#i doubt this is a revelation to anyone else but me

[thesherrinfordfacility]

took me a while to sound out why the final fifteen felt so isolated from all the other arguments that they've had before, but "they aren't talking" might have led me to arrive at why that is. because whilst we have the "so did i" and bandstand arguments to compare it to, the closest that the final fifteen mirrors, for me, is their very first one that we see on screen; the holy water incident (and I'm 100% sure others have observed this but im slow)

the incident where crowley has experienced something that he's playing down to aziraphale, asks aziraphale for something to help him that only aziraphale can give to him, it turns out to be too much to ask of aziraphale, so he refuses, and they split apart. turn all of this around on its head, and you have the final fifteen. (and im going to put the caveat here: no, i do not think aziraphale has been threatened by the metatron and is communicating this in code to crowley, but yes i do think he feels threatened by the metatron; i think he's genuinely eager to take this opportunity, but equally he's not stupid).

so then they go through 79 years of silence, of not talking, and come to 1941, where aziraphale lands himself in a spot of bother, and crowley breaks their silence by coming to the rescue. they get through the church fiasco, and aziraphale enlists crowley's help in the bullet catch ("trust me"), without ever discussing the holy water - all the while, their affection and love for each other is broiling just beneath the surface. perhaps it stands to reason that the same will happen in s3; that crowley will find himself in a Situation, aziraphale turns up to get him out of it - using it as an Excuse - and they end up on the subject of the second coming etc., and crowley reluctantly agrees to help resolve it, but only with the unspoken provision that they, absolutely, do not discuss what happened in the bookshop.

but what about the missing scene of 1941? well, there have been hundreds of different speculations of what could have happened; they actually do discuss the holy water, or there's otherwise a bit of a vulnerable heart-to-heart, there's a kiss, there's an almost-kiss, there's a fight involving the zombies, the derringer comes out to play, crowley gets yanked back to hell again, or gets discorporated... but whatever happens evidently informs on the atmosphere attributable in 1967 - because it's not until 1967 that aziraphale considers his hand forced, cares so much for crowley that he'll do the very thing that he's previously refused to do - gives crowley the holy water - but then puts distance between them again. perhaps the same kinda of thing happens somewhere around ep3/4 of s3; that they finally get to a point where what happened - the kiss, the offer, the mutual rejection - can't be ignored any longer, and a full-bore-full-roar argument erupts at perhaps the most inopportune time, to the point it's just comical, leading them to the point where they finally both understand where they stand with each other, what the other meant, and wanted.

so look, im not saying that crowley is suddenly going to change his mind about going to heaven, in order to track with aziraphale's 180° on the holy water; that doesn't make much sense. and it similarly doesn't make much sense for them to create distance between them like they seem to have done in 1967. if anything, this time it's the impetus they need to get everything out and laid bare, nothing bitten back, nothing squashed down and restrained. "you go too fast for me" suddenly becomes "we're finally on the same page."

[hxnbi]

⸻ ❀°。❝ SHORT STACK ❞

requested by @kuppuru: furin boys + togame with short reader

pairings. hajime umemiya, hayato suo, haruka sakura, ren kaji, kyotaro sugishita, jo togame x gn. reader (separate)

note: tysm for your request! sorry if it took so long to write, i was suffering with exams but im finally free now. this goes to all my fellow short ppl out there 🫡 i also just wanted an excuse to find these goofy photos of my boys lmao

𝄞 ─ HAJIME UMEMIYA ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

What do you mean by that? You’re his significant other and that's all that matters! If anything, that only makes you even more adorable!

UMEMIYA's natural inclination to be clingy and protective intensifies tenfold when he's around you. As you often find yourself enveloped in his arms, whether it's at home, out for a walk, or even at a crowded event. He towers over you, using his height—and admittedly effective intimidation tactics, thanks to him being the leader of Furin—to shield you from the world’s troubles. 

"Up we go!" he jokes, effortlessly picking you up from out of nowhere and spinning you around like a merry-go-round carousel.

“Ume?!” you yelp in surprise.

Without realizing it, his face lights up like a neon sign, and he lets out a loud, joyful laugh. You’re so sweet! How could he not adore you?

Umemiya goes into press his lips against your cheek and buries his face in your neck. "You’re my perfect little charm." His laughter and love are almost infectious. 

Umemiya’s protectiveness doesn’t just stop at physical proximity, but extends to every aspect of your life. He’s always looking out for you, making sure no one dares to mess with you (not that anyone with a half-functioning nervous system would, anyway). Your height didn’t matter and will never matter to him, not when he sees you as his perfect partner and his other half, just the way you are.

𝄞 ─ HAYATO SUO ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

Without a doubt in my mind, SUO's a person who's all for teasing you. In fact, he revels in it. Even after calling the relationship official, Suo’s playfulness doesn’t stop. Rather, it only increases with time. Suo is all for teasing you about your height, flaunting his own height difference with that characteristic closed-eye smirk of his.

“Oh dear, do you perhaps need help?” he teases, pointing at something on a high shelf with one hand while the other resting at his back. “Would you like me to get you a ladder?” he asks 'kindly,' making you deadpan.

Suo finds your petite stature irresistibly cute, and he never misses a chance to remind you of it. But, to the surprise of nobody, like everything else in his life, he’s not as shamelessly open about it in public as opposed to in private. Rather, I see Suo bringing your height up when you least expect it, in hopes of getting a reaction from you recorded in his mind.

Though his teasing is always good-natured, Suo knows your boundaries well. He can tell when you're uncomfortable, especially around others. That alone is enough to make Suo's usual mischievous brows furrow, and he stares down whoever dares to cross the line, especially when he's around. His protective instincts kick in without hesitation. That, despite his constant banter, it’s clear that he adores you deeply, his eyes filled with warmth and affection so unlike his public persona that he discloses to the world.

𝄞 ─ HARUKA SAKURA ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

Okay, and? What about it? Who the fuck cares? He’ll just deal with anyone if they even dare to give you shit about it. SAKURA's nonchalant attitude towards your height is evident. He couldn't care less what others think, and he's ready to put anyone in their place if they dare to give you any trouble about it.

"If anyone has a problem with your height, they’ll have to deal with me," he barked, a protective arm around your shoulders. "And trust me, they won't like it.”

Nirei and Suo could only deadpan in unison seeing this. ‘He’s just a big softie…’ they both thought.

Regardless, his feelings for you don’t change. Sakura has also been through a lot. The people who berated and made fun of him due to things he didn’t have control over—his unconventional appearance—why do they care? Why should someone ever care? He understands how it feels to be judged for superficial reasons and is fiercely protective of you because of it. As for you? You felt warm, knowing he always has your back. 

Your height has nothing to do with who you are as a person, and he’s learning that, step by step. He’s always ready to defend you, ensuring you never have to go through the pain and ridicule he did, and not just because of your height, something you never had a peace or sovereignty over. Perhaps, he sees a bit of himself in you.

𝄞 ─ REN KAJI ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

Doesn't treat you any differently. And why should he? Is there some kind of top-secret reason that he's unaware of? Why should such a thing as height matter in his relationship? Dude grills his vice-captain Kusumi to get the full story, until he realizes that there is none. Tch, do you think he cares about bullcrap like that? Well suck it up, you shouldn't and never have to worry about such an outrageous thing.

KAJI continues to be his calm and composed self (when he isn’t blasting music until his ears bled), offering you the same level of respect and affection as always. Because, after all, "Why would your height change anything about how I feel?" he scoffed, putting back his headphones and closing the conversation right there, making you crack a smile at how matter-of-fact he was. 

Kaji’s grounded nature makes you feel secure. Height, weight, appearance, all those superficial aspects of a person doesn’t matter to him. It never did, because you never judged him for how he was. All he's doing is returning the favour to the one he one he loves, nothing more.

…So why are you looking at him with those sparkling eyes like he just found a cure for cancer?

𝄞 ─ KYOTARO SUGISHITA ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

SUGISHITA is in the same boat as Kaji, and, in actuality, it’s even more pronounced, as, while Sugishita doesn’t say a word, he’s quietly observant. Your height is just another characteristic to him that he loves in you, nothing that affects his feelings or how he treats you.

He is but a silent trooper that stands at your side.  Admittedly, it gets funny at times, seeing the difference in height between you and Sugishita, apparently especially when walking side by side. But he doesn’t mind. To him, your height is just another thing that makes you uniquely you. And all with a stoic grunt and a subtle smile that he tries to hide, but the hearts in his eyes don’t disappear with such that. 

“They’re so cute, aren’t they? You just have to show it!!” Umemiya says. And show it, he does.

The way Sugishita pats your head and cheeks, similar to how Umemiya would to the same to him, is his way of expressing affection—all in the most awkward way possible, as Sakura would scoff while the trio of Suo, Nirei, and him would from a distance. 

“...The hell is he doing? Does he treat them like a puppy or something?"

“S-Sakura-san!! Y-You might want to—”

All Sugishita would see was red, and it wasn't just from Suo's hair. "YOU—"

But don’t let that fool you. The end was anything but pleasant, as yet another chair became a victim of Sugishita’s wrath, and was broken that exact day, much to the dismay of Umemiya. 

𝄞 ─ JO TOGAME ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

TOGAME's initial reaction to your height is one of surprise, with the way he would stare and drill holes into your skull, genuinely amazed at how someone could be so short and yet so oblivious, like you didn’t have a care in the world. But his curious stare quickly transforms into admiration. At first, you really thought that he was judging you, from the way his eyes would stare down at you for seemingly uncomfortable amounts of time, but to Togame, it was nothing more than fascination. You were so petite (to him), to the point of being even adorable… 

Togame ran his fingers through his locks of hair. Shit, if you ever knew.

His best friend Choji is a bit on the shorter side, sure, but you? You were like some kind of tiny sprite. Unbeknownst to you, he finds your petite stature almost endearing in a way. And unintentionally or not, takes it as an opportunity to be even more attentive and caring over you. Togame’s affection is shown through his actions, whether it's reaching for items you can’t, or holding your hand protectively in crowded places. Whether it’s out of a sense of curiosity or if he truly loves you, one thing is clear, he can't help but show his affection in every little gesture.

©hxnbi. comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated ♡

[moonbeamsandmayhem]

Idea for smutty request: virgin Eddie who has never even eaten a girl out so he asks if he can practice by eating reader’s pussy…. Ofc reader says yes cos she’s had a crush on Eddie for forever

a/n: I’ve been working on this for months. So for that, I apologize!

warnings: reader with titties, cunningulus, mentions of a shitty ex-partner. I think that’s it. Please let me know if I missed anything.

“You sure?”

“Ed—.”

He held up his hands in defeat, licking his lips anxiously. “I just wanna — I don’t wanna fuck this,” and he gestures between the two of you, “Up. Our friendship. You know?”

“I know.”

Eddie stares at you, deep brown boring into you as if looking for a flicker of doubt. There was none. Your friendship with him meant the world, and when he approached you with his request, well. You could never deny him anything. Your heart stammered and you could feel your cheeks heat, but you agreed.

His room had always been a safe space. The smell of old spice, burning wood, and Marlboro’s infiltrated your lungs, causing the tension in your body to uncoil. Ever the gentleman, Eddie made sure to clean up for you, have bottled water on the bedside table and extra pillows at the ready.

You started to shimmy out of your shorts, but Eddie’s hands replaced yours, fingers caressing every bit of skin as it’s revealed. “You’re so fucking pretty,” his tone is awe-struck as if he’s seeing you for the first time. Thighs squeeze together and he takes note, a sly little smile curling his lips. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“Nothing.”

He lifts a brow.

“Promise. Just never been referred to as ‘pretty’ before.”

The metal head blinks at you slowly as if he can’t process what you’re saying. “Not even Chad or whatever-the-fuck that dick ex’s name is?”

You shake your head.

“Asshole.” Eddie declares, strong hands finding yours, fingers threading together. “If you were mine… I’d tell you every damn day. You’re gorgeous. Not that you need my or anyone else’s validation.” His eyes soften, “Thank you for this.” It’s the first time you see a hint of vulnerability cross his features cutting through all the bravado. It makes your chest squeeze with affection.

He wastes no time, peeling away your underwear. You resist the urge to slam your legs together, shyness taking over. “No hiding,” as if he can read your thoughts, his eyes are the softest brown, pools of warmth you could get lost in.

Eddie kisses along your thighs, nipping gently, experimentally. Your breath hitches and he chuckles, hot breath fanning over you. A whine emits from the very back of your throat. “Sensitive little thing, ain’t ya?” He licks his lips before he leans forward, kissing directly onto your seam, head buried between your legs. He nestles his nose against the thatch of curls there, breathing in your scent.

Eddie’s breath is warm, the flat of his tongue dares to spread you apart for him, flicking upward toward your clit. He’s slow, calculated, watching your expressions for some guidance.

“Jesus Christ,” you moan, he takes a part of your labia into his mouth and sucks softly, humming around you , “you’re - you’re sure you’ve never done this b-before?”

You can feel him smile against your cunt, before his tongue dips, finding your entrance. You gasp, hands grabbing those wild locks of his, tugging sharply. He groans, deep and reverberating, the muscle curling inside of you, working in and out, searching for that spot. You grind your hips down, desperate for more friction. “God, Eddie - fuck -!” It doesn’t take much before you’re arching off the bed.

“Mmmhm.” He’s drinking you down, lapping and slurping at everything you have to offer. A calloused thumb finds your neglected clit, circling it in tandem with the actions of his mouth. Your own hangs open, spewing expletives, moans, praises, gibberish and Eddie revels in it.

The coil in your stomach snaps sooner than you’d like and you’re cumming, clenching around his tongue while white hot pleasure burns through you. He continues, working you through your climax until you’re pulling him off, tears streaming down your face. You both lock gazes, his cheeks are rosy, lips covered in your spend, eyes heavy with lust. As for you, your face is covered in a light sheen of sweat, your body flush.

Eddie makes his way up to you, caging you in between his arms, hair falling in curtains to frame his face. He reaches up to wipe away a stray tear.

It’s just the two of you against the world, all panting breathes and longing gazes.

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. For a second you feel a pang of fear that maybe he was having second thoughts. That this whole thing was a mistake and you should just forget it.

“Can I kiss you?” He finally asks.

You blink owlishly.

“Or - or we can not do that - that was a stupid suggestion, forget I said any- .”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Thank fuck.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

I will never say that I am in love (18+)

{ alternate title: you are the love of my life }

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the one-eyed prince falls, the realisation comes to him in the scent of flowers. In his nephew's laughter. In his dreams.

themes/warnings : just pure sweetness, our emotionally constipated and repressed Aemond Targaryen, he thinks some *impure* thoughts in this one (how dare he!!!), he does NOT want to even think about falling in love (what a stupid distraction, he is not weak, you all should know) - also, he is DOWN BAD for the reader.

all my other works

a/n : this is the first fic I'm writing completely in the male lead's, in this case Aemond's perspective. Complete train-of-thought type of storytelling. (also, this is not in my scheduled works, the idea came to me after watching the new promo clips for s2... never in a million eons did I ever think I would hear Ewan Mitchell utter the word "cheugy" but oh well) - Enjoy! 🖤

{ I. flowers ▪︎ II. innocence ▪︎ III. dreams }

I.

Aemond decides that he finds pleasure in your scent.

The thought comes to him as he strolls through the halls of the Red Keep. Not a strong one, not a revelation by any means. A mere inkling of something he favours.

It is innocent. It is nothing.

He had spied some flowers peeking from just beneath a window. Roses, peonies, or some other, he did not bother to truly look. He glanced them out of the corner of his eye.

And he thought of you.

You smell something rather akin to those flowers - blooming and enticing and sweet.

A simple observation, rising to him now from his memory.

That is all.

Your scent reminds him of springtime in the gardens. You are pleasant, there is no doubt, but that very sweetness can only be construed as sickly if divulged in for far too long, too often.

