#short snippets

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Mayor Attorney - Quarrellsome Snow

Winter is beautiful, but it can be a stressful time of year. Damien has reached a cracking point of stress, and you're the only one there. Can you weather the winter storm with him?

Pre-Mayor era, doesn't have to solely be a (future) District Attorney!

Word count: 681

-

The middle of winter brought with it the bitterness of long nights. The air was sharp, the darkness was isolating, and the cold cut through you like a knife. Worst of all, Damien was in an unusually foul mood.

Not that you could blame him. He worked insane hours at his father's law firm, treated only slightly better than an unpaid intern. Even a man with bountiful patience would reach a moment of breaking point.

"- about my decisions! I qualified last year! I know what I'm talking about. Yet Father still acts like I'm that seven year old boy trying to understand law terminology." Not everyone was shoved into a profession from a young age. It was something more commonplace amongst the upper class, but few were thrown into the deep end as harshly as Damien was. You decided to keep quiet, letting him rant as you took the long way to where you lived. "It's almost like he's trying to belittle my education and prove that I should have stayed in this city to study. But it's a qualification! The level and standard of the degree are the same, and both institutes are renowned. They're on equal status! The only difference was that I wasn't - I wasn't stuck here!"

He threw his arms in the air, and you were quick to reach out and take one of his hands in your own. This wasn't something you could offer advice on. A gentle squeeze was enough for him to stop talking, blink, and sigh.

"I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you want to hear when you've had a long day and want to go home. But please, let me buy you a hot drink on the way. It's the least I can do, as an apology."

You shook your head, insisting he shouldn't. The plan was that he would walk you home, and then he would go home and get some sleep. It was better to stick to that. Damien - uncharacteristically - rolled his eyes.

"And what, speed up the return to the monotony of my existence? Am I not allowed to have some sort of life outside of my job? If you don't want me here, just tell me and skip the formality."

That wasn't what you meant, and he knew that as well as you did. He was twisting your words. You didn't want him to get sick because he's too exhausted to fight the seasonal flu.

Normally, you two were like two peas in a pod. There was little that you two would disagree on, and a compromise was found on the rare day it happened. This time, however, was different. Middle ground seemed like an impossibility. His anger was starting to rise. You were the scapegoat, and it was frustrating you. Trying to be the voice of calm - as he would often be for you - was only making matters worse.

Damien tugged his hand out of yours, about to say something, when he felt something land on his hand. His irritation shifted to confusion as he looked up. You did the same in time for something small to land on your face.

Suddenly, the heavens opened as snow began to flutter down on top of you both.

You found the abrupt interruption startled you out of the surging bad mood. But it wasn't just you who reached that conclusion.

Damien laughed. He was giddy, reclaiming your hand and yanking you into a tight hug.

"Oh, why am I quarrelling with you about this? I know you're thinking about my wellbeing in all of this. I'm sorry."

You pulled back just far enough to look at him and ask whether the offer of a hot drink was still there. You couldn't possibly go home when you were so cold!

A playful smile pulled on his lips as he pulled off his scarf and wrapped it around you.

"For you? The offer will always be there. And when I am finally move away from my parents, I'll buy you a hot drink any time you like. That's a promise."

[eiseryn]

BONUSES: Those Who Leave, Those Who Remain

Also posting the bonus short snippets! Some of these stories are kinda spicy LOL. Or there's implied spicy stuff.

BONUS: Deleted Scene

She changes the topic. “What kind of dreams are you having these days? Are you still thinking of what it’s like outside the city and or slums?” 

“Nah,” he says with a very charming smile, “I have a new dream now.” 

“Oh?” She tilts her head curiously at him, because he’s not outright telling her what it is like he usually does. “What is it?” 

“I’m looking at her.” 

For a few moments she thinks she’s misheard him. But he looks at her expectantly for her response and she realizes that his words were not a mere figment of her wildest imagination. 

“Where… where did you learn how to say things like that?” She finally says. 

“Rose told me you’d like it if I said something like that.” He replies simply. 

Tsk, she thinks while frowning slightly, of course he did. Rose is much too perceptive for his own good. He seems to be able to get under the skin of people very easily. 

“Did you not like it?” He lowers his head a little, and if he had any cat ears on his head, she imagines they would be pressed to his head. 

She reaches out to stroke his fluffy blue hair gently. “No, I did like it. I just don’t like how it came from Rose and not you. I like it when you are yourself and say your own thoughts.” She says, smiling. 

“But those are my thoughts.” He looks up at her, his brown eyes wide. 

Her hand freezes mid-pat from the shock. “O-oh? They are?”

He nods. “I guess Keeper heard my thoughts and asked Rose about them or something.” 

Well shit, thinks Lei, now I have to thank Rose when he gets back when I’m still frustrated with him about Ceres. Rose in general is a very frustrating person for her to deal with.

“Sorry…” She says instead, retracting her hand to nervously play with her earrings. “I was just very surprised that you would say something like that. No one… no one has said something like that to me before.”

“It’s a first for me too,” he says, reaching out to take her hand back. He gently kisses the back of her hands, his lips soft on her skin. 

She blushes and smiles just a little foolishly as she watches him. “Then I’d better not disappoint you~” 

His eyes meet hers as still holding her hand in his and she feels a little shiver run down her spine. “I don’t think you could ever disappoint me.” He smiles. 

Before, she thought she was the hunter and Vail was her prey, but now she feels like a little bird who has been caught in the sharp jaws of a cat who has made his first catch. She can only hope that when she gets devoured, he will be gentle about it.

 

BONUS: ELC Clinic 

When Lei returns to the clinic an hour and a half later, she brings with her some simple rice balls she’s made and drags Elise into the staff room. They have a table and four chairs there at the moment, but they’re going to need some lockers for storage, perhaps some hooks for coats, and hopefully a microwave. 

