someone dangerous, or that he knew better than to bother a friend or put them in harm’s way, or most certainly that he knew better than to follow a friend out when they snuck away in the dead of night. However, when the last option was such a strange, uncharacteristic thing for Bondi to do, he couldn’t help but (secretly) tag along.

Bondi moved along without a care and with the assertiveness he always did, swaying in the water and propelling himself forward with ease. It was a pace Meryl found difficult to keep up with, and consequently lost Bondi for stretches of time, swimming on aimlessly and hoping he had chosen the right direction. This time, however, it seemed that maybe he hadn’t. As he moved along, there was no sign of Bondi anywhere. When he searched on through the waters that felt almost murky from the dark, it only became more unlikely that he would stumble across Bondi again, at least while going straight. So, he guessed.

It was a slightly educated guess, not that it was any better, for it was still riddled with uncertainty. However, the time of night was a keen one for all sorts of creatures to stir, so maybe Bondi was just hungry. He traced along the water of every favourite hunting spot he could think of, from clams to crabs to lobster to tuna and to any other meal Bondi might fancy, and only found food. The waters were lively, but amongst them no fuchsia scales to be seen.

His mind drifted to the shorelines… did Bondi have the same night-time habit he did? Well, that he formerly did. Sort of formerly did. It wasn’t such a good idea to go out alone at night.

That’s when his stomach sunk, feeling as though it would collapse in on itself.

Bondi wasn’t seeking out Diosia, was he? Even Meryl was avoiding him now, surely Bondi knew better. Bondi wouldn’t go out of his way to interact with someone like Diosia, would he?

Yes, yes, he would. If Bondi thought it meant keeping Meryl safe, he absolutely would. A new-found distress pounded at his insides, causing him to get worried sick. A nauseous feeling chased him the whole way to Diosia’s home, and it felt as though the water pushed against him as he went. When he tried to flick off the potent feeling of worry by shaking his hands and limbs, it seemed to stick to him grossly, and he almost trembled.

He wanted to stop what he was doing and curl up into a ball amongst the wreckage, protected and out of sight. He wanted to feel safe, as though there wasn’t a possible danger that loomed and stalked above him.

But as all times before, it was empty.

There was no one there.

He should’ve felt relieved, but he never found an unanswered question to be a cure for anxiety, even if he had ruled a possibility out; Bondi wasn’t after Diosia it seemed. Another cruel factor, the factor that perhaps Diosia had gone out to find Bondi like before, came to his mind to replace the idea of Bondi visiting Diosia, so he rushed on.

He began to search along the coastline and amongst the rocks that could host someone upon them, finding little progress from it. His original idea wasn’t so bad, he figured, so when he found no signs of Bondi still, he searched both along sources of food and the coastline. Particularly, he checked over the estuary Bondi always visited, a place terribly close to where Diosia and Bondi had fought originally.

The fauna and weeds grew thick and hearty where he was now, so deep and tall that they concealed whatever may prowl within them with ease. With nowhere else to search, he traveled along this path and brought himself further into the maw of the river. Silver liquid sparkled across its surface, but the height of all the strong plants left the water shadowy regardless.

It was quite a wide river too, and the water was not shallow, nor cavernous, nor ocean-like, which provided him a slight shelter. Unluckily, however, he had to search the coast, so he kept himself vulnerable and exposed by the surface regardless of the depths he could hide in. Along the water’s edge were patches of sand that the plant-life was yet to claim, patches that he peered into especially.

Signs of anything at all remained slim, until his ears caught something distinct. The sound of voices, male voices to be precise.

He dipped himself down cautiously and listened as he made wary movements, silently treading along. The voices grew closer, and more familiar. There was nothing secretive about their conversation, he could catch their voices clear as day.

Bondi’s voice was sardonic and bold, something recognizable, and extraordinarily comforting. It meant he felt comfortable, and that he likely wasn’t in danger. Another voice met his ears, a voice low in pitch yet ethereal as it spoke, an accent just as recognizable, but not as comforting.

Diosia.

The words were blurred, too hard to properly pick up, but they were there—and somehow, sounded relatively civil. After the sounds, the two conversationists came into his sight, or more so one half of the pair. Bondi’s bright scales contrasted the washed-out and dull sand, his tail spreading across the beach-front and at the very end dipping into the water as if to have a quick escape. His eyes sought out Diosia as he came closer, almost up to Bondi’s side now.

Through the reeds and thick blades that hid the land, he found Diosia’s eyes centered on Bondi and Bondi alone. Neither of them took notice of him yet, so their conversation kept on. However, Meryl halted himself and stared. The way Diosia laid there made him look like a panther; the bright, piercing yellow eyes and face poking out were most notable, while vague features like a part of his leg or the tip of his wing could hardly be found in-between all else.

Goodness, what had happened to his face?

All along one side there were terrible, jagged lines all crusted and scabbed over, said lines having ruined soft, perfect skin. Or at least it looked soft. It was terrible to see, and made his heart wretch, but the injury looked old. It hadn’t happened to him recently; it was something semi-healing. If he got his wounds the at same time Bondi did though, it was healing poorly.

Yellow eyes locked on him.

In a panic he dunked himself beneath the water and stayed there, frightened by the idea of being caught. Should he confront it? Run away? Running away from Bondi was a bad idea—leaving Bondi alone with Diosia was a bad idea.

Slowly and fearfully, he peeked above the water. He watched Diosia’s gaze gently drift away, while Bondi stared questioningly.

“Did you follow me?”

He began to speak, “I—”

“Hush, it’s fine.” The deep, shiver-inducing voice interrupted, “There’s no need for secrets.”

Meryl glanced towards Diosia as he felt an arm pull him in close to sit beside Bondi. What was this? Was this a dream? It felt as if he were a child again, waking up in the middle of the night from a nightmare to stumble into a conversation he couldn’t understand.

“W-what’s going on?”

Bondi replied, “Oh, I’ve made amends with Diosia.”

What?

Trapped.

Lying.

Waiting.

All separate things. In practice, however, as the days went by, they began to blend. Diosia could feel the soft, salt-carrying coastal breeze and huffed out a frustrated breath as it treated his wings cruelly. As he dared to stretch one wing, the wing, in order to find a more comfortable position, a striking pain zapped through it like lightning, and he immediately let it fall back down upon the terrible plants.

They groped against him and drowned him, their blades and edges uncomfortable, but favourable to the particles of sand that would bite at the skin. He felt repulsed by the now familiar environment that imprisoned him, only due to the fault of his wing. He was stuck here. Attempts to fly were far too painful to begin, or horrendous failures when they started.

The comfort of home sounded almost too good to be true now. He had been out here for many, many days.

He could swim or walk, perhaps, but there was nothing that would bring him back home safely and efficiently. Flight, for now, was a memory and a treasure. However, as all times before, he merely needed patience.

Patience.

The wing would heal, and as would the aching and itching slashes that were still recovering along his face and body. He simply had to wait.

Even so, waiting out against the foliage of the coast, tucking himself away into it so he could sleep safely and peacefully, and most certainly not eating or being with Meryl were all things beginning to grate on him. It felt as though there were holes inside him, things he couldn’t quite plug up no matter how much patience he promoted. He needed food. He needed Meryl.

A finer source of water, something he would normally have access to, would also be of benefit. But food especially. As a siren, he had the gift of a slow metabolism on his side, his body itself held quite the patience for food; normally he would wait perhaps a month, maybe two or three. Now he was going on four, nearing five. He knew he’d be dead by six.

In his current state though, there was little he could do about this. Yes, he could cast out a call and hope to catch the ear of an unsuspecting merfolk, or even a foolish human, both which were hardly as appealing as Meryl, though still plenty something, yet nothing of the sort would satisfy him. He wanted to win his game more than anything. All he needed was more time.

The way the clearing sky framed the moon reminded him that he had plenty of time, yet so very little. Plenty of time to waste away here, but none at all for his plan. How would he win Meryl’s favour like this?

A sound pulled him from his thoughts, the rippling of water as it splashed, and then the sound of rustling sand. He peered around in search of the source.

It found him first.

He met eyes with a nonchalant face. Bondi began to squint at him through the vegetation, judgingly, and in the back of Dioisa’s mind, it almost felt as if the fool were gloating about something he hadn’t won. I let you win. Unfortunately, it was normal for Bondi to bother him now.

Bondi gave him an awful smirk. “Hey, big guy. How you doing?”

He’d much rather Bondi in his gut, but this was alright. He wasn’t that hungry yet; he’d never be so desperate.

“Oh, you’ve come to mock me once more now haven’t you, Bondi?”

“Maybe a little bit.” Bondi answered cheekily. “I just have to admit, it’s pretty funny you’re stuck here.”

Diosia threw back a sharp smile. “I believe you’ve mentioned.”

“Mhm.”

Bondi clicked his claws together with the same smug expression, focused on them.

“Bondi, rather than our previous chats, I’d like to discuss something far more important.”

Bondi cast his eyes back to him, brows raised in questioning amusement.

He quite wished Bondi wouldn’t come back to him. It was a surprise he had bothered checking the first time, though it merely was out of a genuine sympathy and pity. After that it appeared he had exhausted the supply, and now Bondi found his circumstances much more humorous and well-deserved than anything. Well-deserved he couldn’t argue with, however, he was irritated by the mer’s cockiness.

The shield of Meryl’s friendship and the fragile trust he had endangered by attacking Bondi was all that kept Bondi safe, but that didn’t matter. Not if he could convince Bondi otherwise. And he had been well-behaved for all of Bondi’s visits thus far. He could do it.

“I’ve been meaning to for quite sometime,” Diosia pressed himself forward, out of the vegetation a little bit. “however, I apologize. To attack you was dreadfully foolish and ill-considered, and although I do not anticipate you to accept my apology, know that I extend it truthfully.”

Bondi stared at him for a moment, unreadable. The uncertainty stirred some sort of pressing, beating feeling in his chest. Annoyance…?

Bondi gave a skeptic look. “What makes you wanna say sorry now…?”

“As you know, I’ve had a great amount of time to reflect. I mean it. I ought to reform myself.”

“Alright. While we’re on the topic of things-that-should-be-addressed, I’ve got a question for you.”

“I am only here to listen, Bondi.”

Bondi mumbled back, “Well that’s not true… but anyways, why haven’t you enchanted me?”

Perfect.

He withdrew, just a little, and his eyebrows furrowed. His eyes were placed on the ground, as if to evade the question.

“If you thought it wasn’t going to work, it would. It’d definitely work on me, unfortunately.”

I’m aware.

“Diosia?”

“I…”

“You what?” Bondi mocked, “Can you not sing?”

Diosia sought for the scraps of insecurity he had.

“I… no.”

When he glanced back up to Bondi, he caught sight of the worsened state of his relaxed, smug smile. He found it amusing. Diosia could only hope believable, too.

“You can’t enchant and you can’t fly, huh? That must be a pretty rough siren life. The hell causes something like that to happen?”

“Well, the wing—”

“I know about the wing.”

“My voice is a more… complicated story. What I would like to ask you,” his smile sharpened once more as he spoke, “dear Bondi, is whether or not you accept my apology.”

Bondi looked him up and down, scanning for honesty.

“Sure. You know what, I forgive you—on one condition.”

“Yes, dear Bondi?”

“You don’t go near Meryl again.”

What was one more lie?

“Very well. You are right. I am sure I’ve hurt our friendship irreparably anyways.”

He allowed himself to settle back into the plants, and for a little while they talked on. However, in such wonderful timing, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He felt his face become unusually warm, and almost reached out to touch it before he recalled his injury.

He tried to ignore him because he saw the fear in Meryl’s eyes, however, he couldn’t help it. He wanted a better look at the mer.

Meryl disappeared beneath the water, and that is when Bondi took notice of him.

“We’ll just… let Meryl figure that out, alright?”

“I agree.” Diosia replied.

Once the mer resurfaced, he had to force himself to look away, or else he would’ve stressed the poor thing beyond a sustainable amount. The feeling he felt as he saw Meryl so confused and worried, and most pointedly, frightened of him, was foreign and indescribable. If it were a new sort of predatory instinct, it was not an instinct he liked. It felt bad.