Besides, his icy disposition does not really take well to flowers in the spring. They are more like to whittle under his boot, and shrivel from the coldness in his gaze.

You are not for him. No.

Flowers. Sweet things. The gentleness in your voice when you call him 'my prince'. Aemond scoffs at himself as he walks on.

It is no transgression to be distracted. It is a natural thing.

You are a distraction, and Aemond decides to think of you no more.

II.

Aemond comes to Helaena's chambers to visit with his niece and nephews. It is only by coincidence that you are almost always there too.

"Prince Aemond." Your voice resembles a song in greeting him. "Queen Helaena has just left to speak with Lady Alicent, but she should return shortly."

"Hmm." You are not a lady-in-waiting to Helaena, but more of a companion, a friend. Yet you do not mind looking after Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor when their mother is indisposed.

This is where Aemond finds you, most mornings. Were it anyone else, he might have sent them away, so that he can spend time alone with the children.

But he lets you stay, because, of course, Helaena would prefer it so. She dotes on you so dearly, Aemond has noticed.

In these instances, he lets you stay only because it is what Helaena would want. Why else?

He settles on an upholstered stool and beckons to the children. They eagerly waddle their way over to their beloved uncle.

You watch the interaction with a smile, as you always do. With your legs curled underneath you, comfortably seated on the floor a few feet in front of him.

Aemond used to pay you no mind, but increasingly it has been nagging at him that you are observing, taking him in.

It is inane to be self-conscious; there is no reason to be. He is the Prince - being perceived has been a constant all his life.

He is the Prince, and you are merely a lady companion.

But when you say things like, "They are very fortunate to have you as their uncle, my prince," it makes him feel a sense of pride. Like it is some accomplishment to be complimented by you.

He knows this. He knows he is a good uncle.

Perhaps it is just that. Vanity.

You pointing it out has nothing to do with anything.

Jaehaerys crosses the many strides it takes for him to reach you again, and he pulls at your hand.

"Come," he giggles.

"Where, sweet boy?"

"Come, come here, come here," he mumbles mostly to himself, grunting when you are unmoving and his three-year old form is unable to magically transport you as he wishes.

"Okay," you laugh once, getting on your feet with your body bent to his level, and you let him pull you to where he wants.

Which is... right next to his dearest uncle Aemond.

"There." Jaehaerys claps his hands in glee, as you curl up on the floor beside Aemond's outstretched legs.

"He has a sense of humour, that one," you grin, looking up at Aemond.

Aemond sees your expression up close and you look okay. Comely. Fine. You are not bad-looking, by any means.

You are the most beautiful lady in the court.

You are fine, just fine.

Aemond would not mind seeing your face everyday; he already sees it every night in his dreams.

And it is just fine.

"Is something the matter, my prince?"

Call him that. Do it again. Or better yet, replace prince with his name. Call him 'my Aemond'.

Aemond desires nothing more than to hear it.

Because... because he is vain. Nothing more than that. It would take a high degree of devotion for someone to utter the words 'my Aemond' to him. And who would not want to be at the end of such idolatry.

Perceive him. Worship him. Consume him.

You already consume him.

Aemond stands abruptly, and you scramble to follow suit.

"Aem... Aemond," you stammer. "I mean, forgive me... my prince, what is wrong?"

Aemond looks down. Your delicate hand is gripping his arm, the sleeve of his tunic doing nothing to mask the heat of your skin.

He is of dragon, he is of fire.

But your touch burns.

The clacking of wooden toy horses ring in the background, the children lost in their imagination.

"Nothing," Aemond clears his throat, and folds his arms behind him so your hand falls. "I am alright. I must go."

The smell of sweetness lingers in his nostrils. Your sweetness. He is growing weak.

He steps away, "I bid you farewell, my lady."

"My prince."

Call him Aemond. Call him by his name, title be damned. By the gods, call him yours.

Aemond nearly rushes out of the chambers, his gait sure and his footsteps heavy.

Tonight, in his dreams, he will finally release his foolish desires and that will be the end of it.

Behind his eyes, he will touch you and taste you and watch you crumble underneath him.

And he will be your Aemond.

That will be the climax of this passing fantasy.

III.*

Aemond has stripped down to his undergarments, supine above the silk sheets of his bed. He runs a hand over his face, and he sees you.

All the better for it, he supposes, that he gets rid of it now before it ruins him further.

It is a memory, from only one moon ago, but he sees it clear as day.

You had let your hair down that day, and it flowed freely, following the gentle breeze. Nestled in what Aemond found out to be your favourite spot in the gardens, needle and thread in your dainty fingers, you tell him that you are embroidering a veil for your dear mother.

You request for him to sit with you, and Aemond obeys.

Pleasantries are exchanged, about the weather, your duties, his training. All the while Aemond watches the contour of your lips, how it stretches back to reveal your smile when he says something that could not be the farthest from amusing, but you find it amusing anyway.

He stares you down questioningly.

You blush then, turning your focus back to your work, "Apologies, but I... I admire the way you speak, my prince. As if every word is deliberate, carefully chosen. You are intelligent, and you care what you say."

"Hmm," he said then, but now...

In his mind, he lets you know just what he wants, "Have you ever been bedded, my lady?"

You look at him in shock, of course you do. Those rosy lips part, and Aemond wonders whether your lips below possess the same shade.

In his grand chambers, Aemond lets his hand drift down, down from the planes of his stomach, to his hardened cock. He licks his lips, and imagines the softness of your own. He strokes the leaking tip with his thumb. The picture continues.

"Do you not ever wonder about the deed?" Aemond asks.

"M-my prince...I do not... I - "

"You must," he sneers. "You must, as I do, and when I do, it is you who floods my very thoughts, and consumes my very being."

"I do not know what to say."

"Say you want to kiss me."

His grip tightens, drawing down and up his cock, covering it with the milky white that has leaked from his tip. He is pained, teeth pressing down on his lower lip. He imagines your hands on him, your dress undone as you watch him come undone.

"We mustn't," you look down in shame. Your legs clench together to keep in the warmth.

"Come here, my sweetness," he leads you to sit atop him, and your work clatters to the ground.

You try to look away, try to hide just how much he is affecting you.

"Kiss me," Aemond pleads.

You comply. He slips his tongue past your lips.

Faster, wetter, he gets harder and it is unbearable. His hands are not enough, he wishes to plunge his aching member right into your soaking folds. Wishes to watch beads of his sweat fall on to you as he pounds you without mercy, his cock squelching deep inside your cunny until it is sore. If only you will ache as he does. Come as he comes.

Aemond lifts you up and the two of you end up stumbling down on the grass. He does not relent. His fingers make quick work of the strings and ribbons holding you together. Your breasts come free and he latches his mouth on one, his tongue swirling against the nipple.

"Oh Aemond!" you moan, and it is a scandal. It is everything unholy. It is every dirty thought nestled in his mind.

Soon he has you bare, your skin practically glowing under daylight. You are perfect, and you are his.

"Take me," you say, practically begging. "I want you to fill me with your cock. Fill me with your seed, my dragon prince. Please."

"My sweetness," Aemond reveals himself to you, undoing his breeches and slipping out of his tunic. How could he resist?

"Do you want me?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want you, my prince," you affirm, squirming under him, you hips bucking up with desire, hopelessly attempting to rub your cunny against his skin.

"My Aemond," he corrects you. "Say it."

"I want you," you say, "my Aemond."

Aemond rubs his cock faster and faster, the thick green veins in his hand and arms straining angrily under his skin. He feels you, he sees you in his mind so clear. You are his, and he is your Aemond.

He plunges his cock inside you, and you are left mewling and writhing as he quickens his assault.

He groans loudly. The lewd squelching of his cock turning sloppy, hasty, mindless. A few more strokes and he comes all over himself, hot white streaks decorating his torso. His silver hair in disarray on the pillows, like a broken halo. Beads of sweat falling from his temple. His mouth parted as he whispers your name.

He gives himself a few more tugs, emptying out. You would do him so much better. Touch him so well.

In his mind, he still sees it. Fragments of his memory bleeding through his fantasies. He does not know anymore what is real and what is not.

He cleans himself up with warm cloth afterward, feeling shame at his actions.

This is enough. Now he has released you from his being. The desire he holds so closely to his chest must have dissipated along with the lewd act he just committed.

"My Aemond," you whisper from behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

Enough. No more of such useless musings.

"I love you, Aemond."

I love you too.

🌸🌸🌸

* In III, reality is fully italicized, and his memories + fantasies are typed as normal.

this was meant to have more sections ( IV to VII )... maybe I'll come around to it eventually.

Let me know what you think of this sort of writing from Aemond's perspective!

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

[girlgenius1111]

romantic fics

alexia putellas

a cure for frustration p1 make it better p2 -smut

do you want my attention? -smut

do you need me? p1 just admit it p2

tease p1 tease p2 -smut

love you anyway p1 i love you... it's all i can think p2 let me show you p3-smut

trying to be cool about it p1 we don’t have to talk about it p2 i can't hide from you like i hide from myself p3

waiting room p1 she’ll be the best you ever had if you let her p2

didn't mean to forget you

something isn’t right, babe

give you my sunshine, give you my best

got love struck went straight to my head p1 what if all i need is you p2 smut

who could stay?

talk more

didn't think that through smut

birthdays are supposed to have surprises p1 i'll be whatever you need p2

stuck with me

echoes of her

you come back with gravity

miscommunications + conversations

say it again smut

rather be anyone else

please smut please part 2

i always know what you need smut

floodgates

might just love you 'till the end

revelations

no time for losers smut

i'll never leave. never mind. p1 hand in hand p2

healing

mila 🥰

new world

arrival

instincts

mami v mama

casts, broken arms, and snuggles

ona batlle

you don't have to pretend with me

that night was a mistake

that night was a mistake

is this a mistake too? [smut]

i want to be here.

pay for your crimes

the great war

sweet dream was over

it was war it wasn't fair

burning embers

maybe it's the past that's talking... screaming from the crypt

we will never go back

claudia pina

resistance & persistence

always will

misa rodriguez

to the brink

no one speaks to you like that

snapped snapped p2

jenni hermoso

homecoming

no time

cata coll

prove yourself

leah williamson

ACL tear #4, ACL couple #2 p1 matching injuries, matching fits p2 you could see the best of me p3 smut

leila ouahabi

can she make you feel like I do? smut

patri guijarro

like you mean it p1 i know you can p2 smut

ingrid engen

i wake up screaming from dreaming

ingrid engen x mapí león x reader

don't doubt us smut

always want you

you aren’t a chore…

all the same

face the consequences smut

flipped smut part 2

hard launch

alexia putellas x jenni hermoso x misa rodríguez x reader [aka the orgy fic] just let go

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

alexia putellas x jenni hermoso x leila ouahabi x reader one of your girls

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

[heavqn]

Coriolanus as the peacekeeper, being completely mentally unbalanced, possessive and controlling, while he fucks the reader who is totally naive and can't refuse since Coriolanus is basically keeping her alive and feeding her, it all happens in the cabin. and they are almost discovered by her friend Lucy Gray.

It can include size difference perversion, Coriolanus has a hyper fixation with how shy and naive the reader can be, manipulation, doubtful consent.

Can you add any plot? I'm not a fan of angst though. If you take it, I THANK YOU.

i loved this request!! i kind of went totally overboard and i don't think i stuck to your request quite well but i hope you still enjoy it 😭

cw; fingering, sort of controling? coriolanus, allusion to piv but there isn't any. usage of yn like three times. i think that's all. not my finest writing, apologies </33

Being in District 12 was no party. It was as miserable as life got, until she met Lucy Gray of course. Lucy Gray had taken her under her wing, no doubt becoming like a sister to her. She taught [ y/n ] her favorite songs, her favorite stories and even let her have some of her pretty dresses.

She was basically part of the covey though she had known her for such a short amount of time. When Lucy Gray was reaped, she felt like she was too. A part of her went into that arena with Lucy Gray and she was frightened everyday until she came back unscathed. 

With Lucy Gray’s infamous return to the District came plenty of singing and dancing back in the Hob. It wasn’t until Lucy Gray was a bit way into her song when she noticed a familiar pale, blonde-haired boy watching her. Though the realization of who he was had been cut short by Billy Taupe and his drunken-state, she was both shocked and excited to know he was there.

The next day, she saw him yet again. Maude Ivory had made way to them though and she had to leave. But it didn’t stop her from inviting him to the lake, promising him only the covey knew of its existence.

On the way to the lake, Coriolanus had made his acquaintance with a few others from the covey. One in particular stuck in his mind though; [ y/n ]. She had a quiet tone and was a bit clueless to jokes that others made. He noticed how she stayed close to Lucy Gray, whispering to her and then looking at him.

And if the shyness and naivety hadn’t got him, seeing her come up from under the water definitely did. Her hair clung to her back and the make-shift bikini she wore did little to cover her boobs as he saw her nipples poking from under the fabric. 

He was fascinated by her. She was dumb, to say the least. Usually such things would turn him off and make him go the other way, but he reveled in the way she clung to his every word once the two had become close. 

They often spent time together at the lake; his idea. This particular day, he had convinced her to go skinny-dipping. “What if someone sees us?” She had questioned, voice quiet as if anybody was around to hear her. Only the covey and him knew about the lake; she knew this, he knew this. The possibility of anyone coming out this late wasn’t likely.

Though he had to admit that the thought did cross his mind as well. So he prompted her with another idea, “We could go to the cabin instead.” His intentions would’ve been clear as day to anybody else, but she was entirely lost. “What are we gonna do in there? It’s boring.” She pouted. 

Most nights at the lake were spent listening to him talking as you nodded along, pretending to understand what he spoke of. So when you made your way inside the cabin and got comfortable on the rickety bed, Coriolanus started to speak about his home. 

“I can’t even imagine what the Capitol is like.” She told him in response to his question of if she’d come home with him. “It’s amazing. Organized, powerful. Nothing like the districts. I think you’d fit right in.” His words had her shaking her head.

“I couldn’t leave twelve. My family is here; Lucy Gray is here.” He rolled his eyes. “You’d be with me. I’d buy you the finest things the Capitol has to offer.” The thought of leaving the covey left a bad taste in her mouth, but the promise of pretty things had her looking up at him with curiosity.

“What kind of things?” She questioned. He smiled, knowing he had piqued her interest. It was too easy sometimes. “Clothes, jewelry, makeup. Anything you can dream of.” His hand had made its way to her arm, caressing it as he watched the way her eyes lit up from his words. “Even flowers?” He let out a soft laugh, “Even flowers.” 

She fell into him, back meeting his chest as his arms wrapped around her waist. “You know what else the Capitol has?” His fingers went under your shirt, dragging across the skin of her abdomen. She felt that tingling sensation she often got when she was with him. 

While they talked a lot when together, she’d also had sex with Coriolanus a lot. It wasn’t a hard thing to convince her into. Her first time was in the lake; it wasn’t comfortable or convenient, but he was a desperate man. She had just talked about how she was a virgin and he was immediately interested in taking that title away from her. So it was no surprise when the next time they met up, he had her under him once again and every time after that.

He told her that she owed it to him. He was protecting her; would she rather it be him or some pervert from the district? He knew what he was doing and he gave it how she liked it. He guaranteed that none of these boys could even dream of doing it like him and she agreed. He was unfairly good at it and knew what had her cumming in no time so who was she to deny it?

She was dragged out of her thoughts as his hand went further under her top, moving to grasp her boobs. She let out a shaky sigh at the feeling, listening to him speak. “I asked you a question.” He reminded her; his voice deep and firm in her ear as he his hands continued venturing her body.

“What else?” She responded, not necessarily caring for anything else at this moment besides being held close to him. “Lingerie. You know what that is?” He questioned her, and the way her face screwed up let on that she didn’t have a clue as to what he had said. “I don’t know what that is.” She admitted softly, feeling embarrassed he had once again caught her in a stump.