“Elise, do you have a name for our clinic?” Lei asks, staring at the ceiling. 

Elise needs to finish chewing before she answers. “No, not yet. Did you have a suggestion?” 

“Well, I did have an idea…” Lei starts, “if you’re alright with it, I was thinking about ‘ELC clinic’.”

Elise pauses for a little bit, processing the information, probably dissecting what the acronym might stand for, before she smiles and nods. “It sounds good to me. Let’s go with that then.” 

It will only take them two more days before their ELC clinic is fully set up and operational. Elise will hire back the workers she had at her old clinic, and Lei will be able to contact both Melissa and Leon, who luckily were both not working that day the Prism clinic was attacked. And together, they will work toward saving more lives as beacons of light in the Mertalline slums, awaiting for the day their own little beacon of light returns.

 

BONUS: Perfume (alternatively, “Pheromone”)

"What’s the smell of this?" Vail asks, his head is resting on her shoulder and thus his nose is near her neck as they're curled up together on the couch. His arms are wrapped around her waist loosely and her shoulders press against his chest. Meng sits in her lap, purring softly as Lei pets her. 

"It's mostly lavender and vanilla, with a hint of chamomile, coconut, and orange blossom." Lei replies. It's her favourite perfume, although she only gets to wear it on her off days. Now that her and Elise’s clinic is operational, she hasn't been able to really have any off days. This should change so that everyone gets one off day a week once they hire two more doctors. Well, she hopes. 

"It smells nice." He says. His cold nose touches her neck, she resists the urge to shiver. 

Lei smiles, feeling validated about her taste in perfume. “I’m glad you like it~ The name of it is 'Sweet Dream'.” 

"How fitting."

"Why? Do you dream about me?" 

"I don't need to dream if you're right in front of me." And then he nibbles at the flesh on the side of neck, just a gentle little nip. 

It doesn’t hurt, but it’ll probably leave a bit of a mark. She has to compose herself a little before she responds. “...I need to go to work tomorrow.”

This time a kiss at the place where her neck and shoulder meet. “And?” 

She shivers from the pleasure. "You used to be so innocent and sweet. I think I've corrupted you." 

"Yeah? Then are you going to punish me?" 

She laughs a little. "I would, but I think you'd like that. It isn't a punishment if you're enjoying it, now is it?"

"Then what about a reward? Haven't I been good?" 

Her hand is able to reach and gently strokes his head as his chin is still resting on her shoulder. "Yes, yes, you've been a good boy. I'm not opposed to it, but let's just stay like this for a bit longer." 

They haven't had much time to spend together like this after all. Lexi's group is always busy with their work and Vail is a primary member. As for Lei herself… She's been working everyday for the past month, sometimes even overtime. So she wants to spend some more time comfortably in his arms — a place where she feels safe and protected.

She places Meng gently on the floor around ten minutes later, who seems to give Lei and Vail a side eye before padding away with her tail held high toward her water bowl. 

"Alright," Lei says, standing up and stretching out for the ‘exercise’ that she’ll be doing, "Stress relief, right?"

Before she can make any other steps toward the bedroom, Vail stands up and scoops her into a bridal style carry. She lets out a little gasp in surprise, but she doesn’t mind being in this position at all. 

"Don't worry," he says, smiling, "I'll do all the work this time." 

Lei is unable to get out of bed after.

BONUS: Yours

When he comes to drop off Meng, she invites him to stay for lunch. He’s come all this way, so it’s only fair that she upholds the promise she made to him the day before. Besides, there are things she wants to talk to him about. So after they’ve eaten, she waits until she’s served him some tea at the kitchen table before speaking her thoughts.

"As you’ve agreed to be mine, the same applies to you as well. I’m yours now, so…” She has to pause, and her voice quietens the more she speaks, “So… please don’t throw me away.” 

“Throw you away?” He puts down his teacup and looks at her with an expression that could only be described as taken aback. “Why would I do that?”

Throughout her life, Lei has always been easily discarded. By her mother, by her ex, by Prism — she’s learned that she is so easily replaceable. 

“There are lots of other girls in this city that are better than me. Younger ones, prettier ones, more talented ones. You’ll probably discover that you can do a lot better than me.” She looks down to the floor, unable to meet his eyes. 

“If anything, I should be saying that to you.” He says. “I’m lucky enough that someone like you would even consider someone like me. If you walked off one day with a guy that’s better than me I wouldn’t even be mad.” 

“No, I would never.” She shakes her head, looking up to meet his eyes with her own. “You’re the one I want.” 

“Fuck.” He immediately looks away and holds his face away from her. 

“What’s wrong? Does something hurt?” She frowns, quickly stepping closer and tries to inspect his head.

“No, nothing hurts.” He says this, but he’s still hiding away from her. “Just give me a second.” 

She gently reaches forward and pulls his hands away from his face, expecting some sort of bleeding wound that has opened up or maybe signs of internal bleeding, but all she sees is that his cheeks are simply flushed a little pink. 

Is he being shy right now? Lei can’t help but smile at how cute Vail is being, if he was trying to cover up his blushing face.

“You won’t even get a little bit jealous? It sounds like you want to get rid of me… don’t you want me at all?” She pouts at him, in a manner that he can hopefully pick up as teasing. But there is some truth to her words as she does want the affirmation from him that she is wanted.

“I want you,” He says immediately, “Just might not deserve you.”

“Well,” She says, sliding her arm over his shoulder and neck and seating herself onto his lap. The wooden chair seems to be able to hold both their weights. “Who will really be the judge of that? Maybe if we both agree to be with each other, that’s all that matters.”

He moves his left arm to her waist to support her, and his other hand moves to rest on her bare thighs. “Yeah,” He says, “That sounds good to me.”

“Then…” She asks quietly, “Do I get to call you my boyfriend now~?” 