To his ire, as quickly as the jewel appeared, he was gone by Bondi’s guidance. His stomach grumbled and twisted in retribution, an awful, empty and fluttery feeling filling it, a strange feeling of… hunger? He couldn’t place it. But now he wondered whether Bondi would continue visiting and pestering him in this awful place where he was stranded, or whether Meryl would come back to him now that he knew where he was. A lack of definite answers taunted him.

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[homesickghoul]

Ascending heaven chapter 2

Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson / Reader (fem) tw everything (nsfw, gore, horror, dubious consent, torture, dead dove: no not eat, cosmic horror, suicide themes, substance abuse and addiction, hurt no comfort etc) proceed with this in mind originally published by gghouleh in AO3 2021-09-25 -> ongoing Chapter 2

There is no way for oxygen to enter your shaking body as you unintentionally hold in your breath, like getting strangled again by invisible hands.

Strangers gather around you, to observe, while whispering to one another, yet all the sounds are mingling, quickly building up to one, horrible screeching between your ears. Holding your head, trying desperately to cover your ears, you send yourself mental messages to inhale deeply, yet no amount of air seems to satisfy your need. You’re slipping, hanging on the edge, seconds away from diving into that familiar, but eerie madness of your own feral thoughts. There’s a beat in your chest, your heart miraculously still beating. And you were so sure you had died in the hands of a serial killer. “Hey, hey.” Someone hushes right next to your ear, startling you as you hadn’t noticed anyone creeping up so close. “You’re fine.” She soothes, taking a brief moment before carefully lowering a hand to rest on your shoulder. Even though there are others you only notice her, and those gentle, dark, deep eyes that seem to bring you back from the brink of a mental breakdown. “I’m Claudette and these people are my friends.” Claudette gestures around her, and for the first time, you take a better look at the others, some of whom are offering you empathic smiles mixed with melancholy. The energy in the air is thick and there’s a lump in your throat, it’s hard to talk, even breathe.   “We’re not going to hurt you, I promise.” Her voice, smooth as silk and sweet like honey and with all your being you want to believe her, exhausted and too shaken up, desperate for a lifeline, you give a little, trusting nod. You hear people talking, still, but you are unable to make anything out of it. Too distressed to care, really. So instead, you stay put for a while, just like that, sitting on the grass and little rocks, trying to make sense of it all. Claudette stays there with you, as long as you need, as most of the others return to their previous posts or decide to stay by the fire a bit further away. “I sat where you are, once.” Claudette assures, holding a dried flower between her gentle fingers, but no matter how delicate she tries to be, it still crumbles, just a little. “We all did.” This sentence catches your attention quickly. “Is this hell?” You ask, completely genuine. Some other might’ve laughed at the question, but not Claudette who gives you a sad, faint smile. And it’s not like you one hundred percent believe in hell either, but you cannot help but to ask anyway. Plus, it’s not like you had a lot of time to think about the afterlife before, not to depth at least. And to be honest, death had always seemed unreal to you, something that wouldn’t affect you. “No, but also yes, it is.”

Your first night at the camp is spent crying. Time doesn’t seem to change as it’s always dark everywhere, only the ever-burning fire generating some much-needed light. The moonlight assists also, but like the others had said with a firm tone, it’s the safest around the fire. The forest doesn’t seem inviting or friendly, so they don’t need to worry about that: you wouldn’t go there anyway. You cannot sleep and bringing it up, the others give you slightly different answers depending on who’d you ask. Most you trust Claudette’s word: the sleep here would be different, just constantly drifting in and out of it. You feel like she’s leaving much unsaid. Today, you decide, you do not want to know: half a truth would do.

You feel cold. Claudette says you’d get used to it too. You’re wearing, somehow, some loose beige pants, a blue top of a pretty baby blue shade, pair of white sneakers with lime green socks and a white half-length cardigan. You don’t have the mental energy to start questioning where you got to have such pieces of clothing in your possession. You don’t recall putting them on, but the outfit is similar to something you have in your wardrobe back home. Which is odd, but it’s the least of your problems (at least it’s not the tiny black dress you wore to the Halloween party). The flashback gives you goosebumps and makes your stomach twist and turn. Without thinking you press against the spot that Ghostface had stabbed you in, and cringe as you feel like crying, again. You wish to go home. You want to call your mom, cry, and beg for her to pick you up, drive you back home, take the long route, just like as a kid when you’d fall asleep on the backseat after the movies, nose and forehead pressed against the chilly window and have your father carry you inside, in the morning magically waking up in your own bed to the smell of freshly baked waffles. It’s that funny feeling again, in the back of your neck, whispering bitterly how there is no returning home. Kate hums and plays her guitar with talented hands; it reminds you of a love song. Forcing yourself to focus onto its sweet tune, you stop shaking for some time. While the song plays, David and Meg continue explaining the rules of the twisted realm you had, sadly, ended up in. It seems like you don’t have any say in the matter.

You’re thankful for the others and their generous hospitality. From the start they had started treating you as a friend, or like Claudette had described it: a family member. It made things less painful, but not exactly easy. All still feels like a bad dream to you, causing you to pinch yourself every now and then, it never ending in waking up. As hours pass by and you crawl back to your spot behind one of the trees, curling up to sleep, Claudette moves to sit by you, reading a book of some sort. “I’ll be here, if that’s okay.” You give the first, genuine smile after arriving, and nod. “Yes.”

You do notice people disappearing and coming back after some time. You picked up the pattern kind of quickly – always in groups of four. Sometimes they return together, sometimes at different times with different things to say. Nea always bragging about winning. Meg always seemed to be disappointed with herself. David usually returns with a blank expression, but the anger underneath visible. Dwight compliments everyone, tells how they did their best. Jake stays calm, encourages the others to do the same while coming up with new tactics. “We’ll get them next time.” Feng would usually say – she tried to put on a role of a happy, lighthearted girl, but everyone knew better than that. Even you, now. It’s probably been good few days since your arrival, and nothing had yet to happen. You’d like to think that you’re well prepared, that your friends taught you well. Still, you’re scared and try your best to conceal it: Claudette sees right through it and that’s alright, it comforts you. So, when it does happen, you panic. You’re not ready. It's too soon. Crawling away from the fog that is licking your feet and quickly forcing its way into your lungs. You can’t breathe, can’t get away, and you almost pass out, yet you must give in, swallow your pride, and obey. There it is, again. That funny feeling.

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Autumnal End (Revenant x Reader)

Theme: Ramen, room decorations, and relationships take time, effort, patience, and a little bit of a push or shove in the right direction.

Warnings: Pain, bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, bipolar disorder, mania, depression, anxiety disorder.

Reader's Notes: Fluff for the fluff gods!

Writing Notes: Egads the pipeline is clogged yet the content keeps coming. I have deep exhaustion.

Navigation:

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"Just A Volunteer" (Book 1) | "The Lost Files" (Book 1.5) | "Of Feathers And Venom" (Book 2)

You regain partial consciousness in the pile of pillows that you originally fell asleep on. You don't open your eyes, you just become aware. You feel warmer than you expected to, considering how you aren't wearing anything. As you twitch a little you figure out why: you're now wrapped in a thin blanket. You must have also closed the door to the balcony before passing out because the heater has had time to bring the room back to a nice temperature.

You don't remember covering yourself in a blanket, so that means Revenant or the MRVN must have seen you and tossed it over you. It's still very dark outside. Even with your eyes completely closed, you can easily guess from the lack of pink glow through your eyelids coming from the window. Your suspicions are further confirmed by the lack of noisy activity occurring outside the window in the streets below, meaning it must be the wee hours of the morning, before the sun rises. You're genuinely still tired, but you can tell you need to stretch to be comfortable and fall back asleep. If you move and Revenant is nearby, it will alert him and he might start asking you questions. You aren't really wanting to deal with that, but your need to stretch is overwhelming.

You unfurl yourself from under the blanket and roll around until you're oriented more normally: head on the pillows with the rest of you laid out towards the foot of the bed. The blanket naturally falls off of you as you shift around. It's warm enough in the room that you don't care. You begin to drift back to a stage of low awareness as you feel a set of cool, metallic fingers lightly brush over your skin on your stomach. You feel it. You're aware of it. You are interested in it. Yet you don't feel strongly enough to react beyond focusing all your remaining consciousness on it.

You feel his extreme weight shift around as he vaults over you and rests in a type of modified seiza position over your legs. Both hands press into your stomach, feeling the raised scars that are likely permanent. He pushes into a few of them and feels for the organs underneath. Embarrassing enough, your stomach growls right as he pushes his thumbs into it, causing his touch to recoil away from it curiously. He makes his way around, specifically resting on the synthetic kidney and liver that were once inside his knight chassis. He presses into those areas quite a bit, as if he is making sure the organs didn't disappear since that night. Finally his fingers brush their way upwards towards where your rib cage protects your synthetic lung. He doesn't dare try to press into your ribs, but he does cradle your lung with one hand buried under your shoulder and his palm lightly pressed into your chest beneath your clavicle. He listens and feels for your breathing for a time before seemingly satisfied.

While you expect him to withdraw at this point, he does not. He immediately shifts to the center of your chest and feels for your heartbeat. It's been an odd obsession for him since your brush with death. He loves to press into your flesh near your ulnar veins in your wrists, your jugulars in your neck, and press into your chest to desperately search for a heartbeat whenever you seem remotely open to it. You've noticed it, but you have decided not to press him on it. You assume it may have to do with grounding himself. After all, he once held you as you bled out, your heart rate inevitably slowing as the blood was drained from your body. No matter how experienced he is with death, that cannot be easy to brush off.

You are a little surprised to feel his mask press into the side of your neck. Normally he isn't so aggressive with seeking out your heart, but he relaxes as your jugular pounds against the small protrusion on his visage where his nose might begin if he didn't have a cavity instead. He lets his body slowly fall to the side of you, careful not to crush you or wake you. He seems unable to wholly contain himself though as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him further. This makes you stir a little, twitching instinctively as his hands tickle your spine and stroke your bare skin. He seems not to care, burying his mask into your neck with even more demand as your heart naturally speeds up as if you might wake up.

You aren't completely lucid, nor do you want to be. Something about him cradling you while he perceives you to be asleep is more precious than waking up to experience this more fully. Still, if he continues to excitedly explore you in a way that feels ticklish, you won't get a choice in the matter.

He begins to make a low purring sound somewhere deep in his chassis. You expend some consciousness to emit a small, sleepy whine at him. He seems taken aback at first, unwrapping his arms from around you; then he quickly registers it as an endorsement and wraps his hands around your neck and throat instead, kneading the tips of his slightly sharpened fingers into your skin before receding them moments before it would cause pain or break the skin. It's amazing. It feels so perfect. It threatens you with his strength and power but softens as soon as it might actually cause any pain or damage. It's a perfect metaphor for the strange dynamic you've come to appreciate under his affection: overwhelming and lethal power, subdued to meet you in your feeble form.

"Are you doing that on purpose?" You hear him whisper at such a low tone and volume you can barely make it out mere inches from his face.

You don't have the consciousness to answer him. You try to emit another whimper but his massaging grapple on your throat makes it impossible to get one out without it tickling against his palms. Plus you don't want his threatening kneading to stop.

"No?" He hums happily. "Even better." He takes a few moments. You aren't even sure what he's talking about. "Sleep, you're tired." He's not wrong, but you're enjoying it.

You drift a little more as he holds course with his touches. He intentionally adds nothing nor stops anything to ensure you're able to fall asleep. You struggle against your sinking awareness, wanting to stay for longer, but it's a losing battle. One of the last things you feel is his body begin to shift right as you fall into the void, but you aren't able to use it to wake up. It's too late. The void takes you.

You wake up bright and early in the morning to the strangely alluring smell of some kind of food. Your whole face is sore and your nose definitely hurts, but the lack of Revenant beside you is what bothers you the most. Unlike the past couple months, he hasn't relocated you to your own room, but you can hear the sound of paper flicking from the wall. He must be working on his wall of mapped out crimes in the city.

