#it's very easy to spot the irrationality in A

[touchmycoat]

SALARY NEGOTIATIONS REALLY ARE THE MOST FUCKING NERVE-WRACKING THING AREN’T THEY I’M GARGLING SAND BOOOOOIIIIIII

[save-the-villainous-cat]

no clue if you’re taking requests still, but if u are, sub! villain given truth serum in an interrogation style manner, except the villain has a huge crush on hero and does not want to admit it, and when hero is having too much fun flustering the villain, they accidentally let it slip they like them

sorry if this makes no sense

“Adorable,” the hero announced. “You are. So. Cute.”

They dragged their index finger across the villain’s body; from one shoulder to the other, going over the highs and lows of their enemy’s collarbones agonisingly slow. Though the villain struggled, they couldn’t do much since the hero had tied them to a chair, leaving them bound and above all helpless.

“I won’t tell—”

“Shhh.” The hero put both their hands on their enemy’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “Calm down, you’re so tense.”

“You don’t intimidate me,” the villain spat and pulled their shoulders away from the hero’s touch. Nevertheless, the hero spotted the blush on their cheeks, the blush on their neck... 

“Good thing that intimidation isn’t what I am going for,” they said. They touched the villain’s neck which made them smirk and the villain jump. When they walked around the villain until they stood in front of them again, they noticed that the blush had reached their ears. Satisfied didn’t even begin to describe their mood.

“Fucking loser,” the villain mumbled. 

“Oh, please. You hurt my feelings.” The hero bent forward and brushed the villain’s lips with their fingertips. “My god, you need to drink something.”

Very coincidentally, they had taken a water bottle with them into the interrogation room — out of pure self-interest, obviously — and offered it to the villain who just raised their eyebrows. Suspicion was all their face could manage to come up with.

“Cheap trick,” the villain said. “Very low for someone like you.” 

“Ah, I’m very good at convincing people.” They took a sip of the water and smiled. “See? No poison.” 

“I’m not gonna drink that,” the villain insisted. 

“It’s not poison.”

“Probably no water either.” 

“Didn’t hurt me.” The hero took another sip.

“Sorry but I don’t really trust your judgeme—”

Once again, the hero invaded their beloved enemy’s personal space but this time, they were much more impatient. They pressed a kiss to the villain’s lips and it was ridiculously easy to force their lips apart. When they kissed them, they pushed their tongue and the water into the villain’s mouth messily. It dripped down the villain’s chin as the hero forced them to swallow. 

It had been going on for too long. This endless tiptoeing around each other and the hero absolutely hated it. If the villain wanted this, if they wanted to play dumb and pretend they weren’t a total mess whenever the hero was towering over them…No, this was wrong. This was so wrong.

They pulled away with greedy breaths, being so shocked at their own obsession that they wanted to slap themselves. Kissing the villain without permission? What was happening to them?

“You taste so good—” the villain said absentmindedly but when they came to the realisation of what those words meant, their eyes grew. “Fuck, I—”

The hero stared at them. 

“You’re blushing.” 

Wrong, the villain was burning with embarrassment. 

Somehow, the villain had the ability to make the hero lose their mind as well. To act irrationally and impulsively. All of that without a truth serum. They needed to control themselves. 

“Okay, darling. Let’s start over. Neither of us can lie, so this should be fun,” they said. 

“I don’t want to tell you about my plans. This is audacious. Especially for a hero.” The hero smirked.

“Then tell me about my plans.” Their thumb brushed over the villain’s bottom lip again. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

[acti-veg]

Something I can’t wrap my head around is leftist who are against veganism. These are the same people who talk about how consent is the most important thing, about how capitalism exploits workers and the objection of woman. yet all that gets thrown out when we talk about animals? I am very left wing and before I became vegan I never disagreed with vegan ethics I just kinda expect I had a double standard.

(witch in hindsight isn’t much better, but hey I rather take someone being honest then being inconsistent just to save themselves)

but how can someone say I am against rape, exploitation and objectification and the next breath be all for it. I genuinely don’t understand and I feel I am going crazy?

Being against those things in principle doesn’t actually require anything from us beyond asserting that we’re against them, and perhaps signing a petition or two. Veganism however, requires personal sacrifice, it requires introspection, the admission of personal wrongdoing, and a radical shift in how you think think and live your life. You have to do veganism not just talk about it.

This obviously should also be the case for leftist politics in general, but veganism is an excellent example of how much of it is just talk. It’s all very well saying you support bodily autonomy and oppose exploitation when it’s being done by someone else, far away, then fail to do so when you’re the one benefiting from it. Blackfish was an excellent example of this, how suddenly people believed in animal rights and boycott when it was an activity they didn’t plan on engaging with anyway. See also Yulin, whale hunting, fur, foie gras etc.

There is also the propaganda and the social pressure to contend with. There is this enormous blind spot when it comes to animal rights, that otherwise progressive people find themselves parroting socially conservative (and sometimes even actual fascist) talking points to justify their own behaviour. Carnism is so difficult to contend with precisely because it is invisible, that’s why leftists in particular are irrationally offended by the fact that this word even exists.

Veganism aligns perfectly with leftist, anti-capitalist values, and is in fact a logical application of those values. This is why leftists are so aggravated by veganism; they know full well that this is in line with their own values. It is an affront to their identity as leftists, as animal lovers, as ‘good’ people in general. Coming to terms with the fact that you are complicit in exploitation and abuse, then changing your life accordingly is not an easy thing. It is all too tempting to treat those encouraging you to do so as an enemy so that you never have to really grapple with your own guilt.

[frogsmulder]

When the Ice Melts

Chapter 1/4

What if all the sexual tension in that Ice scene was for a reason?

Mulder and Scully hook up before Mulder is locked up in storage, and she comes to believe that he was infected; 5.2k words; rated e; tagging @today-in-fic

read on AO3

Scully pauses in the dark before her door, an unease settling in her gut. She watches as Mulder unlocks his door, disappearing, the urge to say something to make him stay trapped on the tip of her tongue. She hesitates, self-aware and stumbling. She takes a jagged breath and the words lurch from her, expulsed by their own volition. “Good night, Mulder.” She bites her cheek at the sound of her own weak voice, so unlike her. So far from the civilization that has conditioned her, she’s forgotten how to command her presence with confidence. Perhaps it was the quiet of his brief company that deceived her senses; let her sink into vulnerability in front of him. She has noticed the way she reacts around him, the way he opens up a raw part of her she is scared she recognises. Yet she is drawn to uncovering the feeling over and over; drawn to him over and over.

The dim light seeping into the hallway illuminates his smile when he leans through the doorway. “Good night, Scully.” 

His quiet return sends flutters of elation through her core, she tries hard to suppress and ignore. But again, the need to see him a little longer outweighs her sensibility. “At least everyone’s okay.”

His eyes soften, considering, lending her an opportunity to escape the fool she is making of herself. “Don’t forget,” His voice catches her and pulls her around again. “The spots on the dog went away.”

Watching as he goes to his room, obscured by the darkness, his words tumble around her head. The hallway empty, she alone, the unease returns and curdles in his absence. The spots on the dog went away. 

Opening her door, Scully runs from the feeling of dread, chastising her irrationality. She turns on the light and washes away the darkness, banishing those thoughts to the back of her mind. The room is as she expects from a group of men living alone in the arctic: clustered and disorganised, dubious posters and the singular smell of sweat and deodorant. Familiar yet of no comfort. Further in the details of the former occupant’s life are the very human idiosyncrasies that remind her why they are really out here. The unopened birthday present, the photos of family: these men had full lives with people missing them, so easy to forget in the cold all alone. She picks up a frame casing a boy and his parents. It radiates warmth and intimacy, almost tangible in her hands, but where are they now? God had sent that boy here and delivered him into the arms of disaster. Now she stands here in his place, in his room, watching over his things: a stranger. She wonders about her own mother, how she would react if it was her God had delivered and not some poor other soul–wonders what might yet happen. The spots on the dog went away. 

Unable to look into their faces any longer, she turns all the pictures upside down and hauls the draws in front of the door. The loud scraping of the wood against the floor grates against her nerves. Sinking to the floor, she cradles her legs against her chest. This isn’t like her; she decides, curled up in a corner, cowering from terrors. She looks to the door as if she could see through it, anticipating the danger lurking outside, preparing to jump at any moment. Taking a deep breath, she turns away to look anywhere but there. Her eyes land on the ceiling and she licks her lips. It’s hopeless. Something beyond draws her attention back, luring her in with the bait of curiosity like a fish on a hook. She knows what it is before she can recognise the feeling: the thought of Mulder has wormed its way back into her mind. Part of him has implanted himself in her prefrontal cortex, steering her subconscious, in a way she cannot shake. His casual charm and boyish annoyance have always caught her attention but out here, isolated… 

He is the only one she can trust – not even herself. 

Resolutely, Scully swallows down the fear brewing within her. She is a scientist and a detective: observation is her prerogative, and paper and pen, her equipment. Slowly, she moves away from the door to where she left her bag on the bed. Withdrawing her notepad, she outlines a list:

I don’t feel like myself

Fear or Parasite?

Fear = high adrenaline situation, isolation, distrust, arguments w/ mulder

Parasite = exposed to infected blood, the spots on the dog went away

When did I start to feel this way?

… After Bear got infected - infected blood?

She knows she’s going to do it before she even gets up from the bed. She thinks as she pulls the draws back again that they were there to stop her getting out as much as to stop anything getting in. All the while, a niggling feeling is telling her this is pivotal. Beyond the door is a choice she cannot return from, but if she stops now it will never happen. She knows it like a cold ache in her bones, the consequences of both action and inaction haunting her future. The only remaining question is, which ghost is she less afraid of?

His door is cold and stinging beneath the soft rapp of her knuckles. Scully waits with bated breath, stranded in the corridor, floating further away from her conviction with each passing silence marked by her thumping heart. She is about to accept the fate of path of inaction when the door creaks open a jar, revealing a squinting, bare-chested Mulder. 

The flick her eyes make to his torso is involuntary, barely a millisecond in length, but it feels obvious like a large clumsy mistake, as grand as tripping over her own feet. In this close proximity, she can hear his breathing stop, see his gaze catch, feel his notice. She keeps her eyes fixed to his, untrusting of herself to not make a second observation. She is a scientist after all.

He swallows thickly. “Hey.”

With his simple greeting she relaxes, distracted from the tension tightening between them. “Hey,” is all she can think to say back, but with that single word he seems to understand her completely. 

A wry smile forms on his lips and he opens the door wider, gesturing for her to come in. “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

She ducks under his arm. By the dim light of the hallway, she surveys his room, much similar to hers, with the exception of his clothes joining the clutter on the floor: it pulls a smirk from her. She hears the soft click of the door closing behind her, swaddling them in privacy. “I feel like I'm going out of my mind, Mulder.”

“I know–” his hand briefly rests at the small of her back as he passes her to turn the night lamp on. Suddenly, a warm glow floods the space and lights up Mulder’s sober, empathetic expression. It catches her off-guard: how deeply his eyes seem to burrow into her soul, seeing right through her, as if he’s known her for more than a lifetime. Carefully, he sits down on the bed, always his attention remaining on her. “I’m scared too, Scully.”

She remains standing in front of him, her hands clasped awkwardly. She shakes her head. “No, Mulder… I think, I’m not sure, I don’t feel like myself.” And then in a whisper, she adds, “I think I might be infected.”

His face falls with a crashing wave of sickly pallor. He blinks slowly. Reaching out for her hand he pulls her closer, down next to him on the bed. She follows his lead in a motion so smooth and natural she doesn’t question why she lets him move her like this until she is sat too close to him. Close enough she can feel herself leaning towards the warmth he radiates. 

Measuredly, he says, “Da Silva checked you.”

Scully looks down, feeling Mulder's thumb gently stroke the back of her hand. While the contact is comforting she is still unsure, somehow detached from the sensation. 

“Like you said–" she lifts her head, yet her eyes trail behind on the spot where he is touching her– "the spots on the dog went away.”

He stares at her in uncertainty; she can see his mind working, searching for an argument to the contrary–but that's her job. She shouldn't need him to explain all the rationalised possibilities, she is capable of that herself; it's her forte, field of expertise, reason of current employment and yet… 

“You are still acting rationally though– seeking out advice.”

“We don’t know how it affects different sexes; our only confirmed infections are all male. We have been looking for symptoms as they present in men–”

“And dogs,” he interjects: a failed attempt to lighten the mood. 

“But behavioural effects are doubtless going to present themselves in different ways, especially if it does subsist on the production of hormones, as those are in different balance across the sexes.” Scully shakes her head, scoffs hopelessly. She looks into his eyes properly for the first time since she knocked on his door. “Mulder, I could be infected and we may never know.”

He nods pursing his lips. “Regardless, Scully, I know you're not infected.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He bites back a smile and shrugs as though that were the only explanation he need give. “I’d know.” She remains unconvinced, needing more evidence than a hunch to ease her worry. His tongue peaks out to wet his lip and he sighs, seeing her expression. “If it would make you feel better, I can check you again.”

She considers and nods slowly, turning her back to him. It occurs to her, in this position, how vulnerable she is, yet she isn't scared of the feeling. Instead she chases after it, pulling her shirt over her head, the cold touch of air to her skin a sharp reminder of her position. The mattress dips behind her as he moves closer and she holds her breath. 

Suddenly, she feels his breath brush the shell of her ear as he murmurs, "I promise I will be every bit the gentleman.” 

Scully blushes and chastises herself for her disappointment, bowing her head to hide her face, concealing her embarrassment as much from herself as from him. 

The heat of his hands prickle and burn her senses as they approach her skin, brushing away the baby hairs at her neck. His fingertips brush so softly down her back, charting every bump of her spine, searching for any imperfection that could belie the truth. He skims over the goose flesh of her arms, gently clasping her wrists, returning to guide her arms above her head one at a time. 

Scully swallows. The trace of his fingertips down her ribs makes her shiver and swell with an undeniable gasp, so close to the side of breast. Casting an uncertain glance over her shoulder, she is met with his small, apologetic smile. He mouths 'sorry' and abruptly she is aware of how still the room is; all she can hear is her own short breath and blood rushing between her ears, playing the same beat that pulses between her legs. 

Cutting the taught thread of his gaze, she turns around and leans further into him, trusting him. Taking his hand that is resting at her waist she holds it to her neck. "You need to apply more pressure, Mulder." She covers his hand with her own, guiding him. "Like this." 

He manipulates and massages the flesh of her neck and all the way down her spine. She allows the fantasy in the deep waters of her mind to play between the shores of her conscious and unconscious thought: how good it would feel if he were as possessive and caring of her pleasure as this. She closes her eyes against the force of the tide that storms her, washing her in arousal. She licks her lips in desperate agony. 

"Scully?" 

Her voice cracks, "Y-es?" She turns around to see him smirking gleefully; I told you so written all over his face. "No worms?" 

"No worms."

She's about to ask him if she can stay, not ready to be alone just yet, when Mulder moves away, turning his back on her. It's a moment before she realises he's looking for reciprocation. His back is bare before her and she reminds herself that this is just a routine examination – if she doesn't employ medical detachment, she doesn't know if she will have the confidence to do this. Yet as she raises a hand to smooth over his skin, she trembles, unable to ignore the heat that emanates from him, the heat he is making her feel. Clenching a fist, she steadies herself and allows herself to touch him. 

The first thing she notes is how soft his skin is. The second is the tone of his muscles across his shoulders. The third is how easily her mind has wandered from the task at hand. She is sure to do a more than thorough job, mapping every inch from his broad shoulders to down the sides of his torso. She finds by accident that he is ticklish there, jerking away from her touch with a sharp breath through his nose. It is odd to think of her partner as having such a simple weak spot. Usually he is so strong, stoic and solemn, even his humour is dry. She knows by reason that he is not weak, the little of his past she has the privilege of knowing only makes her think that more not less. As far as she is aware, he never cares for the derogatory opinions of others, brushing them off as easily as old, dried mud. She wonders if that has always been the case, or a skill he has had to learn. 