“It’s a type of clothing women wear. Nice and lacey; Bet you’d look real good in it.” He spoke to her in that same deep voice he always did, but it felt heavier this time. He was building her up just so he could break her. “What do you think?” He shifted the conversation back to her, knowing she’d get riled up.

“I think–I think it’d be nice to try it on. Is it like a dress?” She asked curiously, not quite envisioning what this lingerie was that he spoke of. He laughed at her question, taking his time to trail his hands down the length of her skirt. “No, no. It’s like an undergarment; Ladies wear it for men.” He tried to explain, feeling her body melt into him as his fingers went to push her skirt up, giving him access to the place he wanted.

Her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, again. “So it’s like fancy underwear?” Hearing the word underwear only brought more of her innocence to his attention. “Exactly. Now you’re getting it.” He praised, fingers trailing on the inside of her thighs, inching closer and closer to where she needed him.

“What makes it different from regular underwear?” She was curious now. Ladies wear it for men? Ladies always wear underwear, she thought. He smiled at how interested she was in this topic, but it was clear she was struggling with her words in the way her breath hitched and how she melted impossibly closer to him, when he finally got to the cotton of her panties.

“Well, you don’t wear it everyday. It’s for special occasions; For times between a man and his woman.” He told her, finger playing with the hem of her panties, teasingly snapping it back and into her skin. “Like–Like us, Coryo?” Her voice was but a whisper when she shyly asked the question.

He reveled in the way his pants tightened at how innocent and naive she was. It made it impossible to hold back the way he smiled into her neck, placing open mouthed kisses over her skin. “Just like us, bunny.” He whispered in her ear, finger finally slipping under her panties and going to feel how wet she was.

“Got you all hot and bothered just from a simple conversation. We haven’t even kissed and you’re already soaked.” He teased her, fingers coming out from her panties to show her just how wet she was. “‘m sorry.” She squeaked out, feeling embarrassed at his words and seeing his fingers covered in her juices did nothing to help that feeling.

He swore he could’ve cum right then and there. The way her body tensed up at his words, and the way she became beat red when she saw his fingers; he was ruined. He wanted nothing more than to be inside her, watching as she squirmed to take him; she would be so thankful for it, a mix of “please” and “thank you” ‘s no doubt on her lips with every thrust.

She was obedient; sometimes too obedient. He just craved one time when she would slip up, so he could punish her. But he knew she never would. She listened to his every word, and she’d be damned if she upset her Coryo.

He squeezed her hips, telling her she had nothing to apologize for. “It’s a natural thing. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He told her, the words like honey as they slipped out of his mouth. “Just don’t be getting this way for anyone else. Promise?” He all but commanded her, quickly discarding her panties before placing her right back in front of him; back to chest. “I promise, Coryo. Only you.” She was quick to agree with him; it’s all she’s good for. Simply a parrot of his words, aiming only to agree and copy everything he said. 

He didn’t give her anything else but the feeling of his fingers rubbing her clit as a response. The lack of warning had her surprised at the touch, shocked for a second. But he used his other hand to hold her back against him, keeping her still and pliant. “Don’t move, bunny.” He scolded her, continuing his assault on her delicate bud. 

It was hard to not move, but she persevered. Keeping her composure against him as she let moans and whimpers slip through her lips. “Coryo,” She called out his name, looking up at him with her soft eyes, silently begging him for more. 

“Need something?” He questioned, a smirk evident on his lips from how still so she was yet her mouth moved so much. He knew what she wanted, he just wanted to hear it from her. She spoke softly, the words not quite hitting his ears, but he heard her. Though he chose to tease her once again. “What was that, bunny? Gonna have to speak up.” His fingers ghosted over her entrance, feeling the way her legs so easily fell wider, giving him more room. 

“Need your fingers. Inside me, please.” She pleaded again, a little bit louder than before but no doubt quiet compared to the sound of her heavy breathing. “Why didn’t you just ask?” He smiled sickly at her, leaning down to kiss her as one of his fingers slipped inside her.

The moan she let out had his tongue easily slipping into her mouth, mixing their saliva together as their tongues glided over one another. He made quick work of putting another finger in her, curling them as they went in and out of her. The squelching sound of it all made her cringe on the inside, but the pleasure he was giving her was more interesting to act on. It was all too much; she broke away from the kiss, forehead still against his.

“Thank you, thank you.” She fed him her appreciation, knowing it was exactly what he wanted. She didn’t mind giving it to him either. She was thankful he chose her, thankful she was the one who had his fingers inside her. “Such good manners, bunny.” He responded, feeling her hand trail onto his head, grasping at practically nothing as his buzzcut allowed him little hair. 

He put yet another finger in, picking up his pace altogether whilst his other hand moved to rub her clit. The feeling of him on her skin, everywhere, had her on fire. She was going to burst into flames. She almost did–Until a sudden rapping was heard at the door.

“[ y/n ]? Are you in there?” The voice called for her, now recognizable as Lucy Gray’s. She stayed silent, not wanting to rat herself out, but when Coriolanus whispered into her ear, telling her to respond, she had no choice but to.

His fingers didn’t let up, and now he was kissing at her neck, interested in what she was going to do. He didn’t quite care about being caught; she was the one naked with his fingers deep inside her. “Yes, I’m–I’m in here!” She called back, unsure of what else to say?

“You okay honey? You sound awfully out of breath.” Lucy Gray voiced her concern, worry laced in her words as she moved to turn the door knob. “Yes! Yes, I’m okay. Please don’t come in.” She yelled back shakily; she was getting closer to the edge and if Lucy Gray came in, then it would all go away.

“Are you sure?” She questioned, wanting a final answer before she left the girl alone. “I’m s-sure, Lucy Gray. Nothing to worry ab-about.” She tried to assure her, hoping her words did what she wanted. It was getting hard to breathe with how quick and tentative Corriolanus’ touches were, nonetheless talk.

“Okay. I’ll leave you alone now.” Lucy Gray spoke to her. Whether Lucy Gray was still standing at that door or not, she couldn’t keep quiet now. His fingers curled right where she wanted, and his other hand was not letting up its assault on her clit.

“Coryo, Coryo.” His name fell out of her lips easily, arching into him, legs growing shaky at the feeling she was having. “Talking to your friend like that as if my fingers aren’t inside you right now. Such a dirty little girl.” He chastised her, but his words held no real malice.

It wasn’t long before she met her release, cumming on his fingers. Even then he didn’t stop, continuing to drag out her high. “‘nough. Can’t take more, Coryo.” She told him, shakily pushing his hands away from her. He all but laughed, doing as she asked.

“Can’t even take me inside you, bunny?” His voice was teasing. But the second she heard those words, she was up at his disposal. Ready for anything he gave her.

[lightbluetown]

i saw some people say ed and zheng are master strategists while stede is just some guy with ridiculous luck, but i think that's unfair. sure stede's ideas are insane, but they fit the looney tunes ass universe of ofmd perfectly. they're mostly well-thought-out, well-executed and they showcase stede's strengths and growth! so allow me to talk about them:

1- ghost of the forest - 1x02

a fuckery™ before stede even knows what a fuckery™ is! this is amateurish and stupid in every way. he's not even threatening izzy with a real dagger-- that's a letter opener. does izzy actually believe that stede has a huge crew hiding behind the bushes? doubt it! but this weird little act is enough to establish stede as a (ridiculous) pirate figure to the legendary izzy hands and to accomplish his goal of taking a hostage back

2- lighthouse - 1x04

imagine coming up with the exact same idea at the exact same time as the most brilliant tactician of the seven seas! we don't know who came up with which parts of the plan (honestly it was probably mostly ed) but this is still bloody impressive

3- stark revelations - 1x05

stede's first big success! he uses his knowledge of the aristocratic world to get a shipful of rich assholes to destroy each other, but he's also showcasing what sets him apart from them: this plan only comes to fruition because stede talks to frenchie, olu and abshir as equals. as people he can learn from, as sources of inspiration

4- duel with izzy - 1x06

this one was absolutely unhinged, but its success was far from dumb luck. only stede could think of using a brazillian cherry wood mast and ed's weird stabbing lesson to win a duel, and that's what makes this plan so undeniably stede and brilliant

5- faking his death - 1x10

i love that he just had to "die" in the most dramatic way possible. a heroic fight (tiger), a realistic accident (carriage) and the most cartoony death in the book (piano)... not only is his triple-death able to convince everyone in barbados that he's dead for good, it also allows him to have closure with his family. it's filled with stede's ridiculous unique flair, but it's designed to be a fuckery™ through and through. ed would be SO proud

6- stealing jackie's indigo dye - 2x01

quick little stealth mission. did ricky manipulate stede into trying this out? sure. did ricky also ruin it? absolutely. but it was working until then! the swede isn't part of stede's crew at this point, but his respect for stede is what gets him to cooperate and risk his relationship with his beautiful wife. also, it's thanks to his love for fine things that stede immediately recognizes the value of "blue dirt"

7- prison break - 2x03

in my eyes no scene depicts stede's growth better than this one. knocking zheng's entire crew out with tea is the most stede thing out there, and this plan uses the cherry wood mast as well! this plan relies on stede's (unrealistic) tea knowledge, overly-fancy ship and ability to coordinate his crew. what makes it breathtaking is that he secretly sets this plan into motion while actively mourning the "death" of the love of his life. he's putting his life on the line to rescue ed's "killers" because he's emotionally mature enough to look at things from their perspective and forgive them

8- inciting a mutiny - 2x06

yet another brilliant plan that could only be executed by stede. this entire episode revolves around his idea of "turning poison into positivity" and here he, well, fights poison with positivity. stede captains his pirates with respect and care (best he can) which just so happens to be the opposite of ned. he exploits this and gently gets ned's crew to turn on him. he singlehandedly saves himself and his entire crew from a notorious pirate! oh he also literally invents walking the plank right after this

9- "it's only suicide if we die" - 2x08

okay, yes, this one didn't go that well (sorry iz). but it's not like ed, zheng or anyone else had any other ideas! stede's weird suicide mission, for the most part, worked. they needed to get through british soldiers to reach their ship and they did exactly that. if only they'd remembered to check if ricky had his gun... oh well, you live and you learn

sure, ed and zheng are legends and stede is a silly newbie with wild luck. but he's also quick-witted, creative, confident and brave! he's a damn good captain and he deserves to be recognized as a good strategist!

[lucky-slice]

Do you understand how much kevin respects neil? And i don't mean when it comes to exy, like sure there's a whole lot of you're not good enough followed by you will make court bluh bluh bluh, i mean fundamentally as a human.

Kevin and Neil's conversation after the truth of Neil's father is revealed drives me absolutely insane because I think it highlights a lot about how Kevin views Neil.

so indulge me for a bit....

I think a lot of people forget, in light of Andrew choking Kevin for not telling him the truth, that Kevin's initial reaction was to tell Neil to run.

*sorry for the quality - these are all screenshots off my phone

Kevin's instinct is to tell Neil to save himself, despite what that would mean for the team's success and for Kevin himself. This is significant to me for two reasons.

It highlights that Kevin genuinely cares about Neil outside of his exy potential. For most people, this would be a pretty obvious response to finding out your teammate has a guaranteed death sentence if they stick around, so it might not seem all that meaningful, but Kevin was raised in such an environment were you continued to play no matter what - even at the risk of death. Kevin is unflinchingly callous when it comes to exy and his teammates (*see his reaction to Seth's death), but he is frantic in his concern for Neil in contrast to his fairly passive response to basically anyone else's wellbeing outside of exy. Neil's death will have no real impact on Kevin. If Neil dies or goes to the ravens, nothing changes for Kevin. He is not at a greater risk of being hurt by Riko or the Moriyama's nor will his exy career be effected. That's not to say he would tell Neil to stay if he cared about him any less, but there is a desperation that implies a depth beyond just that of a teammate.

The fact that Kevin is frantic and desperate for Neil to leave, gives weight to his decision to keep teaching Neil in the aftermath of the revelation.

Neil doesn't want to run - he wants to be Neil Josten until the end. He gave Kevin his game and now he's asking him to keep it and Kevin obliges.

This is essentially Kevin promising that he will keep Neil's secret. He will allow Neil to wear his mask and continue teaching him despite the fact that Neil is essentially a dead man walking. This, to me, is Kevin ultimately respecting Neil and his choice. At any moment, Kevin has the ability to got to Wymack or Andrew and give Neil the chance at surviving, but that would mean betraying Neil.

Some people (certainly the foxes) would view refusing Neil's request as the proper and morally correct thing to do. But I think Kevin's immediate acceptance of Neil's decision is both immensely meaningful to Neil and also a signifier of a shared understanding between to two.

Imagine how impactful it must be for Neil, who has never had autonomy over his own life and has been marked for death basically since he was born, to be told that not only will his decisions and his autonomy be respected, but there is someone who will stand by his side on the court, knowing the whole truth, until the very end.

Kevin doesn't have much to offer Neil at this point. He can not give him a future - he'll be long dead before he can ever make court, and Kevin is a coward - he is not andrew, he can't stand up against the Moriyama's or Riko or Neil's father. Kevin can not protect Neil in a way that matters. All he can do is promise to keep Neil's secret and offer him a few more months of being Neil Josten.

I'm not including this to disparage Andrew or to suggest that he does not respect Neil, but this highlights that Kevin knows the decision to keep Neil's secret is one only Kevin would make. Andrew without a doubt would immediately try to get Neil to leave or attempt to get him into protection. I'm not passing a judgement of morality on what would've been the right thing to do, but I do think Kevin's reaction is indicative of the fact that Neil and Kevin understand each other in a way that no one else really will.

Neil and Kevin are a parallel's in a number of ways. Kevin lived the life that Neil was supposed to have and they are two parts of one story.

To them exy is not a game, but it's not really about exy either. It's about deciding to stay just to play for a couple more months even though you'll wind up dead because playing means you finally get to live after years of being a ghost. It's about playing to be the best no matter what, even though the consequences are having your hand smashed and the life you know completely demolished. It's about playing even though you're shaking with fear and anxiety because you need proof that your life, whether it be running to survive or living under an abusive hand, was not a waste.

Kevin agrees to keep Neil's secret because if the roles were reversed, Kevin would like to believe that he'd be strong enough to ask Neil for the same thing. This is obviously conjecture and a heavy heavy reading between the lines, but I'd like to think there's some truth there.

Finishing up with this line because it makes me a little emotional.

Kevin starts the conversation by calling Neil "Nathaniel" and ends it by calling him Neil again. Its right there in the text, "it was a promise". Kevin is offering Neil a life that is fully his - not his father's, not Riko's, but Neil's to do with what he would like, even if its only for a couple more months. If that's not respect, than I don't know what is.

[val-of-the-north]

Tibia Mariners and Those Lost in Death

While I am at it, I should talk about a detail found in Messmer's Shadow Keep. On the way to the Specimen Storehouse, you'll be faced with a peculiar sight: boats lit on fire.

This seems to be a callback to Viking funerals, except the boats are placed in a row and burnt on land. It's certainly an odd practice, but it might only be done this way because Messmer's forces are far from an accessible shore or water that's deep enough to perform it normally.

However, something else caught my eye. The boats looked quite familiar so I went back to check and...

It was the EXACT model as the boats used by the Tibia Mariners! Perhaps it is obvious seeing as the Messmer boats are used in a funerary rite, but I think it's still quite a significant connection, especially since the old Mariners have gotten quite a bit of new lore in the DLC. In Charo's Hidden Grave we can find the skulls of boatmen as a crafting material, presumably that of previous Tibia Mariners.

This is outright confirmed after finding the lone Tibia Mariner in the area, who upon defeat drops the Tibia's Cookbook, which describes them as the oldest of grave keepers.