You sit up, quickly remembering that you stripped off your clothing before falling asleep as the blanket rubs against your bare skin. Even moreso, you become very aware of how much your body reacted to his presence; the feeling of natural lubrication dripping down your leg is both embarrassing and uncomfortable. Revenant is standing at his conspiracy collage, which has now increased to eat even more of the wall. The map now includes areas outside of the city near the warehouse districts, as well as a couple smaller scale maps of sister cities.

"Sleep well?" Revenant asks without even turning to meet your gaze. It's probably for the best, considering how red in the face you must be over the mess you've made of his bed.

"Y-yeah…" You stutter a bit, looking at how much the wall has expanded. Still no yarn connecting the pins. That would be too perfect.

"So—" He turns to meet your gaze which immediately makes your face burn with embarrassment. His head tilts up in elation at this, and you know the vicious teasing is coming. "—you missed me a lot, didn't you? I had no idea you felt so strongly about me. It's almost like you—perhaps—need me at this point?" He accentuates the 'need' part with a deep delight.

You have no retort. You know that your face must be as red as his scarf, spare where your eyes and nose are bruised and bandaged up. You avert your eyes downward.

"S-sorry…" you murmur.

"You know, I was surprised when I came back to such a nice present sitting on my bed. I wasn't sure if you wanted me to open it immediately or wait for you to be there to watch and enjoy it with me." He begins walking towards you. Your face burns worse.

"S-sorry!" You apologize, but deep down it's really just an appeal begging him to not continue. You know he'll never let this go, but you feel it's worth pleading for mercy just in case.

"I might have played with the wrapping paper and shaken the box, I hope you don't mind." He's standing over you, but slowly leans over to whisper the next bit in your ear seductively. "It was really hard not to just tear you open right then and there with how you were grinding on my thigh like that."

"Sorry!!!" You literally yell, losing all control of your volume as you bury your burning face in your hands to hide from his vitriolic and flirtatious tone. Even if you love him, your instinct is to be polite and proper around the Legends, and this qualifies as neither. You don't know how to react to him when he's like this.

Suddenly you feel yourself pushed back by your shoulders to a lying position as he begins to crawl over you. Your hands leave your face as you naturally bring them to your sides, trying as if you might have been able to catch yourself. Instead, you're met with Revenant's visage mere inches from your face. Your face burns so badly you feel yourself tear up. He's crawled over you, creating a center of gravity beneath you to pin you into place. You have no more words. You emit a chaotically cacophonous whimper, layered with desperation, worry, and anticipation.

The sound you make catches him off guard a bit. He pulls away from you to laugh villainously over you. Suddenly and abruptly, he interrupts his own laugh and leaps off of you and to his feet. He then gives the most deadpan command he possibly could, especially considering the moments leading up to it:

"Decorate your room." He begins to walk away from you and the bed, towards the door to the living room. "Then I'll open my present."

You sit back up in a desperate motion, your whole body shaking with emotions you cannot fully articulate.

"You're evil!" You hiss in his direction, not sure what you wanted but knowing full well it wasn't this.

He looks back at you with a glint in his eyes as he swings open the door, letting you be hit with a wave of pleasant scents coming from the kitchen.

"Oh good, you finally figured it out." He huffs with a proud and humored condescension. "Now decorate your room; do as you're told."

He closes the door behind him, leaving you alone with your overwhelming feelings.

"Mr. Cross? I don't mean to question your methods, but I don't believe this is necessary."

"Sure it is. What if she struggles and her nose starts bleeding again? Or what if she sneezes and the swab stabs into her brain? Or what if she pulls away and falls backward and snaps her neck?" Revenant intentionally answers right beside your ear as he grapples you excessively closely, bracing your head against his chest and securing you by your forehead on the couch. Even though you know this is a coy game he's playing, you're still fairly happy to be sitting in his lap at all.

"Those are all statistically negligible possibilities. Also she looks quite uncomfortable." The MRVN stands poised with a lidocaine-laced cotton swab, but seems unsure of how to handle the scene in front of him.

"Nonsense. I've seen a man die from a cotton swab through the brain." Revenant answers, cooing in your ear as your face burns with embarrassment.

"H-how did that happen?" The MRVN asks as his emote screen shows a shocked face.

"Oh, I put it there." Revenant growls happily, intentionally squeezing you a little as he says so. "Now hurry up, she has to pick out a wall color so you can start painting."

The MRVN doesn't question things further and gently swabs the inside of your nostrils towards the back, numbing it before the tickle causes you to sneeze. He withdraws the swab and returns to the kitchen to tend to the giant vat of broth he has been working on through the night. Revenant doesn't move to release you.

"Could you unhand me, Mister Cross?" You ask loudly while accentuating his pseudonym. He holds you closer in response.

"Oh, I don't know, are you going to behave for me?" His grip on your forehead shifts to run his fingers through your hair and wrap them into a grip. He gives a light tug on your hair with one hand while wrapping his other hand around your throat. You feel your whole body heat up in response as you whimper under your breath. "Tell me you're going to be a good little bird, and I'll let you go."

His whispers have you reeling internally. You are too embarrassed by the whole situation to really answer him. What if the MRVN hears you? You try to nod into his grip with a short, rapid movement, issuing a whimper into his hands on your throat, desperately hoping the MRVN hasn't seen you yet. Revenant chuckles at your surrender under his breath as he lets you go. You stand up from his lap and nearly fall from how shaky his little stunt has made you. You land back into the seat beside him, right up against him instead. You feel a little dizzy so you lean into him for grounding and lightly hug his waist.

"Oh, I didn't actually expect you to behave," he coos. "And here I was expecting some kind of sass from you, considering how you started there. Are you too worked up to even backtalk me? Such a shame." He shrugs as he mocks you, letting his closest arm gracefully fall around your back to hold you. His fingers stroke your spine through your shirt until it tickles. You squeeze the side of his thin leather waist for a moment, causing him to wince subtly before you sit back up to put your attention back into the laptop.

The wall color options on the website are at least a hundred too many. Even worse, there are different levels of gloss to choose from and different textures to choose from. Why does simple wall paint have to be so complicated? As you scroll, you realize it's even worse than you imagined. There are gradients, paints with flakes of other colors, and painting methods that create a scratchy or spongey look. You engross yourself in the website, only anchored to reality by the rhythmic cycle of tapping and sliding your two fingers across the touchpad to make the page scroll. You try to visualize what these might look like on the walls, but you know reality will be different.

"You need something calming. What colors feel familiar and relaxing?" Revenant's voice snaps you back. You were mindlessly scrolling and viewing the various pictures for a while there. You didn't really think about how the colors made you feel, you were more so looking for a color that would be inoffensive but acceptable.

"I was just looking through the pale taupes and such, you know. Stuff normal people paint their walls with." You murmur, scrolling through that color class.

"But do you even like those colors? They look boring." Revenant pries further, leaning forward to more closely view the screen.

"N-no, not really… but these are the colors most people go with. I didn't want to ruin the room or anything with a bad idea. It's not like I'm good at picking colors out or anything." You brace yourself internally for his chiding, which you already know is coming.

"I don't give a damn if you 'ruin' the room. You can pick the most assaulting magenta or the most disgusting green-tinted yellow they offer. It's yours. Decorate it with the same reckless abandon as a hopeless child would. Make it jungle-themed, make it all pink and fluffy, or absolutely inject it with mythical bullshit like dragons and unicorns. I couldn't care less. Just do whatever makes you feel the most safe, even if it's offensive to the condescending masses. I certainly don't give a damn what other people think. It's about time you stopped too." He finishes his tiny lecture by leaning back again and crossing his arms back behind his neck. He's no longer there to judge your choices with his watchful gaze. He's completely at ease.

You wish you felt the same. Even though he seems completely genuine, you're not sure how to throw off societal expectations so easily. Even knowing that your room will probably never be seen by anyone but a mere select few, you can't help but feel like you have to fake being a perfectly mundane adult with your choices. After all, what would someone think if they walked into a childishly decorated room supposedly for an adult? You don't like to be judged, even though deep down you know your dream room is fairly nostalgic at its core. Especially since you grew up never having your own room, your drive to choose colors and decorations more wildly is even stronger than perhaps someone who was given creative freedom before.

"Hey." You jostle in shock as his hands fall gently on your shoulders from behind. He pauses for a moment, realizing he scared you and giving you time to recover internally. "You're way too stressed over this. Don't think so hard about it, it's just a coat of paint. It can be painted over if you change your mind."

Oh.

That's… right.

It's not a permanent decision. It doesn't have to be, anyway. Paint is fixable, replaceable, removable. You can make mistakes. It's not a big deal; so why does it feel like a big deal? You take a deep breath, realizing you've been holding it as your biological lung pangs for oxygen. The other is quite calm in comparison. However, it feels heavy as you breathe in again, rattling a little at the demand to inhale so deeply.

You jolt yet again as Revenant's arms wrap around your neck, his face peeking over your shoulder as he rearranges himself to envelop you a bit.

"Flighty today, are we?" He hums. You sigh openly, realizing you're projecting some kind of personal anxiety on such a negligible decision regarding paint. Maybe if you just went out on a limb and tried something, the anxiety of needing to make a decision would lift. He's falling into an affectionate phase again, so you might as well placate him before he goes back to aloof and distant.

He squeezes you a bit and you jump yet again.

"Can I ponder for even a minute before you interrupt me?" You hiss under your breath. You're not actually that mad, simply frustrated.

"Clue me in, what's going on in that skull of yours? You keep cycling through moments of stress and calm." His voice is low, but not quiet enough to be a whisper. You're almost certain the MRVN can hear him fine, so his tone must be for your sake. He taps your temple with one of his fingers before returning to relaxing over your shoulders.

"You're tracking my vitals?" You huff a bit, trying to lean forward into the laptop and away from him in defiance. His grapple stops you cold and pulls you directly into his frame instead.

"Always." He growls deeply into your ear while nuzzling into it, causing you to freeze up as the fight or flight courses through your veins and over the surface of your spine. You twitch a little against his unfettering frame, entirely lost in the confusion and paralysis of fearful delight. You feel his frame shift as he almost assuredly beholds the prey instinct overtake you and leave you completely prone to his will. You think you hear him chuckle a little under his breath, but in the fuzzy perception of the moment you cannot be sure.

Why does he do this? He clearly enjoys it, but even more concerningly you also find yourself enjoying it. Isn't this feeling a type of fear? When did fear become fun for you? You're pretty sure he wouldn't do anything to hurt you, but you're not as sure as you probably should be. His strength is absolute. You can't move. If he wants to slice you into pieces, you don't really get a choice in the matter. You start to panic internally at the helplessness, but as you hear his chassis begin to turn over and whir into a polite purr, the helplessness feels different. Is it really helplessness if he's protective above all else? Maybe that's what's exhilarating about the whole thing: he could easily break you, but he instead aims his aggression at anything that might hurt you. Is that possessiveness? Is it healthy to enjoy it? You slouch in his grasp like a ragdoll, letting him hold you up with his irresistible strength.

"Aww, did the fretful little thing finally realize there's nothing to worry about?" He mockingly coos over your relaxed body. "You're a lot calmer than a few moments ago. Did you figure out that pigment in paint is one of the most negligible things to care so deeply about?"

You don't bother to answer him, but you try to purr a little in return. It's more of a modified relaxed snore, but it gets the point across.

"Your skinsuit lives are so short, yet you still fret over such negligible things… I remember what it's like. I once wore a skinsuit too." He mumbles to himself as he looks over you.

You watch him surveil you for a few moments before you take a large stretch and yawn openly. You sit back up to get back to the laptop as his locked hold melts to give way to your mission. You relish in the feeling of metal machinery loosening and flowing around your form, even if a few of his fingers very intentionally hover over you as long as possible. His visage nestles into the crook of your neck and shoulder, barely holding onto you by your waist.

"You know, you're distracting me with how cute you're being." You state as plainly as possible with a knowing smirk.

"I am not cute." He mutters angrily into your shoulder and neck, but not arguing further.