"What's the diagnosis doc?" 

"Hmm?" She looks up, seeing him too looking over his shoulder as if to catch sight of the creature crawling beneath his skin. Her smile is small and shy. "I think we're good." 

He turns back around to fully face her again, the warm light of the lamp casts soft shadows against his skin, highlighting the gentle definition of his muscles, and catches against the hair dappling his chest and down from his belly button disappearing beneath the waistband of his pyjamas. She bites her lip. He is the one only half dressed before her and yet she is the one feeling naked.

“See something you like?” he taunts playfully, without an air of seriousness. 

Flushed with embarrassment, Scully reaches for her shirt. “Sorry, um I sh– I should go.” She begins to put her arms through the sleeves. “Thank you–”

"Dana…” he interrupts her, a reassuring hand resting on her knee. “Stay a while; I'll feel better knowing you're here with me." 

Though she hesitates, she knows she's already made the decision before she answers. Finding herself swimming in the green sea of his eyes, she agrees with a whisper, "Okay." His pupils are dilated, darkening like a wild electrical storm. No matter how ardently she tries, she can’t tear herself away from him. She's quickly catching fire like dry grass in summer. He swallows, his jaw clenching. Scully reaches out, unthinking, to touch his stubbled cheek and cups his jaw "Mulder…" 

Unless she is mistaken, his voice is deeper than before, his breathing quicker too. "Yeah?" 

Despite telling herself this is improper, all arguments of protest fall short before her lips. His are just centimetres away, perfect and inviting. She leans in slowly, allowing him to put an end to this before it’s too late. Instead his hand travels from her knee to her waist, squeezing. Scully finds herself falling the rest of the way, meeting his lips unhurriedly without caution. 

Quickly, she learns that Mulder is like no-one she has kissed before: he likes to take his time, teasing her with almost polite brushes of his tongue across her lips. She shucks her arm the rest of the way out of her shirt and shuffles closer, relaxing into him. His hand at her waist pulls her closer and she straddles his lap, rocking forward to satisfy the excruciating ache building at her centre. His other hand tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, and weaves through the roots of her ponytail at the base of her scalp. 

Breaking away, a small “Fuck” falls from his lips, now glistening. She has the urge to taste the word, catch it and him before it can escape, yet she waits on him. Mulder looks up at her in a hazed reverie that makes her heart pound. “Dana…” The sound of her given name marked in his voice reaches its claws into her and holds steadfast. The feeling scares her but she wants him to say it again. “I need to hear that you are sure.”

Yet Scully isn’t sure. Not truly. She doesn’t think she could ever be sure. Instead she opts for a different truth. “It’s okay, I want this… unless you–”

“No! God, no, Dana,” he jumps to assuage her fears and lets loose a laugh, burying his face into her shoulder to hide his amusement. 

She lifts his chin to catch his gaze and places the palm of her hand to his chest. Beneath, she can feel the hammering of his heart and it reassures her to know that he is as nervous and excited about this as she. Grinning a little too, Scully kisses him this time, finding that pleasure he hinted at earlier. His tongue is hot against hers, pulling as she pushes, pushing as she pulls. His hands begin to wander, roaming her skin. His fingers tease at the top of her bra. 

"Take it off," she breathes. 

In one swift move, she finds her back landing on the mattress, her head shielded from the impact by his supportive hand. At once, he is over her and she flushes with heat seeing him bare down on her, his eyes devouring her body in awe. His gaze lingers on her breasts where her nipples harden under his intense attention, and with an intoxicating hit of confidence, she arches her chest, inviting him in. Resting his weight on one hand, he brings the other up to gently cup her left breast, testing the waters. His eyes flick to hers, dark but crystal clear, asking for her permission. Just the soft touch of his hand against her skin is sparking pleasure throughout her body but just the tingle of it isn't enough to satiate her need. Caution, somewhere her higher ego warns, but deep at her core she knows that this is going to happen, that she wants it to happen, and she trusts Mulder. 

"Mulder," she whispers his name, holding back the whine caught in her throat.

Her hand atop of his, she guides him to hold her breast firmer, massage her, find and pinch her nipple. When he gets the idea, her head rests back on the pillow and a sigh rolls through her. She scratches across his back and through his hair, smiling as he moans his contentment, but quickly he steals the breath from her lungs as he licks at a hardened nipple, letting the cool air play over it before taking it into his mouth. 

He doesn't stay there long, sitting up to pull her trousers and panties down, revealing her swollen sex to him. Her slips a finger through her folds and–

"God, Dana." He plunges his finger in and drags it out slowly, swirling her arousal around up to her clit. Repeating the action, he asks, "Do you always get this wet?" 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she reels through the science of lubricant production depending on a number of different factors that isn't necessarily an indication of arousal, but she would be lying if she said her state right now had nothing to do with him and the agonising ministrations he is performing. Sitting up on her elbows, Scully looks at him, her eyes wandering south to where his fingers touch her. Even in the dim light, she can see the extent of her wetness and she bites her lip to hold back a moan at the knowledge that he is doing this to her. Mulder notices her line of sight, and fucks her with another finger, curling to meet her g-spot and passing his thumb over her sensitive clit. Her hips jump and her eyes scrunch shut as she gasps. 

An ache starts building through her body, her muscles tightening around the feeling like string winding around a bobbin. Her hips roll as she can't help but chase after her release but she doesn't want this over yet. 

"Mulderrr." She grasps at his shoulder, imploring, all the while her body betrays her. "Oh my god." She moves her hand to frame his face, seeing a glint of pride in his eyes and the corner of his smile. She gasps, "You're gonna make me come." 

He hums and leans in to take the words straight from her lips. Moaning, she lifts her knee up to where his hips are still clothed in the soft flannel of his pyjamas. A thrill runs through her to think that he is still as clothed as when she knocked on his door yet here she is squirming under her partner as he brings her to the precipice. Summoning all the strength he is quickly stealing from her body, she pushes him onto his back, breaking their kiss, panting. With a furrowed brow he cocks his head in a silent question but she can only smile and kiss the stupid look off his face. 

Scully allows herself now to fully appreciate the sight of him before her. With permission and no more self conscious glances, she runs her hands up his abs, soft yet defined clenching under her touch. Rocking into him, she kisses under his jaw, the lingering smell of aftershave mingling with his sweat. She licks at it. He moans, his hands weighted on her hips, encouraging her to move again. Kissing and nipping down his chest, she sights herself finally with the bulge in his pants. Curiously, she cups him over the cotton squeezes. She looks up when she hears the sound of his head hitting the pillow, a hiss emitted through his clenched teeth. 

"Please say you won't kill me," he mumbles. Her fingers make light work of the drawstring eager to remove the final barrier between them. 

His pyjamas off, his cock bobs between them, grandly parading its size. 

"Jesus," she whispers. "Please say you won't kill me." She wraps her fingers around his shaft, thinking back to his comment earlier about passing judgement in the Arctic. He had to know he was above average. Swiping her thumb over the head, she marvels at him. "Were you hiding this the whole time?" 

"Why, thank you." He smirks, entertained by her reaction. 

A flush of embarrassment drenches her from head to toe, coursing hot through her mingling with the molten heat of her aroused state. Oh, he knows. She dips her head to hide the colouring of her cheeks. 

Humming, Mulder tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and she quickly flicks her eyes up to him; the intimacy and familiarity of the gesture suddenly cutting her to the bone. His gaze is strong upon her, his lust addled eyes harbouring more than simple attraction. A strong potion of admiration, care and pride swirled in those dark eyes and something else. Truly observing his dishevelled state, something in her gut clenches. It was a thought she discarded with haste before it had chance to unfold and bloom into something larger–unavoidable. 

Taking back control of her emotions, she licks up the underside of his cock and swirls around the head. She takes a moment to suck him into her mouth. But before she can give him the satisfaction of her full talents, she lifts up and crawls up the bed to him, enjoying the slightly pained and disappointed look befalling his features. "Condom?"

"Yeah–" He nods towards the nightstand– "In my wallet."

She reaches out to pick it up and fumbles through his wallet to find the foil packet. Tearing it open eagerly, she wastes no time rolling it on and lining herself up above him. As she does so, her mind wanders back to how they ended up here: the stress of the case? Their loneliness and isolation? The chaos of the unknown and her need to feel in control? 

The first time she had laid eyes on him in the dingy light of the basement, she was struck by his boyish good looks and then in the light of the projector, his charm had shone and she had made the decision to follow him. Now his charm is in his smile and caress. This could feel like a mistake. But it doesn't. 

His hands are everywhere: her sides, caressing her curves, her breast, her hips, steadying her as she slowly sinks down. He fills her gloriously, stretching her with every inch. She would feel greedy, indulging so lavishly in his size, but sensibility had vaporised with his first searing touches to her body. Now Scully knows them, she craves them, finding it is more than want driving her forward but need. The need to be touched and held and reassured. It had been so long since someone had cared for her like this; she'd built tall walls to protect herself in its absence. She thought she was strong, but oh how quickly he is undoing her. Why does she like that? 

Clenching around him, she smirks as his eyes roll back into his head, his breathing long and deep through his nose to control himself. A hand to his chest, she rocks forward and rolls her hips experimentally: his groan of pleasure encourages her, a replying spark in her clit making her shiver. Seeking more, she speeds up her pace and begins to rise and sink in a pleasing rhythm, feeling him move inside her. For the moment she can let go, free of worry and fear, instead feel good.

"God, Dana," he moans, sweat rolling from his brow. Mulder grabs her ass and moves to meet each of her thrusts, pounding into her from below. She bites her lip to catch whimper before it escapes, her brows pinching together, concentrating on the new sensations: his fingers digging in and the pleasant sting as he moves. She tips her head back, her panting turning from soft to harsh as the flood of her orgasm rises within her.

Suddenly, her back hits the mattress once again. Her eyes wide with shock, Mulder brushes the hair from her face, taking time to ask her if she is okay. Licking her lips, she manages a nod, caught up in the warmth of his eyes. He kisses her once more, long and deep, gentle yet purposeful, flooring her with his care. Distracted, she relaxes, sinking into the bed and allowing herself to feel the press of Mulder above her; his body, his smell, his heat is everywhere all over her. Soon she learns, she likes him surrounding her.

She moans as he teases the slick head of his dick over her clit. "Mulderrr," his name is a breathy sigh, an encouragement, a plea, an echo for more. Kissing her in reply, he surges into her and she gasps against his mouth, hips bucking, giving into him. He waits for her to squeeze her legs around him before he continues, starting slowly, but building speed with each thrust. He withdraws slowly and returns with a snap of his hips, watching her as she watches him, this strong catch between them. His fingers curl around the back of her thigh and brings her leg around over his shoulder, stretching her impossibly more. The reality of it unfolds around her, and with it she is keenly aware of every sense, ratcheting with intensity. Mulder is with her and inside her and around her. The same Mulder she has grown to respect and trust. This is more than the lust she felt on their first case. 

Yet instead of being overwhelmed, she gleefully smirks, tilting her head up to capture his lips. 

He stills for a moment before she rocks her hips. His head drops to her shoulder, his forehead resting there, as he buries his face. "Dana…" he pants. "Can you… come? I'm so… close." 

Pushing a hand down between their bodies, she draws tight circles around her clit. Again, she feels a hot rush flooding her body, but more intense than before. Her toes curl and her muscles tense as she gasps and whines, finally overcome by release. Drowning in satiated bliss, she hears Mulder shout muffled by her shoulder as he follows her. 

Briefly, the air feels chill against her sweat-slick skin as Mulder moves over to the other side of the room, where the bin is. Although he is still with her, in that moment she misses the comfort of his presence beside her. Rolling her head to the side on the pillow, she watches him, a loose smile playing on her lips. When he turns around, she can see him mirroring her expression, growing into a casual smirk. 

"Hey," he greets her just as easily, for the second time that night. 

She stretches her arm out, inviting him back. "Hey, yourself." 

He crawls onto the bed beside her without much grace, lying close to her in the single bed, pulling a blanket up over them. With the limited space, Scully allows herself to snuggle into his side, her head not quite resting on his shoulder, but not fully on the pillow either. It’s an indulgence she allows herself that is easily excused and she doesn’t feel like denying herself the small touch of his skin against hers, not when she is as warm and cosy as she is. Not when it pales in comparison to what they have just done. To her own surprise, she doesn't care. Perhaps it is the hazy bliss that clouds her mind, but there is nowhere else she can imagine herself: up in the far reaches of the arctic circle, isolated from the rest of the world and herself, only snow storms and fear for company. Listening to his soft, steady breathing, in and out, underneath the palm of her hand, her eyes slowly drift close.

"You okay?" he murmurs to her ear, and she can't help but chuckle. 

"Very." 

He hums, satisfied with her response. And then he holds a breath, as if trying to lock away his nerves. She feels this, being so close to him, yet she knows it’s more than their physicality that informs her intuition. 

He hesitates, "We should probably talk about this."

Lifting her head up to look at him, she considers the wariness in his eyes, but also how it conceals the happiness beneath. "Mhmm.” She rests her head back on the pillow, closing her eyes. “But later, I'm comfy at the moment."

His chuckle rumbles through her palm and she falls asleep to the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

[etherealsign282]

Imagine giving abusers/ex abusers respect on a silver platter for the mere concept that they could've possibly changed, and going easy on them

Only to harshly criticize abuse survivors for "gossiping" and "talking shit" about their abusers because "you're saying words but I'm here to see the ex abuser's actions"

But they are not seeing the abuser's actions, they're only hearing that they may or may not have changed and they've already given them a chance with zero caution and zero doubt which means any red flags are harder to spot (bc your mindset is already trying to focus on pardoning them and being biased)

While demonizing and ostracizing the survivor and not giving them a chance to be heard because "they're just bitter" which means every little flaw and mistake becomes a red flag

And both sides are just saying words (maybe the survivor is backing up the evidence sometimes) but somehow because the abuser is being their usual, egotistical self and passive aggressively doing a smear campaign based on "they don't like me anymore even though I did my best and I've changed" (which shows a very huge lack in self-awareness, emotional intelligence, and empathy), while the abuse survivor is aggressively calling them out, the abuser just seems better to listen to

And I'm tired of the injustice toward abuse survivors. I'm tired that abusers can just say or do whatever and people give them a second chance for pretty much no valid reason, when they're so overly critical of the people who were literally abused (with criticism possibly their whole life)

And people are willing to actually hang out with p3d0s and rxpists and abusers because "they probably changed" but then the people that are hanging out with these p3d0s and rxpists are just so quick to be like "anyways I can't be your friend if you're a shit talker or you're bitter and haven't moved on from trauma yet". Like I'm talking shit but your bestie RXPED SOMEONE.

Like there's clearly some part of you that is not rationalizing things properly and is making you more likely to demonize and attack people for calling a rxpist a rxpist, than demonize the rxpist itself because they can play nice to specifically get on your good side by seeming perfect and never negative (which is a huge sign of manipulation but ok)

But I've found that I just can't save y'all and make y'all see that irrationality, and I shouldn't bother trying.

Because so many people just want me to extend my emotional labor to teaching abusers not to abuse, teaching abuse apologists not to be abuse apologists, and have wanted me to since I was a kid

And the more I rant and rave the more exhausted I get with this idea in mind that I'm ranting to save them and make them understand, and I know it just won't fix anything, not for me and not for y'all

Bc y'all are dead set on letting the abusers play the victim because they know how to play the self-pity game just right to seem more relatable than the angry abuse survivor, and make the angry abuse survivor seem like the big scary mean ones for growing a jagged edge to their moral compass

And y'all have been groomed to empathize more with a bad guy who cries victim than a good guy who is here to *do good* not just to pretend play nice. And I'm over trying to be the therapist that makes you understand how fxked that is.

