#venom should be loved and appreciate it and maybe petted

[classicconundrum]

finally ive read venom inc. and finally i completely understand symbiot3

bro

bro litterly just kiss man

[cryptidsurveys]

Tuesday, September 10th, 2024.

Are either of your parents engaged but not married yet? No. My parents were married prior to having me and my sibling, but they're currently legally separated (not completely divorced). Neither one of them has any plans to re-marry in the future. They still get along for the most part, but they probably wouldn't see one another nearly as often if I wasn't in the mix. We meet up for lunch every few weeks and will see the occasional film in theaters. I also need to call my mom later to figure out where we're going to eat this Thursday.

Do you cuddle with your pet (if you have one)? Of course. Esther isn't a big fan of being held (she's very wiggly), but she will cuddle under the covers with me in bed or sit on my lap when I'm on the computer or something. Karenna is somewhere in the middle in terms of being held (doesn't always love it - doesn't always hate it); she will sit on my lap, and she likes to curl up behind my legs if I'm lying on my side or up by my chest/shoulder if I'm lying on my back. Lacy is the most okay with being held (you can basically hold her like a baby and she's very calm about it), but she's not particularly cuddly; she just likes to be close without being disturbed. She's also more bonded with my dad than with me, so she tends to sleep in his bed down by his legs.

What college did you want to attend as a kid? I didn't care. I knew it was more or less expected that I would attend, but as for a dream college, there was nothing like that. I ended up going to a local community college, but I never completed a degree.

Do you have a pet gecko? I don't.

Are you scared of reptiles? I'd be apprehensive if I had to deal with anything venomous, but in general, no. I really enjoyed taking care of all the reptiles when I worked at the pet shop.

Honestly, have you ever eaten raw cookie dough? Possibly. I know I've eaten raw brownie and banana nut bread batter - my sibling and I always used to eat the leftovers from the bowl when we were kids.

Where would you most like to go in your state, etc that you haven’t been? I don't have anywhere specific in mind, but I would love to explore the mountain backroads in CO. Maybe make it a multi-day trip. Stop for cute towns and tourist attractions, photo opportunities at scenic overlooks, picnics, great campsites…

Who was the last member of the opposite sex you laid in a bed with? I'm not sure.

About what things are you most selfish? Probably food, lmao. I can and will share, especially when there's an abundance, but there are times when I can be possessive and worried about having enough. Idk if it's an eating disorder thing or what.

Are you camera shy? Why/why not? Not really. I've just accepted that I'm going to think I look crappy in photos taken by other people. The memories matter more.

What is one small thing your significant other does that makes you happy? If you are single, what is one small thing a friend does to make you happy? This just re-re-reminded me to check my messages from Ollie, but it says "message unavailable." Huh. Anyway. One thing they do is hype me up. Recently, they were saying that I should be a social media manager for the animal shelter because I take so many photos and know the kitties so well. They already have someone (probably more than someone) who manages that sort of thing and I'm not at all tech-savvy, but their belief in my ability was uplifting. :')

From inside of your house, how many doors lead outside? Two. Then there's another door that leads to the garage.

Who was the last person to give you flowers? I received a bouquet of sunflowers at the volunteer appreciation dinner last April.

What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up? Worrying, overthinking, excess sugar, coffee, smoking, volunteering, YouTube…

Do you like BBQ sauce? I do.

How many subscribers do you have on your YouTube channel? Zero. I only use it for watching videos; I don't create content or leave any comments.

If you could have a car in any color you wanted, which color? I'm fine with the car I have (it's red).

What is your favorite Avril Lavigne song? I don't have a favorite.

What was the last thing you were mad at a doctor about? That's not a story I want to get into.

Is your mother a lesbian? I don't think so…

Do any of your close friends NOT have a Facebook account? I don't know whether Ollie has one or not. I haven't been active there for about a decade now, so it's not something I tend to think about.

Would you ever consider getting dreadlocks? No.

When was the last time you swam in a pool? Not since I was a teenager.

What was the last thing you said out loud? Probably something to one of my cats.

Have you ever wanted to be a nurse? No.

Who or what do you worship? I don't really worship anything - not even God. I do believe in God (for lack of a better way to put it), but my connection isn't like that. In fact, sometimes I can get downright pissy. Just the other day, I was like, "Hey God, what the actual fvck is up with this shit?!" I know I'll eventually turn the situation into some sort of lesson or learning experience, but will it ever make divine sense? Who knows.

What was the last song you listened to on repeat? I don't know about a single song, but the last album I listened to on repeat was Precession by Fifty Dollar Dynasty.

What song do you want played at your wedding? There isn't one. If it was up to me, I'd just do without it.

What are three of the most painful things you have ever stepped on? Just stuff like hot asphalt/cement and rocks. I also stepped on a bee as a child. I was running through the park while wearing sandals, and a bee somehow managed to get between my foot and my sandal and it stung the underside of my toe. It wasn't especially painful, though.

If applicable, what song are you listening to right now? I'm not listening to anything.

If you could choose three US states to visit, which three states would you pick? Let's go with national parks instead because they would be my main reason for visiting a particular state: the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, and Glacier NP.

Have you ever donated blood? No.

Would you rather attend a yoga class or a Zumba class? Zumba sounds fun.

Have you written anything down today? No.

Do you own a pair of pink pants? I have some old pink sweats/track pants.

Do you normally eat healthy? I'm nowhere near a health fanatic, but I don't have the worst diet in the world either. I eat a lot of generally healthy foods, but I also eat plenty of treats/junk foods.

What is the best compliment you’ve ever received? I'm not sure… The people who say the nicest things are my dad, my therapist, and Ollie, but you know that tendency to doubt the people closest to you because they "have to" say nice things or they're just biased or whatever? Well…it's like that.

Do you believe in miracles? Maybe not miracles. Maybe not some sort of divine intervention. But highly unlikely, amazing, fortuitous events that seem to come out of the blue or snatch victory from the jaws of defeat? Sure.

What are three ways in which you are not normal? Hmm. I volunteer full time instead of applying for an actual job/paycheck (I have my reasons). I drink a loooot of water (thirstiest person alive, literally, I swear). I don't like road trips (aside from the hypothetical scenario I talked about above).

Which genre of music do you listen to the most? Classical. Then whatever's on the radio at the shelter. Usually pop, classic rock/rock, and occasionally country.

Last person you kissed, are they into any type of sports? Which ones? No.

Does your best friend have a job? Yes.

Do you ever visit people at work? Like outside of work? As friends instead of merely coworkers? No. However, Libby left recently and now works at a bakery in town, so I am planning on going there soon to get some treats and say hello. :')

When you move out your house (or if you already have moved out) do you plan on still visiting your parents’ house? Of course.

Do you usually take home leftovers if you eat out in a restaurant? I often do. Exceptions would be when I feel like there's not enough to bother or if I just genuinely don't think I will eat the rest of it.

Have you ever ghost rode the whip (put your car on auto and dance next to it as it’s moving)? Do you want to? No.

What do you think of long-term relationships? I don't even know what to say to this, lmao. It's such a strange question. Like yes, I would like to have a long-term, solid, healthy connection with someone…?

Do you have a lot of social media accounts? Do you update them all regularly? Just a few. I update this account and my IG fairly regularly.

When you’re in trouble, do your parents ever “middle name” you? No.

When was the last time you got a new tattoo or piercing? Do you have any plans to get either in the future? It's been years.

Are you patriotic at all? Why/why not? I think this survey was combined with another that I took recently, so I'm just gonna breeze through the questions I've already answered.

Are you any good at packing a suitcase? I guess...? It's not hard...?

Have you ever had a white hot chocolate? What did you think? I haven't, but I would be interested in trying one.

Do you ever get eczema? No.

Have you ever mowed a lawn? Yeah.

Is there anyone you would do literally anything for? No. But figuratively, I would do anything for my dad and my cats.

Have you ever done a “knock-and-run” prank? A few times as a kid.

Have you ever stabbed a friend in the back, intentionally or not? I don't want to go into detail, but you could say that. It wasn't malicious - like my intention wasn't to hurt or betray them - but it was pretty selfish.

What’s the longest you’ve ever slept in one go? Without waking up whatsoever? I'm not sure.

Have you ever dated someone with an accent different than yours? Not really.

Have you ever worked two jobs at once? No.

Do you enjoy the smell and taste of cinnamon? I do.

Do you own a pocketknife, or any other kind of multi-tool? I don't personally, but I think we have an old Swiss Army knife somewhere.

What was the last thing you took a video of? I'm not sure.

What are some of your least favorite foods? I'm not a huge fan of most seafood. I'll eat some battered and fried stuff, but that's about it. I'm also not a fan of seaweed. I've tried to like it, but I just…can't.