"Would you be opposed to a pastel gradient of sky colors?" You ask abruptly, thinking about the pretty fade of the morning red breaking from the horizon and fading to the overhead navy depths. If it's pastel, it's a bit easier on the eyes, but just as pretty. "I could make the ceiling black and speckle white on it for stars. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"Is that what you want?"

You pause, not sure if he's offering reassurance or chiding you for fishing for his preferences.

"I-I think so." You stutter a bit, not entirely secure in your freedom to choose.

"Then no, I am not opposed; and yes, it would be nice." He answers so systematically you can't help but take it as genuine and direct.

"You don't think it's a bit childish or too feminine for—"

"None of that bothers me. Make it your little habitat so you're comfortable. We can get you soft rugs, stuffed animals, plants like that catnip stuff…" He drones on as you see his wrist twirl out of the corner of your eye.

"You're aware catnip only works on cats, right?" You start playing with gradients in the online tool, including white dots for stars. Sure, maybe it is a little juvenile, but it seems pretty cool at the moment.

"Knowing you, you're such a lightweight it would work on you anyway." Revenant coos from behind you. He definitely baited you just to make that quip. "But don't worry, I wouldn't mind getting you a little loose on something stronger if you're oh-so-certain of that."

You stop for a moment, unsure if he's serious or not about his implication. You've never been high nor have you ever even considered such a thing. In the homeless shelter there were more addicts than you could count, and none of them fared well. It looked like they were almost enslaved to their need for more drugs, and it often sent them careening down rabbit holes that no one could hope to save them from. Some clawed their way out and into rehab or at the least some semblance of stability, but others got worse and worse and eventually vanished. You don't know what happened to them, but you can guess it wasn't a savory ending to anyone's story.

"I'm not really wanting to do anything like that, but thanks." You mutter as you make some gradient edits.

"Hmmn? And why not? Imagine the ecstasy. Imagine how pliable you'd be for me. Hell, it might even help you." He slows his speech down considerably for his next line, accentuating his point. "Don't you trust me?"

He nuzzles into your neck like he might bite it, sending a sizzle of nervous energy down your spine. You refuse to sound alarmed or emotional in your retort though. You want to ensure it's clear you're serious.

"I don't trust myself not to get addicted. I'm still biological…" You trail off, not sure if it's rude to point out, but you can't simply turn off a chemical addiction if it were to occur. Presumably, simulacra can reset themselves somehow, and Revenant has the added ability to shed his shell and move into a new one if he needs to. Literally nothing can stick to him if he doesn't want it to. He can always just be renewed in a new chassis, any time he chooses as far as you can tell. You ponder on it. It's neat how he can do that.

"Addicted? I'm not talking about anything that severe." He huffs, apparently annoyed at your poor interpretation of his intent. "Just something light to make you calm down and drop the façade."

"There are drugs that aren't addictive?" You ask with genuine curiosity.

Revenant reels away from you to get a good view of your face, looking for any sign that you're being cheeky with him. He finds no such evidence before gestures dumbfoundedly at you. You look at him with a bit of embarrassment before he shrugs it off and begins explaining.

"Didn't anyone teach you anything? No, not every drug is the same as the amphetamine painkillers that flooded the streets after the Frontier War. Those can and will fuck you up permanently." You turn back into the laptop, but he pinches the conch of your ear to demand your attention. "I don't want you drinking any more alcohol after your surgery. We don't need you stressing out your remaining organs."

You hold your head completely still due to his grasp on your ear, but you don't really know how to feel about this line of thought.

"Why do you want me on anything though? What do you mean by—?"

"Façade? Oh please, you know exactly what I mean." You think you might, but you aren't sure. He releases your ear just to grab your chin and force you to meet his gaze. His eyes partially lidded and his visage slightly turned up, you can tell he's trying to be as convincing and serious as possible. "That bullshit all polite members of society do. That absolute refusal to act out or express your emotions, your instincts, your rage, your joy, or even your love. It's why adults don't act like children, they have to repress almost everything. It's prioritizing survival—sure—but it's so utterly boring." He intentionally huffs air in your direction through his synthetic nostrils, causing you to flinch away and bat your eyes to fend off the drying sensation. He loses grasp on your chin but rapidly grabs your closest wrist instead with enough force to threaten the possibility of pain. He has your attention. "So, I want to know what you're really like. No tact, no worries, no need to act like reality is different than it really is."

That is precisely what you're afraid of. Despite his lock on your wrist, you yank on it, causing him to begin to crush it to hold on. A tear escapes one eye as you tank the pain, you're making a point now yourself.

"And what if I'm something you don't like, what then? My life hasn't been perfect, you know. Sometimes it's hard to hold myself together, why would I want to just lose control like that? What if I say or do something that isn't…" you hesitate, unsure of which word fits best, "…quite right? What if I never get that control back? I've seen what this stuff can do, I don't want—"

You're cut off as he suddenly squeezes your wrist just enough to shut you up. It really hurt for a brief second there. You stop resisting and go limp in his hold.

"I am aware of what hard drugs can do. That is not what I'm talking about." He hisses a bit, once again annoyed at the implication he would throw you into danger. The silence holds for a few moments before you break it.

"That hurt, you know."

"Not what we're talking about."

He won't let this go. Your wrist doesn't hurt now that his grip has loosened just enough to be firm but not crushing. As you sit there, deciding what to say next, you feel him grab your other wrist and firmly take you prisoner to this discussion. You give your wrists a weak little tug to beg him to relinquish you, but he doesn't falter even a meager bit. You sigh in defeat.

"Why do you want this so bad?" You ask in a whisper, almost unsure if you want an answer at all.

"I need you to trust me in this." He coos carefully, hanging on the word 'need' a little too long for comfort.

"It's not that I don't trust you, I just don't want to—" You pause, searching for words. "Look, I'm just scared of the stuff, okay?" You relinquish a little more of yourself admitting that. You're hoping he'll back down.

"And if I tell you that there's nothing to be afraid of, do you believe me?" He pulls your wrists closer to him.

"N-no, not because I don't want to believe you, I've just… It's not that easy." You begin to spiral a bit internally. You would love to just believe him, but that's not how belief works. Your anxiety spikes as you fear retribution for confessing disbelief, but he remains calm, now pulling you into him by your wrists. You're forced into leaning forward, so you look up at him, searching for a sign of anger or malcontent.

"You want to believe? Then just trust me." His voice sounds like a viper's hiss, even though you know he's trying to come off as seductive and convincing. It always dips a little too much into sadism when he tries both comfort and lust in the same breath. Your leaning fails you as you finally collapse gently into him, causing him to release your wrists finally. He's won. He always wins. It's not even remotely fair.

You sigh in defeat into his lap, your face firmly planted in his leathery waist. At least leather smells nice, and he's oddly warmer than usual, perhaps a bit excited by the little fight you just lost.

"Finish the order. I'm done picking colors." You murmur dejectedly into him, demanding that he at least do you a favor since you lost your position. You feel him reach over you to grab the laptop to complete the order.

As you listen to the tacking sounds of the keys, you decide against getting up. You'd much rather just lie here for a bit. There's no winning with this guy, and you're not particularly eager to do anything anymore. If you're honest, the minor jovialness you sense in his stature serves only to annoy you more, like rubbing salt in the wound. You slouch until your whole body is splayed out like a corpse in his lap, refusing to put an ounce of energy into sitting upright.

You feel him pet your head in condolence for your loss in the argument, although it makes some side of you want to bite his hand like a wild animal. Still, it feels nice enough and you're too defeated to snap. You growl under your breath as he strokes you. He openly laughs at your pathetic attempt at defiance before he returns to placing the order.

"Aw, is little Miss Raven still pouting?" Revenant teases you from the kitchen. You haven't left the couch since your argument with him a few hours ago. The MRVN picked up the paint colors and is currently painting your room, closed off to himself to prevent the paint fumes from affecting you. You're pretty sure if it weren't for the cauldron of broth that has been going for almost half a day now, you'd have picked up on the fumes already. Now that the paint colors are out of the way, Revenant also expects you to pick out rugs, new bedding, some fairy lights, wall decorations, and stuffed animals for your room. You only agreed to paint before but Revenant keeps winning these little battles, and you're just about fed up with it.

You peer over the couch's arm rest to meet his glance, just to stick your tongue out at him with your brows as furrowed as you can manage. You retreat back behind the arm rest and into the laptop again as he begins laughing at your expression of genuine but innocent wrath.

"Truly terrifying." His sarcasm cuts through his laughter as he murmurs aloud to himself. You hear the sizzle of something hitting a hot pan, but you make a point to try to ignore his cooking. You know it has to be your lunch, but you're angry at him and refuse to acknowledge that fact any sooner than necessary. "Are you opposed to spice?"

Dammit. Now you have to acknowledge it.

"No! But I don't trust you not to kill me, so don't you dare!" You hiss in a raised tone. You hear him laugh again.

"Oh yeah, I'll spice it to match your level of spice: pathetic, but there was an attempt." You hear him wheeze a bit at his own joke. You pop back up over the armrest to glare at him. He laughs harder at the rage in your eyes.

"Shut it!" You bark like a tiny dog, holding your glare and refusing to retreat until he acknowledges your demands. He merely laughs harder at your insistence, fueling your need to pout with even more anger. He ducks beneath the kitchen island and out of view from you as he laughs at you. You snort like a raging bull, but he doesn't reappear and he falls silent.

You curiously try to pivot to peer around the island, but as you do you're shocked to feel a heavy body fall over you and pin you to the couch. You squeak in surprise as you flip to show your belly to your would-be attacker, knowing full well only one being that size with the ability to adhere to ceilings. He has his hands hovering around your throat in the same split second as you gesture in surrender.

"Oh no, did I scare the tiny thing into submission? Shame." He hums condescendingly before standing up, brushing nonexistent dust off of his scarf, and walking back over to the kitchen. You're left mentally paralyzed as you hear him resume cooking in the kitchen as the sizzling sound picks up again. "Such a disappointment, you were giving off such a pompous air of defiance. I almost thought you might back it up."

You take a few moments to let your heart stop beating at the bars of your ribcage like it might try to escape. You get a wave of dizziness as the adrenaline wears off, but since you're already lying down on your back you can't quite tell if your balance is as off as it feels. You register a couple of your limbs twitching excitedly, almost as if they're recalibrating after such a scare. Finally, you feel your heart and lungs steady themselves enough for you to sit up carefully.

You don't pout anymore. You right yourself and look back in his direction. He's slaving over something in a small wok, using snappy wrist movements to get the contents to do somersaults in the pan. It smells oddly nice as it blends with the scent of the broth. It definitely has some umami notes and you recognize the distinct scents of ginger, onion, and garlic wafting over to you. The sizzling sound of the apparent vegetables cooking is unmistakable and comforting. The bottom of the wok occasionally scratches harshly against the iron stovetop grates as he shuffles it.

He's still laughing a little to himself, but the sound is mostly drowned out by the sea of prowlers shuffling about and whining at one another in apparent conversation. Six is snoring deeply on the floor as Royce charges recklessly beneath the feet of the many up-and-about prowlers, mewing as if she merely enjoys hearing herself talk. Revenant had given her some catnip the MRVN brought him earlier to prove to you "drugs aren't all bad", so you're pretty sure she's out of her right mind—assuming she ever had one to begin with. You can hear the MRVN humming a jovial tune through your bedroom door as he works alone. Despite the door being shut tight, it has failed to wholly fend off the aggressive scent of paint fumes that has slowly begun to leak through. It mixes with the scent of the food in a disconcerting manner for your senses.

"So, no more sass out of you?" Revenant prods one last time.

"You're mean. Don't you know my face is all bruised up?" You regain your pouting tone, adding a guilt trip to see if he bites.

"Smart way to talk to an assassin with a notoriously short fuse that's making you lunch." Now he sounds a little miffed. "Don't you dare try to guilt trip me for that, I had nothing to with it. Pouting is one thing, but—"

"I'm sorry." You say before he can finish. You realize in retrospect that might have come off as shifting blame for the injury onto him, and now you wish you hadn't even tried to use it for playful banter.