And no this isn't me saying I'll just move on and be positive and be a good happy lil camper that just loves and tolerates everyone and never vents anymore.

This is me saying that the mental burden of your fxcked up, victim blamey perspective is not my responsibility to fix and I'm not going to rant with the idea that I CAN fix y'all.

Imma rant about how much I can't fucking stand y'all who weaponize ignorance and incompetence, and how much I want y'all to suffer and be as miserable as the rxpists that you ride for their approval, since y'all clearly are going to be on their side either way (until they fxk you over themselves).

And how much I know you're already at that level of misery if you genuinely can't shut the fuck up about abuse survivors for two seconds bc of your insecurity and fears making you project onto them all these things you're scared of being, and how delicious it tastes to me, and how much I crave to see more

Until you're in your 50's saying contradictory shit every two seconds and starting a fight every week like a toxic boomer because you no longer know who you are, what you stand for, and what is based on your authenticity vs your performativity, you just know you want to yell and scream away your insecurities.

And if you don't like it? Cope and seethe.

(bc I might rant a lot but at least I'm ranting for justice and I'm ranting bc y'all are actually being dicks and trying to ruin my mood for no reason- ranting about how survivors are bad bc they wont repress the things that happened to them like you do is very clearly a "I'm miserable and bitter and just won't admit it so I'll project it onto everyone else" thing. The problem is I don't attack good people, and y'all will attack anything that seems even mildly threatening to your insecurities).

[chris-continued]

I can't lose you.

A Chrivio short about loss and regret.

The darkening sky above the vast expanse of No Man’s Land gave very little light to work with, to Chris’ dismay. 

Of course he’d been the only one loyal enough to stay by Livio’s side- nobody had wanted to stay alongside himself, anyway. Members of the Eye of Michael turned up their noses at anyone of a lower rank, and considering the… experimentation hadn’t perfectly brought him to, ‘salvation’, as they put it, he was deemed unimportant. Dismissed. Almost discarded. 

He was not of value. That much he knew. But how could they dismiss Livio? A member of the Gung-Ho guns? He was incredibly strong, hardworking, and plenty loyal. Even if it hurt him, repeatedly. 

Like now, where Chris gently stroked his head with one hand and opened a vial with another. He broke the glass with his thumb, causing the liquid to turn teal as he gently coaxed Livio’s lips open. 

“Open up for me, please.” He pleaded, the free hand that had been caressing the crown of his head moving to his bottom lip. 

“I can’t lose you, Livio. Please.” This hadn’t been the first time, nor would it be the last time he’d gotten hurt. 

He looked up from his spot on Chris’ lap, eyes hazy as his mouth lazily opened with gentle coaxing from Chris. The vial was positioned between his lips as he swallowed, half awake. 

He couldn’t slip away. No. No. 

“Stay awake, please, for me.” His voice sounded unfamiliar to himself, changing pitch as his throat closed up. He couldn’t cry. Not here, no. He had to be strong, for once in his goddamn life as one of the very few joys he had was barely clinging on. 

“Breathe. Breathe.” He repeated, trying to take deep breaths to the best of his ability. He had to keep a level head- or try to, at least. His chest heaved, throwing the empty vial to the side once Livio was done with it. His thumb brushed his lips for any excess serum, hoping he could drink any remaining drops. He wouldn’t die, right? Livio came back, each time. The experiments assured that he never got fatally injured- gunshots, cuts, slashes, bruising, never remained. Never scarred. 

So why was he so terrified? So irrationally horrified at the idea of losing his closest loved one, the person he looked forward to seeing each and every day? 

The person who he’d huddle up with in his room of the compound whenever they could sneak away, who he’d secretly intertwine hands with in the back of the caravan when everyone else remained none the wiser. He was still affected by his touch, thinking about it for days or weeks, perhaps even months after. He commit them all to memory, and when asked Livio had reassured him the same. 

He’d heard stories of higher ups in the EoM taking advantage of younger recruits, lower recruits, looking for company out of boredom or loneliness. Livio was never that way. Livio was kind. Sweet. Afraid. Humane. Everything Chris had ever wanted. Well, he didn’t want him to be afraid, but he’d rather someone be afraid than actively feed into the terror among the people with no quips or worries. Livio was always too kindhearted for that though, someone so inexplicably tender. He was so easy to treasure, all the sneaking around worth it for a moment of reprieve with him.

That’s why he couldn’t lose him, he reminds himself, a continual loop of worries and affirmations bouncing in his own head. He had to remain calm, for the both of them. Because if he didn’t worry for them, who would? “Love you.” He allows himself to say such a simple yet powerful phrase that frequently roams his mind whenever he thinks of Livio, although he’s usually not permitted to share such sentiments. “I love you,” he breathes, “So much.” His lips brush Livio’s forehead, hand fixing any stray hairs that were in his way. His index finger traced the prosthetic on his face, “Please tell me you’re alright.” Silence fell between them.

No, no, this couldn’t happen. He should’ve run to his side sooner, should’ve paid better attention, shouldn’t have been such a coward. Who was he even kidding? He couldn’t even fight that well. He was weak in comparison to Livio. What could he have done? “Please answer me.” He muttered, voice meek. He felt smaller than he’d ever been before.

“I can’t lose you,” he repeats, “I can’t.”

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

18. Excuse Me Miss

Ivan's judgemental tone didn't help Ivy in all her fear and anxiety. Her hands trembled on their own as she closed the curtains in the room.

"You don't even know if he's dead," Ivan taunted. The thought sent chills through Ivy. She could very well be paranoid at this point and acting irrationally with the running and looking over her shoulder, but after what she'd been through she had a reason to feel the way she felt. That dentist was batshit and had abducted her twice.

"What the hell you want me to say? I was scared Ivan. I never been in this situation, have you?"

"You had him down. You should've made sure he was dead right there on the spot and then found mom and you wouldn't be going through this shit."

Ivan blamed Ivy and it made her uncomfortable with guilt because she too blamed herself.

"You left her there with a murderer."

"My ass was shook bitch! What the hell.. I couldn't.. Ivan!" Ivy's shaking turned to anger. "..How was I supposed.. What if he grabbed me?"

"Then you beat his ass with the blunt object you knocked him down with, Ivy! It's not that hard to get."

"He's like 6'2 / 250, Ivan," Ivy spoke with tight lips. "Maybe your crack body beanpole ass could knock him out but my 4'11 ass already been drugged twice and carved like a pumpkin. You expecting a whole lot outta me."

"Aight. I ain't tryna fight with you."

"Then why you fighting with me, Ivan? Did you forget--" Ivy shut her mouth quick and rubbed her lips toward her temple feeling a headache creeping on. She was about to go off but she still needed him to come asap and he was fickle. "It's easy to say what you would do in my position but until you're actually here? You can shut the fuck up. You don't think I'm mad at myself? I am. I feel like I could've done more. I could've gotten her out. She didn't deserve or ask for any of this. She only in it because of me."

Ivy couldn't hold it back the tears as they fell. She was going through many emotions at once and Ivan wasn't helping.

"You should be mad at yourself, you abandoned mom. What if he slice her ass up too? What if he kill her, how will you feel?"

Ivy's eyes shut tight.

"Ivan please just come and get us," Ivy groaned, feeling her anxiety grow. "I'll get you some money when you get here, on God."

"I was coming anyway," he said, but Ivy knew it was a damn lie. His selfish and dodgy ass never showed up for anyone, not her, mom, his kids, or anyone else. It was always all about Ivan if it wasn't about the money.

"You want me to stay on the phone?"

"Nah, I ain't got no sleep and I need to eat. You could pay for that if you wanna do something."

"You could pay for that," he mocked. Ivy nearly hung up the phone. She didn't have the energy. "Sorry," Ivan backtracked after a pause. "I'm being a asshole, I know. You left my mother, I'm tight af about it but I'm glad you made it out.. So it ain't about that aight? I am glad you out. I'm a send you some food. You gone be aight okay."

"Yeah.. He's tricky but I think I'm okay here. I'll call you from the hotel phone."

Ivy hung up and held her head. She paced before requesting some rubbing alcohol be brought up from the front desk which she used for her thigh. It stung but she needed to do something for it.

"If he's not dead, I'll make him wish he was," she sighed through the burn. At least it wasn't infected.

---

"I wonder if her leg has any signs of infection," Erik wondered pulling the flashing cruiser lazily into a hotel parking space. According to the gas station attendant and the Locate iPhone situation he'd drummed up nearly two hours ago, Ivy was crashing in a Days Inn and had done well not staying at any nearby hotels. In fact, if she had stolen the phone of someone less tech savvy, maybe an old man.. she'd have escaped him. It was just her luck she stole the wrong person's phone.

Or maybe she thought he was dead.. his mouth turned up at the thought. Maybe she wasn't careful or running but simply distancing herself from the situation.. the nightmare in her now past. In that case, she was a bad, bad girl running out on her poor moms without a second thought.

Maybe he'd surprise her. The thought lit his face in the darkest way. He could imagine her shock when she saw him a little banged up and a little bloody, but alive and in the flesh.  He only had to figure out where she was inside the Days Inn. It wouldn't be difficult with a badge.

Aside from that, he had a rag and some chloroform. He rattled through his bag.. He already had an Arduino, a DC barrel jack, and a 5.6k resistor that he began to connect and configure together inside of a sharpie dry erase marker in order to build himself a master key for breaking and entering. Google was a great resource. All of these things were easy to get his hands on and he didn't need to be a programmer or tech expert to build it himself, though he did know a few things already which helped. He only needed directions and the guide video he'd found on a website. The key building only took about thirty minutes and was fairly easy he found. He turned it over in his palm and shoved it in his pocket. With this small dry eraser sized tool, he could enter any hotel room at a whim even after he was through with Ivy. In fact, he could probably even find his next canvas this way. Suddenly he was inspired to move faster.

Confident as ever, he approached the desk and gestured to the T. Howard on his glorified name tag. Angling his head down, he caught the concierge's eye. "Don't ask," he gestured to his rough appearance.

"Long night?"

"I'm responding to a domestic violence call, one of your rooms. I didn't get the exact number but I'm looking for an Ivy Stevens."

"Oh no." The guy located the room on the computer system, no questions about it. "That's happened before but not on my shift, it's so sad." He gave Ivy up as quickly as Erik had gotten there.

As if on cue, arriving on the floor, Erik heard a door close and an idea struck him.

"Excuse me miss," he whispered jogging slowly to approach the white woman leaving a room down the hall. She glanced around a bit nervously, looking for son or husband perhaps. The police badge ought to make him look trustworthy, he figured. Then again.. he did have some marks on him. A cut under his eye. "Duty calls," he shrugged. "I need your help surprising my fiance," he rushed flashing a smile that seemed to ease her just a little. "She's right over there. She doesn't know I'm here to see her. She thinks I'm working all night but I came just to surprise her. Would you help me? Five seconds."

She stood hesitant before marching on and he clubbed her in the back of the head with his fist catching her before she could fall. Taking her room key, he let himself into her room and stowed her limp body in the bathroom tub.

"Thanks," he whispered, hands folded in appreciation as he looked down on her body. He pulled out his homemade tool deciding to test it on the door of this old woman's room first. Using it was as easy as jamming it into a port under the door lock. The door unlocked and he popped it open.

"Aw shit," he whispered closing the door. Endless possibilities were in his hand. He could walk into any room. However, tonight he only needed to enter one more. It was finally time.

Slowly he approached Ivy's door and stood in front of it, his excitement building from the sneaky energy. He popped the door open quietly, spotting an empty room. He pulled his pocket knife and walked forward closing the door slowly and quietly behind himself.

The shower was running, he could hear, and when he crept up and peaked into the bathroom, she was in it.

Quickly, he marched into the bathroom and reached through the curtain wrapping her neck with his inner elbow and her mouth with the chloroform rag while lifting her off her feet. She was small and portable but the fight she put up was notable. She deserved her credit for trying.

@dessianna1 @twistedcharismaaa @soufcakmistress

[i-like-turkey]

Warning: slight Throw Pillows and Overnight Trains spoilers ahead.

One of the most difficult parts of writing fic for me is what I refer to as ‘rationally irrational’ character decisions. I think I defined this in tag vomit somewhere, but the idea is that humans are often irrational. We do dumb things because we’re tired, angry, jealous, or whatever. So it’s absolutely valid for your fic characters to act irrationally. But there needs to be a rational basis for their irrational decisions otherwise readers will be going 👀 and maybe bail on your fic.

Take for example my decision to have Kacy visit Venice for their honeymoon. One half of the couple is aquaphobic. If I’d written them as enjoying the hell out of the water, Lucy relishing every second of her time on the vaporettos, posing for endless pics by the water’s edge, how many of you would have clicked the back button and been like, “ewww that’s so ooc”?

If I’d written Lucy as being absolutely terrified of the water, doing her best to suck it up, but still freaking out, how many of you would have being going, “THEN WHY THE FUCK DID SHE GO TO VENICE?!!!” and then click the back button because it was a choice that made no sense?

But I took care when writing the Venice chapters to establish that yes she is aquaphobic, but she’s also sometimes too gay to function, and because of that agreed to something she probably shouldn’t have. Because the fic is in her POV, I could have her berate herself for being an idiot and explain why she made the dumb choice. Hence, she’s being ‘rationally irrational.’ Because it’s a crack fic, I do get some additional leeway for them to be dumbasses, but it’s not as much as you would think.

I’m word vomiting about this because I’ve been building toward a fucking hilarious scene in what will now be chapter 4. I’m really excited to write it. But there’s been a flaw in my plan since the beginning. Well, two flaws. One is that there is an easy solution to the predicament that I am going to put them in. The second is that they should be smart enough to immediately spot the easy solution. I’ve been stressing about this for a while. But I figured it out this morning. Just needed a slight tweak to the predicament so that the easy solution mostly disappears and if I take great care in how I write them during the lead up to the disastrous situation, then y’all shouldn’t think twice about how they respond when faced with [redacted].

Writing fic is hard. So many of you have expressed that it seems easy for me. I love that. Genuinely. I don’t want anyone to read my stuff and think, “wow, she really struggled to write this.” But the reality is that a lot of work goes into it. Work that I’m having a blast doing. Problem solving is fun! Planning is fun! I get a big rush when all my planning pays off! 

The back half of this fic is gonna be something, y’all. I just gotta stick the landing 🤞🏼 

This is very inside baseball. Posting it in case it resonates with other writers or if any of my readers enjoy knowing how the crack sausage gets made.

[leonbloder]

Living Out of Abundance

Today's Devo is an adapted version of one from the archives, but it seems appropriate as we enter a season of giving and receiving... 

Generosity done for the wrong reasons is easy to spot.  It looks inauthentic.  

According to a contemporary study by the Harvard Business Review, over the past two decades,  charitable giving by U.S. companies has declined at an alarming rate, dropping to 15-year lows in the early 2000s and descending even lower to date.

Even though overall charitable giving by companies has decreased, what has increased is what is known as "cause-related marketing."

In other words, companies will strategically engage in philanthropy as a form of public relations, increasing their brand exposure to provide positive impressions among consumers and increase employee morale.

While some good may be done through the charitable contributions of companies engaging in this form of marketing, it has begun to come off as inauthentic.

According to the Harvard Business Review, cause-related marketing may lead to an overall sense of cynicism on behalf of the public. It can also distract from the overall goals of the charity involved.

In other words, there's a difference between true generosity and self-aggrandizing, self-serving charity that often masquerades as philanthropy.

Richard Rohr once wrote:

Remember, you can be doing very good things, but if you do them with negative energy, the results will not be life-giving for yourself, any around you, or the world.