(Btw I love the detail of the piece of lace cloth and golden ornaments, they are the same found on the Mariners themselves. They even come with the same ghostly glow)

This is quite the revelation, as prior to Shadow of the Erdtree we had no way of knowing that these guys actually predated the spread of Deathroot and Godwyn's transformation into the Prince of Death. And how could we doubt that, since they even drop Deathroot themselves? But there was something that most people have neglected to note about the Mariners, me included.

In the base game, the Tibia Mariner found in the Wyndham Ruins drops a spell called Tibia's Summons. This inconspicuous sorcery of the servants of death actually holds a perplexing description which mentions a group known as "Those Lost in Death".

There was something seemingly redundant and unexplained about these guys. What does "Lost in Death" mean? Why aren't they simply called "Those Who Live in Death"? It wouldn't blame anyone for assuming that this description just contains an outdated term for the undead before they stuck with the one used in-game. However, through the Tibia's Cookbook, we find a NEW reference to this same concept.

Roughly the same title (Those Lost in Death = one lost in death), the same underlying sentiment, and we have verifiable proof that the Tibia Mariners are outright ancient... so what's the deal with this? Well, I have a theory.

The descriptions of these things hint at the fact that the dead have been wandering for a very long time, and that they are in need of leadership. Before the DLC, it was easy to assume that the undead were simply a result of Deathroot, and the game seemed to suggest the same thing by stating multiple times that it was the origin of Those Who Live in Death...

... but that's the thing! Prior to Deathroot connecting them to Godwyn, the undead amounted only to shambling corpses. They were not LIVING in Death, but simply LOST in it, which is how the Mariners were able to control them in ancient times through the use of sounds, both their horns and the Calls of Tibia. It's only through the guidance of a lord, in this case the Prince of Death, that they found an identity and new life.

It's likely the undead waned in the era of Marika because of her elaborate Erdtree burials and general control of life and death. Heck, the figure of Rosus, who guides us to the Catacombs, must have also played a big part in their disappearance. His axe has a similar power to the Tibia's Summons and it's called Rosus's Summons. Its description also mentions that the dead easily lose their way, meaning that Rosus was meant to lend the dead a guiding hand. "Those Lost in Death" would be lost no more.

Without people Lost in Death, the Mariners kind of lost their purpose and vanished for a long time... until the Shattering and the rise of Those Who Live in Death of course. It might mean that the only reason they hold onto Deathroot is because it attracts and connects the new undead.

I guess Godwyn was meant to be a sort of "lighthouse" for all undead. He would make sure they never lost themselves but also that they would be allowed to live instead of being forced back to rest like with Rosus and Marika. Him being a "lighthouse" also fits the marine theme that all this death business is going for quite neatly I think...

But to return to what started this... maybe those boats lit on fire are Messmer's way of making sure the soldiers of his army aren't lost to death after their passing. A way to give them a proper rest the way Marika would have wanted, even though he is limited in what he can do about it. The Catacombs are now corrupted with Deathroots and Godwyn's corpse bodies, and guarded by his fervent golden Death Knights.

(P.S. - I didn't know where to put this, but "Charo" is one letter off from Charon, the ferryman of the dead in Greek mythology. Seeing as the place is connected to the Tibia Mariners, who shepherded Those Lost in Death in an age long past, I find that this connection might not be mere coincidence...)

[miryum]

"Clark's Phone Number"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy’s relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

Cass and Steph’s phones pinged at the same time. Steph scanned the message then called over to Damian, “shouldn’t we be using the other group chat for this?”

Damian glared and typed something on his phone. The message was: I doubt we need Richard or Timothy for this revelation. Are they truly as invested in this cause as we are?

Dick created the group chat in the first place, Steph reminded her friends.

“We’re sitting a couple feet away from each other,” Cass deadpanned. “Why are we even using the group chat?”

Because it’s more entertaining, Damian wrote while maintaining eye contact with Cass.  

Anyone else notice that Todd and L/n aren’t here? Dick stopped their bickering by typing away in the larger, all-encompassing, precinct group chat that was titled Operation Lovebird. The group chat with everyone, including Y/n and Jason was graciously named Practically Hell, courtesy of Y/n, due to the six-six being “only one six away from Hell.”

Al Ghul was just mentioning it in The Best Ones, Cass replied. 

Why do you guys even *have* another group chat? Tim asked.

Because we’re ‘The Best Ones.’ Obviously. Steph added the eye-roll emoji.

Just tell us what’s happening with Operation Lovebird!!! Dick demanded. 

All we know is that they’re both gone, Steph said. 

If you were better detectives, you would’ve noticed the culprits entering the copy room together. Captain Wayne’s contact suddenly popped up on everyone’s screen.

A plethora of messages popped up after his comment, including:

Dick: Culprits???!!!!! Brucie, why???

Tim: Why is Captain in this chat again? No offence, sir.

Wayne: None taken.

Steph: omg are they…

Steph: … you know?

Cass: Fucking?

Steph: NO!!!

Steph: Smooching, obvi.

Damian: Brown, please. Stop maiming my eyes with your typed words. 

Tim: Though, seriously, what are they doing?

Wayne: Pull the security tapes and meet me in my office.

There was a scrambling around the precinct as the detectives (and Damian) ran to Wayne’s office. “Does anyone have the surveillance tapes?” the captain asked. The detectives glanced around and slowly shook their heads. Wayne groaned and commanded, “Cain, grab the tapes.”

Once Cass did as she was directed, Tim used Wayne’s computer and pulled the tapes onto the screen.  

On the tape, Jason stood in the copy room, glancing around anxiously as he fiddled senselessly with the machine. Y/n’s figure appeared on screen and she shuffled into the room, calling out to anyone who would listen, “yeah, I'm just gonna make some copies in here. In the copy room. Heh. Perfect cover. Nailed it.”

“Hey…” Jason waved awkwardly to his coworker. “Hi… Y/n…”

“Jason,” Y/n stepped towards him, smiling devilishly. “Why’d you wanna meet me here?” Her grin showed that she knew exactly why Jason wanted to talk to her. “To boink? At work?!” She gasped dramatically. “Todd, I expected better of you!”

Jason’s cheeks flamed up and Y/n congratulated herself on making the buff, six foot tall detective stutter. “No…” He said, “I wanted to talk about uh, Brian and Lacy.”

“Ah… yeah. Brian and Lacy,” Y/n nodded her head, demeanour shifting. “What about them? I thought they were a pretty cute couple.” 

“So did I,” Jason admitted softly. He took a step forward until Y/n could simply reach out and touch him. He had a faint bruise on the underside of his jaw from an incident with a criminal half a week ago. He stared down at his colleague, his gaze filled with agonised hope. “Brian wanted to ask Lacy on an official date.”

Y/n’s heart was being cleaved in half and sewn back up again by Jason’s own hands. “What about Brian’s old girlfriend, Daisy? Lacy was pretty sure that Brian was making googly-eyes at Daisy during their last meeting.”

“Just to be clear, Daisy being Rose?” 

“Yeah.”

“Brian went on a couple dates with Daisy,” Jason continued, “but soon realised that Daisy couldn’t hold a small, dying match to Y/n’s burning, beautiful fire.”

“I thought her name was Lacy,” Y/n whispered. Jason’s chest rose and fell and he moved even closer to her. Jason reached up towards her face and swiped the pad of his thumb along her cheek. He angled Y/n’s face up so he could finally look into her eyes with the redamancy and forelsket that had been stored away for so many years. 

“Yeah, well,” a corner of his lips curved into a knowing smirk. “I just made Lacy blush, which is usually an impossible feat.”

“You flatter me, Brian,” Y/n said. “It’s clear that you take your words straight from a romance novel. You spend too much time reading.” She reached up and brushed a tuft of hair away from Jason’s face. Her words were teasing, but her actions were careful.

“My words aren’t from a romance novel,” Jason reassured her. “They’re from the heart- yeah, no, I hear it now. A little too cheesy, huh?”

Y/n shrugged and said, “I rather enjoyed it.” She relished the feeling of Jason’s touch on her skin. She hoped to feel it more often. “Your kissing could improve, though,” she referenced their impromptu kiss at the restaurant. 

Jason chuckled lightly. “I doubt that. You seemed to like it a lot.” He spoke lightly while memorising her face. “So, what do you say to a date, darling?”

“Darling?” Y/n asked. “I thought I was the one with the nicknames.” 

Jason shook his head. “I think I’ve found your ten.”

“And now you’ve stolen my quips. Love, you’ve already stolen my heart. Soon I’m gonna see you in the interrogation room.”

“I bet you’d love to see me in handcuffs.” 

Y/n’s mouth fell open and she let out a shocked laugh. “Mr. Todd! That’s no way to speak to a lady!” 

Jason’s hand was still cupping Y/n’s cheek and his other hand drew up to trace meaningless patterns on her forearm. “Does this mean you say ‘yes’ to the date?”

“What if it makes working together awkward?” Y/n’s hand clutched onto the fabric of his shirt.

“Then we’ll be awkward together,” he answered easily. “I want this too much for a little awkwardness to get in the way. I want you too much, Y/n.”

“I wanna try this,” she decided after a moment. “I want you too. Tonight? At eight?”

Jason nodded quickly, afraid she would take it back. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

Y/n stared at him and she couldn’t seem to place the expression on his face. It had a softness that looked suspiciously like love. His cheeks held a pink tint and his eyes gazed down at her and Jason knew he would spend the rest of his life holding her if he could. After a moment, Y/n realised, heart jumping, that Jason looked like he was in love. “We should probably get back to work before they realise we’re missing,” Y/n said slowly.

Jason nodded and moved towards the door, not before taking Y/n in his arms and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Should we tell the rest of the team? he asked quietly. 

“Probably not,” Y/n said. “They would get way too involved.”

“Should we tell them we’re spying on them?” Tim asked from inside Wayne’s office where the rest of the six-six was still crowded around the computer which displayed Y/n and Jason.

A chorus of ‘no’s and shushing erupted from everyone else and Steph squealed, “oh! They’re finally together! I’m over the moon! They’re adorable!”

“Brown, will your fangirling get in the way of your work?” Wayne asked, smiling slightly.

“Yes, definitely!” 

Wayne sighed. “Understandable.”

“Well, what are you looking for?” Jason asked. “Symbolism and overall themes or simply personal enjoyment?”

“Both,” Y/n took a lick of her ice cream, legs swinging happily under the park bench.

“The Great Gatsby for symbolism and overall themes,” he answered after a minute of thinking. “And then my favourite book is Pride and Prejudice.” 

“Yeah, I definitely knew that one,” Y/n nodded. “You’ve read it a thousand times in the precinct.” She shook her head, “I’ve tried to get through that book, man, but I don’t get the hype over it. Granted, I’ve never been able to get through the first five chapters.”

Jason began ranting about Pride and Prejudice before shaking his head in defeat and asking, “what’s your favourite book? Please don’t let it be Goddess Girls or Geronimo Stilton or some other children's series.”

“No, although those were great series.” She pointed her spoon at Jason accusingly. “As I’ve grown up and matured, it’s either The Fault in Our Stars, Memoirs of a Geisha, All Quiet on the Western Front, or Ella Minnow Pea.”

Jason stared at her and finally said, “those are all very different books. Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve even read four books.”

Y/n punched him in the arm. “How dare you! I’m very well-read! You should see the length of my Ao3 history!” 

Jason laughed loudly and cradled his ‘hurt’ arm. “I’m sorry I underestimated you, Y/n.”

“You better be!” Y/n crossed her arms before finishing off her ice cream. “Now I’m not gonna have sex with you until our fifth date.”

Jason let out a dramatic groan. “I don’t know if I can wait that long, sweetheart.” 

“Keep calling me ‘sweetheart’ and you may not have to.”

“How was the daaaaaate?” Steph used her wheely chair to roll up to Y/n’s desk, grinning cheekily. She waved a finger in Jason and Y/n’s direction. “What is this, huh? Casual? Serious? I need to know how to make fun of you. Also, please get married in a barn ‘cause I have a lot of jokes that are centred around that.” 

“How’d you know about the date?” Jason asked.

“You guys are officially dating?” Dick was walking by when he paused and placed a firm hand on Jason’s chair.

Y/n looked at Jason helplessly. “...yes?” she said quietly. “Maybe?”

Dick and Steph exchanged a look. “This isn’t good,” Dick said.

“We said we weren't gonna tell anyone,” Y/n explained. “It's very new, and we're still figuring it out, you know?”

“Enough.” Dick stated. “Look, I love love, but I also love maintaining a professional work environment. As your commanding officer, I’m kinda disappointed in both of you.” He bent down and added in a stage-whisper, “but as you loving friend who sees himself as a father-or-brother figure to both of you, I adore you two dating and hope that it works out. Kori and I have a big binder left over from our wedding full of ideas and samples we’d be happy to lend you. Please lemme give a toast at the wedding.”

”I already have mine written,” Steph admitted excitedly.

Y/n’s head fell into her hands and Jason cursed Dick under his breath. Dick had to admit, Jason’s curses were getting more creative.

Bonus Scene: 

“You guys have a group chat dedicated to us?!” Y/n cried out. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Dick chuckled. “It’s where we share blackmail, cute updates, and random stuff related to you guys.”

Y/n snatched Damian’s phone away, the closest person to her and much to his protest. “I can’t believe-” She scrolled through the messages before realising, “wait, I’m sorry, what are our contact names, Dami?”

“It’s simple.” Damian explained, “Richard is Moby Dick. Todd is Bamboozled from when he was drunk and said it out of context.  Drake is obviously CCA which stands for Computer/Coffee Addict. Y/n is Da Best Homie because she set up her own contact and I haven’t gotten around to changing it. Stephanie is Titus because she reminds me of my valiant and excitable dog. Cain is Cassandra Cain and Wayne is Captain Bruce Wayne. I also have Clark’s number and he’s listed as Mr. Clark Kent.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or unsurprised,” Dick mumbled.

“At least you’re a classic novel,” Steph crossed her arms. “I’m named after a dog.”

“Steph, you’re literally the epitome of a joyful dog.” 

“Aw, thanks!”

“You have Clark’s number?” Y/n murmured to Damian, “can I have it?” 

“No.”

Not my fav way to do it and I would probably rewrite it, but it's already on ao3 so... *shrug*

[coloursflyaway]

Good Enough

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.000

Read on AO3

So, Edwin is in love with him.

Edwin loves him, and Charles genuinely never even considered the possibility of this, of them, before.

It might be because, back when he was still alive, his dad would have beaten the notion right out of him, but then again, his dad has been wrong about most things in his life, so fuck him.

So, Edwin is in love with him.

It’s… quite flattering, actually. To think that Edwin, who is beautiful and intelligent and educated, who can recite his favourite Keats poem by heart just as easily as tell you his favourite Mozart aria (it’s Konstanze, dich wiederzusehen from Die Entführung aus dem Serail, Edwin told him that, years ago), who knows spells and can read ancient Aramaic, who is the kindest, most brilliant person Charles has ever known, would love him.

Now, Charles knows that he is easy enough on the eyes, good with words and people, and has one hell of a swing if you give him a cricket bat, but the only reason he knows any Mozart aria is because Edwin showed them to him.

The only reason he knows Keats’ poetry is because Edwin would read them to him on slow, warm summer nights in the early 2000s.

The only reason he is here, is because Edwin let him stay.

So, it’s special, having someone like Edwin love him.

It’s fucking terrifying.

Because Charles is now holding the heart of the person he loves most in the world, and it’s a bigger responsibility than any he has ever taken on before.

He can’t fuck this up.

The thing is that nothing changes between them at all.

Charles isn’t sure if he expected it to, but what he is relatively certain about is that it most likely should. After all, it was an unexpected revelation, probably to both of them, definitely a shift in their relationship.

And yet, when Charles looks at Edwin, who is reading a novel whose name he cannot make out, curled up on the couch they have gotten for Crystal (and sometimes Jenny), he doesn’t feel different at all.