[yourtastefulcannibal]

Dr Lecter,        I write this letter while listening to Chopin’s Mazurkas. I needed a musical background while writing and I wanted to feel as if I am writing on a balcony from the opera.        Thank you very much for your information on the paintings. It seems I do lack some knowledge in this aspect, and I need more research on it. Could you maybe recommend me something you very much like, Dr Lecter? I would like to broaden my knowledge both visually and from the point of view of information, and a starting point from you would be great.        I would be more than honoured to dine with you, Dr. I just returned to the States but please let me know when you want to visit my home country and I will be more than happy to take the trip with you, showing you all the wonders the country has to offer. You mentioned you visited it though in your youth. Could you please tell me what you visited or what was your overall impression?       My interest in animals? Well, as Will, I also love dogs, no matter what their breed is (although I do prefer more the German Shepherds and Great Danes). I also like cats and horses very much, enjoying horse riding immensely and finding it so serene I don’t have a pet, but I want to have a dog and a cat in the future. I used to be afraid of spiders, but I learnt to appreciate them. We don’t have poisonous or venomous spider here, yet my fear for them was great when I was child. But as I grew up, I learnt to appreciate them more and found that they are actually nice “roommates” if you will. They keep bugs, mosquitos and other insects away. And I am fascinated by their way of weaving their web, the precision is fascinating to me. I could go on more on what other animals I like and why, but this letter would be way too long that wanted, so I will stop here.        As for my walks in the woods, yes, I do forage. I look forward to the season when some fruits or flowers are out there. Last month, there was such a great heat in Romania that now the blackberries are all shrivelled. Same with the St John’s wort flowers. I wanted to pick some for tea but the state I found them in was almost dreadful. We have wineberries, chanterelles, and lion’s mane here as well. My father and I always make time to go pick the mushrooms when they are ready. It’s quite relaxing for us. Please find attached below some pictures from my most recent walk.      A favourite opera? Hm, that’s a tricky one. As much as I would like to say La Traviata, I will however go with Pelléas et Mélisande. Their story is quite tragic and heartbreaking; it seems to be an interweaving of Romeo and Juliet and Tristan and Isolde. Debussy’s music just does something to my senses. My favourite piece from him is Claire de Lune. I know, it’s maybe way too popular, but again I find it so peaceful, pensive, sentimental.      I would be interested in what yours is, Dr.

Until next time, Yours sincerely, Aspasia Winterbourne

Aspasia, Upon your mention of Claire de Lune, I saw occasion to listen to it as I wrote. I too find it soothing, although I must say I prefer it at a slower tempo than it is written, as some pianists tend to rush it.

Thank you for the pictures from your most recent excursion into the woods — they are bringing me yet more reason and inspiration to wander into the woods here somewhere in Maryland. Perhaps I will even invite one of my new acquaintances along, should I feel the desire to walk with company.

As for an interest in mine, I do enjoy learning about the lives of various artists. Lately, I have taken interest into more contemporary topics than I usually might, namely the so called 'Beat Poets.' I will not explain too deeply here, for fear I might bore you, however they essentially were a group of American poets who began a literary movement (the Beat movement) in the 1950s, rejecting the joylessness and purposelessness of their modern society in the wake of the second World War and the continual strengthening of capitalism; as a result, they sought to transform their idea of poetry into something reflective of their genuine, lived experiences, without plan or revision being necessary. The vocabulary involved in the poems often involved vulgarities unheard of as being used in literature at the time, with themes of sex included in the hopes of freeing poetry from 'academic precocity.' Of the Beats, I am partial to Ginsberg and Kerouac.

Beyond Beat poets, I find other poetry of this period to be of interest as well, particularly those poems reflective of the emerging queer culture. I highly encourage you to give Frank O'Hara a read, as he is perhaps my favourite poet of this period of time for a multitude of reasons. I could list off several others, but I will refrain for the time being. In regards to our discussion of the opera, I find your choice of favourite to be befitting of what I know of you. So many operas are tragedies, particularly for the women who are unfortunate enough to find themselves with named roles. Pelléas et Mélisande is certainly no exception to that rule, with both of the title characters meeting their demise. As for my favourite opera, I would need to say that I would choose La Bohème. Although you worried that enjoying Claire de Lune may be too 'common,' my favourite opera is the favourite of many lovers of the art. It is simpler than many others, easier for one to understand without having a detailed knowledge of certain events in history. I enjoy the setting, but the story is one that has been echoed across the centuries, before and after the time and place of La Bohème. Regards, as always, Hannibal Lecter

[mlobsters]

supernatural s14e14 ouroboros (w. steve yockey)

these pre-ep recap music selections are all over the place the past two seasons. always keep em (me) guessin. we're on music selection #3 within this one recap! and the pace of them is all dissonant. lol. this one is alexander bornstein (marked co-composer) and christopher lennertz

(putting in my request for an episode where i don't cry please and thank you. talking about the god forsaken box and showing sam fully crying in that moment in 14x12 does not fill me with hope.)

appreciate using someone with good knife skills for the closeups. had to go look up an anatomical diagram because that seemed awfully high up in the chest cavity to be yoinking a liver out of, but i guess it's not that far off. it's right below the pecs. like the cw version of nbc hannibal

no clue what the exchange (would say flirting but to what end, to make cas uncomfortable or actual flirting) between rowena and castiel was about. very much don't remember when they were last in the same place together. rereading the summary of the last ep they were in together (14x07) and i am none the wiser

SAM Maybe it's his pet. I mean, no pictures in his phone. And, uh, this place doesn't exactly scream "snake guy". ROWENA Not enough Pantera posters, for one.

LOL what do you know about pantera rowena

DEAN You know, I've got to say, I got a pretty good feeling about bringing Rowena in on this one. I think her and Sam have a chance of cracking it. CASTIEL They do have many books. DEAN Yes, they do.

laughed out loud, thanks cas. followed up by that stinkface

CASTIEL Are you really fine? DEAN I don't know, Cass. But that's what I'm supposed to say, right? "I'm fine," keep on moving? That's what we all say. CASTIEL No, Dean. DEAN Okay. There's this pounding in my head. It never stops. Michael's in there, and he is fighting hard to get out. And I can't let my guard down not for a second. I'm barely even sleeping. CASTIEL Well, that's not sustainable. DEAN No. No. It's probably not. But no point in complaining about it. It's on me. CASTIEL No. It's on us. We are here to help you. DEAN I know. I know that. And I appreciate that. I do. Look, before the kid gets back -- I know I agreed to give you guys time. CASTIEL Hey, Dean, and we will find a solution. DEAN Okay. But if -- if you don't we still have Plan B. CASTIEL Dean, come on. DEAN Coffin. Ocean. Done

#we're fine #everything's fine! no coughing up blood here and needing to burn off my soul to heal it, no siree (me contemplating the logistics of getting lucifer back into nick, stabbing dean with the archangel blade real quick to heal him, then getting jack's grace back [???] from lucifer)

DEAN This is like an A.V. Club presentation. JACK What's an A.V. Club? CASTIEL It's a special group for people who do not play sports. DEAN Yeah, him. He's A.V. Club.

we know sam did soccer iirc, did dean do any school sports? otherwise he's just a no sports no av club guy

gorgon dude using sex to pick up dude at the truck stop, all righty

looks like they had fun with this

ook, that was a choice. good old thermometer up the ass while spelled into a dog

was side eyeing the whole generic snake venom thing because i know some are specific to the type of snake, but i also learned that there's an antivenom that covers: North American pit vipers (all rattlesnakes, copperheads, and cottonmouths) called Polyvalent crotalid antivenin (CroFab - Crotalidae Polyvalent Immune Fab (Ovine))

*shakes head*

i really enjoy how they switch up her makeup looks and they're very like. full glam and playing around with colors. and i love her hair color right now, it's shocking! and it's also good to see her in a different hairstyle

ROWENA Fine. Don't tell me. But using dangerous, mysterious magic, regardless of the cost, that's a very on-brand me thing to do. SAM Well, thank you. ROWENA Of course Samuel, until very recently, I was the villain.

i thought she should have stayed more the ambiguous villain type with crowley, but alas. they seem to enjoy bickering

i had just convinced myself that they're just gonna have au people off on hunts perpetually and never in the bunker

are we treating a concussion like the serious injury it is now? or is this just michael drama

SAM What do I do? ROWENA Clean his wound. Make him comfortable, then we'll see.

if this is just about the traumatic brain injury, TAKE HIM TO THE HOSPITAL.

jesus christ him seizing on the bed as sam's about to ineffectively dab at his head with a dry cloth startled the shit out of me, thanks

JACK I-I can't think about losing him or -- or Sam or you. I-I just -- I hate -- I hate thinking about it. CASTIEL Yeah. So do I. But, Jack you know, Sam and Dean, they're human, and they're very extraordinary, brave, special humans, but they're -- they're still humans. And humans burn bright, but for a very brief time compared to, you know, things like us. And eventually, they're gone, even the very best ones, and we have to carry on. It's just -- It's part of growing up. JACK Losing people? CASTIEL Yes. JACK What's the point? CASTIEL The point? JACK What's the point of being a cosmic being if everyone I care about is just gonna leave? CASTIEL The point is that they were here at all and you got to know them, you. When they're gone, it will hurt, but that hurt will remind you of how much you loved them. JACK That sounds awful. CASTIEL It is. But it's also living. So when Dean wakes up -- and he will wake up -- we just have to remember to appreciate the time that we all have together now.

laughed at the agreeing it's awful. but like i mentioned in the previous episode, when you know for a fact that these people are gonna be in heaven after they die, and there are means to get to heaven, or be in heaven, then it's not so bad? ah the great devaluing of real world living

dude. did they just kill off all the generic apocalypse people??? lol ok. so now rowena gets a turn with michael, all righty

JACK I'm not a child! I'm the son of Lucifer. I'm a Hunter. I am a Winchester!

ook. i dunno if it's the writing or what but not really feeling the acting sometimes with him. and this is just. goofy

LOLOL i very much did not see this coming, here i was too busy scheming ways they could use the archangel blade and jack just had to use his soul magic to zap michael like sam burning out demons when juiced up on demon blood. and he got grace again - but it's michael's grace?? but without a soul (i assume)? does that make him just like. just an angel? was he able to flex wings before this? i can't remember

rip generic au people i'm glad you're gone, royally sucks you had to die to michael after all though

[bellasprettywords]

Draco x Ravenclaw reader, enemies to lovers would be appreciated:D they can be rivals since the MC is better at him at classes and such.