And generosity also can appear inauthentic when it's coerced either from a hard sell or through guilt.  This is where most Christians live and breathe.  

Those of us who claim to follow Jesus often find ourselves facing similar quandaries.  When our donations of time, talent, and treasure become something we do out of duty, or when we give to assert influence or control, we cease to be generous.

Diana Butler Bass recently wrote:  

Duty-based gratitude is emotionally empty and causes resentment. Obligatory gratitude rarely has a heart.  Rather, it breeds contempt and fosters injustice. 

As followers of Jesus, we are called to be irrationally generous with ourselves and what we have for no other reason than we should do so as a response to the abundant grace of God toward us.  

And by irrationally generous, I mean with no thought to what it might cost us... without a sense of lack, of not having enough.  

For those of us who claim to follow Jesus, to stumble after the rabbi who taught that to find your life, you needed to lose it... we need to learn what it means to live generously out of abundance and not scarcity. 

If we are constantly focusing on need--we lean too far toward scarcity, and it's all too easy to fall more in love with the Bread than the Baker, if you know what I mean.  

But if we focus on gratitude and how our giving should be an irrational response to irrational grace--then we are on to something.

Be generous today and every day going forward.  Give of yourself and what you have freely, without compunction, and without an agenda.  Practice generosity alongside God, joining God in God's generous work of redeeming, rescuing, restoring, and resurrecting.

May the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and always. Amen.  

[isbethknowsbetter]

I have, and unfortunately their preferred sacrifices and rituals are things I fear to do for the sake of my soul. I’ve tried to placate them without delving into the depths that their worshipers occupy, but I fear that if this energy continues and progresses, I may find myself breaking vows of my own to placate them. They’re named as cruel gods, but I found no mention of them being quick-tempered or easy to anger.

Thank you!

Cursed

Dear Cursed,

Absolutely not. I am truly sorry you and your partner are in such a terrible spot, but do not under any circumstances break your vows or do anything drastic to deal with this. Doing so would be playing directly into the claws of all manner of dangerous and malevolent forces that prey on the desperate. 

I have done some research of my own and applied logic to the situation, and here are the things I’ve come up with:

First, you say these gods are not known to be particularly volatile or capricious.

Second, in your questions, you come across as an experienced practitioner and conscientious, reasonable person. I’m sure that carries over to your teaching.

Third, you have been leading your workshop for a reasonable amount of time. Unless you have recently made major changes to your lesson plan, you have been teaching the same basics for a while now. It’s highly unlikely your teaching would have gone unnoticed by these angry gods all this time if it really offended them so much.

Fourth and finally, your workshop is for beginners. Even if their disciple brought you to their attention or called them to attack you, it’s also unlikely a person attending a workshop for beginners would have the ability to compel said angry gods to do anything.

Taking all that into account, I do not believe these gods are the culprits. 

If you are satisfied by your own senses and Roberta’s assurance that you have not been cursed, and if you and your partner are certain this isn’t related to her work, that leaves the woman in your workshop and brings us back to those malevolent forces I mentioned at the beginning of this letter. Your description of your participants' behavior makes her sound agitated to the point of irrationality. Did you sense anything else strange about her?

Her presence at your workshop implies she’s still a novice, but she has already pledged her devotion to the kinds of gods I would discourage any beginner from associating with. Which is to say, if she herself is performing the kinds of sacrifices and rituals they favor, it’s possible--probable, even--that she has attracted the attention of unsavory elements. One (or more than one) may have attached itself to her, giving her anger, fear, grief-- any strong negative emotion-- a power of their own. There is a precedent for this.

If what is following you is her anger and hatred, protections against curses and rituals to appease old gods won’t help you. However, mollifying her doesn’t seem to be an option. Though not necessarily beyond help, she is probably not in control of what she’s doing anymore. Employ what resources you have for protecting yourself from negative influences, hostile external energies, and specific people-- a simple solution to a simple problem.

If those don’t work, another possibility is that one of the beings that has been drawn to her through her reckless actions has attached itself to you, using her anger as a sort of bridge-- another thing there is precedent for. If that’s the case, again, protections against curses and gods will have no effect. Banishing rites for spirits and demons will. I wish you the best.

Maybe that's wasn't very reassuring, but I hope it gives you a place to start. Please don’t hesitate to contact me again if the problem continues, or just to update me on how you’re doing.

As ever, Isbeth

[fics-n-stuff]

Home - Pt 2

For @glowstick-lesbian, request here

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary: After Y/N finally gets out hiding, it's time to sit down with Kaz and talk through whatever it is that's going on between them.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Brief talk of Jordie and Kaz's trauma and touch aversion

A/N: Wow this ended up being longer than I intended! I'm so sorry it's taken so long, I was focused on The Bastard's Shadow and Affluenza pts1 + 2, and then I started picking up more shifts at work and got writers block at the same time. I really hope you like how it turned out!! ❤❤

Pt1 here

After the very enlightening visit from Kaz, the days seemed to drag on even slower than before. The next two months went by in a crawl, and no matter how much you buried yourself in work you couldn’t distract from the longing you felt to get out of your apartment.

When your messenger came to deliver the news that your pursuers were willing to come to a truce you had been so happy that you’d gone straight to pour yourself a glass of whisky to celebrate. From then, you counted down the days until the meeting that you set up, the result of which should mean that you were free to roam the city again.

Inej had shown you how to get out of the window and onto the roof months ago. It was your escape route in case of an emergency, but you had used it every now and then just to sit on the roof and enjoy a taste of the outside world. That night, you had climbed out with intention and dressed in your finest coat.

You travelled over the rooftops towards the Government district, where your meeting had been arranged to take place near the Stadhall. The presence of the stadwatch would serve to protect you in case the deal went south.

You had been jittery with a mix of anxiety and excitement when you descended to street level and wended your way through the streets to find three men waiting for you at the Stadhall, all of them tall, broad and commanding. Barrel businessmen that you had crossed one too many times, and no doubt they had been angered that forcing you into hiding hadn’t put a stop to your business.

You were too smart to have not found a way around it; you had to be to run the business that you did. You owned three boarding houses and two bars in the Barrel and two ships that brought in imports from Ravka and Novyi Zem, a squaller as a permanent fixture on the crew of each to whom you paid a fair salary. You’d had Kaz put them under the protection of the Dregs to keep them safe from slavers. On top of all of that, you used your contacts in Ravka, Novyi Zem and other parts of Kerch to help get kids out of the Barrel and into honest work elsewhere. You might operate from the criminal underbelly of Ketterdam, but you made a mostly honest living.

The meeting took longer than you had anticipated. The three men were eager to negotiate territories that you couldn’t conduct business in and items that they didn’t want you to import because it was cutting into their own business. You held firm, you knew what was fair and you would be damned if you let anyone bully you into submission.

In the end, you essentially just agreed not to get in their way, which was easy enough to do. You wouldn’t actively compete with them in the sale of imported goods, and you wouldn’t try to convince any of the lads that they used as runners and grunts to get out of the Barrel. As long as you kept your distance from them you’d be fine, since they were clearly tired of chasing after you.

“Alright then, the deal is the deal.” You said, holding out your hand. All three shook hands with you in turn, echoing the phrase as was customary. When the man in the middle – clearly the leader and the last to shake with you – took your hand, you tightened your grip and leaned forward. “If you try to cheat me after this deal, you will have Dirtyhands to answer to.” You said lowly. He tried not to show his reaction but the fear in his eyes betrayed him, and you released his hand. It wasn’t often that you involved Kaz and his reputation in your affairs, but sometimes it paid to be friends with the most ruthless man in Ketterdam.

You left the meeting with your head held high and took a gondel back to the Barrel. You were approached by a few people who stayed in one of your boarding houses or drank in one of your bars on your walk to the Crow Club, telling you that they had been curious or worried about having not seen you around for so long. You didn’t engage in any conversation beyond polite acknowledgment, too eager to get to the Crow Club.

Inej was the only one that knew that you were getting out tonight. You had told her when she had come to deliver your food for the week and she had promised to try and keep everyone corralled at the Crow Club so that you could make a big entrance, but the later it got the less likely it was that she could keep them all there without raising suspicion.

You practically ran down the last street towards the Crow Club, bursting through the open door and searching the crowd for your friends. Jesper caught sight of you at the same moment that you spotted them all at the bar, and you saw his jaw drop in shock. A huge grin spread on your face as he set his drink down, his sudden change in demeanor getting the attention of the rest of the group and causing them to turn to follow his gaze.

“Y/N?” Jesper called, prompting you into as much of a sprint as you could manage across the crowded floor of the gambling hall. You vaulted yourself into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his lanky frame. “You’re back! How?” He exclaimed, and you laughed as you felt him hug you back and sweep you off of your feet.

“I had a meeting to call a truce. As of tonight I am a free person!”

“We missed you so much!” Nina grinned, prying Jesper’s arms off of you so that she could pull into a hug herself. “Why didn’t you tell us that you were finally coming out of hiding?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” You grinned, pulling away so that you could move to hug Wylan next. “I missed you guys so much too, you have no idea.” You caught sight of Kaz over Wylan’s shoulder, his eyes wide as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. You pointed your smile at him and his lips twitched upwards before he cooled his expression and gave you a simple nod.

Your reunion was spirited to say the least, even Matthias couldn’t help but smile at the fact that you were back. You made them tell you about all of the most significant things that you had missed in the year that you had been trapped inside and update you on any power shifts between the Barrel gangs. Jesper wouldn’t shut up, Wylan was excited to tell you about all of the new explosives and weapons that he had developed, and Nina was making a list of places that she wanted to get lunch together to make up for lost time. It felt amazing to be with them all again.

“Okay! I want to play a few hands of Three Man Bramble before I go.” You announced, pushing your glass away from you after downing the last of its contents.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Jesper grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulder and guiding you to a table.

It seemed apt that fortune seemed to be in your favour, winning so consistently that you continued to play even though you knew that you shouldn’t. It felt like every time that you looked up from the table you caught Kaz watching you, and his unashamed gaze made your heart flutter.

After a while you saw him give a slight nod towards the door, an action that meant that it was time to go, and you tucked you lip between you teeth as you gave a subtle nod back and turned your attention back to your cards.

“Unbelievable!” Jesper exclaimed upon seeing that you had won again. “I guess you’re catching up on a year’s worth of luck.”

“Perhaps, but I’m going to quit while I’m ahead.” You smiled, gathering up your winnings. “I need to go and breathe some more fresh air.” You pocketed half of your winnings and pushed the other half around the table to Jesper. “Not too much fun.”

“There’s no such thing as too much fun.” He beamed and pulled you to him so that he could plant a kiss on your cheek. “Good to have you back, Y/N.”

“Good to be back, Jes.” You winked before bounding back to the bar to say goodbye to the rest of your friends. Kaz had already disappeared, no doubt in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to the fact that you were leaving together.

“We’re going to get waffles tomorrow. I will break your door down if I have to.” Nina asserted, practically crushing your ribs in a hug. “Inej, you’re coming too.”

“What about me?” Wylan pouted, and you laughed.

“Everyone’s invited.” You replied, holding his face and turning it towards you so that you could press a soft kiss on his forehead before pulling him in for a hug. “I just got out, I want to spend time with you all!”

You kept your hug with Inej pretty short, considerate of the bad feelings that too much contact could stir up in her, and even managed to coax a hug from Matthias before you headed out. Kaz was waiting not far from the entrance and you smiled as you quickly made your way towards him

“Hey.” You chirped.

“You wanted it to be a surprise, huh?” He questioned, starting towards the Slat. You chuckled.

“I know you’re not a big fan of surprises, Kaz, but I thought this might be a fun one. Why? Were you offended that I told Inej and not you?”

“Did you have anyone go with you to your meeting?”

“No, I didn’t need any backup.”

“Things could have gone badly, and you didn’t tell anyone about it.”

“Well things didn’t go badly.” You rebutted. “I’m here, I’m fine, and I surprised you all.”

“You shouldn’t put yourself in danger like that.” Kaz said flatly, ignoring your point, and you groaned loudly at his stubbornness.

“If it makes you feel better, I made sure to drop your name in to intimidate them. But I can handle my own business.”

You hopped along the cobblestones playfully, irrationally happy to be back out on the filthy and foul smelling streets of the Barrel, but even the stink couldn’t dampen your joy at finally being free. You were sure that you and Kaz probably looked like a bizarre pair walking together now, him with his stoic exterior and identifying limp next to your childlike joy, though you had taken after him fashion wise with your smart attire and well-fitted, black coat.

Walking back to the Slat with Kaz took you in the opposite direction to your home – now that you were out of hiding you could finally return to where you actually lived in a house on the boundary of East Stave and the Zelver District – but you wanted to talk to Kaz, and he wouldn’t have asked you to leave with him if he didn’t want to talk to you too. Nevertheless, you continued the rest of the walk in silence.

When you got to the Slat, Kaz continued straight up to his room while you lingered on the ground floor to say hello to some of the Dregs that you were more friendly with. The noise of the Slat was unfamiliar to you after so long, but you had kind of missed the rowdiness of it.

You followed upstairs shortly after. Kaz had left his door ajar for you and you could see him sat at his desk through the opening.

“Shut the door behind you.” He said as you slipped inside, and you heard the door click as you push it shut after yourself.

“You wanna talk to me?” You questioned, walking over to lean on the side of the desk casually. “Or did you just want some time to look at my gorgeous face?” He did look up at you then, his eyes darting around to take in the entirety of your face, and you felt your heart flutter.

“How did your meeting go? What deals did you make?” He asked. You sighed. It wasn’t new that Kaz was asking about your business, he liked to know about what you were doing the same way that he liked to know about literally everything else, but you had hoped that this conversation would be a little less mundane than that. You had hoped that he might express an iota of joy that you were back.

“I can’t dock my ships in 3rd Harbour anymore.” You shrugged. “So I’ll stick to 2nd for imports going into the morning market, mostly 5th for everything else. There’s a few streets that I need to keep my business off of, and obviously I can’t try and undermine their operations anymore. That doesn’t mean that I won’t, it just means that I’ll be smarter about not getting caught.”

“And what do you get from them?”

“They leave me alone. I don’t need more than that. I mean, their terms are hardly going to impede my business anyway.”

“And your insurance?”

“You.” You smiled sweetly. “Very few people are bold enough to cross someone that has Kaz Brekker on side.”

“I thought you prided yourself on running an honest business.”

“I do. My association with you doesn’t make my business any less legit. I’m more honest than most of the Merchant Council anyway.”

“That’s fair.” He conceded with a slight nod.

Kaz had visited you a few times since the night that you had both let on about how much you cared about each other, but you hadn’t talked about it. It felt like the tension between you had been building and building like an elastic band ready to snap. It was driving you crazy.

“Anything else that you want to talk about?” You hinted. Kaz let out a long breath, his eyes sliding away from you for a moment. You could tell that he wanted to talk about it but he was struggling to get it out. “Because you haven’t told me that you’re glad I’m back yet.”

“I am glad that you’re back.” He affirmed, then he took a hard swallow. “We all missed you.” You smiled brightly at that.

You could hear the crows moving around on the half-roof outside of Kaz’s window and crossed the room to perch on the windowsill. There hadn’t been anywhere for the birds to land in the apartment that you had been cooped up in.

“Can I stay here for a while? I don’t want to be alone again just yet.” You said softly, tucking one knee up against your chest as you watched the birds through the glass.

“Sure.” Kaz answered.

You sat in silence for a while after that, which wasn’t unusual for you two. Before you had gone into hiding, you had spent many evenings with Kaz in his office just like this. Tonight felt different though. Something had opened between the two of you and now you couldn’t close it. The feeling permeated every corner of the room until you felt like you might explode if you didn’t break this silence, but, to your surprise, Kaz spoke first.