“You can call me whatever you want. I’m yours afterall.” He smiles at her, softly.

Fuck, now it’s her time to curse and need time to calm down. It stirs her up in all the right areas when he says things like that with a face and voice like that. 

When she finally recovers her ability to speak, she says, “And you’ll do what I want?”

“Of course.” He is still smiling. 

“You should know the same thing applies to you as well.” She tells him, leaning closer. “Just as you are mine, I am also yours. My only request to you is that I want you to stay safe so that you can come back to me. But you can request anything from me and I will do my best to fulfill them.”

“I don’t have any requests at the moment.” He says. “But I could say the same to you. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. But as for you… I will make sure that they don’t take you.”

“Yeah?” Lei smiles at him. “Are you going to protect me?” 

“Yeah,” He tightens his grip on her waist. “I will.” 

BONUS: A memory lost to space and time

“Hehe, Ceres, look at you, taking care of me when I usually take care of you~” Lei slurred as she leaned heavily on the younger girl's shoulder.

“L-Lei!” Ceres protested, desperately trying to help Lei up the stairs toward the older girl’s apartment, “you’re heavy!” 

“Sorryyyyyy,” Lei seemed to try to go up the stairs on her own, but she was veering left and right unsteadily in her heeled boots. Ceres didn’t understand why Lei would wear those deathtraps. Running shoes were much comfier and much more practical.

Ceres sighed and resumed her position beside Lei so that the green-eyed girl would not fall to her death. Immediately, Lei clung onto Ceres. Outside of the headpats Lei would occasionally give Ceres, Lei was not usually physically affectionate, until she got drunk.

“Why did you drink so much?” Ceres lamented, aloud.

She hadn’t planned on Lei to reply, but Lei seemed to be drunk enough to have her brain-to-mouth filter in absolute shambles. “The new experiment the higher-ups put me on is the worst thing I’ve ever done ‘cause they don’t even tell me anything and I don’t even get to do anything. I guess I got a little carried away ‘cause it’s my birthdayyyy.” 

After a considerable struggle, they finally reached Lei’s door. Ceres tucked her hand into her jacket’s pocket, where a small ribbon-wrapped box was safely nestled. She hadn’t gotten the chance to give it to Lei at the bar and now the night was over, so she would have to do it now.

Well, but first, she needed to make sure Lei didn’t choke on her own vomit, so she followed Lei into the apartment, helped her wash off her makeup, and made sure there was water on her nightstand drawer. 

“Thank youuuu~” Lei slurred once again, once she was tucked into bed in her pajamas, which was a very flimsy slip of a night dress. She might have been present when Lei purchased this particular one, actually. 

“Good night~ Get home safe~” Lei said and reached out her hand.

Instinctively, Ceres bent her head down and thus her hair was gently stroked. Ceres leaned into the touch; it was now something familiar and comforting to her. And something about it felt nostalgic. 

Ceres was about to leave until she put her hand in her pocket and felt the shape of the box. Oh no, the gift! She thought, before turning back to stand right in front of Lei’s bed. 

“Hmm? Not leaving, yet?” Lei’s flushed face had a somewhat wolfish smile to it and her voice was very teasing. “Did you want to join me?” She patted the space on the bed beside her.

“N-no!” Ceres immediately protested, her voice uncharacteristically loud. “I-it’s not that…”

Lei blinked a few times, her alcohol-ridden brain clearly trying to process the information. She sat up in her bed and tilted her head at Ceres. “What is it then?” 

“T-this…” Ceres took the box out from her pocket and held it out to Lei. “Here…” 

Lei gently took the box from Ceres’ hands and held it in her hands for what felt like a long time. Her fingers fumbled a few times, but she eventually unraveled the light green ribbon and opened the magnetic lid. Sitting in a bed of cushioned black velvet was a silver chain attached to a diamond-shaped emerald pendant.

Ceres’ voice was quiet, barely audible above the constant hum of the city. “I didn’t know what you’d like… but I know you like fashion so… I asked the shopkeeper for recommendations. I thought this would match your eyes.” She was playing with her fingers shyly now, afraid to see Lei’s expression. 

But since Ceres was looking down, she didn’t see how Lei stood up and enveloped Ceres into a fierce and tight hug. Ceres simply stood there, absolutely still and frozen with shock. 

“Thank you.” Lei whispered, her voice had grown soft, which was uncharacteristic of her drunken self. “This is the best present anyone has given me.”  

Lei let Ceres free of their hug and smiled. “I’m so lucky to have you as my best friend.” 

Best friend?!? No one had ever called Ceres their best friend before… how nice it sounded to her ears. It made her feel happy, but also inexplicably sad for some reason. 

“No… I’m the lucky one.” Ceres mouthed, and this time her voice was so low in volume you couldn’t even call it a whisper. 

Lei didn’t seem to hear, and simply turned around, brushing her short black and green hair to one side. “Can you put it on for me? I don’t think I have the dexterity for it right now.” 

“You’re going to wear it to sleep?”

“Of course~” Lei said, “I only plan to take it off when I shower or when I’m working with chemicals~ After all, it is an important gift from you. Wearing it will make it seem like you’re always with me~” 

Ceres took the necklace from the box, and with her small, careful fingers, unfastened the silver clasp. She looped it around Lei’s neck and secured it in place.

Lei walked to her vanity mirror, carefully inspecting the necklace at her throat, although Ceres wasn’t sure how much cognitive function she had at this point. “You’re right, Ceres, it does match my eyes. You have good tastes after all~” 

Your eyes are prettier than the gem, Ceres thought. But she could never say something like this aloud. 

Lei returned to her bed and tucked herself under the covers once more. 

“Thank you, Ceres~ Good night~” Lei said. “See you… tomorrow…” Her voice drifted off as she sunk into the sweet embrace of sleep. 