Also can i just say, i looooove your stuff, they’re one of the best ones that i’ve read throughout all these years and trust me, i’ve read a looot lol.

a/n: Thank you so much for your kind words and your request, love!! I hope you like this one shot, as I’m a sucker for the enemies to lovers trope 😊

y/n – your name

y/ln – your last name

Warnings: a little cursing, Draco being an ass and fluff towards the end

Word count: 1,750

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

“Yes, Miss y/ln, once again, your answer is correct” Snape said with a hint of a smile, he would never admit it, but he was quite fond of your enthusiasm for his class

“Better watch out, Malfoy, looks little y/ln is stealing your favorite teacher” you heard Blaise Zabini whisper in the table behind you

“Shut up, or I’ll hex you right here, right now” Draco whispered to his so-called friend with a raspy voice, and you heard a chuckle from Zabini

That was Draco Malfoy for you, threatening, mysterious and quite… handsome, but good looks don’t make up for acting like a jerk. You weren’t friends, actually, you haven’t even had a real conversation, but you knew two things were for sure:

a) He hated your guts for being the best witch in your grade -spot you two have been fighting since the first rankings were published by Dumbledore-, leaving him always as second best

b) You didn’t give a crap about how he felt, so you kept being Ravenclaw’s pride and joy, and of course, stayed as the number one student in all your classes

Your thoughts were interrupted by a paper bird landing in your desk. You rolled your eyes as you knew the sender was Draco, as he had been sending these birds aiming to get you in trouble with your teachers; he hadn’t succeeded as every time you’d shove them in your bag and just ignore them. You reached the bird and it started flying again, this time, in Draco’s direction.

“Mister Malfoy, if you are so eager of interacting with Miss y/ln, maybe you should spend some time with her, in detention” Snape grunted

“What? Why? She started sending me this” Draco complained taking the paper bird in his hands

“I did not do that! He is a liar!” you responded annoyed as this time, it seemed his devious plan had worked

“No, she did it, she’s been bugging me during the whole hour” this time Draco exclaimed getting out from his bag at least six paper birds. Why the hell would he carry all that rubbish for?

“You… you… entitled little piece of shit” you yelled at him annoyed and if you didn’t have detention before, you for sure would have now, so why stop there “How pathetic that the so-called Prince of Slytherin is jealous of a little muggle born Ravenclaw who’s not just smarter, but actually better at magic than him” you said with venom in your voice…Now that’s gotta hurt considering Draco’s despise of pretty much anyone who isn’t a pureblood.

“That. Is. Enough!!” Snape muttered enchanting Draco and you so you couldn’t speak “Both of you, out of my class, NOW! And you better be in my office when I get there, or I’ll take you and your little circus to Dumbledore’s” he said breaking the enchantment

You heard the rumors about Draco being a jerk and endured his childish pranks, but you didn’t really mind him, but now, oh Merlin, right now, you sure as hell hated the silver haired boy. You took your bag and walked to the door, after one last glance at Snape you hoped he could see the I’m sorry look you gave him, leaving the classroom with Draco behind you, who was chucking silently.

“What the fuck Malfoy? Is this what you wanted?” you said with anger in your voice, sure, one thing was tolerating his crap, but getting you in trouble with Snape was crossing a line

“You are so a teacher’s pet” he said chucking louder this time

“And you are… you don’t… you are so damn obnoxious” you were seeing red and honestly, his calmness and laughter only made your blood boil hotter

“You know, you are almost pretty, maybe if you weren’t so uptight…” he smirked and before you could even think, you stepped on his foot and turned around walking towards Snape’s office

“Hey!! What the hell? That’s assault!!” Draco cried following you and turning you” by taking your hand

“And this, and pretty much all your stupid flying birds, are harassment, but who’s counting” you said with a perfect smile and turned back to Snape’s office

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a baby” he said. You opened the door and entered Snape’s dark office. “Are you seriously going to stay here until he comes? The class doesn’t end for another half hour” Draco added making you turn to face him. Even with the dim light, you could see a flicker of mischief in his eyes.

“I don’t want to get in any more trouble, and I can catch up with some reading” you said as he rolled his eyes

“Suit yourself” he said, and you sat in one of the big black chairs and took your copy of Jane Austen’s Persuasion

“What are you reading?” Draco’s voice made you jump a little, as you thought he had left

“Just a book” you said harshly hoping he’d take the hint and leave you in peace

“I can see it’s a book, but I don’t recognize it” he said now coming closer to you

“It’s a Muggle book, don’t get too close or you’ll turn to dust” you said internally loving your Dracula reference

“Why would you waste your time with something like that?” he said with annoyance in his voice

“You can’t be serious!” you said putting down your book “How can you judge a world of literature just because you think you are superior? I’ll let you know muggle authors are incredibly talented” you added

“How can something so… basic be amazing?” he said now taking a seat next to you

“For instance, muggles don’t know about magic, so everything they write comes from their imagination, they are not limited by what the Magic Ministry or whatever rules we have, making everything so… it can be even more magical than what we know” you said forgetting who you were talking to

“That’s so stupid” Draco said laughing and making you realize opening up to him was a mistake

“Whatever, you wouldn’t understand it anyway” you said rolling your eyes and getting lost in Austen’s old England. Draco stayed there, doing some reading of his own, but you didn’t exchange words or glances until Snape came into his office.

“What am I going to do with the two of you?” Snape sat in his big chair in front of the two of you

“I’m so sorry professor, it will not happen again” you said with a string of voice

“What she said, I’ll even switch classes if you think that’s for the best” Draco added and deep down, you were grateful for this gesture, sure, it wasn’t towards you, but at least that was a solution

“We are in the middle of the school year; nobody is switching classes” Snape cut your thoughts “But you are going to spend the next four weekends in detention, you’ll clean my classroom everyday for a month and you’ll miss the trip to the forbidden forest; if this isn’t a good enough punishment, I’ll make sure to go to Dumbledore with this situation” he added

“That won’t be necessary” you quickly added

“Sure, I can deal with that” Draco scoffed

“It is settled then” Snape said “Now, you better start cleaning my classroom, or you won’t finish in time for supper” he added and the two of you quickly stood up from the chairs.

The next three weeks, you spent pretty much all your free time with Draco, either doing chores for Snape, or in detention, but as you got to know him, you learned he wasn’t that bad. Sure, deep down under that cold, obnoxious and rude exterior there was actually a really smart and charming guy, who actually ended up having a soft spot for romance novels and muggle classics. To be honest, you were somehow developing a little crush on the Draco you met over the last three weeks, but you knew there was no future for that, after all, once the punishment ended, you’d go back to your normal life, as you agreed.

“Can you believe our punishment is almost over?” Draco surprised you from behind as you were cleaning a cauldron in Snape’s classroom

“Yeah, and I guess that also goes for the truce” you said turning to face him. With the dim light, his face looked almost angelic, you felt your cheeks blush a little as he starred deep into your eyes

“It’s like… time flew with you” Draco said with a shy smile “And… I actually enjoyed this” he added, and you turned feeling your face turn bright red

“It was really nice getting to know you” you said leaving the cauldron in a table and moving to the back of the classroom to organize the ingredients

“Just because we won’t be cleaning Snape’s mess anymore doesn’t mean we can’t hang out” Draco took you out of your thoughts

“I guess so” you said, you weren’t sure why, but you felt a little heartbroken, as if you were going to lose something, or maybe, someone

“Is everything alright?” he said, once again, coming closer to you

“What do you mean?” you asked ignoring his question and hoping he got the hint

“You seem… off? I can tell something is bugging you” he insisted, and you wished for a minute that the castle would swallow you

“It’s no big deal” you said brushing his question off and he got closer to you. He stood tall in front of you with his hands placed in your shoulders. Draco smelled like mint and musk and having him this close and made your knees weak. His eyes were glued to your eyes and your shoulders were tingly under his touch.

“What’s bothering you, darling?” he asked with a soft tone

“I just…I don’t want things to go back to what they were before our punishment” you said with a string of voice, lowering your gaze a little embarrassed

“You mean us… fighting and hating each other?” Draco said placing his hand under your chin making you look into his gorgeous grey eyes

“Yeah… it’s stupid, I just… I enjoy being around you” you added with a shy smile

“Things are never going back to what they were before” he said, lowering his head slowly and leaning for his lips to reach yours, but not quite touching them “I like you too much for things to back to what they were” he said millimeters away from your lips, so you did it, you moved closer and sealed both of your lips with a tender kiss.

[bothoutsiders]

I know people get bothered when “bottoms” are feminized or when their favs get to be bottoms instead of tops and viceversa, but I think everyone has their own taste on things and it’s alright to respect each other.

For me, Jason will always be “top” and Tim will always be “bottom” and while I know real life relationships don’t work that way, I don’t care about real life. I’m writing fiction and I’m building a world, story I enjoy and sharing it with those who have the same taste as me.