“I’ve been thinking about that day that I saw you outside the Crow Club.”

“Why?” You asked, blinking in surprise. Kaz was still facing forward at his desk, back turned to you, but his pen had stilled over the page.

“I watched you for a while, deciding whether to chase you off or recruit you for the Dregs.” He continued, ignoring your question. You were used to that too. “You were good at pickpocketing – you could spot a good mark, distracted them by pretending to beg for pennies – but you stayed in one place for too long.”

“I know, you told me at the time.” You smiled amusedly.

“I was just planning on telling you exactly that, but after I got your attention and you looked at me I knew that I had seen you before. It was in your eyes.” He turned around to look at you then, his gaze finding yours immediately. “Your eyes never changed.”

Kaz’s eyes had. Maybe that was why you hadn’t recognised him. Kaz Rietveld had eyes full of wonder and warmth, that were curious about everything and shone when he was happy. Kaz Brekker's eyes were cold, they held secrets. The curiosity had become analytical, and the shine had turned into a devious glint. Kaz Rietveld didn’t exist anymore, the R tattoo on Kaz’s bicep was the only relic of him, and you were the only one left to remember him.

“Crows remember the faces of those that are kind.” He finished softly.

“And that’s why you took me in? Because I was kind?”

“Because we were friends. We are friends.”

“Just friends?” You murmured, a challenge in your eyes. It wasn’t a provoking challenge, more of an encouraging one. You wanted to know where he stood and you wanted him to be able to tell you. He was silent for a long stretch.

“Would we ever be able to be more?” He asked. You knew what he meant. Kaz had built up so many walls that he didn’t know how to let down, and he knew that about himself. It was how he had survived, but it was a way of being that wasn’t very conducive to relationships. He didn’t think that he could do it.

“That depends on you.” You answered with a soft smile. “Because I’m not looking anywhere else.” Kaz swallowed and looked away quickly, but you swore that you had seen a hint of a blush in his cheeks.

A knock came at the door, and you cursed whoever was on the other side in your head.

“What is it?” Kaz called.

“There’s a man downstairs says he has a job for you.” Specht’s voice came through the wood. “Won’t talk to no one else but you.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.” Kaz replied, then muttered something under his breath bitterly. You heard the creak of Specht's retreating footsteps and Kaz turned to you. “Will you wait until I get back?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You watched Kaz leave the room and let out a long sigh once the door had closed behind him. You were finally talking about whatever it was that was between the two of you and you just had to get interrupted.

You shed your coat, dropping it lazily on the floor next to you, and rolled up your shirt sleeves. Despite the pressure put on you from some members of the Dregs, you had never gotten the crow and cup tattoo on your forearm. You had known from the start that you didn’t want to belong to the gang, no matter how thankful you were for the help that Kaz had given you.

When you had realised who it really was that had approached you that night outside the Crow Club, you had been shocked. He knew your name when he spoke to you, though he had seemed unsure of it, and you had furrowed your brow and asked if you knew him.

“It’s Kaz.” He had said, and you had blinked.

“Kaz Rietveld?” You had whispered in disbelief. His jaw had clenched, his shoulders stiffened.

“That’s not my name anymore.” He snapped. “It’s Kaz Brekker now.”

When you asked him why he had changed his name he had simply told you that it was easier that way. When you asked him about why he was in Ketterdam he had answered that his father had died and they had sold the farm. When you asked about Jodie he didn’t answer.

He had walked you to the Slat, told you not to talk to anyone, and brought you up to this very room. You had trusted him enough to follow. Despite his proud presence in the Barrel, despite the fact that he was walking you into the den of a gang, despite the fact that he was almost unrecognisable from the Kaz that you knew as a child, you had trusted him. And in the years that followed, he had never broken that trust.

He had helped you pay for the first boarding house that you purchased, come with you to the bank when you took out the loan to buy your first ship, had come to the harbour to see you off the first time that you had gone to Ravka.

Kaz had once reminded you of something from your childhood while around the other Crows, and once it had slipped that you and Kaz had been friends when you were young, people were constantly asking you about what he had been like. He never told anybody anything about himself and people had been eager to find a source of information on him, but most people had quickly come to realise that you weren’t going to say anything either. Kaz had never thanked you for your discretion, but you knew that he was glad for it.

If you were honest with yourself, you had found yourself drawn to him ever since you got your first glimpse through his cold and uncaring exterior and saw his loyal and protective nature. The pull had only grown since.

Your thoughts were broken by the sound of the door opening, and you looked over to watch Kaz enter. The door clicked shut behind him and he moved to the wash basin directly across the room from the window that you were sat in, set down his cane and pulled off his gloves .

“A good job?” You asked. He shrugged.

“A job that I’ll do.” He answered and began unbuttoning his shirt. You tried not ogle as he pulled it off and picked up the washcloth from the basin, but you caught sight of a reddened stripe of raised skin across his side and furrowed your brows.

“When did that happen?”

“A few days ago.”

“How deep did it go?”

“Not too deep.”

“It doesn’t look like you stitched it up properly.”

“It’s fine.” He dismissed. You rolled your eyes and got up from the window ledge. Kaz never took proper care of himself but he was always too stubborn to admit it.

“Let me see.”

“I said it’s fine, Y/N-"

“Kaz.” You interrupted sternly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “I said let me see.” He held your gaze for a moment before letting out a huff and raising his arm so that you could get a better view of the wound.

You kept your distance as you looked over the injury, but you could clearly see that the stitches were sloppy on the end of the gash towards his back; the side that he couldn’t reach easily himself.

“You’re keeping it clean?”

“I know how to treat a wound.” He grumbled.

“I know that you know how, that doesn’t mean that I actually trust you to do it. You didn’t even have it bandaged or anything, what if it gets infected?”

“It won’t, Y/N, stop worrying so much.”

“Well, if you’re not going to worry about yourself then somebody else has to.” You exasperated. “At least bandage it.” You didn’t wait for a reply before you crossed over to the cabinet where he kept his impressive stock of medical supplies and grabbed a roll of gauze. Kaz caught it grudgingly when you tossed it to him and set it to the side while he finished washing his torso.

“You worry too much.” He muttered.

“It’s good for you.” You smiled.

You watched him as he unrolled the gauze and wrapped it around his body, carefully laying it over the wound with pale fingers that you rarely saw. He was precise, but he couldn’t see his back and the bandage twisted as he moved it between his hands.

“It’s folded.” You told him softly, taking half a step towards him. “I can fix it... if you want.” There was a beat of silence before Kaz nodded slightly.

You moved towards him slowly and reached for him even slower, your eyes constantly flicking back to the mirror to gauge the reaction on Kaz’s face. Your fingertips barely brushed over his back as you unfolded the downturned piece of bandage and you immediately stepped away when you were done. It took no more than a few seconds, but you could hear Kaz’s short breaths and when you looked at him in the mirror you could see that he had paled.

You picked up the clean shirt that was laid on his bed and held it out to him at full arms length. His hand shook as he took it from you. He pulled it on quickly, making short work of the buttons, and pulled his gloves back on hastily.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, though you weren’t exactly sure what you were apologising for.

“It’s because of Jordie.” Kaz’s voice was hoarse when he spoke, his eyes trained on his shoes. “Why I can’t touch anyone. It’s because when he died...”

“You don’t have to tell me, Kaz.” You said softly when he trailed off. He shook his head slightly and cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds.

“When Jordie died, I was sick too. It was the Queen's Lady plague. One night, I fell asleep in an alley and woke up on the Reaper's Barge.” He swallowed thickly, wringing his hands together thoughtlessly, and you could see sweat forming on his brow. “When my fever broke, I had to swim back to the harbour, and Jordie... whenever someone touches me, all I can feel is those corpses.”

Silence hung between you as you tried to find the words to respond. It was a lot of information to take in, but suddenly things made sense. Now you understood why Kaz had become the way that he was; why he was prone to shutting people out, why the light behind his eyes had dimmed.

“Kaz, I... I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay.” He muttered. “I have work to do. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” He crossed the room to sit down at his desk, his movements tense. You watched him for a minute, unsure of what to do. It felt wrong to leave him alone right now, but you didn’t know if he would want you to stay.

“I’m sailing to Novyi Zem next week.” You said. It was the first topic that you could think of. “I’d really appreciate it if you could look over the rent ledgers while I’m gone.”

“Sure.” He replied flatly. Silence again.

“Will you come with us all to get waffles tomorrow?”

“I have work to do, and Nina didn’t invite me anyway.”

“Yeah, well, the celebration is for me and I’d really like for you to be there.” You smiled slightly. “She probably didn’t invite you because she knew you’d say no.”

“Smart of her.” Kaz responded, and you let out a frustrated huff.

“Don’t do that, Kaz. Don’t shut me out.” You complained. He didn’t answer at all. You folded your arms over your chest and went to stand beside his chair. “I don’t care that you can’t touch people, it doesn’t bother me. You went through trauma and that’s not your fault. What is bothering me is that you’re choosing to stay closed off to everyone. You can’t keep your walls up forever, you’ll kill yourself trying.”

“I can’t handle it, Y/N.” He snapped, his voice low. The gravel in his voice might have intimidated you into backing off if you weren’t so adamant on getting through to him.

“You’ll never be able to handle it if you don’t start trying.” You insisted. “Maybe if you’d just admit to yourself that you care about people it wouldn’t be so hard to see that we care about you too.”

Kaz pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut tightly, and released a long breath. You watched him, waiting for a response, not backing down. After a moment of silence, he glanced up at you.

“I can’t need anyone.” He said slowly. “Not after Jordie. I can’t let myself need anyone else.”

“You don’t have to need me, Kaz. You just have to want me.” You replied softly. His head snapped towards you and you actually saw his pupils dilate for the few seconds that he held your gaze before quickly turning away again. You hadn’t meant it like that, but you weren’t upset that he’d heard it that way.

“I don’t deserve you.” He muttered. You leaned against his desk, a sympathetic smile on your face even though he wasn’t looking at you.

“I’ve been around this long, I’m not going anywhere.” You promised. “There’s more to love about you than you think.”

Kaz tapped on his desk with a finger, a nervous action that he would usually suppress. Then, he took a sharp inhale and turned back to you.

“Okay.” He breathed. “I can try.” You bit down on your tongue in an attempt to suppress your grin, but you couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across your face.

“That’s all I ask.” You lilted. You stood up straight, pushing off of the desk and starting across the room to the window. You rolled your shirt sleeves down and snatched your coat up from the floor. “I’m going to head home. I expect to see you at my door promptly at eleven bells tomorrow morning, ready to get waffles.”

“Alright.” He nodded, breathing a single light laugh.

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

“Here, Y/N, these are for you.” He said quickly, picking up and couple of envelopes from his desk and holding them up for you. “You’ll have to make sure to notify your business partners of your change in mailing address.” You chuckled, going to take the letters from him, and he gave a small smirk as he handed them over.

“Thank you.” You smiled, before turning and heading to the door. “Eleven bells, Brekker. I know you’re a punctual man.”

“I’ll be there.” He affirmed. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Kaz.” You echoed softly before stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind you, a fond smile on your lips.

[castillon02]

There is one winter where Vesemir and Lambert communicate solely via eavesdropping on each other while they are doing a daily version of the “Telling it to the bees” tradition.

The silent treatment is sparked by Lambert bringing his own swarm to the keep. He spots the swarm on the way up, kind of wants to get in on this cool bee stuff, manages to herd them into a sack. Maybe he even thinks that it’s a little bit of an olive branch. Vesemir likes bees. Lambert has brought bees. Easy. 

Except Vesemir is feeling maybe-irrationally possessive of his hobby and as if Lambert is just bullying his way into the One Peaceful Thing He Does, and Lambert doesn’t ever think before doing things, does he, doesn’t he know that more bees means more work? That bees require care, not just to be stuck in the back of a closet like a jar of rotgut?

(As if yeast isn’t a living thing, as if Lambert doesn’t check on his creations every day, tweaking his formulae for booze as carefully as he does for bombs.) 

Anyway. Vesemir says some regrettable things. Lambert absolutely retaliates. If bees require care, then by all rights every hive in here should be dead, because Vesemir has never cared for anything but killing monsters in his entire miserable old life. Too bad he always misses the child-killer in the fucking mirror.  

Eskel and Geralt’s eyes flick back and forth between them as they argue. They are both simultaneously inching for the door and tensed to leap forward and pull them apart if one or both of them tries to draw blood. But Lambert storms off after he says his piece, and Vesemir brings the dishes to the kitchen and starts washing them, trying to pretend as though nothing has happened. He has to Igni the dishwater twice to heat it. The first one is unfocused. Lambert always unfocuses him, damn him.  

But after the dishes are clean, there’s still a fucking. Surprise sack full of bees that needs a home. Not even Bees Surprise, an apian destiny, just his youngest wolf making a choice. 

Lambert has a gift for seeing choices that Vesemir doesn’t notice are there. It’s exhausting. 

Vesemir resolves to wait for morning to collect the new bees, but Lambert is already up there in the apiary when he goes to sort out his own hives. Vesemir waits on the steps of the tower, listening. 

Lambert swears like a Skelligan sailor, muttering to himself about “how the fuck do skeps exist,” and ultimately promises the bees that he will sort them out in the morning when it’s lighter. There’s the sound of items dumped on the floor---Vesemir’s collecting equipment, he’d wager---and then the rustle and buzz, there and then muffled, as Lambert closes the lid on the opened sack of bees in Vesemir’s box. 

“It’s been a less-shitty-than-usual year on the Path,” Lambert says to the humming box of bees. “Didn’t lose anyone I was close to. Only got mobbed from a village once. Got paid usually. Sold Horse the Seventh to a decent farmer so she could get fat while she went gray.” He pauses. “I figured maybe it would be a less shitty winter, too, but. You know. Witchers in Toussaint probably heard that wagonload of horseshit. Guess Vesemir and I aren’t exactly going to combine our honey and alcohol powers to make mead, huh? Bees probably don’t understand irony, but it’s ironic that a sour old man like him farms honey, trust me.”  

Vesemir stays very still. Thinks about being a man who tells his news to the bees because he thinks only the bees will listen. 

Lambert probably doesn’t even know there’s a tradition.

Lambert continues. “But listen up, you and me? We are going to have the best fucking winter just to spite that asshole who thinks we can’t. You’re going to have a great fucking hive and make awesome fucking honey and and live your happy bee lives doing, I don’t know, pollinating shit or whatever the hell you want to do. Be the first honeybees to make beer if you want.” He pauses. “Yeast would probaby interfere with your whole process, right? You gotta tell me if it doesn’t so we can do some actually-ethical mad science shit. ...No, you’re right. Maybe in ten years if we’re still alive. It’s good to have goals. Anyway. Don’t get cozy in there, is my point, and don’t die in the night like the sluttiest character in a romance novel.” 

Lambert passes him on the stairs and his face darkens, but he turns away without saying anything, which is as damning as Lambert gets. 

“I have, yet again, done wrong by Lambert,” Vesemir announces to the bees with a sigh when he gets up there. 

The apiary tower door slams closed below them.

Vesemir tells the bees his news and leaves a half-constructed skep behind him when he goes. Lambert will never use something Vesemir has made, but he’s got an eye for putting things together. He’ll be able to pick up the steps of its design and make his own. 

They have all winter. If the bees are listening, then maybe wolf ears will hear things too. Even ones as old as his and as stubborn as Lambert’s.

[boldlyanxious]

Tenuous Trust

Jasonette July prompts 6: trust

References to Birds of Prey

Mentions of torture and murder

Canon-typical and not graphic

Possibly still disturbing

This is absolutely not what I was writing when I started. The idea was very different but it is what happened so it's what I offer

Not a typical meet cute Monday

My masterlist

Red Hood rushed down the hall away from the confrontation in the lobby. He had planned to sneak in and disrupt the meeting but that was no longer necessary. Things were going bad all on their own. Sionis was trying to find new contacts to deal with but recent interruptions in his business made an already turbulent arrangement turn volatile. Hood kept on down the hall looking for any other things he could tamper with in case they resolved their differences without guns.