It’s still Edwin, his best mate, the boy that read to him when he was dying so he wouldn’t have to do it alone, who tries to smile whenever Charles shows him a new song he has fallen in love with, and occasionally fails hilariously at, who Charles would protect with his life and his soul and his cricket bat, no matter how high the stakes.

I love you the most, Charles thinks to himself, and smiles, because nothing about that has changed, either.

He has told Edwin that they would have forever to figure out the rest, and it’s the truth, technically speaking.

However, Charles doesn’t, because it’s Edwin and he has given Charles his heart and he doesn’t deserve to wait that long for an answer. It would be cruel in a way Charles cannot comprehend, and if there is anyone who doesn’t deserve more cruelty in their existence, it’s Edwin Payne.

The only problem with that fact is that Charles doesn’t know the answer.

He’s been thinking about it a lot, but the thing is, he’s never been in love before.

So he doesn’t really know what to compare his feelings for Edwin to, because, of course, they are greater than for anyone else, of course, Charles would sacrifice anything and anyone for Edwin, especially himself, of course, making Edwin smile is his favourite part of any day.

Because he loves Edwin, everything about him.

But is he, could he be, in love with Edwin?

Charles doesn’t know, nor does he know how to find out. It’s not like he hasn’t tried, but every novel he has paged through, every silly romcom he has watched, has been talking about butterflies in someone’s stomach, of seeing them in some new, golden light, of hearing violins playing when they speak, and Charles very much doubts that Edwin feels any of those things for him.

Otherwise he wouldn’t raise his eyebrows like that when he thinks Charles is being an insufferable little prick, he wouldn’t roll his eyes and tell him, “I know, Charles, you have told me a thousand times before”, whenever Charles brings up how much he wishes he could still taste things, or groan whenever Charles attempts to convince him to just try and let him put on some eyeliner.

(It’s just that Edwin would look so pretty like that, some kohl to bring out the warmth of his eyes, making them stand out even more than they do anyway.)

So all this talk of violins and sparkles and the need to give someone roses, if Edwin doesn’t feel that when he says he is love with Charles, then it’s pointless to consider, and anyway, those books and films describe people who have just met, not those who have known each other for twice as long as they were alive.

Maybe if he had just met Edwin, he would be hearing violins, Charles definitely thinks it’s possible.

Especially the violins in Konstanze, dich wiederzusehen.

“I just need some time alone”, Crystal says, putting on her jacket, while already opening the door. “And I am aware that that is a novel concept for the two of you, since you are basically attached at the hip, but for me, an alive human being, it’s really important to occasionally have a second of peace between almost dying and whatever we will have going on next.”

She stops to put on her shoes, almost falling over in the process, and Charles and Edwin share a look, a smile, and Charles thinks, I love you the most.

“Don’t follow me”, Crystal tells them, especially Charles, and it’s kind of cute, actually. “I’m going to get the biggest frappuchino Starbucks is legally allowed to serve me and I will not tolerate any ghostly company while doing that.”

Charles holds up his hands, still grinning, indicating his surrender in a battle he wasn’t aware they were fighting, and Crystal gives him a single nod before she walks out.

“So”, Charles starts, and turns around to face Edwin, who is already looking back, “what do we think this frappuchino she was talking about, is?”

Actually, there is one thing that changes between them after all.

It’s subtle, at least at first, but looking back, Charles isn’t quite sure how he managed to miss it for the few weeks that have passed. Maybe it was the shock of almost being forced to move on to the afterlife, the chaos of getting Crystal and Jenny settled in London, the fact that it seems to increase only slowly, incrementally.

Edwin has never been a physically affectionate person, completely contrary to how Charles is.

If it had been up to him alone, he would have hugged Edwin much more often, would have leant against him when they were looking through a book together, would have held hands to keep them from losing each other when things got hectic. But it wasn’t, and that was fine, so it was occasional touches instead, a hand on Edwin’s upper arm, his back, ruffling his perfect hair when he was doing something kind of dumb, kind of cute.

(That one always made him duck his head and smile, glance up at Charles through his lashes and allow a second to pass before he started fixing his hair again.)

Now, however, it’s… it’s not getting better, because there was nothing wrong with it in the first place, Edwin’s aversion to physical affection, but it is changing now.

It’s less that he initiates it, more than he allows it to happen more frequently. Sitting down next to Charles on the sofa instead of taking the armchair, allowing Charles’ hand to linger on his arm for a moment longer than expected, letting their shoulders brush when walking.

He’s not asking to be touched, not really, but something about it still makes Charles irrationally happy as soon as he catches onto it. Because Edwin deserves all the affection the world can offer, and Charles will always be here to give it to him.

So he reaches out in the morning, when the sun has just started to rise, and puts his hand on the curve of Edwin’s shoulder, right where it meets his neck, and points out that the clouds are turning the most beautiful pink. He throws his legs across Edwin’s lap when they settle down on the sofa at night, a book in Edwin’s hands, the tablet Crystal made him buy in Charles’. He pushes his fingers through Edwin’s hair, not to ruffle it, but just to pretend he can feel its softness against his skin.

It makes Edwin duck his head again, give Charles a little smile when looking up, and Charles thinks, I love you the most.

And thinks, I want to love you the most in every way you will have me.

“Jenny, I have a question”, Charles starts as soon as he has phased through the walls of her new butcher shop. It’s to her credit that she hardly reacts; the first time he had done that, she had thrown a meat cleaver right through his head. “What do you know about love?”

Instead of a knife, Jenny just throws him a weary look, an eyebrow elegantly arched. It makes Charles think of being scolded by the headmistress, a sensation that should be much more unpleasant than it is.

“Nothing”, Jenny answers and brings her cleaver down with a dull thud, separating flesh from bone, before looking up at Charles again. “No one ever knows anything about love and if they try to tell you otherwise, they are lying.”

There is a certain sense of finality in her voice and Charles knows he has been dismissed, no detention this time, but don’t dare to push it.

“Great”, he mutters, more to himself than to Jenny, “that doesn’t help me at all.”

“You should look at this, Charles”, Edwin says and turns the book towards him.

It’s late at night, Crystal having long since gone home and they are sat on the sofa, shoulders touching while they do their research. A new case has come up, and Edwin is trying to learn more about ancient Celtic runes, while Charles is pouring over a map of London’s underground; now, he looks up and at the page Edwin is showing him.

“We could add this to your bat”, Edwin explains, “it’s a rune for physical strength. Supposedly, it doubles whatever force you put into a hit.”

“Edwin, mate, are you trying to tell me I need help with hitting people?”

Charles is grinning, obviously teasing, and Edwin just scoffs, rolls his eyes.

And that is what Charles means; this isn’t birdsong and candle light, this is just how they always have been. This is what makes them them, even.

“Charles, do be serious”, Edwin replies, but there is affection in his voice, there is love. “I am perfectly aware that you can hit things very well, but that doesn’t mean that hitting them even better wouldn’t be an advantage.”

“I know. This is brills”, Charles concedes, and on a whim, nothing more than that, presses a quick kiss to Edwin’s cheek.

For a moment, he almost expects Edwin to admonish him, because this isn’t exactly something that they do, but instead he stares at him, before he ducks his head; Charles isn’t sure how he knows this, but if Edwin could, he would be blushing.

And it does something to Charles’ head, the thought that he would be able to make Edwin blush. It makes him stop dead in his tracks, look at Edwin not like he is seeing him for the first time, but like he could be looking at him for the rest of his existence and not get bored of it.

“Do you wanna do the honours of carving it? Since you were the one who found the thing?”, he asks just to say something, aware that his voice sounds slightly off, and thinks, I love you the most. I love you the most. I love you the most.

“Very well done, Charles”, Edwin tells him and clasps a long-fingered hand on Charles’ shoulder, peering down at the leprechaun he knocked out clean with his bat a few seconds before.

The rune really makes it pack a punch.

“I don’t think this will pose any further problems”, Edwin continues even as he crouches down to examine the passed-out form crumpled on the ground. He prods at it gently.

“It fucking better”, Charles replies, resisting the urge to pull Edwin away from the leprechaun, just in case that touching it might have some kind of magical side effect. “And if not, I’ll punch it right back out. I’ve got an Edwin Payne-improved bat after all, it won’t stand a chance.”

Just for good measure, he twirls the bat around once, twice.

This has always been one of his favourite parts of the job, the simple pleasure of knocking someone out before they get the chance to hurt his friends.

Edwin looks up at him from where he is crouching, and Charles grins at him, metaphorical adrenaline running through his non-existent veins still. He would punch out a bear if Edwin asked it of him.

Before he can say anything else, though, Crystal clears her throat from behind him, sounding decidedly less impressed.

“That’s really cool, yeah. New bat, I get it”, she says, walking around Charles so she, too, can see the unconscious leprechaun. “But you do remember that we actually wanted to talk to him, right?”

They get to talk to the leprechaun in the end, who turns out to be about as obnoxious as expected, but does admit to stealing the heirloom they were looking for for his pot of gold.

He even gives it back, but only after Charles has started twirling his bat again.

“And another satisfied customer”, Charles comments as they return to the agency, flinging his backpack into the corner.

“Client, you mean”, Edwin corrects, but still smiles at him, and pats the space next to him as soon as he sits down on the sofa. Charles flings himself down without a second thought, legs landing somewhere across Edwin’s laps, one of his hands settling on Charles’ ankles.

This is new, at least to some extent, and Charles loves it, the feeling of Edwin’s fingers on him. It feels right, somehow.

I just really love you the most, he thinks.

“Yeah, whatever”, he concedes and looks over at Crystal, who is watching them with something in her eyes that Charles cannot quite place. Not bad, per se, just…. Strange. “Doesn’t sound that good though, does it? And anyway, the most important thing is that they’re satisfied, right? Passed on right to the afterlife, no worries keeping them here any longer.”

“As if it’s only worries that could keep one here”, Edwin replies, his tone as dry as the desert, but making Charles laugh anyway. “We should be the best example for that.”

“You know what I mean!”, he shoots back, “It isn’t like with us, is it? Don’t think that the client was kept back by meeting the love of their life, were they now?”

It spills from his lips like nothing, without Charles thinking about it for a single second.

He’s still laughing, but Edwin’s fingers have stopped where they were gently stroking across the arch of his foot, and then Charles realises it, and for the first time, hears silence.

For the first time since they got back from Hell, they part when Crystal leaves.

The conversation had been stilted after Charles’...slip up? blunder? confession? and although it had been obvious that all three of them had been trying, it had been impossible to get things back on track.

So, Charles leaves with Crystal, telling Edwin he will walk her home, although that is something he has never done before, and Crystal lets him, although he is fairly certain she wouldn’t under normal circumstances.

She doesn’t need anyone protecting her from the city she grew up in after all.

“How do you know you’re in love with someone?”, Charles asks after they have walked in silence for a few minutes. He can’t think of a way to cushion the question, how to make it less awkward to ask, so he doesn’t bother with it at all.

“This is about Edwin?”, she asks, seemingly to clarify, and Charles nods mutely, not looking up at her. “I’m not sure. Especially not when it comes to the two of you. For Edwin, I could have seen from miles away that he was in love with you, even if he hadn’t reacted like he did when we first met. For you… you love him, anyone with eyes could see that, but if you’re in love with him, I think you have to figure that out yourself.”

“Do you know how it feels, though? Being in love?”, he asks, just in case Crystal can at least tell him that.

“I’m not sure”, she answers after a moment, then links their arms together, pulling Charles closer. “I think that’s different for everyone. But I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out what it feels like to you if you let yourself.”

He walks Crystal home, but when she asks if he wants to stay, Charles just shakes his head.

Edwin is back at the agency, and Charles isn’t sure exactly in which state, what he is thinking, and Charles cannot allow that. At least not for long.

What he does, though, is taking a little detour to the park not too far from their building.

It’s the first time he really pays it any mind, even if it’s most likely not the first time he’s been there, but now, Charles lays down on the grass, looking up at the night sky.

London is too bright for him to see many stars, but there’s a few of them; Edwin would surely be able to point out a constellation or two.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it.

Edwin isn’t here, and yet he is with Charles anyway, always, in every moment of his existence.

Sighing, he scrubs a hand down his face. There’s no way around it, it has to be now, and it has to be the right answer, the one he truly means, because Edwin deserves nothing but that.

No false hope, and no heartbreak that might be taken back along the line.

So, he thinks of Edwin, of his elegant hands and the swagger in his walk when he feels confident, of the colour of his hair and of his eyes, of the curves and slopes and sharp cuts of his face.

He loves that face, has seen it with every possible expression painted across of it, and still loves it.

The stars above are dim and partly hidden behind the clouds, so Charles lets his eyes slip shut, and imagines coming home to the agency and taking Edwin’s hands in his.

They would be just a little smaller than his own, his fingers slender and yet so capable, and if he could still feel, Charles is convinced they would feel cool against his skin.

He imagines pulling Edwin close and holding him like he has always wanted to, burying his face against the side of Edwin’s neck and pretending he can breathe in his scent. Having Edwin sneak his arms around Charles’ waist and cling to the back of his jacket, like he doesn’t want to let go again.

In his imagination, it feels a little like the hug they shared after being granted asylum on Earth, but it would be entirely different, because it wouldn’t be out of relief.

Instead, it would be just them, embracing to feel the other close.

And he thinks of pulling back from the hug, seeing Edwin smile and kissing the curve of his lips, nipping at them until he can make Edwin laugh and teasing his mouth open to lick into it.

It would be like kissing Crystal, kind of, only that-

Only that it wouldn’t be like that at all.

He runs back to the agency, as fast as his spectral feet can carry him.

Edwin is sitting right where he left him, almost like he hadn’t moved an inch since Charles walked out of the door, and he hopes to all deities he can think of that it isn’t so; knows, at the same time, that it is.

“Hi”, Charles greets, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and Edwin nods and gives him a smile, brittle and unsure and hopeful, all at once.

“Hello, Charles. Did Crystal get home safe?”, he asks, and it’s so painfully polite it makes Charles cringe.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, of course she did”, he responds, trying to figure out how to begin saying what he needs Edwin to know, but Edwin beats him to it.

“Did you mean it?”, Edwin asks, breathes out the question like he still has lungs to do so, and it’s in that moment that Charles is more certain of his answer than anything else he has ever thought, because Edwin sounds small, sounds vulnerable and breakable and yet so fucking hopeful, and Charles wants to pick him up and cradle him against his chest and never let go again.

“Yes”, he says, and it’s sunrise and violins and bouquets of roses all at once, it’s a single word that changes the world around them. “Kind of. Let me explain.”

And Edwin nods, sits back with his hands in his lap and all Charles can think about is that those same hands belong holding a book, resting on the top of Charles’ legs, which should be flung carelessly across Edwin’s lap, just because Charles wants to be near him.

“You’re the love of my life, no matter what”, he starts, crouching down in front of Edwin so he can take his hands; they look so lost. “You have been for decades. I love you the most of anything in the world. I will always love you the most. Every time I look at you, it’s just that on repeat in my head. I love you the most.”

He ducks his head, laughing softly, because it sounds silly now that he says it out-loud, but when he looks back up, there are tears brimming in Edwin’s eyes, making them shine even brighter.

His lips are parted and for just a moment, Charles thinks about kissing them.

“And you know, I still can’t say that I am in love with you back, because you don’t deserve a lie, but what I can say, what I can promise you, is that I could fall in love with you. And that I want to. More than anything.”

A single tear rolls down Edwin’s cheek, glistening in the dim light, and Charles looks at him, and thinks, I do. I am. I love you the most.

“Could that be enough?”, he asks, squeezing Edwin’s hands in his. “At least for the start?”

And Edwin nods so frantically that more tears spill over, wetting his face, and Charles can’t help but laugh; how strange to think that making Edwin cry for once is not his biggest fear, but something that fills his heart with joy to the point of bursting.

“Okay. Brills, that’s-”, he replies, and can’t keep himself from smiling so wide it would hurt if he was still alive. “So, um. Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you right now.”