The reason why I write Jason (and some other characters who have almost the same personality) as “top” is because of his personality. Since he was very young he was fucked up. He was wild, damaged, angry. I sometimes forget he has a strong body, or awesome thighs, so I’m not doing it because of his body, I’m doing it because of his mind and personality. I believe he is a feminist guy, he supports and respects women (this is why it pissed me off reading some comics about him flirting and being disrespectful toward women). He likes romantic old novels even though he is all venom and rage. For me, his personality is something Jason can’t control, it’s something in his own damaged nature that makes him go savage and if you’re not careful, he’ll just break your neck if you have an awful criminal awful history (esp if you’ve hurt women and/or children), but deep inside, he wants to feel valued, he wants to feel real love and be someone’s important person. He wants to feel that he is actually loved and appreciated by someone and he’s their number one. So writing him as top, as someone masculine but that won’t care if he’s wearing a dress or pink clothes or a skirt, is something I enjoy. He’s fucked up but he isn’t scared of his own sexuality or gender. Maybe he has a very healthy masculinity. Idk.

For Tim, I love him as gender fluid. I love that he doesn’t get bothered by female or male pet names/compliments. He is stubborn as heck, he is smart and angry too (which Robin isn’t an angry ball anyway?), but he also understands Jason. He sees Jason. And he is so easy to adapt, so ... flexible? so sure of who he is, that he doesn’t mind adapting to what Jason actually needs. He can be masculine as heck or feminine as anyone. And it’s all good.

I think both of them can have both sides, can balance things out. As a person you can and are allowed (and should) have a feminine side and a masculine one. Play with them, lean on the one you like the most in this life or in random days. But don’t see any of those sides as weak or annoying. If you don’t enjoy something, I encourage you to write/draw/create content you like.

I mean, why do you think most of my stories are abo? lmao.

[uniquevocashark]

A Good Servant Part 5

Content Warnings for:

graphic descriptions of gore, blood, murder, threats of murder, lady dimitrescu and her daughters eating people, threats of violence, assault, bodily harm, grievous bodily harm, blood baths, implications of murder, mentions of experimentation (very brief), mentions of manipulation, mentions of excessive eating, mental fuckery done by the protagonist

THis monster is 11 PAGES ON WORD DOCS, AHHHHHHHHHHHH

You cast a look at Daniela, who sneers at Vanessa with more venom than a viper. Vanessa’s hands raise up and she backs away from you, the cut on her neck shallower than you expected. Daniela pushed her sickled down harder until Vanessa was forced backwards, several meters away, then dashed back in front of you. She left her sickle loose in her hand, then flashed an imitation of Cassandra’s smile.

“Why did you touch our things?” She repeated, the joy leaking back into her voice. She turned her wrist slightly and her sickle caught the light brilliantly, a clear demonstration of an agonising amount of time and effort spent polishing it.

“Your ‘things’?” Vanessa said and you would have intervened if a bug hadn’t flown into your mouth.

Another crawled along your collarbone and down your hands and when you looked found that they had red eyes rather than green. Miss Bela bit down on your tongue gently when your mouth twitched into a frown and you smoothed your expression before Daniela noticed.

She grabbed your choker and yanked you forward along with it, displaying the Dimitrescu crest that usually sat proudly cradled against your throat, “This isn’t just decoration, you stupid man-thing. They belong to House Dimitrescu.”

“They don’t.”

“She does!”

“We,” Vanessa said, winking at you over Daniela’s shoulder, “Work for Mother Miranda.”

“But she doesn’t love Mother Miranda,” Daniela pouted, so caught up in stamping her foot that she yanked you even closer, “She loves us. And you aren’t allowed to touch what I love!”

Vanessa raised her brow, and you shot her a glare. Gently, you placed a hand on Daniela’s, and she looked at you moon-eyed after Bela had flown out of your bleeding mouth. “It’s alright, Daniela.” You said softly, rubbing her taut knuckles.

“It is not alright,” She insisted, then released your choker to grab your arm tightly. “Only House Dimitrescu can touch you.”

“I’m aware,” You said, and pushed her hand away, “Now, I must settle Vanessa in, Miss.”

“Fine.” She pouted, much like her mother, and disappeared in a haze of bugs. Another bug, with a bulkier wing set and yellow eyes bit your finger before fleeing as well. You brushed off the blood on your apron and shot a glare at Vanessa. The cut, you noted, had already disappeared. Mother Miranda must of improved how quickly she could regenerate.

“What?”

“’What’.” You mocked, averting your eyes.

“I am right,” Vanessa said, clutching her chest like a Victorian lady in need of a fainting couch, “We, technically, belong to Miranda. Not her adopted anger issues.”

You rolled your eyes and wiped the smears of blood of the walls that Daniela had made in her haste to get between the two of you. “Whether or not you are factually correct is irrelevant.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am,” You said tiredly, “Part of my very serious job is keeping the girls happy because it’s more important than the semantics of my situation.”

“It’s more than just semantics,” Vanessa insisted, “You’re lying to them.”

You sighed, “It would hurt them too much.”

“You’ve gone soft.” Vanessa bumped your shoulders together and smiled that smug grin you could never forget.

You crossed your arms and bumped her back. “Shut up.”

…

“Stop complaining for two seconds, would you?” You said, holding the door open for her.

Vanessa shrugged, leaning over you instead, “Who said I was complaining?”

“Go in the room.”

“I’m supposed to observe you.”

“And I need to attend to Lady Dimitrescu, now in.” You nudged her towards the room, and she stumbled more than she should have.

The room was small but warm. It was set next to your own and had been empty for as long as you had been there, so you had hijacked it for personal use until then. Lady Dimitrescu had given the room to Vanessa for the duration of her stay and, while you were attached to it, you cleared your extra things and remade it for her.

Vanessa, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate the spartan room all that much. She didn’t seem to like the lack of windows, or how dry everything was. You frowned at her for that.

“You should be used to this kind of living.” You said.

Vanessa sat down at the desk and propped her legs on the desk. “Maybe I got used to luxury.”

“Yes, Mother Miranda’s operating table is so clearly the height of ostentatious luxury.”

She laughed, then covered her mouth a moment later.

“Get comfortable,” You said after a moment, “I’ll be back later.”

“Do you have to help her?” Vanessa asked.

“I work for her.”

“You also kiss her ass when she isn’t around.”

You frowned, “I do not.”

“You do,” Vanessa cooed, “Every conversation you manage to sneak her in. Lady Dimitrescu this and Lady Dimitrescu that.”

“Not this again.”

You rubbed one of your temples. Vanessa shrugged from her seated position, her eyes barely moving from you. “She isn’t even here.”

“I’m not entertaining this,” You said flatly, “Stay in here, I’ll be back by the end of the day.”

“Define ‘end of the day’.” She said, picking up the axe you kept under the bed.

“Before dinner.”

“Okay.” You heard her say before you shut the door.

You walked halfway down the hallway then turned to look back at her door. It was closed, the corridor was well lit and warm and the noise of the kitchen from further down was the only thing you could hear. The only difference from yesterday was a thick black line that marked one side of the walls.

…

Lady Dimitrescu’s rooms were emptier without her pet, something that you always noted when she lost one. The extra bedding was gone, the extra candles, the smaller set of care products that she usually kept and the trunk for clothing. It almost looked too stark, and you could almost understand her obsession with always keeping a pet.

“Madame.” You greeted and she blew a stream of smoke at her own reflection.

“Wesker,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured, removing her gloves, “Is the bath ready?”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Good.”

She didn’t move from her spot, slowly removing one glove at a time.

Her vanity mirror was covered in a viscous substance that drooled down onto the mahogany

“Come here.” She said softly, extending one hand towards you without turning to look at you. Her hand gleamed grey in the darkness and you were halfway to her before you realised you had moved. She planted the hand on your shoulder and untied the choker around your neck.

Her mouth was dark with blood, spilling into a cascade down her dress. What you assumed was the remains of Mihaela, a few bones, a dark patch of blood and intestines strewn neatly on the floor, sat at her feet. She caressed your cheek and brought you closer to her. You flinched and she smiled, her eyes burning gold, leaning over to capture your other cheek.

“What’s the matter?” She murmured, pulling you tight against her, smearing blood over your face and chest, “Are you afraid of me?”

You sucked in a breath that reeked like open bowels, “What is going on?”

She tilted her head slightly, and her mouth split too widely when she smiled, through her cheek and near her ear. She opened her mouth and her cheeks split open, her long black tongue pouring out of the side to lick blood off her jawline.

You moved your head away gently and she moved, licking your face from chin to forehead to clean away the blood she had left. She cradled you in her lap, dragging her lips over your forehead then her teeth and you stared at her blood covered neck quietly.

“Who did you use for the bathtub?”

You cleared your throat, “The chambermaids, Madame.”

She licked one of her fangs, “How many?”

“Fifty-four.”

She growled, moving to hold your waist and hug you to her chest. Lady Dimitrescu licked the blood from your cheek, her tongue as rough as a tiger, then rested her chin on the top of your head. You weren’t sure how to move; when you moved even slowly, she tensed, and she would periodically hum before she licked your face. It did not help much that her tongue scraped the flesh from your face and that she took obvious pleasure with each scrap she took from you.

Her face slowly sewed itself back together, but it was not a painless or soundless process. You watched her face, the cheek slowly come together, veins re-establishing before being filled over with flesh that reddened as soon as it grew. Her tongue grew softer, and she was no longer slurping down your flesh to fill her stomach.

“Bring up a few of the serving staff, I’m in desperate need of a good bath.” She said but didn’t let you go. You cautiously push her face away, and she nibbled at your fingertips softly. She was staring at you, her pupils wide and eyes hungry.

“Would you prefer the pastry chefs or the line cooks, Madame?”

She smiled, and it was normal, though her lipstick was smeared down her chin, “The line cooks should suffice.” She said and licked your bloodied cheeks clean.