He saw a woman step out of one of the former offices before the warehouse had been abandoned. He wasn’t sure who she was but she had been seen with Sionis or Zsasz a few times, but she usually never left their side so she would likely have information about their operation. He moved over to her quickly and pushed her back into the room, possibly more roughly than was necessary but for this it was likely better if she was a bit on edge.

She looked startled at him pushing her around but her eyes dropped down when she realized who he was. She said nothing. She waited for instructions, flinching a little when he reached out for her again.

“You are coming with me. Do you have anything of yours here that you need?”

She shook her head instead of responding, still looking down.

“Quickly out that window and hold on tight.”

She didn’t move. Well, she did but it was to back away and look around for an escape route. He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her a little to get her walking. Shouts were starting to echo down the hall. He expected bullets would be heard next.

“You are going to have to trust me. You have no reason to, but it is your only option.”

He pushed her until she had to either climb out the window or pull out of his grip. The decision became easier for her when the first gun fired followed immediately by several others. She climbed out the window and he followed. She was holding on to the side, looking very nervous about the possibility of a 3 story fall but he pulled her to him when he cleared the window.

Red Hood swung away from the building and landed on a low roof. He pulled her behind him, holding her hand to force her to keep up. They crossed several other roofs and he never saw anyone else nearby so he circled back around and found a vehicle to use. She was hesitating again when it came time for her to get in the car. She didn’t want to go back but she was not very thrilled about going with him.

“I meant what I said. You have to trust me. You have no other choice.”

She stared at him for one more moment before climbing into the car and putting on a seatbelt. They were silent as they drove through Gotham. He could feel the nervousness rolling off her but there was very little he could do about it. He did the one thing he could think of to ease her mind when he pulled off the road and into the drive thru at a Bat burger. It was a little thing. He was hungry. She probably was too, and it was an easy way for her to be more certain he wasn’t planning to just kill her.

He took her to his personal safehouse rather than the base. He didn’t want her spooked by the militia or all the guns and activity. Very few actually knew where the safehouse was. He didn't trust many to know where he slept, but he had a feeling that she could be trusted with the information.

He set the food at the table inside and the scene felt very domestic as they sat across from each other at his small table. It was better light in here so he was able to get a good look at her as she finished her food. She ate slowly and made no sudden movements. Her entire persona was meek, but it felt forced. He finished before her and pushed his back against the chair back as he stretched himself out. He stood and threw his paper wrappers in the trash and pulled out 2 beers from the fridge, offering one to her.

“So who are you?” he asked. “You don’t really seem like a career criminal.”

“I'm not, or I wasn't."

"Very vague explanation."

"I had dreams and plans before. I had a business and had just gotten an incredible contract. I went out with friends to celebrate.”

Red Hood kept watching and waited for her to finish but that seemed to be all of the story he was going to get out of her without more questions.

“How did that lead you to working for Sionis?”

“My friends and I didn’t know the area well. I had just moved here. But we found club Roman listed and that is where we went.”

“That is a well known cover for his business.”

“That is more clear to me now, but I didn’t know it at the time. It was purported to have a great singer and a dance show. That part was true.”

“Gonna need more of how you got involved with Sionis, Sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said vehemently.

He was taken aback and raised his hands in a surrender motion. She appeared to be working on calming her breathing, eyes wide in terror. But she took a deep breath and continued.

“My friends and I all piled into an uber to get home. We checked the driver and everything was correct. He was very polite and dropped them off first. My place was only a little further away but I never made it home. He was working for Sionis and brought me to see him. He told me I worked for him now. He wanted my new contract as a way to do his business and work against the other company.”

“How long ago was this?”

“I signed the Wayne contract in March.”

“And you have been working for him since?”

“I guess so. I don’t really think of it that way though.”

“You don't think of it that way? Is there a more eloquent way to say you are working for a mob boss?”

"You know a lot about his organization. You are familiar with Mr Zsasz?" Hood nodded without interrupting her. "He is covered in scars. It's very off putting before you know the reason. Then it is horrifying. He kills people, and for each person he kills he makes a mark."

"So you did what they said or he would kill you?"

"I tried to resist or escape at first. But Mr Zsasz had driven my friends home. He didn't only threaten me." She took a shaky breath. "Nor was I the only person they tried to convince to work with Black Mask. There was another man, he was brought in with his wife and daughter. They made me watch--"

Hood followed her out of the room when she suddenly stopped talking and bolted out of the room. He stood by the bathroom door for several minutes until she finished and then ran the water for several minutes cleaning herself up. When she came back out he offered a water. He said he didn't have ginger ale or crackers but he could make toast. She shook her head but took the water from him. Then she continued telling her story.

"The threats were always there. Usually they would just smack me around a bit if I didn't want to do something or possibly if they were bored. They would threaten my friends or tell me they had given up trying to find me." She wiped away tears. "If I gave in too quickly after a beating Mr Zsasz would show me his scars. He has a spot picked out for me. Once told me he wanted me to fight them because he wanted to fill my spot. He dragged me up by my hair and made me kiss it."

"He did what?" Red Hood could barely contain his anger. The whole story was making him irrationally angry.

"It wasn't about me, or anything like that. He wasn't interested in anything but torment and he was very good at that. He did it for the bit if blood that transferred from my bloody lip to the spot. He says he couldn't wait for his own blood to show in my spot." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she added. "He always called me Sweetheart because I didn't like it and he refused to use my name. Everyone did. I wasn't even a person to them."

"What is your name?"

"Marinette," she said quietly.

"Marinette, you are safe now. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Last time I tried to escape he said there was nowhere to run. He would find me no matter what and make his mark."

He paused for a moment, thinking. He knew the best option but he didn't really want to use it. But it was the best option for Marinette.

"I can't protect you." Her face fell at that. "What I mean is I'm dismantling the entire organization. I can't keep you safe but I know of people who can. Do you trust me?"

"You said I have to trust you."

"But you would actually have to rely on the trust for this. You would have to trust that you will be safe with the people I take you to."

"It doesn't seem like there is another option."

"Getting you out of town with a new identity could work. But you may always be on the run. This life you have would never be yours again."

"Okay. I will trust you."

They left after that. He took her across many rooftops and around town. He seemed to be waiting for something but Marinette didn't know what until someone else landed. It was Batman, a known enemy of Red Hood and Black Mask. Marinette really hoped there wasn't going to be a fight.

"Took you long enough, old man."

"It was clear you were trying to draw me out. I wasn't going to jump into a trap."

"You are known for holding back, whether the situation calls for it or not. I'm proposing a temporary truce."

"How temporary is this truce?"

"One hour."

"That is very temporary. You clearly need me out of your plans right now. That sounds like the worst time for me to agree to a truce."

"I'm not making any moves. I need help or she does." He stood aside so Batman could see Marinette. "She was taken by Black Mask after securing a contract with Wayne Enterprises. Your connection to Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises is well known."

He watched Bruce under the mask. His Batman mask slipped off his facial features while the cowl stayed firm. He knew Bruce was looking at his helmet and seeing Jason. He thought he was finally reaching the boy and Red Hood had no interest in correcting the misconception now. He would still complete his plan.

Black Mask had just become a higher priority and surprisingly he wanted to keep Marinette safe. He also had plans for Zsasz. He wanted to take him out personally. He shocked himself by reaching up to Marinette's chin and tilting it. She looked up at him as if he could tell their eyes were meeting even thought he had his helmet on. His thumb brushed against her jaw briefly before he dropped his hand.

"Keep her safe," he said without looking back at Batman. He couldn't stand to see Bruce looking at Jason again right now. He flipped off the roof and away before anyone else says anything but he crept back to a higher vantage point to watch as Batman took Marinette with him. She would be fine now.

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@jasonette-july-event | @theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf | @vixen-uchiha | @trythisagainlove | @trippingovermyfeet | @tbehartoo | @adrestar | @zynna

[archived-kin]

you are hopelessly in love with one (1) librarian

note from kin: i’m (kinda) back baby!!!!!

i thought i’d start with something for myself to get back into the ~groove~ so i chose lisa since i love her so much

in this one you’re venti’s accompanist bard buddy and play the flute! whether or not you’re a vision-holder isn’t mentioned but i like to imagine that venti gives you an anemo vision after the two of you bond as fellow musicians (though of course you don’t know it’s him who gave you it, you basically just woke up one night after a performance and found it in your pocket)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, lisa, kaeya, venti, razor

pairing(s): lisa/reader (+ some wholesome best friend venti content)

warning(s): none!

genre: fluff

“She’s so pretty,” You groan into the table. “I’m going to die.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Kaeya replies through a mouthful of hash brown. “Your bard friends would be rather sad without their favourite Buoyant Balladeer.”

“What difference is it going to make?” You raise your head and stare at him with soulless eyes. “My life has no meaning anyway.”

“Oh, now you’re just being dramatic.” Kaeya slaps your shoulder so hard that you swear you feel your bones dislocate. “Cheer up.”

You groan, but sit up and take the hash brown he offers you anyway. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” He responds, already shoving another one into his mouth and beginning to chew.

You let out a heavy sigh and begin to nibble miserably on your own hash brown. “Sorry about all this. I probably sound like an idiot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” He reaches over and gives your hair a playful ruffle. “And you don’t sound like an idiot. Lisa’s a very beautiful lady, after all.”

You raise your head in a snap, glaring at your friend through narrow eyes. “Hey, watch it.”

“I’m uninterested, not blind. Calm down.” He flicks you in the head with a chuckle. Raising his eyes to the sky, he gives a content sigh, as if the sun that he appears to be staring directly into isn’t burning his eye. “You know, a sky like this really calls for a nice glass of dandelion wine…”

“You have beyond enough problems to deal with right now without becoming a day drinker as well,” You shoot back. “Don’t you still have a report to file about those Treasure Hoarders over in Windrise?”

“Oh, that’s taken care of,” He says dismissively, taking a sip from his cup of water. “All dealt with.”

“Careful, Mr Kaeya,” comes a familiar honey-sweet voice from somewhere behind you, and you immediately tense. “Lying is a sin.”

“Miss Lisa!” laughs your blue-haired companion as the librarian pulls up a seat at your table, leaning forward and resting her chin on a single gloved hand. It’s an innocent motion by all means, but it still makes your heart skip a beat. “So kind of you to join us. What brings you here?”

“I simply saw two familiar faces while out on a stroll,” She smiles, stealing Kaeya’s mug and taking a sip of his Wolfhook juice. “How have we all been doing?”

“I-I’m doing great,” You quickly reply as her eyes land on you, unable to form a more intelligent response under her clear green-eyed gaze.

Much better now that you’re here, you add silently as she turns her attention to Kaeya, sliding his mug back over to him with such ease that you get the impression she does this a lot.

Kaeya himself either hasn’t noticed Lisa stealing his drink or doesn’t care, since he promptly curls his fingers back around the tankard and takes a long drink without any indication that he’s noticed anything out of the norm.

“Craving some wine, but I suppose I’m fine,” He sighs, tilting his head slightly to the side and swirling the contents of his mug around. “[Name] here says I shouldn’t be drinking during daylight.”

“And [Name] is very right,” Lisa shakes her head, the little rose accessory on the end of her hat tinkling with the motion. You can’t help but silently compare the sound to the ringing of heaven’s bells. Curse your stupidly romantic heart. “You drink more than enough in the evenings.”

“Then what of you?” Kaeya counters, smirking playfully. “I know for a fact that you can drink most of Angel’s Share’s patrons under the table within a single night.”

“Perhaps so, but I spend far less nights in front of the bar than you do.”

You stare determinedly down into the bottom of your water tankard as Lisa and Kaeya continue their little back-and-forth, feeling an odd sensation tugging at the pit of your stomach. What is this? Anger? Jealousy?

Tapping your fingers agitatedly on the tabletop, you kick yourself firmly in the shin. You’re being ridiculous. Kaeya knows just how head-over-heels you are for the Witch of Purple Rose, and even if he is a sneaky little snake who swaps around the chess pieces when he thinks you’re not looking, you know that he’d never do something like… that to you. Besides, you know full well that, even if they’re close friends, they don’t harbour any romantic feelings for each other.

As the songs say, though, jealousy is a green-eyed demon that will listen to irrationality over reason any day, and so you can’t help but glare subtle holes into the side of Kaeya’s head as he continues to converse with the object of your affections as if you’re not even there.

“... I jest, I jest,” He laughs, waving his hand about as Lisa giggles into her glove. “Anyway, as I was saying to our friend here earlier - the weather’s been beautiful recently, hasn’t it?”

You raise your eyebrows at him, a signal that Kaeya clearly sees and pointedly ignores. The both of you know that the weather was far from what you had been conversing about earlier, but you’re glad that Kaeya isn’t giving you away, at the very least.

“Quite,” Lisa agrees, tossing a lock of hair out of her face in a way that knocks all the breath out of your lungs. “Pleasant weather for a stroll around Starsnatch Cliff, wouldn’t you say, [Name]?”

You jolt in your seat and heat up so abruptly that you wouldn’t be surprised if you started smoking. Kaeya sniggers not-so-subtly into his hand as you hurriedly stutter, “U-uh, yeah, totally!”

“Is that an invitation?” Kaeya raises an eyebrow with a coy smirk, and you’ve never wanted to punch him more than you do at this moment. “I’m sure [Name] would be glad to accompany you.”

“Ah, I couldn't impose myself like that,” Lisa shakes her head, and you want to cry because if only you weren’t such a coward you could tell her that she’d never be imposing on you. “Razor could do with some new scenery for his training. I might as well show him the sights.”

“How is training with your protégé going, then?” Kaeya asks. “He seems to have become quite the loyal little wolf since you first took him under your wing.”

“Oh, he’s an absolute darling,” Lisa says breezily. “He still isn’t very verbal, unfortunately, but he’s learning to communicate like a star. And he’s becoming a dab hand at using his Vision more effectively, too.”

“Sounds like you’re a wonderful teacher, then,” Kaeya compliments, then gives you a side-eyed look. “Wouldn’t you agree, [Name]?”

You nod vigorously. “Absolutely!”

“You flatter me,” Lisa sighs, “But a good teacher is nothing without a bright and willing student.”

Kaeya gives you a subtle dig in the side, and you hurriedly go to reply. “H-hey, give yourself some credit. Razor never would have been able to open up so much without you.”

“You’re too kind, darling.” She gives you a brilliant smile, and you very nearly pass out on the spot, but Kaeya helpfully keeps you conscious by stomping hard on your left foot like the little shit he is. You’ll have to get him back for that later - when your heart rate isn’t so rapid that it feels like you might just ascend to Celestia any minute now.

Lisa doesn’t stay for long after that, conversing with Kaeya for another five minutes or so while you stew in your own flustered chagrin and silently continue to freak out over just how… perfect she is. It’s honestly ridiculous. How is she even human? How are you worthy of even being in her presence?

“Well,” Kaeya says as Lisa disappears back down the street, presumably to return to her place in the office. “That went well.”

You glare at him. “You think?”

“You spoke to her, didn’t you?” He counters, grinning cheekily. “That’s a start.”

You open your mouth to give him a grumpy response, then give up and slump forward on the table again. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” He hums, draining the last of his Wolfhook juice and setting the mug down with a sharp thunk. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be preparing for your performance tonight? You should probably go find your partner.”

“Our friend Kaeya is very right,” calls an all-too-familiar figure from atop a nearby roof. “You’re late.”

If it had been any other occasion, you might have jumped, but right now you’re too emotionally exhausted to do anything but let out a long, tired sigh. Ignoring Kaeya’s evil little cackle, you look up and turn to see Venti grinning down at you. “Bard.”