"Huh." He grunts a bit, perhaps not expecting you to back down so quickly. You watch as he dumps the contents of the wok into a white and black glass bowl with decorative, striped ridges on the outside dome. He doesn't pour with much grace—after all the contents don't flow particularly well—but he manages to get all but a single piece of some green vegetable into the bowl. Before you can even determine what vegetable it might have been, it rolls off the kitchen island to the floor and is swarmed by prowlers enamored by the scent of the scrap. It vanishes in a frenzy of bodies, like raw meat thrown into a tank of piranhas.

Revenant haphazardly tosses the dirty wok into the sink with a loud crash that rattles your eardrums and grabs the attention of every prowler in the room. Even Six stops snoring for a few moments to sleepily assess the situation. However, Revenant doesn't acknowledge the sound at all and shuffles around in the silverware drawer for a fork, eventually finding one and placing it in the bowl before bringing it over to you. He looms over you, not sitting down for a moment to instead gaze downward at you.

"You're forgiven… if you eat something." His voice tremolos in insidious delight at his winning streak with every argument today. He knows you can't rightly dodge eating after you just had to apologize to him—especially while he was doing you the favor of making you lunch. Of course you have to eat now. Just like you had to pick out paint colors, just like you had to relent and start picking out room decorations, just like how you had to promise him to refrain from sneaking out anymore. You feel the bruising on your face as you scrunch up your nose like a scowling raccoon protecting your garbage stance, and he once again chuckles at you.

He sits down and creates another gravity pit in the couch, resulting in you rolling into him as you lose your balance. You don't even wait for him to shove the bowl into your lap, you offer your hands to take it off of him—a gesture you don't often perform. Accepting charity gracefully has always been a weak point of yours. He seems to hesitate, initially shocked at your acceptance of your current situation, but hands the bowl over in a rush as if to hide his brief moment of confusion.

"Count this as the first time I've seen you genuinely excited to eat." He tries to cover his moment of hesitation with an explanation, perhaps also prodding for an understanding why.

"If eating is all I have to do to get forgiveness, then yeah, count me as excited." You speak without much emotion, poking the fork into the stir fry, intentionally missing any visible piece to see what you will randomly select from the bottom. It's a surprisingly colorful medley of vegetables and square pieces of crispy tofu tossed in what seems to be a basic brown stir fry sauce. It smells surprisingly good, and it really looks like a properly plated version of something you could get from any Chinese takeout. It's one of the healthier recipes you've seen, but it means it's less likely to upset your stomach. You lift the fork to reveal an impaled piece of zucchini. You don't waste much time eating it.

"Oh? Got more secrets you're keeping from me? Stuff you'd need forgiveness for?" He puffs his chest out a bit as he basks in his newfound power over your normally rebellious attitude towards him. You pause before going for another piece.

"Not really. Sorry to disappoint, but you've got all the dirt on me I can think of at this point." You poke your fork back in, lowering your tone for the next bit. "Thanks for the food, by the way."

You see Revenant adjust into an almost condescending posture as he leans into you a bit.

"Oh, what was that last part?" He whispers right into your ear. He's the worst. The only question is how much more of him you're willing to put up with today. You feel a bit at your limit for the day, so you don't volley his taunt.

"I said thank you for the food. I appreciate it." You state clearly and loudly for him. You see him visibly deflate a bit; he was clearly hoping to get into yet another teasing fight he was sure to win.

"No problem. You never eat right. You seem to entirely subsist off bursts of junk food." He crosses his arms and leans back into the couch, freeing you from his looming presence. "I get it: it's a balancing act between eating what's enjoyable and what actually gives you nutrition, but your scales are way off."

You keep eating, one piece at a time: zucchini, broccoli, onion, tofu, and now a slice of something white with purple skin. It's a little sweet and soft. You finish each piece in order before responding, letting the silence sit for a bit.

"You're right, but that's the nature of being poor and homeless. You have to live off the cheapest calories, whatever those may be, and it's almost always junk food." You are already slowing down. Your body is not used to fresh vegetables. Fiber is strangely difficult to eat quickly, so you begin aiming your fork towards the lighter tofu.

"You're not poor or homeless anymore." He almost bemoans as he lets his neck roll over the crest of the couch backrest. You halfway expect to hear the snapping sounds of air pockets escaping a nicely stretched spine, but they never occur. The whirring of the simulacra machinery doesn't even attempt to recreate the satisfying and sometimes unsettling sound.

"Yeah, I guess you do shove money at me. I haven't even checked my accounts since I was…" You trail off, thinking about it for a moment.

"Almost ripped asunder." Revenant finishes your thought more tactfully than you could have hoped to.

"…yeah, that." You poke at a slice of mushroom, trying to distract yourself from the thought of what could have happened to you had he not shown up to save you—all because of some tracking in organ replacement prototypes you were given years ago. The silence has hung for a bit, but you don't know precisely how to react.

You put the bowl down for a moment and turn to him. You're being taken by an undertow of grief, and you're not ready to drown in those feelings. You gently wrap yourself around him, preferring to stay low and around his waist, hiding under the shadow cast by his shoulder armor. Being small feels safer, like you might go unnoticed by the powers that might swallow you whole. Except for this one thing that—for whatever reason—doesn't seem to want to harvest you for whatever lust for power or money normally drives the worst humanity has to offer. Simulacra are so utterly different.

He seems negligibly surprised to feel you cradle yourself up against his waist. He carefully rights himself, giving you time to move free of the hydraulic pistons that help hold up his weighty frame. It would likely hurt to be pinched by them, so you're happy to withdraw momentarily to make room for him to adjust. You've become fairly accustomed to his natural scent of oil, silicone lubricant, metal shavings, rubber innards, and weathered leather parts. It's probably a mechanic's dream cologne, but it is many others' nightmare. You cower under his frame for a bit, letting yourself shrink into your own shadow. He gives you a few moments, never letting you melt out from under his gaze.

"You gonna be okay?" He finally asks, perhaps growing concerned, impatient, or some subtle mix of both. You feel his extended palm come to rest on your back, his fingers uncannily extended to cover from the nape of your neck to halfway down your spine. It almost feels like a series of metal snakes cozying up to your warm flesh, happily sapping your body heat for a few moments until they match its temperature.

"Can you tell me why you bother with me?" You keep your voice low, almost ashamed to ask. It could be construed as fishing for a compliment, but genuinely you don't fully understand it. You can't reconcile why this infamous bloodsports celebrity would ever give you a second thought, especially considering your baggage and faults.

He hums for a moment, letting his other hand's pointer finger rest on his upper lip, pondering. Sure, he'd given you explanations before as to why he noticed you at all in the first place, but it doesn't explain why he's sticking around.

"Honestly?" He pauses. Is he seriously asking for permission to be honest? You nod into his side a bit nervously, unsure of why he would prompt you for that. He inhales deeply before beginning. "I like how you're both terrified of me but simultaneously still insist on coming around. It's monumentally stupid of you but in a somewhat charming way since you're so damn bashful about it. You're not fanatical like some people. You're timid. You look at me with this innocent naïvety that I could absolutely crush in an instant with how fragile you are, but…" He trails off, taking a moment. "I don't want to. So I don't. You fuel my ego by willingly becoming dependent on me while you absolutely know I could do whatever I want to you… So, I decided you're my guilty pleasure, and I'm keeping you."

Was he afraid that would make you upset? In a weird and possibly unhealthy way, it's pretty endearing that he'd have a way to explain his love that sounds as unemotional as possible. You know he has humanity deep in him, so love is something he can feel, but that would be unfitting of his persona. This almost sounds like a way he's rationalized it to himself, but it doesn't answer one other piece for you.

"But why do you put up with… everything?" You shove your face deeply into his waist, feeling some of the synthetic parts squish under your pressure. You feel almost ashamed to ask, but you need reassurance. He physically winces as you press into him, but he doesn't stop you. His fingers slither back to a retracted position, resting midway down your back and feeling the ridges of your spine through your shirt.

"Fuels my ego more, really. Any debt you have, I can pay it. Any need you have, I can meet it. Anything you want, I can attain it. Any enemy you make, I can kill it." He growls the last bit so cruelly and voraciously it causes your spine to curl with fear and submission.

"It doesn't bother you at all that I'm such a mess?" You pull yourself out of his belly to look up at him, tearing up at the overwhelming relief. Your voice trembles and a tear escapes each eye. He appears surprised for a moment, then tilts his head at you a little.

"No, it really doesn't." As soon as his sentence ends, you bury yourself into him and cry. He reels back a little, not that you mind. It can be confusing to experience someone crying in relief. "You felt like a burden? Honestly carrying you is a lot easier than carrying some of the teammates I get in the Games at times…" You feel him shrug before he begins patting you awkwardly, possibly hoping you'll stop exposing his metal joints to your salty tears.

"Really?" You sob.

"Yes. And to think I was worried you were ungrateful." He sighs just a little, but in a more relaxed way than his words imply. His hand now more relaxingly strokes your back, helping you release as you cry it out a bit more.

After a short bit, the tears dry up and you feel strangely at peace. You sit up, still a bit embarrassed by your sudden moment, but still fully aware that Revenant won't hold it against you. You wipe away your stray tears with your sleeves and swallow the loosening knot in your throat, ending with a deep inhale and exhale.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright. I'm glad you asked." His delivery is too straight to be anything but the truth. "So, how about you finish your lunch and pick out some decorations? I'll help find stuff online if you're not sure what to go with."

You nod, wiping your face with deep, strong strokes of your wrist covered in a sleeve, even if it makes the bruising hurt. You're not worried about hiding your face, but the instinct to avert your gaze causes you to quickly scoop up the laptop again and begin scrolling. You don't go for the bowl again, feeling uninterested in more food. You feel his palm land on your head and aggressively mess up your hair as he gets to his feet.

"You done with this?" He asks, grabbing the bowl and placing his first foot in the direction of the kitchen. You nod, and he goes to toss the leftovers in the fridge. You inhale deeply before speaking again.

"Thank you for lunch." You pipe up, blurting it a bit louder than you intended to just to make sure he could hear it. You pick out a line of soft, pale blue lights to hang on your ceiling. Maybe they'll look like stars against the dark ceiling when turned on. They shouldn't be bright enough to keep you from falling asleep, but simply provide a nice amount of ambient glow. You have no idea how to hang them, but hooks seem like a good idea so you throw some of those in the digital cart too.

Revenant reappears in your peripheral vision as he leans over the back of the couch to linger over your shoulder. His finger points to another product on the page, listed in the margins of suggested and similar products.

"Get those too. That will work with the white flecks of paint on the walls and ceilings." It's a line of mountable black rope lights for putting around the corners of a room's ceilings. You hadn't considered that, but it's fairly genius. All the white flecks and paler wall colors will give off a faint glow as well this way.

"Good call." You place them in the cart. He immediately points to something else before you even have time to consider your next move.

"Now get that." He's practically taking over.

"Wha—? I mean, yeah, it's cute and soft looking, but is that really—"

"Get it. This is the only thing I am insisting on." He hums happily.

The scent of the broth and the paint fumes has now so heavily saturated your nasal palate that you barely find the sensation interesting anymore, except for the strong head high and faintness it provides you. You feel good, albeit a little bit nauseous and very dizzy, and it's clear that the two mechanical beings around you are painfully aware of it.

You're sitting on the brand new, white, faux fur rug on your bedroom floor, looking up at the painted sky as the MRVN finishes up mounting the black lights in the corners from his ladder. You're squeezing an oversized, equally soft and fluffy seal pup plushie that Revenant insisted you get for some reason. It's so soft and cute. You absolutely love it, but you never would have bought it for yourself without his insistence.

Royce, now down from her severe catnip high, has crashed on the couch in the living room. For such a small kitten, she emits a deep, raspy, and loud snore you can hear from a room over. You might have thought it was one of the prowlers if she didn't mew and whine in her sleep, interrupting the rhythm here and again. Six and the other prowlers have refused to set a paw in your room, probably due to the fumes being strongest in here. You can still hear Six making huffing sounds outside your door, clearly unhappy with the impenetrable wall of chemical gas. His claws scratch on the hard floor as he dances angrily as if to dodge the scents assaulting his nostrils.