…

You prided yourself on many things, because you were good at many things, but avoiding the suddenly clingy Dimitrescu family was nearly beyond your capabilities. The girls you could at least avoid for most of the morning, as they were always busy with one thing or another, but Lady Dimitrescu took every opportunity to have you with her as long as possible. It seemed not a minute could go by, even if you were cleaning her room, that she didn’t have a hand on you. By thirty past ten that morning, she had already called you five more times than she usually did.

When you could get away from her, and the endless workload she had decided to gift you after eating Mihaela, her daughters were there instead. Even dragging yourself through the dungeons and moving past the ghouls, one of them would find and attach themselves to you. And the first to find you as she always was, Daniela would appear and grip your sleeve or hold your hand in greeting.

She always bounced between anxious and forward when she wanted to start a conversation, not that you minded. She was, you thought, a reflection of what you were like when you were younger but made of flies. She was also hyper conscious of how she acted when the staff were around you, which you appreciated even if the extra effort was unnecessary.

“Are you thinking of leaving us?” She asked, sitting three steps down from you on the ladder you stood on.

“Thinking?” You paused, “Something like that.”

She wrapped her arm around your shins and looked up to you, her insects buzzing reminiscent of a cat’s purr, “Yes, or no?”

You stopped wiping at the thick black stain for a moment, “A bit of both.”

“That isn’t really an answer.”

“It’s more complex than yes or no,” You continued, rubbing at the stubborn spot with more force, “And try not to sound so unsure, it lessens the stern attitude you’re aiming for.”

“Okay,” She said, resting her cheek against your calf, “Can you explain the complex reasons?”

You rung out your rag, dipped it in water and tried to wipe the stain away again. You did so again, and Daniela watched you with a growing pout. “Please?” Daniela continued, kicking her feet into the air, “Don’t you love me enough to tell me?”

“There is no need to resort to emotional manipulation,” You countered, and pointed at the brush you needed, “Practice your sternness again.”

She cleared her throat while she handed you the brush, and her tone went serious, “You manipulate people too.”

“For complex reasons, and never about love,” You said lightly, patting her hair carefully and watching her smile bloom across her face, “I don’t really have a say in whether I leave or not, Daniela. If I must go, I go.”

Daniela dug her nails into your skin, but you didn’t mind it much. She held you a little tighter against her and frowned down at the floor. “I don’t understand, she gave you to us. So, you’re ours.”

“It doesn’t always work that way, Daniela,” She nodded but looked unconvinced, “Don’t frown so severely, it makes you look upset rather than stern but that was perfect vocal control.”

“Thank you.” She said but you could see that she was still lost in thought. She touched her necklace gently and toyed with one of swords, staring at you more severely than she usually did.

You looked out of the window you had just cleaned, to the sun shining down on the village and smoothed her hair down the side of her face again. “The day is rather fair, Daniela. You should ask your mother for a horse-riding lesson.”

She perked up, looking outside the window herself. “That sounds like fun.”

She hopped off the ladder and you followed her. The stain on the window had left your water black as ink and you still needed to finish the rest of the windows in the corridor before lunch, so you said your goodbyes to her. Daniela kissed your cheek and transformed into a swarm of bugs before you could react, already gone by the time you had registered the kiss.

She had always been more affectionate than her sisters, so you could almost excuse the sudden change in farewell. Out of all of the Dimitrescu, she was the one who liked you enough to want to be physically affectionate. You knew she had started doing it out of jealousy, though, ever since Vanessa had gotten too close to you than she liked.

After Daniela had disappeared and after a late lunch, around two thirty in the evening, Bela would find you as you left the kitchen.

Bela spoke the most and had mastered that stern tone that Daniela only practiced around you when they were too busy to find her. Her bugs had brilliant red eyes and settled along your collarbone with growing numbers each time she saw you. Now she kept a few bugs on you regardless of the time and you had woken to them buzzing above your head for the past three days.

“Thank you for recommending that exhilarating horse ride.” Bela greeted sarcastically.

“Miss Daniela wanted something to do.” You replied simply.

“Daniela has her books if she’s bored.”

“Miss Daniela has had trouble with riding for the past three years, it was an opportune time for her to ask.”

Bela walked closer to you than she usually would, and though she looked at your arm she didn’t take it. “Are you leaving?”

“What gave you that idea?” You replied flippantly.

“Are you planning to leave?”

“I can’t say.”

“Were you ever going to tell us?”

You didn’t meet her eyes.

Bela grabbed your elbow and made you face her, “Were you going to tell Daniela, at least?”

You pulled your elbow free from her grasp.

“I see,” She said severely, in perfect imitation of her mother, “Does Mother know?”

“She does.”

Bela frowned then let you go and then, softly. “She does?”

“I told her the day before last.”

Bela continued walking with you for a few minutes then turned to you as you were polishing a bust. “I need to talk with Mother about these secrets,” She spat the word out, “Don’t say anything to my sisters.”

Then she was disappeared in a swarm, and you were left with a group of flies clambering along the crest nestled along your throat.

…

Cassandra was never much of a conversationalist, focused more on her latest project that was undoubtedly a present for her mother than you. She had most strongly inherited her mother’s disposition towards people. She didn’t consider you a person, for example, more like a walking meal with the potential to be a person. Any opinions you expressed weren’t headed very much; it seemed to be a particular trait of the Dimitrescu family. It didn’t stop her from hooking an arm around yours after breakfast and not leaving you alone for the rest of the day.

Unlike her sisters, she kept a silent vigil over you, only speaking to shoo Vanessa away when she tried to get close to you. It wasn’t until just before dinner, when you were trying in vain to get your staff organised while Cassandra loomed over them with her sickle bared, that she started talking to you.

“You upset Bela yesterday.” She said.

You sent three maids back into the kitchen for messing up the placement of the cutlery, “Yes, I am aware.”

“What did you say?”

You paused, and the remaining maids looked at you and each other uneasily. They slowed down and you snapped at them to adhere to proper form.

“Well?”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from pursing your lips when you turned back to face her, “You’ll have to ask Miss Bela.”

Cassandra forced her sickle against your throat, where your neck met your head and cornered you against the unfinished table. “If you hurt my sister on purpose, I am going to gut you no matter what Bela or Mother says.”

You pushed her sickle away from your neck. “Then you should aim your sickle at my gut and not my neck, Miss Cassandra.”

Cassandra chuckled throatily and moved away from you. She smiled and thumbed the point of her sickle with a smile, wiping the edge you had touched almost wistfully. She gave a flourished goodbye, waving her sickle happily and walking into the main hall.

…

Vanessa took up the rest of your time before dinner, still seating pleasantly at the desk in the same position you had left her. She grinned at you and sat up properly.

“Hey there, stranger.”

You gave her a look.

“You’re not looking so good,” Vanessa said, coming over and gently rubbing the scrapes along your cheeks, “Are you doing okay?”

“You know what’s strange?” You said instead.

“What?”

“I don’t feel anything. I’m not even sore and I’ve been talking all day.”

You moved into her room and sat down on her bed, gripping the mattress and letting out a long sigh. The black stains that had been plaguing you all day were also here, you noticed. Vanessa came over to you, sitting down and wiping your cheeks with a wet cloth. You hissed at the cold and she stopped, uneasy.

“It’s fine.” You said and pushed her hand away. The cloth was black with blood.

“It isn’t.” She insisted.

“It’s just a little blood.” You murmured and collapsed onto her pillows.

She lay next to you, dabbing against the scrapes on your face. She looked worried so you let her clean away the blood while your face knitted itself back together. She sat you up gently and poured you a glass of water, not leaving you alone until you had three glasses. When the bell rang you wobbled upright, and she looked almost ready to dive to catch you.

“Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”

“Will you make it that far?”

You waved her off, “Follow me if you must.”

“That would be for the best.”

You frowned, unnerved by her complete lack of blinking, “I suppose.”

…

Lady Dimitrescu was fully dressed by dinner, with her makeup freshly reapplied and her dress clean of any stains. It was one of her newer dresses, red as the wine she drank with buttons that were white around her wrists and down her back. Her hair was still wet and was kept in a bun instead her usual bob, tightly held at the side of her neck.

You dabbed at the loose droplets of blood that trailed down her neck after she sat down, and she bent her head away from you to give you ample room. It exposed the entirety of her neck to the light, and it glowed warmly in the candlelight. Vanessa slurped on her wine a little louder than usual and you frowned at her.

Lady Dimitrescu ignored the flagrant misuse of manners and turned to the cooked liver and sliced heart she was served that evening. If you were not mistaken, three bodies went into her meal, from the sauce made of blood wine, the thick liver from Rachel’s husband and Rachel’s heart. Vanessa looked comparatively smaller, nibbling on her veal and carrots drowning in gravy. It was comical to see such a normal dinner served at the Dimitrescu table and you smiled.

Daniela noticed immediately and dropped her knife on the ground.

“Whoops,” She said when you walked over and picked it up and pulled a new one from your pockets. “Thank you.” She smiled.

Lady Dimitrescu sipped her wine, “Be careful, my dear.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Bela was much quieter than she usually was, not jibing Cassandra for eating without a fork or rolling her eyes at Daniela for being so obvious. Her eyes were fixed intently on Vanessa and barely strayed while her hands dissolved into bugs and ate her meal for her.

“Tell me, Vanessa,” Lady Dimitrescu began, drawing all eyes towards her, “How are you enjoying my castle?”

Vanessa swallowed the half-eaten potato she had in her mouth, “I haven’t seen much of it.”

“Oh? Not one to explore, are we?”

She looked at you, “I was advised against exploring.”