“Accompanist,” He imitates your monotone address, hopping down from the roof and landing softly on the pavement without so much as a click of his shoes. Flicking out his cape, he sets his hands on his hips and offers you his usual cheeky grin. “What’s got you so gloomy?”

“Nothing,” You reply, standing up and dusting off the front of your clothes. “Let’s go.”

Venti doesn’t move. He raises a single, suspiciously perfectly-shaped eyebrow, cocking his head to the side, then looks to Kaeya, who not-so-subtly mouths something at him. You pretend not to notice his obvious hand gestures in the corner of your eye.

“Ah,” Venti says suddenly, his expression taking on a mock-wise air. “Love troubles once again, I presume. Is our dear [Name] still ailed by a paralysing infatuation with one Miss Lisa?”

Kaeya claps enthusiastically, as if he isn’t the one who basically just told Venti the whole story through poorly-done charades. “Correct! I keep telling them to make a move, you know, but they’re too much of a coward.”

You aim a kick at his shin under the table that he dodges easily. “I’m not a coward! I’m just… gauging the territory.”

“You’ve been ‘gauging the territory’ for months now,” Venti whines, holding his fists in front of his chest and giving you the widest-eye look he can muster. “Come on! The eagle that never dives will never catch its prey, after all!”

“Lisa isn’t prey,” You counter. “And I’m not an eagle.”

“Hopeless is what you are,” comments Kaeya, leaning back in his chair and toying absently with a lock of his hair. “Hmmm, why don’t you write her a song? That’s your strong suit, isn’t it?”

“A song?!” You practically combust right there and then - if you’d been a Pyro Vision holder, you have no doubt that you’d have erupted into a column of flame on the spot. “No way!”

“I think that’s a splendid idea!” Venti exclaims, hopping up and down excitedly on the spot, hat threatening to fly off his head all the while. “You write the lyrics and melody, we compose the instrumental part together, and I’ll sing it for you! We’ll be an absolutely unresistable duo!”

“Easy there,” Kaeya teases, holding up a hand. “Our friend here is the one trying to win Lisa’s affections, after all.”

“Then I’ll be sure to try to direct as much of the spotlight to them as possible,” Venti replies, completely unaffected by Kaeya’s attempt to fluster him. You wish you had his coolheadedness sometimes. “C’mon, [Name], what do you say?”

“I said no!” You holler as he jumps energetically up at you like an over-excited puppy. “No way! There’s no way I’m going to just— broadcast my feelings like that!”

“You won’t be,” Kaeya explains, infuriatingly calm in the face of your explosive embarrassment. “Write the song so that only Lisa would be able to understand the true feelings behind it. It shouldn’t be difficult - you’re the master lyricist, after all.”

“Plus you have me to help as well,” Venti chimes in, holding up a single, proud finger. “The Windborne Bard himself - with me by your side, you can’t possibly fail!”

“Look—” You sink back into your seat and hunch forward, burying your face into your hands. A moment later, you raise your head again to see Venti giving you a concerned look. “I appreciate it, I really do, but… I can’t.”

“Of course you can,” Kaeya says unhelpfully, giving you a hearty slap on the back that is also unhelpful in every way. “You’ve performed all over Teyvat - this would be a small feat in comparison.”

“You aren’t helping, Master Kaeya,” Venti says, not-so-subtly elbowing Kaeya in the side. “We need to be cautious here. Like coaxing a young hatchling to fly the nest… we must take baby steps.”

“No baby steps!” You protest, leaning away as he takes a threatening step closer. “No steps at all!”

“Surely writing a subtle confessional song would be much easier than playing an intricate ballad in front of some of the most influential figures of Liyue?” Kaeya doesn’t show any signs of relenting. “Archons above, [Name], it seems that you’ve channelled all of your courage to entirely the wrong places.”

You drop your head into your hands again and glare at him through the cracks between your fingers. “Kaeya, I’d die for you any day, but for the love of the Archons, please shut up.”

He shrugs and obligingly places his finger over his lips, but you can clearly see him hiding a laugh behind it.

Venti hums, leaning over and giving your shoulder a comforting rub as you sigh miserably into your hands. “Hey, relax. I’m not going to drag you out on stage and force you to confess in song, much as I’m tempted to. If you don’t want to do it, we don’t have to.”

You ignore that middle part and choose to focus on Venti’s earnest attempt at consolation. “...thanks.”

“No need to thank me!” He winks playfully and gives your knees a firm pat. “Now come on! Confession or not, we still have a performance to practise for!”

You sigh and smile. “...sure.”

Leaving Kaeya to pay the lunch bill in retaliation for his teasing, you and Venti head off to your usual practice spot in the gardens outside the Cathedral. There’s some debate over who gets to wear the ‘Star of the Show’ Windwheel Aster pin today, but Venti relents quickly and gives you an easy win. You’re pretty sure it’s out of pity for your romantic plight, but you don’t care. The pin looks a lot nicer fastened on the lapel of your coat, anyway - the colour doesn’t match Venti’s cloak at all.

“So what’s the quota for tonight?” Venti asks, giving his lyre an absent-minded strum. “Celestial Destiny on repeat once more, I presume.”

“Shut up,” You groan, flipping open the latches of your instrument case and carefully lifting out your flute. “I’ve just been… lacking inspiration.”

“What you’ve been lacking is emotional fulfilment,” Venti sighs, reaching over and flicking you in the side of the head. “All you do is wander around Mondstadt, practise, and perform. Surely you could compose something flavourful if you had a little more excitement in your life.”

“I have excitement enough just as I am,” You bring your flute to your mouth. “Now shut up and start practising.”

Venti huffs, but begins strumming the opening chords anyway.

The two of you work your way steadily through your usual repertoire for the next hour or so. It goes smoothly as always - you’ve performed these pieces so many times that you could probably play them in your sleep - but you can’t help but feel like something is missing throughout the entire practice. Venti seems to be fully aware of it as well - rather than closing his eyes and swaying along to the music like usual, he just keeps glancing at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, wearing that frown that says ‘I know exactly what’s going on here but I don’t know if I should bring it up’.

Finally, he has enough, abruptly stopping his strumming in the middle of Early Dawn and setting his lyre down on the bench with a huff. “Alright, that’s it!”

You lower your flute and stare at him blankly as he stands and turns to glare at you, hands set firmly on his hips like a scolding parent. “You’re far too dismal! What happened to the Buoyant Balladeer? There’s no breeze in your playing at all!”

“I’m sorry if my heart is too heavy to play as light as the wind,” You retort, setting your flute back in its case. “I’m afraid I’m a little preoccupied.”

Venti looks at you with a furrowed brow as you shut the case with a harsh snap. After a moment, his voice much softer, he asks, “Are you alright?”

You hesitate for a moment. “...yes.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and doesn’t say anything else. After a pause, you groan and concede. “Alright, I’m miserable, so what? Let’s just get on with it.”

“We are most certainly not getting on with it,” He shoots back, turning to face you directly and crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest. “I can’t have my dear [Name] walking around with such a heavy heart. Come on, talk to me. What is it that weighs you down so?”

You stare at him for a long moment. He looks back at you almost unblinkingly, and try as you might to turn away and dismiss him again, there’s something about his wide green eyes that just compels you to tell the truth.

“I’m...afraid.” You say quietly. “It’s such a cliche thing to say, but I’ve really never felt this way before. I don’t… I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Venti smiles reassuringly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. First loves are always scary.”

“I understand that, but…” You bury your face in your hands and groan. “...she’s just so perfect and I’m just so me and it just feels like it’d never work out.”

“Hey, I don’t like that tone!” He scolds lightly, reaching out and flicking you in the cheek. “No talking bad about yourself. Besides, who says it’d never work out? As far as we know, your feelings are mutual.”

“I seriously doubt that,” You sigh, raising your head once again.

Venti raises an eyebrow. “Have you ever asked?”

You’re quiet for another few moments. “...no…”

“Then how do you know what her answer will be?” He asks. “Why assume that it’ll be no?”

You open your mouth to respond, but something suddenly compels you to look over to the town square. Venti goes quiet beside you as you see Lisa, standing beneath the Anemo Archon statue with Razor beside her. She seems to be explaining something to him.

Razor seems to feel your gaze almost as soon as it lands on him and his mentor. His hair bristles, and he abruptly whips around to look at you, but as soon as he sees you, he seems to relax. He lifts a gloved hand to send you a brief wave; you hesitantly return it.

He turns around and tugs on Lisa’s sleeve; she pauses and turns around to follow his pointing finger. You hold your breath as your eyes meet hers.

She raises her hand, and there’s no mistaking it - she’s smiling. An eternity seems to pass within those few seconds of eye contact, and for once your heart isn’t beating in your throat, your breaths aren’t becoming shallow and uneven, you aren’t heating up and boiling over. Instead, you feel a kind of pleasant warmth well up inside you, and you can’t help but beam and wave back.

Lisa looks at you for another moment, smiles once more, then turns around and begins walking away, gently tapping Razor’s shoulder as she goes. He glances back between you and his teacher, then turns around and follows behind her.

A long silence stretches between you and Venti.

You take a deep breath and turn to look at him, and he immediately grins. Somehow, you get the feeling that he knows what you're going to say.

“I need you to help me write a love song.”

[moonshine-dan]

what would kissing your close friend, kuroo or bokuto, for the first time be like? i imagined that you've been with him since high school and you only realized your feelings for him in college gahhh please indulge this hopeless romantic >.<

I would love to! This is for all the hopeless romantics out there who love Bokuto.

@janellion ... I hear you like stuff like this?

Downtown

Is it really this fun when you're on my mind? Is it really this cool to be in your life?

Bokuto x Reader, fluff. 2.2 K

Warnings: Nothing major. Suicide mentioned as part of a drink title. A little suggestive at the end.

The automatic doors hiss open as you walk into the humid Osaka night, wincing. The AC inside the 7/11 had made it easy to forget how hot it was. The slurpee you just bought is sweet and takes the edge off, but beyond that, you couldn’t say what the flavor was exactly. You let Bokuto take both of your cups to the machine and make suicides out of every option - “So none of ’em feel left out!” - like you always did. 

He was following you out, eyes gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the signs above you.

"It's good to just hang out like this again. We haven't done this in forever!" He was waving animatedly in your general direction, the drink in his flailing hand getting dangerously close to spilling on your shirt.

"Woah! My bad! Nothing got on you, right?"

You nod. He responds with a thousand watt smile that pushes his eyes closed and makes you want to grab his stupid hair spikes and drag him into a kiss.

You’ve got it so bad for your best friend that it’s almost funny, if it wasn’t also completely pathetic. It's only recently that you realized you liked him as more than a friend- but now that you’re reminiscing with him, the signs were very, very obvious. To you, at least. 

The pair of you are moving from the eye-piercing light of the storefront and over to the far side of the parking lot. The plan? To loiter, just like you did in high school when volleyball practice got out. Usually, you'd have 3 or 4 of his teammates with you, eating garbage snack food and joking around on the curb until the manager would chase you away. 

You can see in your mind how you would gravitate towards Bokuto on those nights, sitting next to him in the parking lot, bumping your foot or your knee into his while you talked. How you laughed at his jokes and would ask for his jacket when it got cold. His presence was magnetic, and you got pulled in deep. It wasn’t until after you both had graduated and started down separate paths that you were able to really see what you had. What you missed so deeply. 

It's just the two of you tonight, Bokuto fresh out of practice and talking excitedly about his teammates' antics, just like he used to. The only things that are different now are the names of the players. He’s telling you a story about his germophobic friend, Sasuke? You think? Bokuto talks so fast sometimes he doesn’t really annunciate well - and you sigh at the familiarity of it all. Maybe this would turn out alright; maybe you had been avoiding meeting up with Bokuto for no reason? 

You had thought that seeing him in person again, not just on a grainy phone screen, would be disastrous. It was hard enough to try and keep your feelings inside over video calls and text messages, but having him in front of you? You knew you’d do something to tip him off on how you felt toward him, and even though you knew he would never stop being your friend, the fear of your love being unrequited held you back. 

He'd been asking for weeks to meet up, and you had been successfully blaming college on your schedules not working - until he offered you to meet him late night on Friday, just like you used to. With no excuse and an irrationally heavy heart, you agreed to meet up.

Perhaps it was just a crush? Maybe you sought him out between classes and waited for hours after school just so see him because you just…. Liked him. And you had halfway convinced yourself that's all it was, until he had smiled at you brightly and reminded you just how dull things were without him in your life. 

He’s sitting now on a parking block with his back against a bollard, slapping the spot next to him invitingly. Bokuto whoops when you drop down next to him, slush flying from his cup as he whips it excitedly. "You gotta see this!"

He scoots closer to you, phone in hand. There's a paused youtube video onscreen: a highlight reel someone had made of his spikes. He hits play as soon as you lean in a little, grinning wildly and giving a play by play commentary as you watch. The outside of his thigh presses into yours warmly.

Here's hoping he can’t somehow feel the heat creeping up your neck.

He beams at you from over the phone, looking at you expectantly as the video ends. “Wasn’t I great?” 

You feel like you’ve run a mile and all he did was press his leg to yours. He’s too great. “Yes, Bokuto, you were amazing.”

He’s really grinning now, eyes crinkling shut. “You’ve gotta come to one of my games and see me in action! I promise, it’s waaaay better in person! You could even,” he pauses for a moment, thinking, “bring one of the guys you’ve been seeing? Watching me win would be an awesome date.”

Oh god, your dates. You had tried going on a few recently, another attempt to distance yourself from your best friend. Nothing serious - just coffee shop conversations, but they easily lost a competition they weren't even aware they were in. None of them could even begin to make you feel the way Bokuto did. And the thought of taking one of them to see your best friend and unrequited crush in his element? There’s no way that wouldn't find a way to blow up in your face.

“That’s a great idea, man,” you lie. “I’m not seeing anyone right now though.” Bokuto’s giving you a spectacular double eyebrow raise above his cup. “Oh ho?”

You flick his arm gently. “Don’t be mean, Bo. I’ll just come to a game and hang out in the stands with your date instead.”

Why did you say that. Why did you say that. Why did you say that. 

The eyebrows come down. He’s smiling, but it’s not quite reaching his eyes, which aren’t meeting your own. “Nah, you can’t do that. We broke up.”

You feel terrible for the little thrill that sends through you.

“Oh, Bokuto, I’m sorry.” You are. He’s your best friend. The cruel joy you feel does not go away. 

His eyes flicker to you momentarily. “Nah, it’s fine. They weren’t the one, you know?”

Who is? You want to ask. What comes out instead is, “How did you know?”

Bokuto hums inquisitively. “Know what?”

“That they weren’t the one. How did you know?”

He’s still not looking at you when he replies, “I just know.”

Silence falls. You use the quiet moment as an excuse to turn away as well. This is really unlike him. Had he changed that much in the time since you last saw him? Nothing else about Bokuto seems different - maybe the issue was just you?

Stop it. Don’t think things like that. 

The silence drags on. You pull the straw of your drink into your mouth and chew, trying to think of something not romance-related to talk about. Nothing is coming to mind - Bokuto has been all you can think about for a solid week, and being next to him is NOT helping. It’s just the two of you, alone together in silence. It’s late enough that there aren’t any pedestrians on walks to distract you, the night quiet and dark outside of the strangely illuminated parking lot. Desperate to think of anything else, you look up at the hazy summer sky.

It’s hard to see stars through the light pollution, but you can make out Vega, you think. Some stars were bright enough to see even in the middle of the city. The straw pops out of your mouth as you point it out loudly, getting Bokuto’s attention.

“Check it out Bo, you can see part of Lyra. That star’s got to be Vega. You remember?”