Again, Edwin nods, and he is smiling, too, looks so happy that Charles thinks heaven must be overrated, because nothing in the whole of existence could compare to this.

He thinks of the scene he pictured in the park of holding Edwin close and how much in pales in comparison to this, to holding Edwin’s hands and watching him glow with love and hope and warmth.

And leans in to find out if the same is true for kissing him.

(It is.)

[tragedybunny]

I love how you write astarion!! Would love to see you elaborate on that part in Sated where it mentions astarion has a hard time when he feels like tav is mad at him and what would happen with that <3

Hello Hello. Sorry this took a bit.

Treading With Grace - Astarion x GN!Reader

Even with the one he loves, Astarion has a lot of trauma to sort through.

You don’t even remember what exactly what you said, but you knew your tone had been short. The day had been long, like every other day lately, and you hadn’t meant to snap at him. Astarion went silent and turned away from you, whatever his next quip was dying on his tongue. Inwardly, you groaned, now you would have to deal with him being angry at you on top of everything else. Despite the feelings you had for each other, Astarion still had a short-temper he let get away from him at times. 

“I’m going for a walk,” he declared, stalking off even though everyone else in camp was settling in for the night. 

Watching after him, you debated following him, hurt and frustration rising at the seeming abandonment. All it had taken was a couple of cross words to get him to walk away. After a few seconds you sigh and take off after him, not willing to let him revel in his anger and maybe even wanting to argue with him if he was going to be like this. To your shock, you nearly stumble over him not far from camp. “Oh, hello,” he says, glancing up from where he was seated on the ground, voice forlorn, not at all what you had been prepared for. “Are you still mad at me?” The mask of charm and confidence and fallen awaycompletely and this Astarion seemed almost wary of your anger. 

“I-,” you took a seat next to him on the ground. Hovering over him didn’t see like the best way to talk this through. “I’m sorry I sounded cross, I’m not mad at you. Is that why you left?”

When he looks up at you with watery eyes your heart stutters, you hadn’t realized how deep that moment of frustration would cut him, and he sighs. “You know, I don’t think you’ve actually lost your temper with me once. But I just, I can’t stand the idea.” Without interuptting, you shift closer, putting a hand over his where it rests on the ground. “Somone else’s anger doesn’t usually end with pleasant thins for me, and when it comes to us, well.” He follows it with a shrug. 

It’s like he doesn’t want to say, to even give voice to the thought, but you understand the intention, you could just leave him. With anyone else, you might be insulted they could even think about you like that, but he’s known nothing else but this type of petty cruellty for so long.  “I can’t promise to never get angry with you Astarion, but I promise I’ll never try to punish you for it though.” 

He smiles ever so slightly, leaning a head on your shoulder. “Thank you Love, those words  means so much to me.” 

Although he tries desperately to hide it, you’re learning just how much gentleness Astartion needs, a well-spring of love and kindness to support him.You lean a cheek on his head and let the quiet moment between you two keep going a little longer. You make a second, silent promise, to take care with his feelings as much as you can, so he never again walks away doubting if you’ll want him to come back. 

[crystallizsch]

thinking about jamil traveling alone for the first time but for some reason you’re still constantly on his mind

(i’ve been thinking about this and i just needed to get this out of my system and omg this was just supposed to be shorter but it ended up wayyy longer than intended)

(this is also an attempt at another x reader and it was proofread only by myself. some things might read awkward so go easy on me, i barely write 😔😔😔)

(kind of like a future au??? and can be read as romantic/(queer)platonic??)

Jamil had been planning this trip for months.

He had always wanted to travel to a new place by himself where he didn’t have to worry about anything or anyone else. Just himself and his own enjoyment.

Jamil planned on maximizing this whole trip. Reading everything about the place and making sure to see all the things that he would want to see while he was there.

However, you made sure to let him know that he should let himself loose and enjoy his trip naturally. It was supposed to be a fun, stress-free trip after all. Planning it out entirely defeats the purpose of that.

He needed to embrace a little bit of unexpectedness. You said it was “all part of the fun”. If he knew everything there was to expect, what would be the point in visiting?

Jamil saw what you were saying and admitted defeat. He gave you the benefit of the doubt and decided to have flexible and “loose” plans, as you suggested.

Meanwhile, Kalim had already thrown a whole “goodbye” party for him. Thank goodness that Kalim had gradually learned over the years to be more aware of Jamil’s wishes. They simply compromised on a small and humble party (even though Jamil would have preferred not to have one in the first place).

You came with Jamil to drop him off at the station where he was heading. You both exchanged your usual banter, and you wished him safe travels and for him to have fun especially.

You thought you imagined it, but before he was about to leave, he looked like he was about to say something else. And he definitely was about to. You'd never know what it was though.

Instead, Jamil simply bid you farewell.

As Jamil was walking away, you playfully shouted after him to not forget about you. It was only a joke (for the most part).

Jamil didn’t look back, but you know he rolled his eyes in exasperation. And he certainly did, which was followed by a soft smile on his face that you wouldn't get to see.

━━━━━━✦

Once he reached his destination, Jamil took in the new sights. He breathed in fresh air, his chest feeling lighter and more relaxed.

It felt wonderful that, in this place, he was just another face in the crowd. Nobody knows him. And he knows nobody. Everything was new and unfamiliar and he reveled in that feeling. You were right, it was better to experience these things firsthand as being there felt like a fresh start. Even though he knew that this anonymity would only be temporary.

One of the first things Jamil made sure was to keep his phone out of the equation. He needed to experience everything naturally without having the need to document what he saw as well as the stress of other people contacting him.

Jamil might have partially failed on the latter. He had to have his phone open for emergencies for certain people. Unfortunately, some worries and responsibilities can’t really fully leave him.

━━━━━━✦

Jamil first visited an antique clothing store. It was a charming and unique place filled with different kinds of wear, displays of jewelry and trinkets, and of course, the touristy souvenirs. Those were noticeably out of place, but it was to be expected.

Having experience and knowledge about his own job of being aware of what is around Scalding Sands, Jamil was delighted to know that the majority of the products in this store, at least, seemed to be of genuine quality.

Jamil may have to come back to this place. He thought you would really like that little trinket he saw through the window.

As Jamil strolled through, he was surrounded by a vibrant mix of sounds and colors adorning the streets. Individuals, families, tourists, and locals bustled about. There were even street entertainers as well as vendors who tried to sell him their wares, which was always amusing to say the least.

A catchy melody caught Jamil's attention, and he spotted a breakdancer performing on the street. He thought to himself that he might try out the routine for fun, and he'd ask what you would think. You'd enjoy the performance too, wouldn't you?

Jamil was exploring when he unexpectedly stumbled upon some festivities. It appeared to be the festival he had read about that he hadn't planned on participating in until later. Since he stumbled upon it now, he figured he might as well just check it out.

As Jamil looked around, he noticed a dance circle filled with people of all ages. Friends, families, and couples were all dancing together. He felt compelled to join in. It was as if the lively music and the enchanting atmosphere were inviting him personally, and he found himself dancing amongst the people.

The band played with much fervor, and the people were equally as energetic. Jamil was having fun. He caught himself laughing despite himself, his body swaying to the beat and in sync with the other dancers.

No one was here to judge him. No one to evaluate his front, or tell him to keep up an image. Jamil could easily just be himself. And after everything, he could easily choose to fade back into the background.

As soon as the energy died down for him, he looked back at the crowd. It still held the same energy when he went in, but he was personally spent.

Jamil wondered. If you were there, he might have enjoyed it more with you. That thought slipped through his mind, and immediately went away as it came.

The following days were a bit more mellow but still enriching. Jamil wanted to build up to an exciting finish but it seemed like the enjoyment peaked within the first few days.

The cuisine being served there was particularly fascinating. Jamil entered a restaurant, the aroma of delicious food enticing him in. He ordered dishes at a surprisingly decent price for the amazing quality they were being served. Seeing the way the dishes looked reminded him of how he had been getting better at making his own dishes more presentable. It still wasn't perfect; he could still learn more. He could actually take some inspiration from these dishes.

Jamil planned on researching more of the local cuisine once he returned. Then, he could try some rendition of his own and see what you think, as well as hoping that he could do these dishes justice.

━━━━━━✦

This isn't good.

Jamil felt... lonely?

He shouldn’t be feeling this way. What happened to enjoying this trip by himself?

Against everything Jamil told himself not to, he opened his phone and checked his messages, the majority of which were from people who inquired about his trip. This simply soured his mood. If Jamil had his phone ringing for them, he wouldn't have had a break. Why did he even open up his phone for this?

Oh, he knew why.

Your name specifically caught his eye with a preview of your message. He decided to open it up and he saw texts from you telling him to be safe and to have fun, which were basically the same things that you both exchanged when he left.

In the most recent text, you jokingly asked for him to send pictures, fully expecting that he wouldn’t. Admittedly, you were wondering what he was up to. You had really wanted to come with him but knew he really needed his trip for himself.

You felt a bit selfish sending that text because you knew Jamil shouldn't really be worrying about updating you or anyone else about what he was up to.

You didn't know that as soon as Jamil read that message, he briefly considered humoring you. He thought that perhaps he could take only a few photos here and there just to satisfy you. And then explain what else he had seen and experienced so far.

Jamil started to draft a message to send to you. He’s sure that you’d enjoy hearing all about it, plus it’ll be nice to have someone to share this experience with—

He paused at the thought. He saw that typed all he wanted to share at the moment, his finger hovering over the send button.

Wait a minute. No, no. What was he doing? Jamil quickly erased everything he typed out and shoved his phone back in his bag.

This experience was for him and himself only, at least for now. You’ll just have to wait once he returns from his trip.

━━━━━━✦

If Jamil was to be honest with himself, he had actually initially planned this whole trip with you in mind.

Throughout those months of planning, there was never a moment when he wasn't going back and forth with himself whether or not to include you in the trip.

You didn't know about this, of course. If he did manage to plan this whole trip with both of you, it would have been a surprise leading up to it.

But you yourself drilled into him how wonderful it was that he was finally able to go on a trip by himself. This was his very first opportunity to travel by himself and he doesn't know how long he will have that opportunity again. Perhaps it was your sentiments that finally convinced him that this trip was supposed to be for himself alone.

But deep in his heart, Jamil still felt something missing. He felt some kind of regret and longing that now he could not shake off.

As Jamil brooded to himself, he found himself standing in front of the antique store again. Once again, Jamil caught a glimpse of the trinket he had been eyeing the very first day he had been there.

━━━━━━✦

When you told him to not forget about you, you didn’t mean for him to take it so literally.

Jamil shrugged at the call-out, attempting to look unbothered. He had souvenirs for his family too, so it wasn’t like you were the only person he had on his mind.

But you just know he was embarrassed knowing that most of the souvenirs were meant for you. It was funny but really sweet. You assured him that you’d just return the favor next time.

Jamil really didn’t need you to, but perhaps it’ll also be payback enough for you occupying his mind while he was supposed to be away focusing on himself.

Maybe next time it'll be easier if Jamil would just bring you along.

[transformee]

The Naughty List

“The f- uh, can I help you?” Rick wasn’t sure how else to respond in the moment as he walked into his living room to find a large man in a red costume hunched over next to the fireplace.

“Oh, wonderful! Yes, perfect timing as a matter of fact. I was hoping I could wrap up this last stop quickly.” The man put his gloved hand on the mantle and hoisted himself upright, leaving little doubt as to his identify as he turned to face Rick. The beard, the belly, the suit – it was all there.

“Ok then, errr… Santa. I’ll play along. Did Jace put you up to this? How did you even get in here?”

“Why, through the chimney of course, just like always! Things just took a bit longer this year, but here I am!”

“Yeah, I mean, aren’t you a bit late? It’s almost New Years…”

The normally jolly look on Santa’s face soured a bit, although Rick didn’t notice. “Well, there are a couple billion more people than there used to be,” said Santa, dripping with rare sarcasm. “And no one is happy with the simple things anymore, so everything has to be bigger and bigger and better than ever before for social media and-“ Santa snapped out of his little rant, coming back to his senses. "But enough about that. Those gifts are reserved for those on the Nice list. These Naughty stops are usually much faster," he said with a chuckle.

"Ah, so I'm on the Naughty list, eh," Rick said with a smirk, now convinced that this was just a prank or little bit of roleplay that his boyfriend Jace had arranged. "What does that run these days? A few extra lumps of coal from inflation?"

"Sometimes yes, actually. It varies quite widely though, you see. And I do tend to save something... special for my last stop. it makes the rest of my year until next Christmas season much more enjoyable! And you, my little Dickie, have been on the Naughty list for so long, you finally earned that last spot..."

"Dickie? No one has called me that since I was like-"

"8, in fact."

Rick's previously amused expression slowly darkened. "And how the hell would you know THAT? I've never told anyone that, not even Jace."

"Oh, you know how all the songs go... I've been watching you for a long time, Dickie. Or would you prefer another moniker? Big Dick Rick, perhaps?"

"Ok, well, I don't have time for this anymore. Suit yourself." Rick turned around with a huff, intending to leave and accost Jace over the weird interaction in their home.

"Very well - I'll do just that!" A red cloud enveloped Rick from behind as Santa blew a handful of red dust that he had fished out from a punch on his large traditional belt. Rick coughed and waived his arms around before the cloud seemed to thicken and swirl around him until...

"THE FUCK-!?"

Just a quickly as it had swallowed him, the red cloud dissipated and left Rick wide-eyed and speechless. His clothes had all evaporated with Santa's smoke, and he was hovering a few inches above the ground. Santa just smirked as Rick spun his arms and legs around, trying to orient himself and regain some control.

"Ah, that's better! As you said, Rick, I don't have time for this early, so let's get this show on the road. I was going to give you and Jace the same special treatment that I usually save for my last stop, but I just thought of something different for you. Now... come to Santa!"

Rick's ass started to pull backwards towards Santa, with the rest of Rick floating along with it. Meanwhile Santa quickly unbuckled his belt and let his trademark pants fall to the floor, releasing his jolly belly and reveling a modest-but-erect cock aimed right at Rick's ass.

"Wait! Wha- what are you doing?!? N- EE!" Rick's protests ended with a high pitched squeak as Santa's cock slid right into his hole, leaving him mounted mid-air on Santa's crotch. A small moan escaped both their lips before Rick snapped back to his senses, albeit momentarily.

"N- no! This isn't- JACE! Jace! Ja..." Rick's words slurred and his eyes rolled back slightly as a bit more red dust sprinkled down from Santa's glove above his head.

"There, there... Just relax. That'll make this next part faster and more enjoyable for both of us," cooed Santa in Rick's ear. And with that, Santa leaned forward slightly and started to rub his gloved hands down Rick's muscular thighs, rounding his knees before pulling up slightly on his shins and feet. Again and again, Santa gently tucked Rick's lower body up towards his own as the changes slowly became more and more noticeable. With each pass, Rick's legs diminished in size, rounding off and lifting up towards their new home. Santa's balls hung low as Rick's feet finally made contact, merging and sinking inside. Within a matter a moments, Rick's legs had been fully engulfed by Santa's nuts, which now sat slightly larger in Santa's hand. He rolled them around with his gloved fingers, eliciting another louder moan from them both. And then, at least the most perfect or most awkward time...

"Rick, babe, was that you? Did you need help with something?" Jace descended the stairs down in the hall in front of the living room, giving him a direct view of the show. "Babe, what did yo-" Jace's eyes grew wide like saucers at the sight of his legless cross-eyed boyfriend magically suspended out from Santa's crotch. He would have been speechless even if a bolt of Santa's dust hadn't smacked his as soon as he turned the corner, leaving him frozen in place. A few muffled screams faded quickly as the calming effects of Santa's magic took hold.

"Oops! Well that was some interesting timing... Sorry about that, Jace, but you'll just have to wait there for your turn. Don't worry - it won't be long!"