Lady Dimitrescu put a hand to her chest, the other planting itself on your shoulder and smiled magnificently, “I assure you, me and my daughters don’t bite. You are free to explore to your hearts content.”

Vanessa leaned back into her chair, “Thank you, I think.”

Lady Dimitrescu laughed and turned her smile on you, well pleased with herself. Her eyelids drooped for a moment and her smile went softer, “My dear Wesker will always be busy, of course, but my daughters do so love entertaining foreigners like yourself.”

You cleared your throat and she hummed then turned to Vanessa and returned to their last conversation. It was a clunky transition, one that she wouldn’t have made without reason, and you moved back to where your staff were. Their numbers were halved, the others the dinner on the girls plates, and you were left with only the best of the bunch. The perfect additives, the Lady called them, fit for her most expensive of wines.

You were glad to see that two more were worthy than the last round of cattle.

But that was out of your hands now. Lady Dimitrescu had ensnared Vanessa with a menagerie of questions that had clearly been building since their last conversation and you found many of your secrets were gouged with extensive glee.

Within the hour Daniela had eaten through an entire cake and was on to her second, while Cassandra had disappeared once again, kissing her mothers’ cheek as she left. Lady Dimitrescu’s menagerie had expanded to a national park of questions, and she spoke on and on without seeming to pause. Vanessa would finish answer one and have a dozen more posed within the next minute and she was ruddy faced and out of breath from talking so much.

Bela nibbled at her own slice of cake, strawberry and lemon tonight, looking so intensely at Vanessa you thought her eyes would merge. She listened too, more seriously than her sister did, and you could practically see her drinking in every detail of the conversation with interest. She looked at you a few times, for wine or in surprise, and at one point leaned over to murmur yikes after one particularly child unfriendly story.

You remained out of the interrogation, refusing to answer any question outright. That was how the Lady got in, she asked one innocuous question and then bombarded you with a million more until she was satisfied. Vanessa, it seems, hadn’t learned her lesson after the first time and fell for it faster than a plane landing on an airstrip.

Lady Dimitrescu laughed at one point, eyeing you, “Did you really?”

“I have no recollection of what she’s saying, Madame.”

“Surely you must, it sounds so outlandish,” She licked the wine from her lips, and you dabbed away the spit. “Unless you two are playing games with me.”

“No, Madame,” You said innocently, “We aren’t.”

She smiled, “Is that so?”

“It is, Madame.” You said and began clearing the table.

…

The morning after, you and Vanessa were in the kitchen, the windows open to the cold breeze. You were cutting vegetables, Vanessa’s dexterity with knives as good as a wad of putty left in the sun, and she instead kneaded dough poorly. Daniela had inadvertently whipped her sisters into an emotional frenzy after dinner last night and caused a series of unceremonious gorging on whomever was unluckiest and unwanted by their mothers’ palette.

With the chambermaids gone, it was the cooks who took the brunt of their hunger. Your sibling remained with his most trusted sous chef and the pastry chefs.

You had taken the last line cook down to the cellar last night, while she was still alive and kicking, dragging her feet along the floor in a vain effort to stop you. She had made excellent bread and glazed wonderfully; she smiled while she kneaded and had the best work ethic of all of them. it was for that reason you had recommended her for cadou experimentation and that reason alone why she had been spared from being eaten alive.

You had cleaned her hair up after you had restrained her and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear.

“You shouldn’t glare so ferociously,” You said, setting down a plate of mouldy bread, “You’ve been given a great opportunity.”

She looked mortified.

“You aren’t going to remember,” You continued, pouring a glass of water, “You don’t understand it and you won’t remember what I’m saying now, but you should be honoured by being brought here. It’s much better than being made into a bath.”

“What?”

“What precisely did you think happened to your paramour Jessica?” You smiled at her expression and set down the candle while she strained against the shackles. “The rest of the chambermaids were put into the Lady’s bath as well. They were sorely needed.”

This was perhaps your favourite part when you cycled through staff. There was something greatly satisfying about watching the pieces fall into place, faith wavering as they learned the truth and then visiting them afterwards and seeing the light in their eyes dead but for hunger.

Playing games, as Lady Dimitrescu said once, after she had caught you unravelling one of her subject’s entire life thread by thread. She had seemed pleased by your tendencies and even instructed you on how best to reveal certain information bit by bit. But you weren’t here for the joy of it, not right now at least.

“You’ve always been good with people, Bronwyn.” You said conversationally and she looked at you oddly.

“Clearly not, since I trusted you.”

“I’ve been manipulating people into liking me for years,” You waved your hand flippantly, “What would you have done if you had known I was like this halfway through your stay?”

The chains rattled, the ghouls scuffled past you and the cell and deeper into the dungeon. You heard the girls giggling down in the darkness, the scream of a man ringing so loudly as to hurt your ears and the cackling after. You stared at Bronwyn and watched her morph from horror to disgust and everything in between.

“Escape?” She said.

“But to me, personally. What would you have done? Would you stop talking to me? Forget things? Pretend you’re fine when you’re obviously so stressed pretending as to be breaking apart at the seams?”

She swallowed and you backed away from the bars. You had ruined your mood already, and you had only been here for five minutes. The bars were grimy and rusted and you rattled them absently.

“Nevermind,” You said instead, picking up the candle, “You’ll want to rest before Lady Dimitrescu gets down here.”

As you left you heard her sharp intake of breath as she spotted her sister in the cell opposite her.

…

“You know, you really had me convinced.” You said to Vanessa when you walked into her room. She was, as ever, sitting blank faced on the bed where you had left her, her chest cavity open to reveal nothing but black mold beneath it.

“Did I?” She said, looking at you and smiling, “I don’t really remember much.”

“The last time I saw you, you were opened exactly like this on a bench in a cell. Do you remember that?”

“No,” She confessed, “I don’t remember how we got to this shit village either.”

“We were still recovering from waking up, they shoved us in a potato sack together and hauled us here.”

“I don’t remember that.” She said and moved her hand to watch it as it crumbled.

You removed the pins holding her skin open, folding them back against her ribs carefully. You lay beside her as she morphed into a blob of black fungus, nestling into the crook of her neck and hugging her chest to you carefully. She still retained a semblance of her former shape, but you could see the details of her face smudging away.

“Vanessa?”

“Yes?” She gargled; the words distorted away from her usually cheerful voice.

“What is it like? Is it painful?”

Her head was growing a large mouth, so you grabbed the knife you kept strapped to your thigh and straddled her chest after you had drawn it. Her chest was a mess of black and it had cooled drastically, like steam as it rose and changed to rainwater. A tongue lolled out of it and long black claws sharpened from her fingernails.

“I see.” You said and started cutting through her neck.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Hi love! I've had this idea for a bit and I think it would be perfect in the same universe of your plank all over me one shots! Okay do you remember that interview where Conor Maynard planked Tom with the fake interviewer?? What if Tom tried to do the same thing to prank y/n but as soon as the fake interviewer walks in she immediately knows what's happening so then gives super weird answers or tries to mess with tom in all the answers she gives?? You don't have to do it if you don't want to tho!

Plank All Over Me - Prank Interview Edition

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: Tom and Connor Maynard try to prank you, but you prank then right back

Disclaimer: you don’t have to have read the others to understand, but check them out ;)

Plank All Over Me

Plank All Over Me - Yoga Edition

Plank All Over Me - Couples Tag

Masterlist

“What’s going on guys? It’s Conor Maynard here and I’m joined by an old friend of mine.” Conor pointed to Tom.

“Tom Holland.” Tom smiled at the camera.

“You May have heard of him, probably not. He’s not very well known.” Conor joked.

“I know, mate. I’m so lucky you’re putting me on your channel. Could be my big break.” Tom replied.

“My other friend Josh Pieters is in the other room with Toms girlfriend, the incredibly famous and lovely Y/n L/n. If you’ve seen my video where Josh, Casper and I pranked Tom with a fake interview, you already know what’s about to go down. If you don’t, Josh has an AirPod in under his headband. We’re going to be giving him things to say and he has to say them to Y/n. We’re gonna try to really freak her out. Are you ready Tom?”

“Very ready. Y/n, I love you pretty girl but you had this coming.” Tom rubbed his hands together. 

“Looks like she’s in the room. Introduce yourself.” Conor instructed. “But make it uncomfortable.”

“Hi, I’m Josh but you can call me Josh.” Josh said with a blank stare. You vaguely recognized the boy interviewing you but you couldn’t pinpoint where he was from.

“Oh uh, hi Josh.” You laughed lightly. “I’m Y/n.”

“Tell her you had a pet called Y/n and something terrible happened to it.” Conor snickered.

“I had a fish called Y/n when I was younger.” Josh informed you.

“Aw, that’s sweet.” You smiled.

“Yeah. It was my best friend until my brother swallowed it alive.” He said with no emotion.

“Oh.” You replied, not knowing what else to say. You began to sense something was off. He was wearing a headband, for one, and he didn’t look like he normally wore them. Someone was up to something.

“Even more uncomfortable.” Tom ordered.

“I’m a big fan so it’s very nice to meet you.” Josh said. “A huge fan actually, if you know what I mean.” Josh gave you a wink and you swallowed thickly. It suddenly dawned on you where you knew him from. He was Josh Pieters, the YouTuber who pranked Tom. You’d seen a number of his prank videos with Casper Lee and Joe Sugg and had a feeling that this one would be no different. If he wanted to prank you, you’d give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Not that uncomfortable!” Tom said.

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” You answered, preparing to have a little fun.

“Be normal. Ask her about the Marvel making Eddie a girl.” Conor said.