The MRVN did a great job painting. The ceiling is now a deep, dark blue with all sorts of cool white specks that look like stars. The walls match the ceiling color and the top, going downward fading into a beautiful purple, red, then orange before hitting the floor at a near golden hue. The white specks naturally show less and less against the lighter background colors. The little blue string lights hang above your bed, lining the brand new canopy with sheer curtains. Per Revenant's recommendations, every new decoration is a stark white to give the appearance of being cloud-like to match the sky-like paint. The new faux fur rugs are white and poofy, the new bedding is all white and pillow-like, the loveseat now has more while cloud and blue star shaped pillows, and you're also now equipped with some white silk pajamas he insisted you try, which hang on a new set of hooks on your bathroom door.

"Ugh, I could change these bulbs out myself if the damn paint would just dry already." Revenant groans from behind you, snapping you out of your skyward trance. You bend your neck back further to look up at him, enjoying the upside-down view.

"Are the bulbs bad?"

"No, but these are better. These have controllable color options. Knowing you, that'll keep you entertained for a few hours." He balances one on the tip of his finger, careful not to drop the other three in the meantime. "Hey, put these in when you're done!" He shouts to the MRVN, tossing all the bulbs onto the bed.

"Of course, Mister Cross!" You hear from above you.

"That's honestly a good idea." You murmur aloud to yourself. "I don't get it, how are you so good at this?"

"Better question is how are you so bad at this?" He throws a hand on his pelvic segment as he glares at you. "I've been asking you to do this for weeks now, and only now did it get done because I stayed here and helped you along."

You stick your tongue out at him, knowing full well you don't have a great excuse for taking so long. Making decisions, especially with someone else's money, is a paralyzing conundrum for you. You have never had a lot of money to your name, so you don't like wasting any of it. You don't have any concept on how to be polite, grateful, and reasonable with your purchases from the perspective of someone like Revenant.

Revenant pinches the bridge of his nasal cavity again, seeing your playful look and sighing openly.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you to get this done? It's been so long. I've been holding off on so much waiting for you to finally show some independence and drive… Now that the Games are about to start, I had no choice but to push you along."

You perk up.

"Holding off on stuff?" You lean back, lying on the floor, reaching over your shoulders to grab his ankle. "What stuff?"

"The thing you asked for a while back…" He twirls his wrist like he's trying to speed up the conversation, breaking eye contact to do so. He seems bashful about it, whatever it is. "Just, since you asked. A gift, I guess, or a favor? Whatever you want to call it."

He doesn't want to say precisely, that much is obvious. You run your hands up and down his ankles, getting a little ways up his calf before needing to come back down. He looks at you expecting the incoming question.

"Oh, what was it?" You actually don't remember what you asked him for. You think back as you stroke his leg, but can't surmise what it was. Maybe it was something you brought up while you were passed out from your surgery.

"You don't even remember? Heh, I guess it'll be a surprise then. Look forward to it. I wouldn't do this for just anyone." He hums, letting you pet him freely. This answer displeases you, so you flip over rapidly and grapple his leg like a desperate koala. Each of your limbs is tangled into a strong grip, and your cheek presses into the outer side of his thigh where the leather protects you from the cold nip of his metal chassis. Now he begins to stagger back, hoping you will let go, but you don't. He pauses for a few moments. "Let me go…" He sighs and groans in the most exasperated tone.

"No! Tell me the secret!" You squeak in a high pitch. The MRVN has stopped painting and is now looking down at you both from the ladder. He appears to be done with hanging the black lights, but he would rather watch you both from up high where he is out of Revenant's reach rather than risk descending the ladder immediately. You squeeze his leg as hard as your muscles will allow.

"You stupid little—" Revenant huffs, shaking his leg gently, "—let me go!" He shakes harder, but careful not to jostle you in a way that is discombobulating. "Raven." He's demanding your attention. He likes this name. It's becoming consistent.

You peer up at him, unsure of what to expect. Even so, something about seeing his massive stature peer down at you is as comforting as it is terrifying. Fear and admiring affection is an intoxicating mixture. You want to make him happy, both because you care immensely about him but also because his wrath is bloodcurdling. You feel your heart race and your breath pick up pace as you slowly relax your grip on him. As you let your grip be lost, you curl your back and let yourself roll down the natural slope of his foot that you find yourself perched on, landing on your back gently like a pillbug. Revenant gives a relieved sigh that sounds like it might imply an invisible grin, but without facial muscles you cannot be sure.

You curl up into a ball on the floor to complete your roly poly pill bug transformation. The paint fumes have you giggly and aloof, more willing to act like a child with an overactive imagination than usual. You blow a raspberry from within your armored stance, ignorant to the fact that you have no carapace whatsoever.

"And to think you're scared of being high…" You hear Revenant grumble. You giggle aloud, stifling any opportunity to argue with him. "Alright, I'll be back just after dark. I expect this room to be done by then, her to be fed, and also ready for bed." His voice is aimed away from you, but you hear it loud and clear anyways.

"Yes sir!" The MRVN chirps.

You go to reach for his ankle again to try to stop him from leaving, but he's already taken a couple long-strided steps away, keeping himself out of reach.

"Nice try, but I have to run an errand for you. Stay here, and stay out of trouble." He turns and rapidly vanishes in the direction of the elevator. You openly whine in his direction, but he's already gone. You must have missed the sound of the elevator chime with the sounds of your displeasure and the haziness of the fumes.

The MRVN descends the ladder and carefully walks over to the bed to grab the bulbs. As he heads back to the ladder, he pauses over you to look down at you sprawled out on the rug.

"He's very nice to you." He states so plainly, but you know he's digging a little.

"Yeah… I love him so much. I wish I was a simulacra sometimes. Then I could be around him forever…" You slur your words as your head swims, speaking much more openly than you normally would.

"O-oh!" The MRVN sounds a bit taken aback by your confession. "That's—uh—huh…" He stutters in a way reminiscent of how Pathfinder might. Love is a concept Pathfinder seems to be able to empathize with, although many MRVNs only understand it as far as a concept to imitate. You're not sure how aware this one is, but he seems to understand the severity of such a statement. As you ponder his reaction, you come to the realization that you made quite the confession. You snap to attention with breakneck speed, sitting up in a flurry to face him.

"Don't tell him I said that please! Also forget I ever said anything! I'm sorry!" You almost shout at the now staggered MRVN. He holds the bulbs up as if to defend himself from the verbal barrage, before relaxing a bit and tilting his head at you.

"Madam, don't take this the wrong way… but I think he knows it." The MRVN retorts gently.

As usual, the MRVN fails to realize his knowledge is what you're worried about, not Revenant's. You sigh with relief, realizing he won't say anything.

The MRVN hands you a bowl that took over a day of labor and boiling as the television drones on about the upcoming season premiere of the Apex Games. The bowl smells nothing short of sacred with its strong tones of rich meatiness and savory smoothness. The fume high has worn off and you find yourself more ravenous than normal, adding to the allure of the so-called ramen in front of you. It looks like something out of a television show—nothing like the prepared bricks of noodles with powder diluted in water you've become so exasperated with.

It has an opaque, golden broth hiding a bed of noodles underneath that barely crests in the center. The island of squiggly noodles is surrounded by oddly colored soft boiled eggs, some green dried vegetable that could be seaweed, some slices of braised fatty meat, some green onion slices, a strange slice of gelatin-looking spikey speech bubble with a pink swirl in it, some slab-like vegetable, and some red pieces of something. It all looks good, although you aren't sure what some of it is. You look at the bowl desperately, then back up to the MRVN for guidance.

"Should I wait for Revenant?" You sound more sad than you intended to. The MRVN takes a moment, calculating his answer.

"I do not believe so. Based on what I've seen, he would be happier to know you've already eaten rather than waited for him." He chirps with notable confidence.

He absolutely has a point there. You look down at the bowl, wanting to find an excuse to eat despite your politeness telling you to wait. You decide to give him a few moments to arrive before you dig in, motioning to the MRVN.

"Can you tell me what is what?" If Revenant fails to arrive before the end of the explanation, you're going to go ahead and eat. It's not like he can join you anyway. The MRVN perks up, happy at your expressed interest.

"Oh! Of course! This is tonkotsu ramen, which is a pork-based noodle soup from the IMC planet of Earth!" Ah, Earth. Everything seems to stem from Earth. "The broth is pork bone broth that is cooked for at least twelve hours, and the noodles are a classic wheat noodle. The eggs are known as ajitsuke tomago, and are a soft boiled egg that is pickled and marinated in a soy sauce, mirin, and sake blend before serving. The yolk will cure into the jammy texture you see there." You're already a bit lost, but the MRVN is enjoying himself. "This is shredded nori, which is simply a seaweed sheet that adds a nice seafood umami to the dish. This is chashu, which is a braised slice of fatty pork to round out the broth and add protein. These are sliced scallions which add a nice hit of onion flavor. This is a pretty narutomaki, which is a fish cake slice to add extra protein. These here are bamboo shoots which add a lot of healthy fiber and are quite filling. Lastly, this bright red pile is pickled ginger!"

He's gone through all the piles of ingredients, and Revenant still isn't back yet. You grab a spoon, looking up from the mesmerizing bowl for a moment.

"Thank you! I appreciate you explaining everything to me." You're happy to see him happy. Revenant probably isn't an easy boss to have for a MRVN, they always seem to attract his attention in the worst way possible. At least this one is patient and kind.

He points to the television screen with a brightly lit joy emoji on his screen.

"Look! Twins!" He's beaming.

You turn your attention to the television to see a pre-recorded special running, hosted by the new Legend known as Valkyrie. She's giving a review of a local ramen stand somewhere in the city, holding a massive bowl of tonkotsu ramen not much unlike yours. She's also holding an oversized bottle of beer in her other hand, casually holding a conversation with the owner about his history with food, opening the stand, and how he came up with the recipe. She seems to know him well, and the conversation is as informative as it is fun to watch. Something about the casual way she approaches chats, swigging back her beer, and even her posture as she leans over the counter is very reassuring. Honestly you couldn't have asked for a better thing to watch while you dig in.

The first bite is like heaven. You hadn't realized the beauty of an oasis that homemade ramen could be, since all you had ever known was the desert of quick ramen. You regret ever letting the thought of ramen get you ill. This is real food. You fight back tears swelling in your eyes from the temperature and steam, refusing to slow down for anything.

You roll over on the couch, Valkyrie's ramen review has now ended and it's shifted back to a discussion of the new rules for an upcoming qualifying match for this season. Apparently some of the top players have slacked their way into needing to qualify for the main Games again, but you're not listening very hard. Your belly groans in satisfied fullness from your meal. You've never really finished anything quite that quickly or ravenously before.

"Still waiting?" The MRVN checks on you, apparently concerned for you loafing about. "You know, I am certain he won't pitch a fit if you go to bed. I can get you there if you like."

"Mmm, no… I'll wait here for him, but thank you." You mumble, clearly becoming very lethargic from the gorging and the fume high.

"Okay, just let me know if you change your mind." He shuffles over to a corner of the room, sitting himself down on the floor. He's cleaned the kitchen and is out of chores for the day, so he plugs into the wall and begins the overnight process of charging himself. You know he will wake from his sleep mode if you call out to him, so you don't feel as lonely in this situation as you might have otherwise.

The television drones into a low buzz, even though you can see the people's lips moving. You feel like your body is beginning to float like it's suspended in water, but you are very clearly still on the couch. The last remaining lights that are on in the room feel as if they begin to dim, even though you know they aren't. You fight to stay awake as seconds begin to feel like minutes and minutes begin to feel like hours. You lose track of time, sinking into a state of unconsciousness that is made all the more peaceful by the lingering taste of ramen.

[kariachi]

So I wrote this the other day. Now y’all get a different view of it.

One each Irene in custody.

~~

Despite her family’s every opinion, Irene was not a fool, nor was she stupid.

~

“I was making dinner, there was an explosion, I evacuated with everyone else.”