And with that, Santa refocused on the task at hand, quite literally. "Well first, we need to do something about these big broad shoulders of yours!" Santa reached out his large hands and started to caress and press them on Rick's traps, pulling down and back and around from the base of his neck. Just like with his legs, each pass of Santa's hands brought accelerating changes as Rick's muscular shoulders and arms began to smooth down and slowly merge into his torso. Rick's biceps flexed a couple final times on reflex, but that didn't last long as they disappeared into the rest of him. Rick's new shape was becoming more and more clear unbeknownst to him. He simply remained a moaning mess mounted on Santa's cock.

"Mmmmmm, now for the best parts," Santa moaned as he reached back down towards his balls before stroking upwards. He hadn't forgotten that Rick's rock hard cock was still protruding, but not for long. Rick let out his loudest moan yet, and his eyes rolled back again as Santa pressed his cock against his abs, again and again, pressing it deeper and deeper until only Rick's smoothed abs remained. Rick groaned one last time before a different sound finally emerged - more of a gurgle. Santa purred at the new noise. "Mmmmmmm, yes, that's what I've been waiting for. That's what I love to hear..." Shifting his focus one final time, Santa stretched out with both hands as far as he could, just barely able to reach Rick's handsome face. Santa gently caressed Rick's cheeks as he pulled backwards, stroking what remained of Rick's body with both hands all the way down both sides from head to hips, stopping only to give Rick's pecs and nipples a squeeze on the way. The little bit of Rick's consciousness that struggled to hang on quickly lost its will as it felt like Santa's cock was growing inside of him with every stroke. The reality of course was slightly different as it was actually Rick's body dwindling in size. His mind was too mushy to notice however as Santa gave his pecs and nipples one last tease before they disappeared, causing that gurgling sound to bubble up from within Rick again and a dab of drool, or at least something that looked like drool, to dribble out the corner of his mouth and down his chin. Rick's hips had already disappeared into Santa's at this point, leaving what was left of him firmly attached. Santa's floating magic was barely even needed at this point as Santa had shrunk what was left of Rick down down past 3 feet to less than 2. His hands now easily reached all the way around Rick's body, so it was time to finally focus on Rick's head. Santa's gloves gently slid around his face, smoothing his forehead and chin back and down. It only took a few strokes before all that was left was Rick's tiny face on the tip of Santa's significantly larger rock-hard cock. Any illusion of Rick's torso was long gone, with cock veins clearly straining along what had been his body. Cum clearly leaked from his lips as he bobbed up and down a bit, and Rick's glazed eyes could only stare straight up at Santa's jolly face smiled down at him from above. And with that, the last thing that Rick saw was Santa's gloves bearing down on his one last time for one last tug, as his final features smoothed away, leaving just an engorged pink drooling head on the end of the dick that Rick had always been.

Santa groaned as Rick's transformation completed, with every last bit of nerve and fiber finally merged with his own.

"Nnggghhhhhhh, Big Dick Rick indeed..." Santa moaned as his new python of a cock started to soften slightly, all the while continuing to drool. "And for your first performance..." Santa's eyes gleamed as he turned and his mouth drew into a wide smirk... 'I'm going to need a volunteer!"

Horrified didn't even begin to cover it as Jace remained wide-eyed and frozen, staring at his former boyfriend leaking onto the floor from between Santa's jiggling thighs.

"For you, Jace, I've saved the usual 'gift' I give at the end of the season. This one is more for me really, but every now and then a recipient even enjoys it too! Now, don't be shy..." Santa playfully motioned for Jace with his index finger, calling him over.

"Mmmmm... mmmmmm!" Jace tried to cry out but could only manage a muffled protest as he felt himself lift off the ground slightly and twist and angle directly towards Santa. Then, suddenly and far faster than Rick had hovered, Jace was flung across the room in an instant, like a magnet flying to it partner. Jace's destination was far from a magnet however, as Big Dick Rick barreled his way between Jace's lips with a satisfying *schlorp*. Jace gagged from having such a massive member suddenly down his throat, but he quickly relaxed as a light sprinkle of that familiar red dusted his face. His eyes crossed and rolled back as he started to go to town on his former boyfriend, using every trick and tongue that he had ever learned. Santa practically roared in pleasure.

"Good lord, boy! I didn't even suggest... any...JESUS, you're good at this!" Santa could barely form a thought while getting what must've been the best blowjob of his life. He only wished it could've lasted longer, but Rick was so... so... sensitive...!

Three souls groaned as Santa's body started to buck and his 'gift' started to pour into Jace. A torrent of cum and mass and magic erupted from Rick's old lips straight down Jace's throat - far more than should have been physically possible. But this was no normal load, as Jace's body started to quiver. Not that Jace could discern anything further, but Santa's ample body was undergoing a change of its own. His belly shook like a bowl full of jelly as it receded inwards, all while Jace's breathing grew more labored. His tight-fitting clothes groaned, stretching at the seams as Jace expanded in all directions. Every part of him inflated like a balloon as Santa's did the opposite, with the disappearing mass revealing a sculpted physical behind. After the magical climax, Santa slowed stepped back, sliding his cock out of his cock's boyfriend's now-chubby face. Jace slumped to the floor on his knees, leaving his rotund rear end sticking up in the air.

"Aahhhhhh, that always feels soooooo much better, like the best version of getting your hair cut." A barely recognizable figure chuckled over the comatose boyfriend on the floor. Santa's traditional clothes started to shimmer and warp as they slowly reformed on his body. His coat pulled in quickly and tightly, foregoing new sleeves while his baggy pants snaked out from the ground, wrapping themselves around Nick’s tight thighs with a trim fit before covering the softening cock inside, sealing it in its new home.

"This is what can happen to those on the Naughty list, gentlemen. Now, we can revisit your Naughty status near year, depending on your behavior of course. But with that, I think we can call this season a wrap! Time to hit up somewhere warm like Miami and have some fun for a bit!” And with that and a little strut, Nick made his way out of the house, giving Jace’s ample airborne ass a little slap along the way. He stretched his muscles, now on full display, and summoned his list with a puff of red smoke to cross his last names off for the year. However…

“Well what’s this? Did I miss one somehow? I guess we have one more quick stop this year, Rick!” said Nick as he pawed at his crotch with a smirk. “Now let’s see. Bryce… Bryce… are we Naughty or Nice! Ah ha! N-“

———————————————————————

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year to all, especially @bizzhideaway ! 😁

[sepublic]

I’m pretty sure I’m late in posting these revelations from Momocon, but:

TOL LUZ SUPREMACY I’VE ALWAYS SAID IT!!! Look at those gangly spider limbs of hers you can’t tell me Luz isn’t a beanpole!!!

Love Amity and Willow being considered, Willow recognition real! Hunter was also indeed a toddler so that can dispel the Huntlow anti arguments… I always knew baseball was important! Not just to King but I bet to Luz too, given her Dominican heritage! AUGH I really wish we got that now…

So Darius DID see the previous GG’s face, but given his close relationship that doesn’t necessarily mean it was public knowledge. Plus there were differences to throw things in doubt, makes me wonder if Darius or anyone else suspect Hunter was the son of the previous GG and got there through nepotism (as would the previous GG, since Belos is Hunter’s uncle). This also gives us some cues on what Darius’ mentor looked like…

Luz initially being more skeptical of the isles makes sense in some ways, but it also makes more sense in others for her to embrace it, especially since it shows what a weirdo at heart she really is. Interesting that it was also in response to Belos’ development, as Luz is meant to be a foil to him and not just a parallel! He’s the system and prejudices that Luz was fleeing and ultimately confronted and refused to let define her. Makes me wonder if Belos wasn’t always a witch hunter in development, but when that happened Luz was changed to incorporate more of a Man VS Society conflict to her arc. I wonder when all this happened in relation to the pitch bible and pilot?

And anime cover Luz she’s just like me fr!!! Weeb Luz confirmed since the first episode haha. Plus TOAST TOAST TOAST!!!

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part five: in which the doctor extends an olive branch (of sorts) while childe and signora demand your cooperation and a certain someone laments your absence

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will most likely not be romantic interests)

notes: very very slowburn, reader has an attitude and a touch of social anxiety, crack, fluff, vague flirting and emotionally constipated yet unfairly pretty people pining for you

warnings: blood and organs

as always, inform me if you find any pronoun slips!!

series masterlist

word count: 4722 words

author's note: next part will probably be out in the next two days :) please enjoy some weird mfs being simps in the meantime

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  

The Doctor was sitting at his desk reading over some files when you walked into the lab, his free hand holding a vial of bubbling golden liquid suspended in the air as though he’d been in the midst of something and got distracted by the paperwork. You idly wondered if the liquid would evaporate if he let it sit like that for too long while you briefly searched the lab for your cloak. You frowned when you didn’t find it. Where else could it possibly be? Dismissing the issue for now, you rolled up the sleeves of Childe’s coat yet again and checked on the fungi you were growing in petri dishes. If your hypothesis was correct, they’d mutate into the Tri-Lakshana fungi when exposed to concentrated Dendro energy, but before you could test that the samples had to grow. Which they were doing a fabulous job of; one strain in particular had completely covered the bottom of the petri dish, and you quickly transferred it to a larger surface to continue growing. A crow squawked from outside one of the laboratory’s enormous windows, and a cursory glance revealed it was one of the many that had taken to visiting your chamber’s window for food. It was easily identifiable from the purple stain across its claws; the wolfhook extract you’d used to mark them was clearly holding up well. 

So was the all-cure you’d taken that morning; reliable as always, it had reduced your headache to a tiny buzzing in the back of your skull, and the only thing that caused you mental pain at the moment was the thought of Signora and her unwelcome invitation. 

You chewed over the less-than-appealing prospect as you rummaged through the cabinets for a whopperflower stamen. The gala was bound to be uncomfortable, with the Harbingers and their political allies in attendance. You still hadn’t the slightest idea what had come over Signora to invite you; as far as you were concerned, you had absolutely no business being part of such an event. Not to mention the fact that you wouldn’t know anyone there, save for Childe, the Doctor and Signora, but you didn’t seek them out for conversation even in day to day situations, much less in galas where they’d no doubt have important people to chat up. All in all, the entire situation made you a little queasy, and you finished extracting the whopperflower nectar with an anxious sigh. 

You turned to take the bottles of nectar to the cooler, only to jump and stifle a yelp of surprise when you found the Doctor standing right in front of you. Honestly, what is it with these Harbingers and startling me?

“Doctor.” You acknowledged him with a nod. He leaned in closer still, resting his hands on the countertop behind you and effectively trapping you between it and himself. You were immediately struck by several revelations at once; the Doctor was significantly taller than you, tall enough to block out the light from the ceiling lamp and throw a shadow over you, and he was so incredibly close. For whatever reason, you suddenly found it a little hard to breathe.

“You left a few documents on your workbench last night.”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Did I?”

“Yes,” he confirmed wryly, dropping a stack of paper on the countertop behind you. You transferred the bottle to one hand and picked the papers up with the other, a twist of nervousness settling in your stomach when you recognised them. You hadn’t meant for the Doctor to see these. 

“Ah, yes. I’ll take them back with me today.”

“Perhaps you’d like to explain why you have a comprehensive procedure for creating an artificial Vision in your possession,” he drawled, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head to the side as he watched you. You swallowed. 

“It was a… pet project, I never pursued it to completion,” you replied, hoping he’d leave it at that. 

“It’s quite the blasphemous study, don’t you think? Trying to recreate the power of the gods?” 

“Hence why I never completed it.”

“These lovely notes you left in the margins state otherwise,” he remarked, tapping the paper with a gloved finger. “In my laboratory, no less.”

Oh dear. “I-”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the rules, my dear student,” he cut you off.  “Any experiments you wish to carry out on my premises must be approved first. And this”- he tapped the stack of paper again- “was never submitted.”

You felt an embarrassed flush rise to your cheeks. You’d been caught red-handed. Dottore found himself more interested in the blush on your cheeks than your questionable research. Sadistic as he was, watching you scramble for an explanation was rather enjoyable. 

“My apologies, doctor. I let my curiosity get the better of me.”

“You have a recurring habit of doing that,” he replied amusedly. It occurred to you that he didn’t seem particularly angry. You fiddled with one of the buttons on Childe’s coat. 

“I acknowledge it as one of my faults.”

“So very righteous of you.”

“Not particularly, considering I do nothing to remedy it,” you muttered sheepishly in response. The Doctor chuckled. He has a nice laugh. Appalled at yourself, you bury the thought deep in the back of your mind in an attempt to forget you’d ever conjured it. 

“Well, well, well. It seems my apprentice has a rebellious streak after all.” He grinned lazily, stepping back and resting his weight on the countertop behind him so you could slip past and store away the nectar to cool. 

You feel yourself flush anew. Archons, this is horrifically embarrassing. “Once again, I apologise for acting without approval.”

“And if I don’t accept your apology?” Dottore asked, more to see you squirm than anything else. 

“I suppose I’ll conveniently vanish from the face of Teyvat without a trace, doctor.”

He let out a surprised bark of laughter. “Why, are you implying I’d have you killed?”

“Well, consider this: your interpretation is ultimately a reflection of your subconscious,” you replied, shooting him a lopsided, slightly uncertain smile over your shoulder. This was unfamiliar ground, joking around with the Doctor, and you were afraid to overstep. He returned the smile with twice the intensity and amount of teeth; you caught a glimpse of his fangs. 

“If that is true, then perhaps you’d do well to watch your mouth.”

You turned away to hide your widening smile, chuckling softly under your breath. Exchanging barbs with the Doctor was proving to be incredibly fun. 

“Would you like me to offer you a third apology?”

“I’m feeling generous,” he replied, amusement evident in his tone. “I’ll forgo causing your disappearance in exchange for your assistance in an experiment.”

“Deal,” you agree with a mock-serious nod, shrugging off Childe’s coat when the sleeves slipped past your fingertips for the millionth time. It wouldn’t do to have them in the way, and besides, the lab was warmer than the rest of the palace. “What’s the procedure?”

Three hours later, you slumped over the marble workbench with a groan. Blood stained your arms all the way up to your elbows, and your favourite turtleneck was utterly ruined. The experiment was a lengthy, gory process; the removal of organs for individual study. Though you were hardly one to shy away from getting your hands a little dirty, this was a little much even for you. You’d gone through thirteen scalpels alone, but at the very least the liver, brain and kidneys you’d extracted were perfectly intact and more than suitable to be experimented on. You wished for an immediate solution to your agonising back pain after holding yourself stiffly over a corpse for hours, though; you couldn’t even keep yourself upright, your forehead pressing against the cool surface. It helped with the headache that was gradually squirming its way back into your skull. 

“Tired?” The Doctor asked, sparing your collapsed body an amused glance. He was somehow perfectly fine, much to your indignation. 

“I think tests on my organs would reveal unprecedented results at this moment,” you grumbled without lifting your head. Your hair splayed across the marble, which you recognised as a potential source of contamination yet wholeheartedly dismissed in favour of giving your aching muscles a rest. Dottore tugged off his bloodied gloves, watching you with a bemused smirk. 

“That can certainly be arranged,” he replied, baring his teeth in a shark-like smile. You shot him a withering glare then fumbled with the chain attached to your belt to check the time; your pocket watch smugly informed you that it was close to midnight. A muttered curse slipped past your lips, foul enough to make even Dottore raise his eyebrows behind his mask and do a double take while you ruminated over the unpleasant possibility that the dining hall would be closed at this time, and you idly wondered if dried jueyun chilis would serve as an adequate substitute for fresh ones (you knew perfectly well they didn’t even compare, but deluding yourself was an infinitely more appealing prospect at the moment.) You heard the clinking of jar lids, specially sealed with an anti-moisture formula developed from the pollen of Nilotpala lotuses. 

“Add a little slime condensate to the brain,” you muttered into the countertop with an absent-minded gesture of your hand. 

“My, my, how brazen of you to issue orders to your superior.”