“For those who don’t know, the character Eddie Brock, who later gets infected with the symbiote Venom, is a male in the comics. How do you feel about Marvel changing the role to be played by a woman after your audition?” Josh asked. You thought about your answer for a moment.

“I think it was a really dumb move, actually. I originally auditioned for the role of Anne, who’s Eddie Brocks girlfriend. I think they should’ve kept Eddie a boy since women are weak, useless creatures and I hate them all.” You answered matter-of-factly and Josh looked a little taken aback. You nodded as if it confirm your answer and Josh looked lost.

“Oh.” Josh said and leaned to the side as if he were listening to something you couldn’t hear.

“I’m kidding. I love that they made Eddie a girl. I was so excited when they called me and told me who I was playing.” You followed up. You didn’t want them to catch on too soon that you were messing with them. You had to dial it down.

“Ask about the Spider-Man/Venom relationship.” Conor told Josh.

“And me. Ask about me.” Tom added.

“If it fun getting to play Tom Holland’s on screen girlfriend as well as being his in real life girlfriend?” Josh asked you and you smirked. So Tom was behind this as well. Now was your time to really mess with them.

“Not really, if I’m honest.” You answered.

“What?” Conor laughed.

“What?” Tom deadpanned.

“Really?” Josh asked while stifling a laugh.

“It’s just, there are so many attractive men in the Marvel cast, Tom included don’t get me wrong.” You assured him. “I kinda wish they let me date one of them on screen since I already date Tom off screen.”

“Ask her who she’d want to date.” Tom demanded, watching you with hooded eyes.

“Who do you wish you were dating?” Josh asked you.

“Definitely Chris Evans.” You answered too quickly for Toms liking. “Oh, did you mean what character?”

“I’m gonna die. I’m actually going to perish.” Tom backed away from the microphone and covered his mouth with his hands.

“Keep going. Ask more about Tom.” Conor instructed.

“But you like working with Tom, right?” Josh tried to bring the conversation to a positive point.

“Again, not really.” You shrugged.

“Interesting.” Josh stated, silently begging for the boys to tell him what to say. No one was prepared for your answers.

“Ask why.” Conor said as Tom fanned himself in the background.

“Can you elaborate on that?” Josh asked.

“It’s just weird acting along side your boyfriend. I think he should leave the acting me to, honestly.” You smiled innocently, knowing Tom was somewhere freaking out.

“Do you think he’s bad?” Tom grabbed them microphone.

“Do you think he’s bad?” Josh repeated.

“Well, he’s very attractive. I’m sure that was a big factor in getting the part. But his American accent…”, you made a face, “not the best. Being from New York is such a big part of Peter Parker that I feel like Marvel should’ve gone with an American actor. No offense to Tom, of course. He’s great in all his other movies.”

“Wow.” Josh squeaked.

“She told me she loves my American accent.” Tom whispered, bewildered.

“Ask her about her favorite accent.” Conor tried to lighten the mood.

“Do you like British accents better?” Josh asked you.

“I’ll tell you what I like. Chris Hemsworth’s accent.” You gushed. “I think it’s the hottest thing ever.”

“Did you guys hear that?” Tom asked gravely.

“Hear what?” Conor asked him.

“My heart shattering.” Tom answered.

“Tom, it’s just an accent. It’s okay.” Conor assured his friend. Tom couldn’t even hear him anymore. He grabbed the microphone with a heavy hand.

“Ask her if she likes Australians better than the British.” He demanded.

“You think Australian accents are better than British accents?” Josh repeated Toms question.

“Is that even a question? Duh.” You laughed.

“I can’t breath.” Tom wheezed.

“I do like your accent, though.” You said, catching everyone off guard.

“She what?” Tom asked. “What?”

“Oh, thank you.” Josh said, beginning to panic.

“Where are you from?” You asked, leaning forward on your hands.

“South Africa.” Josh told you and you smiled brightly and you continued your plan.

“Wait, really? That’s so exciting. I’ve always wanted to go there.” You beamed.

“Since when?” Conor looked up at Tom.

“She’s never said anything about South Africa.” Tom said in confusion.

“It’s a beautiful place.” Josh agreed.

“I bet. England is so dreary.” You rolled your eyes. “Maybe you can take me to South Africa one day.”

“Maybe.” Josh nodded as he tried to send messages in Morse code by blinking rapidly at the camera. You smirked, knowing your plan was working.

“Change the subject, Josh. Before Tom dies.” Conor ordered.

“Ask her about the wallpaper.” Tom blurted.

“Why the wallpaper?” Conor asked.

“It’s the least romantic topic I could think of!” Tom exclaimed.

“So, this is some really nice wallpaper, wouldn’t you agree?” Josh changed the subject. This threw you off a little but you were determined to win this prank.

“I was just thinking that! You read my mind.” You said excitedly.

“That backfired.” Conor said as he watched Tom fall to the floor in agony.

“Your name is Josh right?” You asked coyly.

“Yes ma’am.” Josh answered.

“I love that name.” You complimented. “I always have.”

“Do you?” Josh’s mouth dried up.

“Totally. It’s so exotic.” You beamed. Toms head snapped up from the floor.

“Exotic? There is a white boy named Josh in every high school movie ever made.” Tom exclaimed. “Exotic compared to what? Toast?”

“Thank you. I like it too.” Josh said awkwardly, wishing the boys would give him something to say.

“It’s so much better than a white bread name like Tom. Who names their kid Tom? What is he, an apostle?” You laughed. “Josh is way cooler in my opinion. It’s like the name of a god or something.”

“A god?” Tom nearly screamed. “What would Josh be the god of?”

“Gingers.” Conor shrugged.

“Thank you.” Josh said and gave the camera a stern glare.

“Tell her about your quail.” Conor suggested.

“That’s perfect. She’ll think he’s a total weirdo! Great thinking Conor.” Tom patted his friend on the back.

“Not exactly my plan, but okay.” Connor nodded.

“Do you have any pets?” Josh began his segway.”

“I do. I have a dog named Tessa.” You answered. “She’s not really my dog, though. She’s Tom’s.”

“I know you’re an animal person. You must love her.” Josh smiled now that the prank was back on track.

“Honestly, I can’t stand her. She’s always sleeping in our bed with us and begging at the table. I’m this close to telling Tom to get rid of her.” You pinched your fingers together and watched Josh go pale.

“That was it. That was the thing that killed me.” Tom mumbled as he slumped in a chair.

“Talk about the quail!” Conor repeated in an effort to save Tom.

“I have a pet too. It’s a quail.” Josh told you proudly.

“A quail? How did you get a quail?” You asked with a smile.

“Well my friends and I bought a carton of quail eggs and put them in an incubator. Only one hatched but I’ve kept her as a pet.” Josh told you the infamous story. You’d seen the video he posted about it but decided to play dumb.

“You saved a quail? That’s amazing.” You gushed as if you’d never heard the story before.

“It was just a fun thing for YouTube but I’ve actually grown quite fond of her.” Josh said, beginning to enjoy the interview.

“That’s the mosh amazing story I’ve ever herad.” You swore. “You’re a hero. A real life hero.”

“Okay. He put a carton of eggs in a hot box. He’s not Mother Theresa.” Tom pouted.

“You and Tom should come over and meet her sometime.” Josh suggested.

“Good. Bring the conversation back to Tom.” Conor nodded.

“Yeah. I’m feeling better now.” Tom agreed.

“Tom doesn’t have time be there. It can just be you and I.” You said as you looked at him through your lashes. Josh looked panicked.

“Never mind.” Tom groaned, clenching his stomach.

“What’s your last name, Josh?” You asked as you twirled some hair around your finger.

“Pieters.” Josh informed you.

“Pieters? That’s so cute. I love the way it sounds. Can you imagine it with my name? Y/n Pieters.” You smiled. “Doesn’t that just sound effervescent?”

“It sounds lovely, Y/n.” Josh said, eyeing you strangely.

“Toms still dead but if he were alive right now, he’d be livid.” Conor sighed as he listened.

“I can hear it. And I am in fact livid.” Tom said from his newly claimed spot on the floor.

“You know who else’s last name sounds good on me? Osterfield.” You were pulling out all the guns now. “I think Y/n Osterfield sounds great. Don’t you agree?”

“Uhhh…” Josh feared for his life if he agreed.

“Don’t you dare agree.” Tom grumbled through the microphone.

“Say you like Y/n Holland best.” Conor suggested.

“That’s good. Say that.” Tom nodded.

“I think Y/n Holland sounds better than both of those.” Josh told you.

“You think?” You made a face. “I actually hate Toms last name. It doesn’t fit with anything. It’s too long.”

“Osterfield is longer.” Josh reminded you.

“I bet Osterfield is longer.” You said and winked at the camera. Tom caught the double meaning and started sweating profusely.

“Ask her if she plans to take my last name when we’re married.” Tom asked, fully panicking now.

“Are you gonna take his last name when you’re married?” Josh repeated.

“Yeah, like we’re getting married.” You laughed.

“She doesn’t want to marry me?” Tom asked, all anger draining from him. It was replaced with devastation and defeat.

“Ask her if she wants to marry Tom.” Conor said as he watched Toms fallen face carefully.

“You guys aren’t planning on getting married?” Josh asked, feeling himself beginning to sweat.

“We are.” You nodded and Tom sighed in relief. “To other people.” You added.

“She killed me and now she’s beating my corpse with a phone book.” Tom said in exasperation.

“Try to change the subject again away from marriage.” Conor pleaded for Toms sake.

“Your hair looks really nice today.” Josh blurted.