Ceres sighed softly, but she smiled at Lei, glad that the gift she chose was well-liked. There were other things she wanted to say, but seeing that it would fall on deaf ears, Ceres began to leave the apartment. 

Tomorrow, Ceres thought, I will tell her tomorrow.

But little did either of them know… that this event would be a memory lost to space and time. And that “tomorrow” they both anticipated would never come.  

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Bonus 1: Deleted Scene - an alternative scene for how that dinner scene might have played out. I thought it was too rizzy for Vail but I think it's a cute idea so I included it like as a fanfiction.

Bonus 2: ELC Clinic - the name for Elise and Lei's clinic. I wonder what the acronym might stand for? (E = Elise, L = Lei, and C = Ceres). I imagine they hired Leon and Melissa who both do night shifts haha. Elise and Lei do uh a lot of shifts as co-owners but hopefully more day shifts. Lei does the scheduling but Elise sometimes shows up anyways, much to Lei's chagrin.

Bonus 3: Perfume/ Pheromone - lmao another spicy one. I make Vail x Lei a little spicy but I mean it is what it is. As long as it doesn't hurt anyone right. I think Lei's really into physical intimacy and Vail does what she likes 💅

Bonus 4: Yours - Minorly spicy but also they finally establish their relationship here CUZ THEY DON'T TALK ABOUT IT IN THE CAMPAIGN LMAOOOO (to be fair it's hard to cuz campaign) SO I DECIDED THEY WOULD DO THAT IN MY WRITING!!! This hopefully makes Vail officially Lei's man cuz Lei deserves to have a firm relationship status 😤😤😤 No situationships for my best girl Lei! It features some of her sad low self esteem though T_T she has been beaten time and time again but she and all people are deserving of love.

Bonus 5: A memory lost to space and time - THIS ONE IS MY FAVOURITE. THERE'S SO MUCH ANGST IN THIS BECAUSE NEITHER OF THEM KNEW WHAT WOULD HAPPEN NEXT. They both expected something that did not come true... they both had anticipations that were never fulfilled... It also reveals the necklace Lei wears on her neck and Ceres (M) in the future will wear is one that Ceres (orig) gave to her :3 As her 32nd birthday gift. Featuring more drunk! Lei which is one of my fave Leis to write. She's so clingy and affectionate when she's drunk she's adorable 😭

[writersbloxx]

Body Language

When someone is...

Sad

Face/Body:

Avoidant/reduced eye contact

Drooping eyelids

Downcast eyes

Frowning

Raised inner ends of eyebrows

Dropped or furrowed eyebrows

Quivering lip/biting lip

Wrinkled nose

Voice:

Soft pitch

Low lone

Pauses/hesitant speech

Quiet/breathy

Slow speech

Voice cracks/breaking voice

Gestures/Posture:

Slouching/lowered head

Rigid/tense posture

Half formed/slow movement

Fidgeting or clasped hands

Sniffing or heavy swallows

Self soothing gestures (running hands over the arms, hand over heart, holding face in palms, etc)

[the-modern-typewriter]

*shuffles shyly into your ask box*

Hello! Your writing is so fun and juicy and I was just wondering if you'd be willing to write a Hero x Villain where Hero is trying to deny their feelings for Villain and Villain is just flirting relentlessly. Maybe Villain kidnapped Hero just to have them alone??

"You think I have feelings for you?" the hero demanded. "You kidnapped me."

"Are you telling me that the big, bad superhero can't break free of a pair of cuffs?"

"That's not the point."

"Isn't it?" The villain smiled, coming to a stop between the hero's splayed legs. "Because if you can break free, gorgeous, it means you're choosing to stay."

The hero swallowed. Cuffed to a (admittedly comfortable enough) chair, they had to tip their head up to meet the villain's gaze. They shifted, slightly. They refused to call it squirming.

The villain's smile grew to a wicked grin.

"That's not the point," the hero said again, voice cracking a little. "It's still kidnapping!"

"And of course nothing in you finds it hot that I can get the better of you. You're above such things. The way you shivered when I walked in was pure terror. Is that right?"

"I'm not scared of you! We just established I can get free of these cuffs at any time."

The villain raised an eyebrow.

The hero coloured and looked down. Their mind reeled. They didn't have feelings for the villain. They didn't. Because that would be wrong. It would be morally heinous. It would be...

"Mm." The villain trailed their finger up along the hero's heaving chest, tip tip their chin up again, and the hero's breath gave a treacherous hitch. "So why are you staying, then?"

"You might give an evil monologue and reveal all your plans. Your kind like to do that."

The villain laughed. "Oh my love. You've never met my kind. Maybe if you had, you'd know what to do with me."

"Arrest you?"

"Pin me down and tell me I've been so very naughty?"

"Yes! No - I mean no!" The hero's face was on fire. They glared at the villain.

The villain brushed a thumb over their cheek, almost soothing. Like they wanted to reassure the hero that, if they were mocking, it was not to be cruel.

The hero belatedly realised they should have recoiled from the touch a long time ago. They swallowed again, but they still couldn't quite seem to get any moisture into their mouth. They felt suddenly infinitely aware of their tongue.

No clever comebacks came to mind. Only the image of the villain pressed writhing beneath their hands, breathless and wild and grinning in that way of theirs.

"So. Here you are." The villain got back on track, though perhaps not mercifully, after another all too telling moment of silence. "And it's absolutely not because you have feelings for me. It's all..." They waved their free hand, "strategic. It's not for the fact that part of you knows..." The villain leaned down, close enough to kiss. "That kidnapped and alone with me is the only time you would ever allow yourself to truly act on what you want, instead of playing perfect. If you were brave enough to take it, that is."

"I-" The hero faltered.

Their gaze dipped to the villain's lips, cataloguing the minty puff of their breath, their closeness. They cleared their throat. Something in them ached. Longed. Yearned. Reinvented new synonyms for craning hopelessly, helplessly, for the thing that they were not allowed or able to have.