“Please add a little slime condensate to the brain, doctor,” you quipped back with enough sarcasm to make the title sound like an insult. 

“No,” Dottore replied pleasantly, sealing away the liver and kidneys. “It’ll disrupt the ion concentration and water content.”

“That would be true if I said concentrate, but I didn’t. Slime condensate is dilute enough to not interfere with the neurons' cytoplasm, but it’ll keep the brain fresher.”

“Very good,” he said approvingly. He’d heard you, and he knew you were right, but he’d wanted to test you. “You retain your focus even in subpar conditions.” 

“As expected of any scientist worth their salt,” you said wryly, lifting your head to rub your eyes and grope along the countertop for your glasses. You were a little miffed that he’d felt the need to test your understanding of such a simple concept. 

You rubbed your eyes again. “Doctor, can you see my glasses?” You asked, squinting to observe the array of equipment strewn across the workbench. 

“No,” he lied, twirling them between his fingers and watching you search for them. You clicked your tongue with dissatisfaction, leaning in closer to the workbench’s surface in an attempt to see more clearly. Dottore bit back a chuckle. 

“Oh, damn it all. I could’ve sworn they were right here…” 

“Can’t find them?” He asked, an obvious lilt of amusement in his voice. You looked up, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“You have them, don’t you?”

“Ah, you saw through me so quickly,” he said, sounding simultaneously impressed and disappointed. “Am I really so obvious?”

“Hand them over,” you demanded, holding out your hand. 

He grinned so wide that you saw the flash of white from his teeth even with your vision blurred. 

“Such a shameful manner to adopt with a superior,” he said with a shake of his head. 

You rubbed your eyes and let out an exasperated huff. You could sense a shift in your dynamic with the Doctor, but clearly he was the only one who knew how to navigate it, leaving you disoriented and unsure of how to respond. 

“Doctor. It’s nearing one in the morning, and I have to return to my dormitory. Which I can’t safely do without being able to see half a metre in front of me.”

“Surely your eyesight isn’t quite that terrible.” He knew it was. In fact, he had a perfect copy of your first diagnosis and most recent check-up in his file of you. That file had grown to concerning sizes ever since your apprenticeship began. The Doctor reasoned that it would be a scientific sin if he didn't document everything he could about such a fascinating test subject. You sighed; you had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

“Please give me my glasses.”

You didn’t he could possibly grin any wider, but he proved you wrong. Despite his amusement being at your expense, you still found yourself thinking that his smile wasn’t unpleasant to look at. Objectively speaking, of course.

“In exchange for what?” He drawled, raising his eyebrows behind his mask.

An indignant flush rose to your face. In your defence, it was late, and the Doctor really was being an ass.

“In exchange for your DNA cloning not to be tampered with,” you fumed. “It would be a shame if someone were to denature the enzymes. Or accidentally alter the base sequence.”

“My dear student, are you threatening me?”

“The glasses, doctor.” You held out your hand again.

Dottore sighed mock-defeatedly, rounding the workbench and making his way towards you.

“You are so terribly demanding,” he remarked. You glowered at him, arms folded, until his gloves fingers took hold of your chin, tilting your face upwards. Your eyes widened in shock as he came close enough for you to make out the detailing of his mask. “Just demanding enough for me to listen to you,” he murmured, lifting you glasses and setting them on the bridge of your nose. His grasp on your chin didn’t loosen, and he was incredibly thankful for his mask in that moment. It hid the way his eyes couldn’t help but gravitate towards your lips. You stood there frozen from shock until your limbs regained the ability to move and you stepped away with a nervous mumble; “I should be going now.” Dottore watched you hurry away with a self-satisfied smirk.

Disconcerted by the Doctor’s behaviour, you didn’t notice Childe’s sleeping form sprawled in front of the laboratory door until you tripped over him. He jerked awake as you steadied yourself.

“Trixy!” Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he clambered up from the floor and instinctively grabbed onto you for support when he swayed a little on his feet. You did your best to support his much taller body with your own.

“Eleven? What are you doing here?” You asked, bewildered. He leaned heavily against your shoulder, stifling a yawn. His movements were oddly uncoordinated, you noticed.

“You promised you’d come to dinner and you didn’t.” He was practically pouting. It was almost cute, if you convinced yourself to forget that he was a Harbinger. “I was waiting for you!”

“Why in Teyvat”- with a grunt, you pushed him off you. “What possessed you, you buffoon? Dinner was six hours ago!”

“If you keep calling me names I won’t give you these chillies I brought from the kitchen.”

“Oh, Childe,” you murmured, dragging a hand down your face. “Are you sober?”

He giggled.

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so,” you agreed, looping his arm over your shoulder. You could faintly smell the wine on him. Red, if your nose was accurate. “Move it,” you ordered, dragging him towards the stairs. He grumbled a protest, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You took off my coat.”

“The sleeves were too long,” you replied, carefully navigating the stairs with him in tow. Surprise, surprise, it was far from easy to descend a spiral staircase with an overgrown Harbinger who refused to look where he was going leaning against you. “Eleven, for Celestia’s sake.” You rapped your knuckles against his skull to get him to look up. “Raise your head and tell me where your bloody dorm is.”

“Trixyyy, don’t yell at me,” he whined into your neck.

“Focus, Eleven. You’re drunker than a single father on a Friday night and you need to rest. Now exert a little effort and tell me where your dorm is, or Archons help me I’ll leave you right here in the hallway.”

His incoherent mumbling echoed through the empty corridor, the palace eerily silent save for your footsteps and breathing. The foggy glow from the lamps glinting off the silver in the walls and throwing large shadows across the floor only added to the unnerving atmosphere, and you found yourself slowly getting nervous. With a muttered curse, you decided to drag him to your room instead. You knew where that was, at least.

It took entirely too long to reach the door to your room; Childe was not only ridiculously tall, but also heavy and resolutely uncooperative. You fumbled for your key with one hand while the other supported his limp body; after a moment of struggling with the chain at your belt you managed to get it unhooked and unlocked the door, dumping Childe onto the nearest armchair.

“Damn you,” you muttered.

“So mean,” he protested, staring up at you as you made your way to the bathroom. He really wasn’t that drunk; a little tipsy, sure, but he was definitely playing it up. If it got him an ounce of your attention then he’d gladly throw his dignity to the four winds, shameless as it was.

“Don’t move,” you instructed him with a stern look before disappearing into the bathroom. He heard rushing water and concluded you were probably getting rid of the mysterious blood stains all over your torso.

To your eternal horror, when you emerged from the bathroom La Signora was lounging in the other armchair by the fire smoking a pipe of some mysterious substance you were quite certain you’d smelled in the Jade Chamber before. Perhaps Lady Ningguang and La Signora had similar smoking habits.

“L-lady Eight?”

She turned slightly to shoot you a knowing, dangerous smile after darting a look loaded with meaning between you and Childe passed out drunk in the other armchair. You blushed scarlet from your neck to the tips of your ears, clearing your throat and towelling your hair dry.

“A pleasure to see you again, my lady.”

“Is it really, little one?” She countered, surveying you with her one visible eye and taking a long drag from her pipe. “I seem to have come at a bad time.”

“Not at all,” you insisted. “Lord Eleven- well, I tripped over him while exiting the Doctor’s laboratory. He seems to be fairly… intoxicated.”

Signora hummed, resting her chin in her hand and tapping her manicured nails against her cheek as she watched you dry off your hair. No doubt you’d been preparing to go to sleep.

“Is there anything you require my assistance with, my lady?” You ventured.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” she replied, calm and unhurried.  “Come here.”

You stepped towards her.

“Closer, little one.”

Another couple of steps.

“Perfect. Now…” She rose from the chair and held you by the shoulders, manoeuvring you into it instead. Setting the pipe aside, she bent over to scrutinise you thoughtfully, tilting your face to assess how you looked at different angles and in different lighting. Truly a work of art, she thought. You held your breath and sat as still as possible, your back ramrod straight.

“Lady Eight…?”

“You have nothing to wear for the gala. We’ll have to remedy that,” she murmured, tapping her finger on your cheek. You weren’t surprised that she knew the contents of your wardrobe in the slightest; the Fatui probably knew things even you didn’t know about yourself yet. (You were right).

“You’d look ravishing in red,” she mused.

“I’m sure your opinion on such matter is indispensable.”

“Quite right,” she agreed, moving away from you a little. “And my opinion is that we should dress you in red.”

“As my lady wishes.”

Childe had had quite enough of listening to Signora fawn over you, and chose that exact moment to get up and stride over.

“I think blue would be a better choice,” he interjected. You shot him a disbelieving look.

“You put on quite a convincing act of being unconscious, don’t you, my lord?”

Signora appraised him coolly. “Nonsense, Childe. Red.”

“Blue,” he argued, grazing his knuckles across your jaw. You shivered.

“Let us discuss this in the morning,” you suggested, moving to get up. Both Childe and Signora pushed you back down while glaring heatedly at each other. The air crackled with tension you could identify but not recognise; the two were clearly locked in some battle of wills.

“You should wear something blue, Trixy.”

“The gala is still months away-”

“Red is a much better choice. You agree, don’t you, little one?” Signora interjected, stroking your hair.

“Objectively speaking, it’s hardly relevant nor important what colour I wear,” you pointed out.

“Nonsense,” Signora said dismissively. “You’ll be the gem, the star of the gala. Of course it matters.”

Childe nodded, as much as he hated to agree with Signora. You massaged your temples.

“That’s simply not true. Lady Eight, you told me yourself this gala is an event reserved for the maintenance of the Fatui’s connections. My personal appearance doesn’t factor into the equation in any way, shape or form.”

“Maybe our enjoyment depends on you,” Childe said with a grin, taking your hand and brushing a kiss across your knuckles. Oh, Archons. He’s completely drunk. Utterly sloshed. You were beginning to feel a little cloistered with both of them hovering over you, making nonsensical claims and debating irrelevant points.

“Blue.”

“Red.”

“A coin toss in the morning will decide,” you announced firmly, rubbing your eyes. It was appallingly late, and you knew waking up for the Doctor’s seven am lab session was going to be an evil experience. You really weren’t keen on making it any worse because two Harbingers couldn’t hold back their egos over something as trifling as your outfit.

Of all the ways to establish superiority, why did they have to pick one that involves me?

“My lord, my lady, please allow me to see you out,” you continued, rising from where you were seated. Childe pouted.

“I’m drunk, Trixy. You have to nurse me back to health.”

Signora clicked her tongue derisively, and you mentally agreed with her. With a sigh, you rummaged through your medicine drawer for the tonic you’d concocted for hangovers. Though you weren’t a big drinker yourself, during your Akademiya years many of your friends indulged in the bad habit of drinking themselves half-blind (usually Kaveh and Dehya) and you didn’t have the patience to deal with their slurring words and careless behaviour. Hence your useful tonic. You shoved a vial of it at Childe.

“Drink this,” you ordered.

“What is it?”

“If you want to be ‘nursed back to health’ then drink what I give you without asking questions.”

He shrugged and knocked back the tiny vial in one fell swoop, grimacing as the bitter taste settled on his tongue.

“Is this poison?” He exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Signora rolled her eyes.

“Yes, you fool,” she said contemptuously. “The little one had the utter gal to poison you in front of a Harbinger. That’s absolutely what happened.”

He muttered a derisive comment or two under his breath while you tried to push him towards the door. When he didn’t budge an inch, your patience finally snapped.

“Damn it all, won’t you leave, both of you?! I have more important matters to concern myself with than an overgrown child and a tempestuous mistress!”

Stunned by your outburst, they both left without another complaint. Childe even uttered a ‘Sorry, Trixy…” as the door closed behind him. You locked the door, stomped over to the bed and went to sleep without even bothering to fully dry your hair.

You regretted that in the morning as you wrestled the unkempt, tangled strands into a semi-acceptable state. Panic prevailed; you didn’t have anything stored away to eat for breakfast, and a trip to the dining hall would definitely make you late. You cursed the Doctor to the lowest ring of hell, making a mad dash to grab a bite to eat anyway; it was his fault you woke up so late, keeping you in the lab until after midnight. You nearly crashed into Anya in the hallway in your haste, and you called out an apology that was quickly swallowed by the chatter of recruits and their footsteps. The dining hall had never seemed so far away, and you kept stealing glances at your pocket watch as you leaped down a full flight of stairs and all but tripped through the enormous doors, making a beeline towards the tables with the intention of wolfing down a leftover slice of pie at the very least. Damn it all. Even your precious morning tea was forgone in favour of scrambling back to the door and attempt to make it to the lab in time.

But you didn’t even make it to the door; a hand grabbed the back of your coat (Childe’s coat, really, that you’d thrown on in a fit of desperation) and yanked you away from the door.

“What”- you whirled around and were met by a rather familiar masked face inches from yours. The strange woman who you’d taken to calling ‘Arlie’ as a nickname. “Release me this instant, I’m late.”

She tsked, pulling you closer by your collar this time.

“Where have you been?”

You shot a desperate glance at your watch. In all fairness, her irritation could very well be justified; you often took dinner together and chatted over dessert at least every other day. Besides, the sheer authority she exuded was enough to make you feel rather guilty. You hadn’t been to the dining hall in nearly a week, surviving off jars of reheated soup and candied amakumo fruit. Clearly your presence was more impactful to Arlie than you’d thought (she thought it was rather obvious; going to the trouble of a disguise just to indulge in conversation with you should’ve been an adequate indicator).

“It’s been an awfully busy week, Arlie, I’m sorry,” you said hurriedly, licking a few crumbs from the pie’s crust off your fingertips. Much to her relief, her mask concealed the way her eyes immediately latched onto your mouth and tongue. The room felt a little hotter all of a sudden. “I really must be going, the Doctor will have my bones on a silver platter if I keep him waiting any longer.”

Arlie rolled her eyes. As if she’d let any harm come to her little pet, by the hand of Dottore or otherwise. Nevertheless, she released you.

“I’d like to see you at dinner today.” It was more of a warning than an invitation. You were too rushed to protest her patronising tone, and you rather enjoyed the meals you shared too.

“You will,” you promised, and then rushed out of the door towards the lab. She watched the white velvet of your coat disappear with a slight frown; now how could she get you to stop wearing that fool’s clothes?

 

The door to the laboratory was hanging ajar. Thoroughly unusual, but you were fifteen minutes late by then and a lapse in the Doctor’s obsessively maintained habits took a backseat. You stepped into the lab with as much dignity as you could muster, determined not to look guilty; everyone was late now and then, the Doctor could bloody well suck it up-

A pair of hands grabbed you by the shoulders and dragged you the rest of the way into the lab, shaking you vigorously. With an irritated, surprised yell, you tried to shove away the assailant, and when that didn’t work you resorted to your trusty glare.

Oh. The man looked remarkably like the Doctor. The same curly, silver-blue hair and stubborn set to his jaw. And the same curve to his top lip.

The jarring similarities made you pause and scrutinise the man a little more closely.

“Who are you?” You asked bluntly, frowning as you tried to remember if the Doctor ever mentioned having siblings. You could hear more voices coming from further inside; tiptoeing, you caught sight of several more Dottore-like people. So definitely not siblings, then. The not-Doctor tsked, then shook you hard again to regain your attention. “Who are all of these people? Why do you all look like the Doctor?”

At the sound of your voice, all the Dottore clones went scampering away through exits you hadn’t even known existed.

“Where were you, you disagreeable fool?”

You stared up at the clone who still hadn’t let go of you.

“I’d like an explanation as to why there are apparently multiple copies of my supervisor.”

“You’re every bit as nosy as Prime said…” he muttered.

“And who, pray tell, is Prime? Is that some sort of a code name for my Doctor?”

“Quite right,” a familiar, drawling voice responded. The clone tensed up then hurried off, leaving you off-balance and stumbling. “You are late. Inexcusably so,” the Doctor said, watching you steady yourself.

“Why are there seven clones of you?”

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*