~

A package, ostensibly from her mother, goes up in a fireball not five seconds after Kevin finally properly notices it and chucks it out into the hall? Not two days after he quits his super-secret job? Sure, she wasn’t a rocket scientist, but you didn’t need to be to put that puzzle together.

~

“I don’t know.”

~

As a result, she’d been more than a little wary already when a team of Plumbers had shown up at Lonnel’s looking for her. They’d talked about her Kevin being on the run, about how dangerous he was, about protective custody, and it’d quickly become clear that saying no wasn’t going to be an option. So, she hadn’t bothered trying.

~

“Never.”

~

She wasn’t under arrest, apparently, and so a lawyer wasn’t an option. Funny, because they weren’t exactly keeping her in a five-star hotel. It wasn’t complete isolation, but that was only because of the guards and the Methanosian that came to ask questions. About herself, about her husband, about her marriage.

~

“He doesn’t talk about work.”

~

Mostly they were about Kevin. His behavior recently, where she thought he might be. They were shuffled in with more seemingly innocuous questions like how long they’d known each other, and if they had any friends they got together with. Questions designed to get her to open up, get her talking, that were ruined by how often they ‘naturally’ drifted towards Kevin’s job and what she knew about it.

~

“No idea why you’d think I know that.”

~

Which was nothing. When their relationship had gotten serious he’d admitted to originally lying about his job, told her he couldn’t actually say anything about his real one, and that had been that. But between that little tidbit and the questions she was getting, it was easy to figure out what was going on. Kevin had, most likely, been involved with the Plumbers (because apparently her family didn’t hate him enough). He knew something they didn’t want getting out, and when he quit they decided he was a security risk. They wanted to know how far what he knew had gotten.

~

“That’s what you’ve told me.”

~

Irene was working under the assumption that she was a hostage until proven otherwise. They could talk all they wanted about ‘history of violence’ and ‘might be a target’, but there wasn’t a worry in her head about whether Kevin had her best interest at heart. The Plumbers though… He wasn’t likely to spill any beans when they had her hidden away under lock and key with four armed guards. If they had any sense they needed her alive, but there was a lot of distance between ‘alive’ and ‘whole’.

~

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Just your cooperation, Irene.” The Plumber, she didn’t give two fucks about his name, stood, grabbing the chair he’d brought with him. “Don’t worry, I promise you can go home as soon as we have Levin in custody.” And she damn well didn’t believe that.

“Thank you.” She was careful to keep her expression neutral as he walked away from her cell, no matter how much she wanted to glare. Possibly throw something. This was a hostage situation, one she hadn’t figured out a way to escape yet. Until further notice her goal was to stay safe while giving the Plumbers as little information as she could get away with. She had to at least play at being strong and brave, just until Kevin came for her. And there wasn’t a doubt in her mind he would. How he would rescue her, when, were unknowns, but he would rescue her.

That she knew to her core.

[lover-of-villains]

World on Fire * Stiles Stilinski/OC (part 3)

Summary: Madison has always been cautious, preferring to view the world through a lens of wary curiosity, rather than diving into the unknown with reckless abandon. But when she moves to Beacon Hills with her cousin and grandfather, and is thrown into that unknown before she can stop it, she will soon face an impossible choice. Accept her new reality, or run.

Warnings: original character, werewolves, graphic depiction of violence, some language

Part One Part Two

Lacrosse. Apparently, in Beacon Hills, it is a very big deal. But to Madison?

To Madison, she honestly cannot see what makes it that much more appealing than any other sport she can name.

Football. Soccer. Hockey. All of them centering around a group of sweaty boys, shuffling some small object back and forth with the goal of getting it past the other group's people as often as they can. Bash had attempted to explain the specific details to her before practice got really interesting, but she had quickly shrugged his instruction away…

With her head currently buried in her Biology textbook, the sounds on the field are background noise only, which is exactly how she likes it, her mind so engrossed in the teacher's assigned reading that she does not notice when someone takes a seat on the bench beside her. Someone that is not Bash, given that her cousin has already moved to a spot farther down from her to get a closer look at the action out on the field.

"That book looks—hauntingly familiar."

Jumping, and nearly allowing the book to slide from her lap in the process, Madison snaps to attention quickly, turning to face the newcomer with what must be almost comically widened eyes. During her apparent span of inattentiveness, the position that formerly housed her cousin now holds someone else, altogether. A boy with sandy brown hair, blue eyes, and a smile that has her cheeks warming in little to no time at all as she attempts to stammer out a reply.

"I—I'm sorry?"

"The book," The boy repeats, nodding towards the aforementioned tome that Madison still holds in her lap, "Sorry, it's just I'm—I'm in your Biology class."

"Oh!" Madison exclaims, comprehension dawning, albeit belatedly, the realization of the boy's intended meaning causing her cheeks to flush while her fingers tighten a bit on the book still held firmly in her lap, "Right. Figured I'd get a head start on the reading."

"While watching practice."

"Well, I'm not exactly watching all that much."

"Brutal honesty. I like that," The boy admits, glancing out to the field for just a moment, and wincing as soon as he realizes one of the players has just taken a rather substantial hit, "Ouch."

"Ouch to the honesty, or to what just happened out there?"

"Maybe a little bit of both?"

Smiling, even in spite of her surprise over doing so, Madison cannot help but notice as the boy sends her a grin of his own in response. She cannot help but bite down on her lower lip as her cheeks warm further still beneath his gaze.

If the boy takes notice, he mercifully remains silent, his attention once again drifting back out towards the field. And that gives Maddie the time she needs to gather herself from her momentary bout of nerves, her shoulders straightening just a bit before she speaks.

"So. Did you come out here to study like I did? Or were you actually planning to watch?"

"What do you think?"

"You're asking me to guess?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am," The boy confirms, the laugh he gives sounding somewhat nervous, as though Maddie is not the only one feeling slightly unsure, "So?"

Considering the question for a moment, Madison ponders over whether or not she can afford to answer honestly. She wonders if she attempts to react to it as she might with her cousin, if she will end up causing offense.

Strangely enough, she feels at least somewhat at ease with this stranger. As though she might actually be able to say the first thing that happens across her mind without any undue risk, just as she had with Allison earlier in the day. A part of her does not dare believe it, fearing that the moment she gives in to such a ridiculous thought, she will fall flat on her face. But the other part?

The other part that takes such joy in tormenting her cousin in the name of good fun is only too eager to give this a try.

"Are you really sure you want an honest answer?" She hedges, cocking her head to the side in genuine curiosity while she waits for her companion to reply. Something he manages to do rather quickly, even with the way his eyes widen just a bit as a result.

"Absolutely. Give me your worst."

"You're only out here to watch. No homework in sight."

"And we have a winner."

In response to the quip, Madison completely fails to stifle a giggle, her cheeks once again warming as she peers up at her companion from beneath her eyelashes. The Biology homework momentarily forgotten, she now turns her full attention to the boy sitting at her side.

She does not know his name. She doesn't know a thing about him. But all of that seems to pale in comparison to the small thrill that races up and down her spine beneath the weight of his gaze.

It's foolish. Madison knows it is, and a part of her hates the idea of becoming so drawn in so soon. But a still greater part of her almost revels in it, caught up in the realization that her first day at school has hardly gone as awfully as she initially thought. And that is something that gives her the courage to proceed, even if she can still feel her heart trembling inside of her chest as a result.

"Planning on trying out for the team?"

"How'd you guess?" The boy muses, grinning broadly as he glances out at the field yet again, "Damn, you're good."

"Or I'm just—familiar with the look someone has when they're about to do that."

"You know someone else trying out?"

"My cousin," Maddie informs, casting her eyes around to see if she can actually locate Bash, and finally finding him seated next to a boy with angular cheekbones and curly, sandy-brown hair, "He's right over there."

"Huh."

"Huh?"

"Well, he just—I guess he just doesn't really look like the type to be into something like lacrosse," The boy states, almost immediately seeming to sense Madison's skeptically raised brow, if the way in which he hurries to explain his logic is any sort of indication at all, "Not that he can't make the team. He just doesn't—"

"He's not a wall of solid muscle?"

"No! I mean, neither am I. I just—"

"You just what?"

"I'm really putting my foot in it right now, aren't I?"

"Maybe just a little," Madison agrees, unable to resist the small twitch at one corner of her mouth, given the low groan that her companion gives as a result of her confession, "But I think I might be able to find some way of forgiving you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Only if you're willing to meet the terms—"

"Name them," The boy says, eagerness shining through to replace any potential embarrassment he might have been feeling mere moments before, the end-result causing Madison to bite down on her lower lip for a moment before deigning to reply. Before hoping her impromptu and unexpected surge of confidence over having the upper hand will not be too short-lived…

"Your name. I think I need to know your name."

"That's it?"

"Did you really want me to make it any more complicated than that?" Madison quips, her barely restrained smile now coming out in full force, seeing as she can be reasonably sure she is not causing any offense, "Because I can always try for something with a little more oomph."

"No, this—just my name is fine! And it's—it's Matt, by the way."

"Matt."

"Matt Daehler," Her companion elaborates, clearly taking her repetition of his first name as an indicator that the answer she actually wants is something just a little more conclusive, "I don't suppose you could give me your name? Or have I not earned that, yet?"

"I don't know," Madison teases, placing her elbows on top of her long-forgotten Biology textbook, and moving to rest her chin upon her hands not long after, "Do you think you've earned it?"

"A guy can dream, I guess—"

"It's Madison."

"Madison?"

"Madison Duvall."

"Well, Madison Duvall," Matt begins, an almost sly smile stealing across his own features as he regards Madison with a look that seems to show intrigue, and maybe a little bit of satisfaction as well, "Wish me luck out there?"

"Good luck, Matt. Even if you probably don't really need it."

The smile she receives in response sets Madison's cheeks to burning yet again, though by some miracle, she manages to continue looking Matt in the eye, rather than averting her gaze to where her fingers are clenching around the book held tightly in her lap. Again, she acknowledges her own surprise over such behavior, given that she had expected nothing more from this day outside of keeping to herself.

It would be a lie for her to pretend she is not somewhat grateful for the change in plans. That she is not more than a little relieved the day was not as tortuous as she initially thought. And as Matt prepares to jog off toward the field, she cannot help but offer him a tenuous attempt at a smile in response to his parting words.

"Guess we'll find out soon enough."

…

"So—who's your new friend?"

"Bash—" Madison warns, shaking her head in hopes of persuading her cousin to opt for silence, and darting a surreptitious glance toward the hall leading from the kitchen into the den as a means of reassuring herself that their conversation is not about to be overheard, "Don't."

"Don't what? Ask a simple question?"

"Yes."

"Why not? I've already given you the details on Lydia," Bash persists, smirking as soon as he takes note of Madison's resigned sigh and almost immediate roll of the eyes, "Something tells me whoever he is, he is your Lydia."

"I will seriously pay you to shut up right now."

"You don't have enough money to buy my silence, and you know it."

Groaning in exasperation, Madison drops her head into her hands, her fingers carding through her hair while her cousin's laughter echoes through the room. And even if she is more than a little embarrassed at his insistence over knowing exactly who she had been talking to during lacrosse practice earlier that day, a part of her had honestly known there would never be a chance of escape.

"Fine. You want details?"

"I do."

"You're sure you want them all?"

"Mads, I have never been more sure of anything in my entire life."

"Fine. We talked about Biology homework. I guessed he was there to watch the team. And he tried out not long after," Madison explains, already sensing that her cousin is not about to accept the words at face-value, even without the look he sends her that practically begs her to be just a little more forthcoming, "What? That's literally all that it was."

"Uh-huh."

"It is!"

"Then tell me why I don't believe you," Sebastian scoffs, moving to flop down on the sofa beside her, and leaning over to elbow her in the side repeatedly until she finally replies.

"You have trust issues?"

"More like I just know you."

Groaning, Madison allows herself to slump back against the cushions resting behind her, trying and failing to ignore her cousin's almost immediate laughter along the way. In truth, she hadn't really expected anything less. Sebastian has always been one for getting to the bottom of a secret if his determination to do so is truly that strong.

And it seems as though this particular instance is just one of those times.

"He made the team."

"I saw."