The hero shook their head.

"Okay." The villain straightened abruptly. They pulled back. Their fingers fell away, leaving the hero bereft. "Sorry for pressing. See you out there, maybe, gorgeous."

"I-what?"

"You're free to go. Far be it from me to inflict myself where I'm not wanted."

"What? No!" The protest left the hero unbidden as the villain turned away.

It was a trap. It was so obviously a trap, and yet the hero stepped in it anyway because...because...

"You are such an asshole," the hero said.

"Villain, darling."

"It doesn't change anything even if I did have feelings for you. I can't."

"Ain't no one here but us to find out about it."

"It will get messy."

"Life does that, gorgeous." Still, the villain's voice was softer than before, quieter. Less the purr, or teasing lilt. "That's what makes it life."

After a beat, the villain moved back over to them again. They slipped one finger beneath the hero's chin.

"You're tied to a chair, kidnapped by a supervillain," the villain said. "So just this once we can pretend you don't have a choice. Can I kiss you?"

The hero nodded, heart pounding in their chest.

It was a mistake, another trap of as much as any tale of honey and flies, because they immediately wanted more of the sweetness. The villain's mouth on theirs was a more perfect thing than any of the pedestals that the hero had made a home on.

When the villain pulled back, the hero broke the cuffs thoughtlessly to chase, to slip fingers into the villain's hair and drew them back in closer.

The villain's breath hitched that time.

The hero wanted more of that too. They just wanted.

"Tell me again," the hero said, as they recklessly kissed the villain deep, "that I don't know exactly what to do with you, asshole?"

The villain laughed again and it was one of the best sounds the hero had regrettably ever heard.

Somehow, when the two of them were alone, the villain was a choice that the hero kept not making after that.

[tweedfeather]

One day. 💕

[automeris-io-moth]

Short #5

"Shush, you're okay," Villain soothed, a warm hand running through Hero's hair, mask long ago discarded on the floor, filthy with blood and dirt. 

Hero disagreed, grunting as a half-thought response, still navigating on the frontier of consciousness. Trying, and failing, to slap the other’s hand away. 

“They did quite a number on you, no one would believe they’re supposed to be your friends.” Villain whispered the last part, a hand reaching for Hero’s belt, taking their weapons out, and throwing them to the side. Hero’s hand could only twitch “One can only wonder what would have happened to you if I hadn’t asked for you unharmed.” 

Carefully, Villain brushed a single tear going down Hero’s cheek. They hadn’t noticed they shed it. 

“There’s no need to cry, with me you’re safe.” 

_

Masterlist

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 1

I catch a glimpse of the pilot as she is wheeled towards the med bay. Her eyes have that telltale glaze of just having been wrenched out of herself.

I've never spoken a single word to her, but for a moment as the gurney slides by, those eyes briefly clear, ice blue pinning me to the spot. She raises an emaciated arm and her hand almost seems to beckon to me before something in the gurney clicks and whirs and she slips back into catatonia.

That brief moment of clarity, that piercing gaze, unsettles me. She recognized me.

It's neural bleed. I know it has to be. She doesn't know me, but Morrigan does.

Good god. In the pilot's present state of post combat haze, she probably doesn't even know where she ends and the machine begins.

Does neural bleed work both ways? Is it her head that I'm about to climb into?

My wrist strap buzzes. I have a job to do and I am late.

The pilot is a problem for the med team and the psychs.

The machine is my problem.

I hurry down the corridor, keeping my head down, avoiding the eyes of every passerby.

I don't like people.

I don't like how their eyes follow me. I don't like the whispered gossip that follows me.

One of the techs is waiting for me at the vestibule.

I don't know his name.

All clear, he says to me. Time to work your magic.

He says it without sarcasm. Others have been less kind.

Even so, he can't quite hide the leer as I strip down to the skinsuit. I don't have the physique of a pilot. My body hasn't been subjected to the stresses that ravage their bodies. Unlike them, I have fat and muscle and the skinsuit clings to every curve of my body.

I force a cursory smile and try to forget him as I walk barefoot to my destination.

The vestibule is small, windowless. It's impossible to assess the scale of the machine from here. The only part visible to me is roughly four square meters of pitted and scarred metal plating framing the access hatch and the pilot's cradle beyond.

B0-987T the stenciled lettering reads. And below, in flowing script, is “The Morrigan”.

She's a Javellin class, medium weapons fire support unit. She isn't meant to be on the front lines in a skirmish, but one-on-one, she can hold her own against a Wraith. Which is exactly what happened only a few hours ago.

I place a bare palm on the bulkhead. She thrums with some distant vibration. Her reactor is still online, still in the early stages of drawdown as she transitions to dock power.

“Hey beautiful,” I say to her.

I think of the pilot. I think of piercing blue eyes and I think of neural bleed.

I flinch my hand away.

The tech looks at me, asks if I'm alright. I'm fine, I tell him.

I climb through the hatch and into the cradle.

I feel like an interloper here. The cradle isn't calibrated for my body. Everything still smells like the pilot. Mingled with the smell of the machine is her sweat and her adrenaline and the particular scented soap that she prefers.

There is a faint whirring as her cameras track my movements from a dozen angles. The access ports open to receive me.

Against my better judgment, I imagine eagerness for this exchange.

This is immediately followed by an all too familiar sense of inadequacy. The engineers’ rig is not nearly as all encompassing as a pilots’. It's only the most basic neural interface. No haptics. No neurotransmitter feedback. No access to the suite of sensors studded throughout her hull.

I can't interface with her the way her pilot can.

My rig is a remnant from basic training. The pilot corps wanted me for my exceptional ratings in synchrony and neuro-elasticity, but after serval training exercises, they determined that I didn't have the temperament for the battlefield. I froze up too easily.