Bokuto jerks slightly before he turns to face you, looking startled. His gaze follows your finger up, mouth still pursed around the straw in his mouth. His smile returns as he tilts his head to peer up at the sky with you. “You told me about that one once! It’s a summer constellation, right?”

You drop your hand as Bokuto starts pointing out the faint other stars of the summer triangle. It may be hard to see stars in the city, but with Bokuto shining next to you, it’s hard to see anything else at all. The weird fluorescence of the parking lot light should have washed him out, but somehow he was aglow, soft shadows instead of harsh lines shading him lightly. He really was a star, and he burned the brightest out of any that you could see tonight.

You were staring at him again. 

It’s no surprise when he catches you this time, golden eyes meeting yours and matching your gaze. The delight is still present on his face but it’s sobering, turning serious. Your heart is racing as Bokuto continues to stare you down in silence. His eyebrows draw together as he raises his hand slowly, reaching for your face.

A finger grazes your cheek. You might have stopped breathing. He opens his mouth.

“You had some slush on your face.” His finger remains there, rubbing at the stuck on sugar.

...

Okay. Something has to change. There’s only so much your heart can take.

You reach up and cup your hand over his, holding it in place. Bokuto stills at the sudden contact, bewildered. You aren’t sure what you are doing, much less how to say what you want, but you hope that somehow he understands. No sound escapes your mouth as you maintain eye contact and slot your fingers together. Bokuto stares, still uncharacteristically silent - but he’s not just looking anymore. His eyes are searching, gaze sharp and analytical. You couldn’t look away from them if you wanted to.

Bokuto blinks first, eyes flitting over to your joined hands as you press your cheek into the heat of his palm. His thumb drags lightly over to your skin, meeting your bottom lip and tracing along the curve of it. He watches, entranced, as they part slightly from the touch. 

Even if this doesn’t work out. Even then. Just having this moment would be enough. Your eyes close as you huff out the breath you had been holding. The hot coil of anxiety snaking through your stomach makes you hesitant to open them again. When Bokuto’s thumb moves from your mouth to pad at your cheek, you steel yourself and open them again. 

You shouldn't have worried. There’s nothing in his golden eyes but understanding when you finally dare to open them again. Bokuto’s remaining hand is impossibly gentle as he places it on your shoulder, leaning into your space. His shoulders shake minutely with barely contained excitement from the breakthrough he’s just had - you like him, just as much as he likes you. There’s no way he can’t feel the heat in your skin rising now as your pulse skyrockets. 

“Kou…”, you whisper into the shrinking space between you.

Bokuto doesn’t bother with a response. His lips are a little chapped when they capture yours, but they're warm and eager and pressing in with the weight of half a decade of unconfessed feelings.

You know immediately what he meant earlier about knowing ‘the one’. No kiss from any of your dates was ever this electric. None of them made you feel like time was stopping when their lips met yours, or made your heart beat like it was about to fly from your chest. None of them made you feel like you were finally home, held in strong arms and with a familiar hand gently running along your cheek. 

There really was no one like Bokuto, and you were so glad there was no one else for him but you right now. 

You push forward until you chests are touching, desperate for closer contact now that you know you’re allowed to get it. The back of his head is cradled in your free hand, fingers tangling in the short spikes at the nape of his neck. Bokuto hums against your mouth, tongue slipping out to trace where his thumb had been earlier. He starts backward slightly as you meet it with the tip of yours, breaking away with a gasp.

“Woah! Not on the first date!”

“You used tongue first.” Your deadpan expression doesn't faze him. He wraps a heavy arm around your shoulders and pulls you close to his side, laughing. 

Wait a minute.

“Did you say date? Is this a date?”

Bokuto freezes. He glances at you side-eyed and inquires quietly, “Do you... want it to be one?”

It’s much easier to be truthful when you’ve had his tongue in your mouth. “I’d love it to be one.”

Bokuto whoops loudly, the exclamation echoing in the empty lot.

First dates usually sucked. This one, however, was going to stick with you for a long time. You run your tongue over your lips as you bump your head to his shoulder. Who knew slurpees tasted even better on someone else's mouth?

“Y'know, If we don’t leave soon,” you tease, “the manager might chase us away again.”

He hums dismissively and bends to press a kiss to your temple.

“Let’em.”

[dzamie-oc]

05 - Space

Space prompt, eh? A good a time as ever for some hammer-space dragon! Featuring Sylvia, the loveliest little gold dragoness in the Dragonslayer Guild Hall.

Length: 2200 words Rating: M (noncon vore. Not sexual, but it’s still noncon and vore) Summary: Victoria, a dragonslayer in training, learns an unforgettable lesson about how hammerspace dragons work, and perhaps about assuming mundane explanations around fantastical creatures.

Minors DNI with this particular story. I am hella uncomfortable with the idea of y’all openly interacting with vore.

-----

“Hey, Sylvia, any chance I could borrow a gold coin? Need to test the magical affinity of this thing to some elements, and gold’ll do just fine,” the cheetah asked the little golden dragon perched on his shoulder. “Y’know, before I permanently affix the actual part.”

“Yeah, gimme a second. Hand, please.”

Behind them, Victoria watched the pair work - or, well, she watched Dzamie work, while Sylvia mostly just watched him from closer. She had initially stopped by to ask the katul about one of his swordwork lessons, but he seemed busy, so she was fine waiting... for ten minutes longer, maybe. A bit more if she thought she’d get to cuddle the adorable little dragoness. Yes, time and time again, Dzamie himself had repeated that every dragon can kill an incautious slayer, and it was almost always in reference to Sylvia, but the woman found it hard to take it seriously. Not that she’d ever say it aloud. Even if it turned out not to be true, Sylvia seemed to take pride in her rumored “danger,” and Victoria liked the little lady too much to rain on her parade.

A loud hiss filled the air, then Dzamie waved a gold coin in his hand back and forth, steam rising up from his paw and the coin. “What’s he doing that does that?” the human asked herself, aloud.

Dzamie, however, was the one to respond, without looking up. “Oh, fire spells come easy to me, so I use ‘em to quickly dry off stuff Sylvia gives me. Gives the workshop a certain smell, but it’s not really enough drool to bother humans.” His voice dropped to a mutter as he looked over his work, then nodded and spoke up again. “Yeah, that’ll work. But, yeah, if you ever catch me after a swim, I do the same thing to myself - just, with a silencing spell when there’s people around.”

Having been unofficially invited into the conversation, Victoria walked closer. The katul was working on what looked an awful lot like a gun from a video game. “Huh, forgot you did cosplay,” she remarked, “and, wait, why would what she gave you be wet?”

Two pairs of eyes swung to look at her, one tiny and yellow, one more her size and, well, also yellow, but with a purple aura around them that soon cleared. “I trust him to return items from my hoard,” Sylvia said, “and, naturally, anything I don’t bag up for protection gets wet.”

Victoria looked around, trying to find where the little dragoness might have put a hoard that she could somehow reach from Dzamie’s shoulder, to no avail. Luckily for her, Sylvia easily read the human’s face, smiled, swished her tail, and said, “Hmm, tell you what. You’re nice enough to me, good enough pets and all that.”

“Oh, is she the other one who’s been giving you strawberries?” Dzamie asked. He was looking back at the prop again, where a finger wreathed in green fire poked at a floating spell circle of the same color.

Sylvia huffed. “Anyway! Would you like to see my hoard, Victoria?” The golden dragoness sat up as tall as she could to deliver her next line, “just be aware that if you try to steal from me, your life is forfeit.”

Any tiny, intimidating effect she might have had was immediately discarded as her furry, feline perch moved his arm and sent her tumbling onto the table. In spite of herself, Victoria laughed. “Sorry, sorry!” she said, “it’s just, the timing. I would love to see your hoard, Sylvia. Assuming it’s not just that coin. Uh, no offense, you’re just, well, you-sized.”

Dzamie interrupted again, muttering “alright, let’s see if this doesn’t explode this time” as he picked up his project in one hand. “And Victoria, pop quiz! Zero percent of your grade. What species of dragon is this adorable golden derg?”

“Don’t call me a derg.”

“Adorable golden dragon,” the cheetah amended. The device in his hand whirred and glowed with his green magic, and successfully failed to explode, at which he gave a satisfied “heh.”

Victoria leaned against one of the other tables, trying to recall. “She’s a... hammer-something. Not hammerhead, hammer... hammerspace!” she said with a confident smile.

Dzamie nodded. “Fantacular. Just making sure you might know what you’re in for.” He turned to Sylvia. “I’m gonna go test this out proper. Back in a few.”

The dragoness on the table walked over to the edge and sat down, facing Victoria. “Okay, then, just set your sword... somewhere and give me your hands.” As she did so, unsheathing the weapon and laying it flat, Sylvia continued, “I never figured out whether it’s easier for you if I go slow or fast, but I like slow, so I’m gonna go slow.”

“Oh, and you’ll want to ditch the rest of your armor,” Dzamie added, gesturing to her with the toy gun, “trust me on this, it’s uncomfortable and then you just have to clean it unnecessarily.”

Victoria glared at him. “Sure, Teach, let me just strip down right in front of a male katul all alone in this room.”

Dzamie passed his prop to his other hand, then held up his fingers as he counted off, “okay, one, Sylvia’s here with us; two, just because I fit the stereotype doesn’t mean you should use it; and three-” he lifted his project, “- the only reason I’m coming back here in the next half hour is if this thing explodes on teleport. ...which you better not,” he muttered at the prop. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he was gone.

For a solid minute, Victoria stared at the spot he’d vanished, almost daring him to teleport back in. Sylvia coughed to get her attention. “He’s not wrong, though. I don’t know about armor maintenance, but usually people prefer to be in comfortable clothes.” The little dragoness turned her head away and flicked her tail back and forth. “If, uh, if they wear any, but people like that are few and far between. Look, it is pretty cramped on the way to my hoard, but I’d be an awful friend if I insisted you get rid of things that aren’t weapons.”

“Things that aren’t weapons?”

The golden dragon gave her a flat look. “Can you really blame me, a dragon, for not trusting dragonslayers with weapons?”

“Fair point.” Victoria sighed. After a moment more of internal debate, she started to remove her armor. She asked Sylvia for some help, and before long, she stood before the hammerspace dragon in a sports bra and athletic shorts, glad that her friend was a dragon and not a katul, or a human.

Sylvia looked her up and down; Victoria jokingly asked if she thought she was hiding knives or something. “I... already checked, actually. Just thought dragonslayers wore something more underneath. Laundry day?”

The human grimaced. “It’s done, just... I wasn’t thinking earlier. Er, so, hands?”

“Hands!”

Victoria tentatively held her hands out in front of Sylvia, who pressed them together with her little paws. She brought her muzzle right next to the woman’s fingers, then looked up and said, “just so you know, I’m not letting you back down from this.” Before Victoria could ask what she meant by that, the dragoness opened her jaws and lunged forward.

She could hardly believe her eyes. Her arms looked just fine all the way down to her wrists, but there... they simply weren’t. Sylvia’s snout started, and her arms stopped. Her hands were surrounded by something warm, squishy, and wet, and when she tried to move them or pull them apart, they were pressed back in on each other. Then, a wave of pressure rolled down the hidden hands, and Victoria watched as more of her forearms also shared her hands’ plight. She wiggled her hands more, but there was no change. It took a few seconds for her mind to finally piece it all together: Sylvia was eating her. Somehow.

Another swallow pulled her elbows in, locking her arms out straight. In the back of her head, Victoria knew that she really ought to be panicking, that being eaten by a dragon was something she should not be going calmly into. But still, even as she bent over to the table, leaning down towards the dragon’s tiny body, it was hard to really take it seriously. After all, if she turned her head, she could see that not one of Sylvia’s scales were out of place, so CLEARLY the tiny dragon couldn’t be swallowing her.

A moment later, and she no longer had that problem. Her head was buried deep in somewhere dark pink, surrounded by hot, wet flesh, and any time she moved her arms or twisted her head, all she heard was wet “shlrk”s and squishes as she was guided back into position. The dragoness’s next swallow came more quickly, as though anticipating the human’s reaction:

Now that her eyes were no longer trying to tell her she wasn’t being eaten, Victoria came to the obvious conclusion: her friend had betrayed her trust for a meal. However, she found that she wasn’t scared, or terrified. Be it her own natural inclinations, or her, admittedly incomplete, training as a dragonslayer, Victoria instead found rage. With a primal yell, she twisted and turned, thrashing her arms to try to choke or even gag Sylvia, and she kicked one knee up, trying to feel her way into slamming into the tiny trickster. Unfortunately, the next thing she felt was her knee pinned against her belly, joining the rest of her upper body in the tight, slimy tunnel. Dragon drool got in her mouth, so she spat and sputtered as her hips, shorts, and other thigh were engulfed by the irrationally long throat. Between the heat, the steady, almost soothing noises of wet throatflesh squishing against her skin, the humid, heavy air, and simple exertion, Victoria soon found the fight slip away from her. Ankle-deep in what she thought was a very small dragon, the human sighed and let Sylvia close her jaws after her foot without a struggle.

When her head pressed against the ring of muscle, Victoria had resigned herself to her fate as dragon food. After all, the only person who knew where she was was Dzamie, and that katul would probably demand something-

Her head ran into something solid, and a clattering sound entered her ears, rather than just the constant squelching of wet flesh. Victoria opened her eyes, then sat up and- well, sat up, brushed her hair and Sylvia’s drool from her eyes, and then really opened them to see...

A pile of assorted coins, gold, silver, bronze, and more, bars of precious metals, gems of many colors, piled up nearly as tall as Victoria, herself! A trio of abstract sculptures - possibly part of a set, Victoria reasoned, though one could never really tell with that much abstraction. And, for some reason-

“So, how is it? I’m glad you calmed down eventually,” came Sylvia’s voice from all around.

“There’s... a train engine...” was all Victoria could say.

The little dragoness laughed. “Haha, yeah! One of my earlier additions, actually. I bet every hammerspace dragon does one of those, ‘okay, but CAN I eat that?’ things; I just decided to keep mine for a while, as a trophy, and over time, well, it’s a bit sentimental now.”

“You ATE and KEPT an ENTIRE TRAIN OUT OF THE-?!” the human shouted, dumbfounded, then faltered. “Uh, what’s it called, train house?”

Another laugh. “No, no, I ate a MOVING train - well, just pulling out, not that fast - and kept the engine car. The passenger car and all the delicious treats within are years gone.” There was a pause, and then. “Don’t worry, though. I’m much nicer these days, keep myself in the green zone.”

Victoria sighed, crawled over to the vehicle, and climbed into a seat. “Well, as far as places to die go, this place at least looks nicer than I expected.”

“Die? Who said anything about that? I’m not letting you stay in my stomach, you’ve got stuff to learn and I’ve got strawberries to eat, given only to dragons who DON’T have anyone stewing away in their bellies. ...willing meals notwithstanding.”

Another sigh, though this time of exasperation. “Sylvia... stomachs digest organic material. I am an organic material. I just hope I pass out before the pain gets to me too much.”

This time, there was raucous laughter, followed by a shriek and a swear. “Uh, sorry, fell off the table. You should attend more dragon biology lessons. And/or ask Dzamie for some notes, though if you do, prepare to have an entire encyclopedia dumped on you. Unabridged.”

“I’m safe?”

“You’re the biggest danger to yourself in there. Don’t smash yourself in the head with a sculpture and you’ll be fine.”

Victoria’s mind was still reeling. Nearly half a dozen earthshaking revelations in only a few minutes was not an easy thing to deal with. “And... you’ll let me out when I ask?”

“Or in half an hour. I want strawberries and that’s when there are strawberries. Oh, but make sure you aren’t holding anything when you come back up, or you WILL be eaten again, and it WON’T be to see all my shinies.”

This time, Victoria decided to take her threat seriously. And she had more reason to not “rain on her parade” about being a deadly maneater.