"And that was seriously all that happened!" Maddie exclaims, risking a peek at her cousin from out of the corner of her eye, and frowning as soon as she recognizes the familiar glint of determination in his gaze, "I'm not really sure what it is you're looking for, here."

"Details, Mads. Details!"

"Fine. He proposed before trying out for the team, and I said yes. Happy?"

"Thrilled. When's the wedding?"

"Next June."

"Which one of you is getting married next June?"

"No one—"

"Madison and some guy she met on the lacrosse field."

"And does this gentleman have a name?" The newcomer asks, curiosity apparent in his tone, though the notion sounds wary, as opposed to merely amused. Sharing a look with her cousin, Madison can do nothing but frown as Bash offers her what amounts to a noncommittal shrug. It would be a lie for her to pretend she is not somewhat hesitant to provide the requested information, if for no other reason than that she knows Sebastian's eagerness to ply her for details will only serve to increase their grandfather's suspicion…

And when the man is suspicious, avoiding his questions will surely be no simple task.

"Matt," Madison confesses, noticing her grandfather's carefully raised brow, and forcing herself to take a steadying breath before going on, "Bash is making more of it than he should, trust me."

"The guy seemed pretty interested to me."

"He was just—we were just talking. I'm sure there are plenty of other girls he'll be interested in, now that he's made the team."

"And what sorts of girls might those be?"

"Oh I don't know. Maybe girls like Lydia Martin?"

The remark does exactly what Madison intends, if the way Bash's face seems to blanch is any sort of indication at all, her amusement only growing as soon as she notes the mock glare he is sending her way. It is clear that he already suspects her intentions. That he recognizes her attempt at turning the tables on him, and is now poignantly aware that he is now the one in the hot seat, as a result.

A part of her knows it is likely wrong of her to take pleasure from such a thing, but in light of Bash's relentless teasing, Madison cannot exactly bring herself to care. And so, rather than backtracking, she turns to face their grandfather head-on, her lips curving into a saccharine smile as he seizes on her words just as she had expected him to all along.

"Lydia Martin, hmm? It would seem the two of you have been busy."

The words are light-hearted enough, but even so, Madison does not miss the significant look that passes between her cousin and grandfather not long after they are spoken. The tension in the older man's jaw does not escape her notice.

She wants to question it, but before she has the chance, her grandfather changes the subject entirely, the event prompting a small furrow between her brows whether she wishes to conceal an outward reaction or not.

"Perhaps it would be wiser to busy yourself with your homework?"

Madison hardly wants to give in to the request, at least not without some form of protest, knowing on some level that there is something the two of her companions are deliberately keeping to themselves. She does not want to linger in the dark, whether or not she can still recall her own dream from earlier that day that she is pointedly keeping to herself.

It may make her a hypocrite. It may make her the worst sort of person imaginable. But even so, that does not mean she is any less determined to know what is going on behind a few metaphorical closed doors…

"Is—is everything okay?"

"Of course."

"Are you sure?"

This time, in response to the inquiry, her grandfather's face remains curiously impassive. A fact that only serves to enhance Maddie's suspicion that something truly is going on. But before she can fully decide whether or not she wishes to press the matter, given what small advantage she may or may not have, Sebastian is rising from his position seated beside her on the sofa. He is extending a hand her way to help her up, as well.

Knowing she will only be wasting her time if she does attempt to delve any deeper, Madison forces herself to simply manage a smile and a faint nod. She takes her cousin's hand, and allows him to tug her off down the hall.

She remains aware of her grandfather's gaze watching as she allows Sebastian to lead her from the room, and even then she says nothing…

But just because she remains silent does not mean she is not forming a plan to find the answers she seeks.

…

The following morning, when Madison arrives at her locker before first period, she is startled to realize that someone is already standing there, waiting for her. A few someones, in fact, with a very frazzled looking Allison Argent situated at their center. Brow furrowing in confusion, she continues to head towards them, the two figures standing at Allison's side watching her all the while.

The closer she gets, the more Madison realizes that the arrival of the other two students—a girl with outrageously perfect red hair, and a boy with a jawline that looks as though it has been chiseled from stone—is hardly a part of Allison's intent, given the wide-eyed look of panic she is sending her way. And it is for that very reason that Maddie is able to manage a smile, her expression still curious—still somewhat confused—as she closes the distance between them, and leans against her locker door.

"Madison, hey. This is um—this is Lydia Martin, and—"

"Jackson Whittemore," The boy with the chiseled jaw cuts in, sending Madison what is clearly meant to be a charming smile before tightening his hold on the waist of the redheaded girl at his side, "We heard you were New Girl 2.0—"

"Oh please, Jackson, you make her sound like some sort of robot," The redhead deadpans, rolling her eyes at him along with a well-timed swat to the chest, before her attention shifts over to Maddie, instead, "And she doesn't look like a robot to me. Unless she's into those science-fiction flicks."

"Would it really be that bad if she was?"

A grateful smile tugs at Maddie's lips in response to Allison's inquiry, even if she can already see the absolutely horrified expression making itself known upon the redhead's face. In the midst of the unexpected newcomers, it almost serves to steady her resolve.

It would be a lie to pretend she is not nervous about the two newest faces watching her as though they are trying to test her mettle. To gauge her worthiness to be a part of their crowd. It isn't even something Madison is sure she wants, but for Allison's sake, she is suddenly possessed with a steady determination to at least give it a try…

Something that has her straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders before she decides to reply.

"Definitely no science-fiction flicks. Not in the recent past, anyway, though I can't say the same for my cousin."

"Cousin?" Lydia repeats, curiosity sparking in her tone as she lifts the hand that is not placed flat upon Jackson's chest to twirl a stray curl around her finger, "Allison never said anything about a cousin—"

"Oh, I—well, that's because I didn't actually know—"

"They haven't met yet," Madison interjects, risking a glance at Allison, and noticing that the firm look of apologetic regret is still very much present in her expression, "But I'm sure we can fix that, soon."

"As long as he's not too into sci-fi—"

"And as long as he's not entirely fictional," Lydia adds, turning what is clearly meant to be a skeptical look on Madison, though to her credit, the brunette does not even flinch, "Where is he?"

"Well, he was supposed to be trying out for lacrosse this morning. My guess is, he's in the locker room, getting ready."

Whatever doubts Lydia and Jackson might have had regarding Madison's worthiness, or lack thereof, just the simple mention of lacrosse seems to absolve them in seconds flat. Yet again, she is brought to the realization of exactly how big of a deal the sport is, whether she could ever possibly comprehend the exact reasons why.

Another glance at Allison shows that perhaps mentioning her cousin's intentions to join the team earned her more favors than simply being herself ever would. And even if she still questions why such a thing could possibly be so important, she would be a fool to pretend that it is not a relief to have at least some of the pressure to perform removed from her shoulders altogether.

"If he makes the team, you'll have to come to the party this friday after scrimmage," Jackson suggests, the words coming out as more of an order than anything else, no matter how they might initially have been meant, "Assuming you don't have some lame ass family night thing going on then, too."

"I'm sorry, family night?"

"It's why Allison, here, can't come. Isn't that right?"

"Oh, well—actually, I think there might've been a change in plans."

"Perfect!" Lydia enthuses, flouncing just enough in her eagerness that it sends her curls swaying about her shoulders while she favors Allison with a nearly blinding smile, "The two of you are welcome to come over early to help us set up."

"We—we are?"

"Of course! And bring your cousin. As the girl dating the winning team's captain, I need to make sure all of our players are up to par."

"And if Bash doesn't—if he doesn't make the team?" Madison questions, the words stemming more from simple curiosity over Lydia and Jackson's fixation on the sport than any true reason to believe that Sebastian will fail, "Are we still invited, or is that an automatic disqualification?"

Much to Madison's chagrin, Lydia only seems to double her efforts to observe her in response to the quip. A fact that has her questioning whether or not such a thing was truly wise. But before she can make any attempt at backtracking, she finds the effort waylaid by the suddenly elated smile that pulls at both corners of Lydia's mouth, indicating that, for whatever reason, the potentially snappish retort had only earned her the redhead's respect.

A reality that is only made abundantly clear in the wake of her ensuing reply.

"I think you might just be enough to get him in the door, either way."

Stunned by the response, to say the least, Madison once again looks to Allison, only to find that her friend appears every bit as confused as she is, herself. And left with little else to do aside from offer Lydia an attempt at a receptive smile, Maddie is forced to realize one thing above all else. Whatever her own personal feelings on the girl, and the boy standing beside her, apparently Allison hadn't exactly wanted to endure the two of them on her own.

And that is something that she can completely understand, even if it means she is allowing herself to be pulled into the fray alongside her.

…

[justrent]

Steven simple writer

Steven simple writer archive#

Steven simple writer software#

Steven simple writer download#

My impulsive purchase of "On Beauty" has another element to it, though - one that may not be as welcomed by authors. A friend mentions a book in passing, and instead of jotting down a reminder to pick it up next time you're at Barnes & Noble, you take out the Kindle and - voilà! - you own it.

Steven simple writer download#

On another occasion, I managed to buy and download a book on a New York City subway train, during a brief two-stop stretch on an elevated platform.Īmazon's early data suggest that Kindle users buy significantly more books than they did before owning the device, and it's not hard to understand why: The bookstore is now following you around wherever you go. It's hard to overstate the impact that will have. SECOND EDITION Soon you'll be able to create a digital, searchable version of your library. The magic of that moment in Austin ("I'm in the mood for a novel - oh, here's a novel right here in my hands!") also tells me that e-book readers are going to sell a lot of books, precisely because there's an impulse-buy quality to the devices that's quite unlike anything the publishing business has ever experienced before.

Steven simple writer software#

Imagine a software tool that scans through the bibliographies of the 20 books you've read on a specific topic, and comes up with the most-cited work in those bibliographies that you haven't encountered yet. Entirely new forms of discovery will be possible. It is hard to overstate the impact that this kind of shift will have on scholarship. Every word in that library will be searchable. Before too long, you'll be able to create a kind of shadow version of your entire library, including every book you've ever read - as a child, as a teenager, as a college student, as an adult. Expect ideas to proliferate - and innovation to bloom - just as it did in the centuries after Gutenberg. Now, the ability to digitally search millions of books instantly will make finding all that information easier yet again. If so, if the future is about to be rewritten, the big question becomes: How? The World of Ideasįor starters, think about what happened because of the printing press: The ability to duplicate, and make permanent, ideas that were contained in books created a surge in innovation that the world had never seen before. As a result, 2009 may well prove to be the most significant year in the evolution of the book since Gutenberg hammered out his original Bible. Credit goes to two key developments: the breakthrough success of Amazon's Kindle e-book reader, and the maturation of the Google Book Search service, which now offers close to 10 million titles, including many obscure and out-of-print works that Google has scanned. But because books have largely been excluded from Google's index - distant planets of unlinked analog text - that vast trove of knowledge can't compete with its hyperlinked rivals.īut there is good reason to believe that this strange imbalance will prove to be a momentary blip, and that the blip's moment may be just about over. This has led us toward some traditional forms of information, such as newspapers and magazines, as well as toward new forms, such as blogs and Wikipedia. That's because the modern infosphere is both organized and navigated through hyperlinked pages of digital text, with the most-linked pages rising to the top ofĪll-powerful search-results page.

Steven simple writer archive#

While we now possess terabytes of data at our fingertips, we have nonetheless drifted further and further away from mankind's most valuable archive of knowledge: the tens of millions of books that have been published since Gutenberg's day. In our always-connected, everything-linked world, we sometimes forget that books are the dark matter of the information universe. The question is: Will we recognize the book itself when that revolution has run its course? The Dark Matter There is great promise and opportunity in the digital-books revolution. It will give writers and publishers the chance to sell more obscure books, but it may well end up undermining some of the core attributes that we have associated with book reading for more than 500 years. It will expand the universe of books at our fingertips, and transform the solitary act of reading into something far more social. It will make it easier for us to buy books, but at the same time make it easier to stop reading them. I knew then that the book's migration to the digital realm would not be a simple matter of trading ink for pixels, but would likely change the way we read, write and sell books in profound ways.