A neural rig is a massive investment and removing one will fuck a person up a hell of a lot more than installing one. The selection process is designed to weed out washouts before we even get to installation, but some of us still slip through the cracks. Most end up reassigned to logistics, operating loader mechs or piloting long haul supply frigates. But my aptitudes made me ideal for the engineering corps, so here I am.

Morrigan senses my mood and the cradle shifts slightly, aligning itself to my dimensions. Her eagerness to connect morphs into a sort of tender reassurance. It's a slippery slope, ascribing human emotions to these machines, but she does seem genuinely happy to see me.

I can never be part of what she and her pilot have, but I can be part of something in my own way.

The pilot knows about me, she would even without neural bleed. Does she envy the relationship I have with her mech? Does she envy that I can exist both together and apart with the machine?

Is she jealous of us?

Morrigan slips her jacks into my rig and my mind enters hers and I feel tension leave my body. Some dull ache that I wasn't even consciously aware of ebbs within me.

My senses dull and my visual cortex is fed a series of diagnostic logs and telemetry streams. The techs have access to the exact same data, but Morrigan highlights particular data points that she and the pilot flagged. I log them in the engineering report.

A wireframe schematic of the battlefield spreads out in my awareness. Green markers for our battlegroup. Red markers for the pack of Wraith interlopers.

I hear the ghost of music, strange and ambient, like whale song. The first time I heard it, I asked the techs about it. They had no idea what I was talking about. One even suggested I get an eval for some psych leave.

Later I realized Morrigan was singing to me. Or rather she was interpreting tightbeam comm links as something my brain could process. A human mind can't possibly interpret the full datastream, but with Morrigans's rendition, I can suss out the basic meanings. The battlegroup is a choir and Morrigan is playing me their song.

I caused quite a stir when I first made that connection and started flagging battle events the analysts had missed.

I survey the battlefield before me, reconstructed from feeds from TacCom and all the individual mechs.

Morrigan and I have done this enough times that she knows my preferred display layout, but she holds back, allowing me to pull off the virtual displays on my peripheral vision. There's an odd sort of intimacy to it, her letting me take charge like this.

God-knows how many tons of metal and ceramic and miles and miles of wire and optic fiber and see waits eagerly for me to start the playback sim. She wants to show off. She wants me to assess the actions of her and her pilot and tell them they did well.

Other engineers, few as we are, have mentioned similar experiences with their assigned machines.

“Alright,” I whisper so that only she can hear. “Show me the dance. Sing me the song.”

(Next)

[stellewriites]

ghost and soap that move in together in between missions to save on money and eventually - inevitably - fall into bed together. but somethings missing

they’re both a little too sharp around the edges, need something sweet to ease their cravings and soften their bites, but no one fits right

until you, that is. so don’t be surprised when they make sure you’re sticking around by any means necessary

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“What?”

The villain kept staring at them.

“I don’t know. I’ve just realised that…I can’t stand you,” the villain said quietly. Their bottom lip was trembling. “Isn’t that funny? You used to be my favourite person in the world and now, I just…I just hate you.”

“What?” the hero repeated. The villain had expected some sort of sarcasm to leave their mouth, some sort of reaction that was accurate to that funny persona they always put on. But there was nothing.

There was literally nothing.

“I can’t fucking stand the way you talk. The way you walk, how you carry yourself. What you say, what you don’t say. I cannot stand how you look and how you move, how you grin and how you fight. I just realised I don’t like a single thing about you anymore. I just don’t.”

The hero stared at them, mouth agape. They blinked away a tear.

“You weren’t supposed to like me in the first place anyway,” they whispered eventually.

“Then get the fuck up and let me kick your ass again.”

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Marmien: I Tire of this Party

Socialising is exhausting, even for those who have been doing it all their lives.

Word count:

787

-

Another Saturday night, another gathering of the upper class.

However, it was at the home of Mark's parents, recognising the work of a local orchestra at a recent event. Mark had been encouraged to come, and he naturally invited his three closest friends.

Spirits were high. Compared to the normal social outings, this was the closest to "among peers" any of them could get. There were no masks to don, no secret rules of formality to follow. Dinner was pleasant, and the music playing on the gramophone was keeping the jubilant ambiance going. Everywhere he looked, the people that mattered most to Mark were having fun.

Ah, life truly was for the living!

William could loudly announce he would challenge someone to a drinking contest and three people would shout their interest in participating. Celine could meet with the musicians she had studied with and gossip about people they all had the misfortune of knowing.

As for Damien….? Mark glanced around.

Strangely, Damien was nowhere to be seen. He was normally upfront with the actor if something was wrong, relying on little touches to give Mark a proper hint on what was on his mind.If his partner wasn't around, something must have happened. Mark stepped out of the main function room and began searching.

The other rooms dedicated for socialising were busy, but each lacked a familiar face. That ruled out the option of Damien making the social rounds. The bathrooms were empty, and he wasn't hiding in the kitchen. That didn't leave many options, unless…

He opened the back door to step outside.

Finally, there he was.

Damien was slumped on the stone bench overlooking the garden, head rolled back as he absentmindedly watched the branches sway in the late evening breeze. There was a small adjustment to his position as Damien noted Mark's arrival, but he made no effort to move.

"I'm sorry I stepped out without telling you. I didn't mean to worry you."

"You don't need to apologise. I know you were tired before we ever arrived. We can leave if you -"

"No, no…" Damien's interruption was slow, "I'm alright. You go back in and enjoy yourself. I'll be in shortly. I simply need a moment to collect myself."

Mark sighed. It wouldn't feel right leaving the politician out here alone. He threw a glance behind him, and an idea hit him.

"I'm not really in a rush to go back inside. Everyone is loud tonight. I tire of this party. I think a break would be ideal. Scoot over." Mark playfully waved his hand as Damien moved.

This was the perfect chance to strike.

Mark sat down beside Damien, wrapped his arm around the other man's shoulders, and pulled him close until Damien's head was resting on Mark's shoulder. Barely a second passed before Damien nestled in closer and let the arm that wasn't pinned in between himself and Mark drape lazily across the actor's chest. Once set, Damien sighed, and the tension he had been holding slipped away.

It was rare for the couple to be affectionate in public. With Damien's position, there was a high risk of trouble if he was discovered by his parents. However, not a single guest cared for his family here. The pair could relax.

Time was kind on the couple, opting to let the seconds pass slower so they could relish the other's company and the peaceful environment. The party felt like it was on the other side of the world. They could be anywhere else right now.

Hm. That was an idea.

Mark leaned down to kiss the top of Damien's head. "You know… I would be content to leave the party early tonight. I have done my duty as the faithful son."

"Mark -"

"I'm serious, Damesy. I've had the thought of us cuddling in bed together planted in my mind. That's far more inviting than anything here." He gently squeezed Damien's shoulder to support this. "What do you say? Would that be much better than this bench?"

"It does sound inviting," Damien murmured. "But you are sure you want to skip the rest of the night? You were so excited for this."

"I was, but now I want to go home. Otherwise, I will need to keep you in my arms everywhere I go at that party."

"You need to stop being so clingy."

"Actually, you need to stop being so perfect to embrace. It's like we were made for one another." Mark's words were familiar, and Damien lazily hummed in agreement.

The night was young, and spending the time together sounded ideal. The pair would have to move before the night chill set in, but there was no rush for that.

[moonlitkissing]

Whimpery men, gimme

[writersbloxx]

Body Language

When someone is…

Nervous/Anxious

Face:

Darting eyes/avoiding eye contact

Rapid blinking

Tense jaw

Looking upwards when talking or fixing eyes on a more distant point

Furrowed (or raised) brows

Frowning

Blushing 

Micro-expressions- quick/short facial expressions like suddenly widening their eyes or a brief grimace

Voice:

Shaky or trembling

Higher pitch or thin

Breathy

Wavering

Raspy or slightly cracked

Hesitant

Speaking quickly or stuttering

Choppy (many pauses in speech)

Shorter, clipped words (staccato)

Gestures/Posture:

Tense, closed off stance

Hunched shoulders

Body is stiffened

Crossed arms

Fidgeting

Touching clothes

Cracking knuckles

Bouncing knee

Subtly covering their mouth

[altcvnningham]

canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Short dinner date story between a normal human who just so happens to love garlic as much as they love their partner, but is completely oblivious to the fact that their partner is an obscenely powerful vampire. They are strong enough to not die from eating garlic, but would still be desperately hiding their vampirism while trying to eat every bit of garlic laced food that was lovingly made by their partner.

"You don't like garlic."

The human looked near tears.

"I - what - no," the vampire spluttered. "I love garlic. Garlic is the-"

"-Question," the human said. Their eyes were, somehow, dark and tight with an unexpected...something beneath the tears. The hurt. Frustration? Anger? Were they angry? It was definitely something, that the vampire hadn't fully anticipated. "Do you think I want you to lie to me? Like, do you think to impress me, you should have to pretend to be someone you're not? Is that the kind of person you think I am?"

"Um."

That was not a question most would dare ask them. It was also a ridiculous question. Most humans, most people, in the vampire's experience absolutely wanted lies. Romance was a lie. A curated sweetness, or thrill, carefully separated from the un-sexiness of being alive. It seemed like a trick question.

"I don't," the human said. "Like, what the absolute hell. If you can't tell me something as simple as 'hey, I don't like garlic' how am I supposed to trust you with anything big? Like, hey, we're in bed, and you want to stop, but you don't want to upset me, so you're just like 'it's fine!' But it's not fine."

The vampire's head tilted. It took them a moment to parse that. They weren't sure if it was the garlic burning like acid in the pit of their stomach making it twist in cramps, or the emotions on the human's face.

"Oh my god," the human said, slumping. "Do you actually like it when we're in bed together."

"Yes. Yes! Why would you even need to ask that!?"

"Why would you spend over a year pretending you like garlic when you very clearly don't?"

"I think you're blowing this way out of proportion-"

"-Are you actually going to sit there and tell me I'm being over-dramatic when you've been elaborately hiding the fact my cooking makes you ill?"

"I love seeing you happy," the vampire offered, after a beat. That seemed safe enough. "Garlic makes you happy."

"And does it make you happy?"

"Making you happy makes me happy, darling."

"Oh, for the love of god!" The human pushed back from the table, grabbing the half-eaten pasta plates and storming towards the kitchen.

After a moment, the vampire followed. They watched the human carefully scrape the remnants of their dinner date into the bin.

"Garlic," the human said, through gritted teeth. "Yes or no? Completely independent of me."

"You're cooking is lovely, and sweet-"

The human rounded on them, looking ready to scream or sob or possibly glare ferociously, as if they were one of the most deadly predators to walk the planet.

The vampire cleared their throat and took a step back. "Garlic is, um. I'm not the biggest fan. Kinda gives me a stomach ache. It's not a vampire thing, or anything, I just - I don't know. Not a fan. It's the texture!"

"Thank you for telling me. I will cook less garlic."

"But you love garlic! I don't want you to sacrifice-"

"-It's not your decision." The human closed their eyes. They breathed out. When they next spoke, it was gentler. They wrapped their arms around themselves. "What I sacrifice or don't sacrifice for people I care about is my decision, and something I do deserve to make an informed decision about, you know? There are plenty of people I can eat garlic with. It doesn't have to be you."

"...you are really upset about the garlic."

"It's not about the garlic!"

Had the human guessed the truth then, somehow?"

The human dragged a hand through their hair. "Would you want me to tell you I liked something when I didn't? And not even didn't like it, when it actively made me feel bad? Would you want me to tell you?"

"You don't have to. I can always tell when you like something and when you don't."

"Oh, well, now I feel loads better."

It sounded like sarcasm. They did not look loads better.

The vampire blinked at them again, astonished, not sure how their dinner date had got quite so out of hand. The silence stretched as the vampire floundered, trying to think of something to say that wasn't, 'but you believe me it's not about vampirism, right?'

"I...wasn't trying to hurt you," the vampire said, eventually.

"I know."

"You're still upset."

"Just wondering what else you've lied to me about, I guess."

The vampire laughed, nervously.

The human did not. They turned away again, back to the dishes, as fragile as if the very ground beneath their feet had somehow been wrenched away.

"I haven't. I haven't lied to you about anything," the vampire lied. "I'd never do that. You're too important."

"Okay." But their voice was small.

"Next time I'll tell you if I don't like something, okay? If that's what you want? If that's what makes you happy?"

"And what," the human said, with the tiredness of an immortal thing, "would make you happy?"

The vampire had never hated garlic more.

[defectivehero]

The hero is taking their nephew trick-or-treating tonight for the first time, and they’re a bit nervous. Their nephew, Danny, is a great kid and well-behaved. The hero just isn’t used to acting as a guardian.

But as the afternoon begins, they start to relax as they see how much fun Danny is having. They watch as he runs up to a rather nice house, returning moments later with candy.

Then the hero sees the homeowner motion for them to come closer. They see that familiar form—almost seeming misplaced in civilian clothing—and their heart drops. Out of all the people they could’ve encountered… they just had to find the villain.

Gritting their teeth, the hero tells their nephew to run to the next house and stay within eyesight… before they walk up to the doorstep of the villain’s house.

“I didn’t realize you had a child,” the villain hums casually.

“Don’t,” the hero warns them.

“What?” The villain asks, having the audacity to look offended. “It was just an observation.” They blink innocently.

“He’s my nephew.” The hero spits out. They must be doing a bad job of hiding their distrust, because the villain sighs theatrically.

“Trust me, if I were up to something, you’d know,” the villain huffs. “Besides, I have… other priorities tonight.” They glance to the side and, in a few seconds, a child heads towards the doorway. The hero blinks. This must be the villain’s child.

“Um. Hi.” The hero says awkwardly, still reeling from the realization that the villain has a child.

The kid has the same eyes and nose as their parent. The resemblance is startling. “That’s a bad hero costume,” they remark helpfully. “You’re missing the amulet.”

They are missing their amulet, ironically. The hero self-consciously puts a hand to their collarbone before sighing. The villain looks endlessly amused, and also a bit wary of them—as if worried about their behavior in front of their child. The hero resists an eye roll at that, before glancing down the sidewalk. Their nephew is running back to them, bouncing on his heels impatiently as he evidently wonders what’s taking them so long.

“Hi,” the hero greets their nephew, placing a hand on his shoulder. He settles down a little, but still looks eager to go to the next house.

“Hi.” He answers. Then he looks curiously at the other child and smiles at them. The villain’s child smiles ever so slightly in response. The hero studies them for a moment, taking in those familiar hazel eyes on someone far more innocent and pure hearted than their enemy. Then they notice the kid’s costume and the slight frown on their lips and wonder if the villain has taken them trick or treating yet. It doesn’t look like it, actually—and that would explain the envious glances the kid is shooting at Danny.

“You know,” the hero says, crossing their arms over their chest. They’re already making the offer before they can think about it. “I was going to take Danny here trick-or-treating anyways… I’d be happy to take your child too.”

The villain studies them for a long, long time. The tense silence is only broken by a movement from the child at their side, who hesitates for a moment before crossing the threshold of the doorway and standing next to Danny.

“Do you want to go with them, Kel?” The villain asks; their child nods brightly in response. The villain lets out a long-suffering sigh, turning their attention to the hero. “Very well. I’m trusting you to ensure their safety.”

“Of course,” the hero responds sincerely. “I’ll have them back by curfew at 7.”

“6:30,” the villain argues.

The hero squints at them skeptically, before glancing down at their watch. It’s only 4:45 p.m. That’s plenty of time. “Fine.” They agree.

“If anything happens to them-” The villain starts.

“I know,” the hero interjects, before they can utter any threats in front of the children.

“I’m trusting you,” their enemy repeats gravely. “Don’t make me regret it.”

The hero nods, understanding just how much faith the villain is placing in them. Then an idea comes to mind. “Get your phone out.” The villain stares at them for a moment, before doing as requested. From there, the hero gives them their phone number. Then they reach into their own pocket and turn their phone’s ringer on. “Okay?” They ask, looking at them pointedly. The message is clear: Call me if you need anything.

The villain is staring at them with a complex expression on their face. “Okay.” They respond. Then they look to their child. “Have fun, alright?”

With that, the hero turns their back on the villain and watches as their nephew and their enemy’s child excitedly race ahead to the next house. They can feel the villain’s gaze watching them, even as they turn the corner and head out of sight.

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thanks for reading! happy halloween!!! 🦇🧛🏻

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[thepenultimateword]

Prompt #254

Hero wrapped the emergency blanket around Villain's wet and trembling shoulders. "You know, when I let you escape into the woods, I didn't know you were going to get lost. Or that you sucked so bad at wilderness survival."

Villain managed a half-amused exhale through their clenched teeth. "And you know so much?"

"Actually, yes. My camp is about a mile over that ridge. You think you can make it that far?"

Villain fought their stiff legs into the standing position, stumbling a bit on the way up. "What, you can carry traumatized civilians, but can't spare a bit of muscle for your nemesis?"

Instead of quipping back, Hero suddenly scooped them into their arms. "I certainly can if you need me to."