“That’s not helping!” Tom shouted.

“Thank you! I really like your hair too. I totally have a thing for gingers.” You nodded.

“Said no one ever!” Tom scoffed.

“Abandon that conversation immediately. New plan! Ask her what her favorite thing about Tom is.” Conor shrugged.

“Speaking of Tom, whats your favorite thing about him?” Josh asked, ignoring the insult from Tom.

“My favorite thing about Tom? That’s easy.” You smiled and Tom did too. “He always puts the toilet seat down after he’s done. I hate when boys leave it up. So, probably that.”

“Her favorite thing about me is how I put the toilet seat down?” Tom asked with a blank stare.

“Ask her something else about him. He’s dying, Josh. He’s on his last leg.” Conor begged.

“Finish this sentence: my boyfriend gives the best…” Josh began.

“Kisses.” You gushed. Josh looked at the camera for approval and he heard Tom sigh happily into the microphone. “Just kidding, he gives the best directions. He’s really good at giving people directions. His kisses are lack luster, but I’m sure that doesn’t surprise anyone.”

“Ask her what in the the absolutely, positively, burning, bloody hell that meant?” Tom quipped.

“Why not?” Josh asked you.

“Do I have to say it?” You asked.

“Make her say it.” Tom ordered.

“Yes.” Josh nodded.

“No lips.” You shrugged.

“Can’t argue with her on that one, mate.” Conor told Tom.

“Can you get her to say one nice thing about me before my ghost ascends into heaven?” Tom sighed in defeat.

“What do you love about him? There must be something, right? Why else would you be together?” Josh asked you. You decided it was time to let up.

“There is something I love about Tom.” You smiled dreamily.

“Thank God.” Tom said, leaning forward to hear you clearly.

“Finally.” Conor after.

“Really? What is it?” Josh asked.

“What I really, truly love about Tom,” you smiled at the camera, “is how he thinks he can prank me better than I can prank him.”

“What?” Josh laughed as he realized you’d be toying with him.

“Wait, what?” Tom stuttered.

“What?” Conor asked at the 50th turn the video had taken.

“Come on, Josh. I smelt BS as soon as I walked in here.” You declared. “You think I haven’t seen Conners video where you pranked Tom exactly like this? You boys must think I’m dumb.”

“Wait a minute, she what? What?” Tom tried to wrap his head around what he was hearing.

“Would you look at that.” Conor said, dumbfounded.

“You knew it was a prank and you let us believe we were pranking you this entire time?” Josh asked, not bothering to hide how impressed he was.

“Yup.” You popped the p.

“Come on.” Tom pulled Connor out of the room and ran to where you and Josh were. You burst out laughing when you saw Toms red face.

“Ha! I knew I’d get you.” You clapped as you pulled Tom into a hug. “You should’ve known better than to challenge me. You know they call me Prank Sinatra.”

“No one calls you that.” He mumbled as his cheeks flamed up in embarrassment that you’d gotten him so good.

“Modern day Prank Ocean.” You shrugged smugly.

“How did you know it was a prank?” Conor asked you.

“I watch you and Josh all the time. I know a prank when I see one. I got you guy so good, thinking I liked the name Josh and all that.” You said triumphantly.

“Hey.” Josh warned.

“Sorry.” You apologized.

“So all your answers were…” Tom began.

“Complete and utter lies?” You finished. “Why yes, yes they were. Every last one.”

“You made all that up? All that stuff about my accent and not liking to work with me?” He asked hopefully, needing to hear you confirm it.

“Obviously! When do I ever say “effervescent”? You should’ve known I was only joking, lover.” You assured him as you pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’d never say that stuff. I love your accent and I love working with you.

“And the marriage stuff?” He said softly. You knew you took it a little too far with that one.

“If you want that to happen, you know what to do.” You shrugged casually and he blushed.

“I cannot believe you pranked us this badly. I feel so defeated.” Conor sighed.

“You shouldn’t have challenged the queen of pranks.” You told him as Tom presses kissed of relief to your cheek.

“Wait, what about what you said about wanting to date Chris Evans?” He remembered.

“Thanks for watching everybody! Bye!” You said to the camera before running out of the room.

“Wait! You didn’t answer my question!” Tom said as he ran after you.

“Don’t forget to subscribe!” You shouted from the hallway.

“What she said.” Conor smiled again the camera before turning it off.

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona @foreverxholland @writing-for-hours-on-end @lavender-writer @captainmandeestudent17 @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @theolwebshooter @andreasworlsboring101 @guksmyfav @waiting-to-be-myself @letsloveimagines @ho-ho-holland @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @m19friend @justcallmehitgirl @averyfosterthoughts @jackiehollanderr @tiny-friggin-human @celestial-skylines @loveat2am @mara-twins @iamaunicorn4704 @delicately-important-trash @mjspxrker @spideygirl2003 @the-crazy-fanfictionist @kii-mii @maryjanee23 @spacebitch2 @vgiselle @geeksareunique

[insufferablelust]

Professor!Spencer x Sub!reader, reader is taking one of Spencers classes and he can't take his eyes of her, one thing leads to another and they are doing it in his office. (this is so cliche but god its hot)

Warnings ; Professor!Spencer x Reader, Age gap (reader is above 20 though), Smut, Degrading languange, Risqué Classroom sex. Thats it i think :)

the moment Spencer laid his eyes on her, it seemed like the usual chattering of the other students ceased to a mere background noises. He watched her intently, refusing to believe she was real, but here she was, flesh and blood, doodling on her blank paper.

It was lecture day for Spencer, to be honest he actually loves teaching, he love to share his knowledge and he can’t deny himself of a tad bit of narcissism that ran through his veins at the squeals of his students— though to be fair, he never paid any attention to them.. because you were there.

Y/N Y/L/N a beatiful name, for a beautiful girl, he thought. Everything about her should angered him, she wasnt paying attention on his class, she focused on daydreaming about butterflies and end times, and she wore short skirts all the fucking time.

Oh he was furious— furiously lusting over his student.

~

“Ms. Y/l/N, stay. I need to talk to you.”

Your heart thumped as you listened to your Professor’s commands, your cheeks heats up as you get closer to where he was sitting, he looked good you thought. Perfectly tall, with ruffly hair, strong fingers— god you lust over them fingers more time than you could imagine.

You knew you fucked up, as in you never paid attention to Criminal Psychology anymore but how could you? how could you when all you could focus on was this adonis of a professor that so happen to be an FBI agent and a damn genius. How could you pay attention when his voice taunt you in your bed, late at night when you got your hands between your legs. How could you listen, when all you could hear was the imagination of his voice whispering filthy things on your ear.

You are shy, but you’re no innocent little girl.

“Professor.. Is there anything wrong?” You chew on your bottom lip as you stand in front of his desk, watching as he leaned in to place his interlaced fingers on top of the mahagony wood desk.

“There is actually. I’m quite surprise when i found out that you only got 70% on your last exam, what happened? from what i gathered, courtesy to Ms. Dorothy, you were an excellent student. She talks big about you but here you are standing in front of me with a 70% and you never seemed to pay any attention at all. So you tell me, what is wrong Ms. Y/N?” His voice was firm, calm and collected, and you hated that, hated the fact that he could remain so calm when you were about to literally pass out

“Sir.. Professor— i..” You were cut off instantly,

“Or do you want me to transfer you back to Miss Dorothy’s class?” His voice rang through your veins like venom, as you quickly shake your head, fingers gripping your files tightly.

“No! Please no! I just..” You took a deep breath, “Please Professor, give me another chance. I promise i won’t let you down.” You begged sweetly, eyes doe-like at him. What surprised you was how his lips seemed to twitch a bit, almost giving you a smirk.

“I don’t know, Ms. Y/N. You’re quite behind and i think-“

“I’ll do anything! please just.. please..” You stepped closer around his desk so now you were standing on his side whilst he then rose from his seat. Your eyes widened as you feel his thumb on your chin, lifting it up so you stare at his eyes directly, and then settle it back to where your heated cheeks lay.

“Anything?” You knew how dangerous it was, but you can’t lie and say that you weren’t thrilled by the idea because you were. It’s everything you ever wanted.

So you nodded a small ‘yes, sir’ before he pressed his lips roughly against yours, hands cupping both of your cheeks. You were taken aback by his lack of subtlety but you couldn’t care less, not when you feel his tongue at the back of your throat.

~

Y/N felt etheral, as she laid on top of her professor’s desk, the one she has been dreaming to be bent over it for hundreds of time. Now she’s here, making out with her adonis of a professor whilst his hand trailed along her inner thighs.

“Prof—mmph!” She tried to talk, tried to gasp even, but the warmth of his lips against her own blocking her from any sense of normality and pushing her back harshly into desk with even more force before pulling back.

“Such a delicate little thing.” He whispered, hands softly grazing the very seam of your thigh, inching upwards up up up until it reaches the hem of your jeans, smiling softly, “Professor..” You whimpered,

“Yes, Miss Y/l/N?”

“Won’t we get caught?” Your eyes bashfully looked away from Reid’s burning gaze, yet your breath hitched as he slap your inner thigh harshly, “Look at me when you ask questions, little girl.” He placed his palm on either side of your head as you looked up at him with lust, lust and fear.

“That’s better, and caught? what do you think we’ll do Miss?” God, damn him— he wanted you to say it, say the thing you definitely can’t and won’t say to your teacher, even though he might as well dicked you down already. “I— we.. Sir?” Your lost of words caused his laughter to echoes around the classroom, sending chills up your spine.

“Such an innocent thing, it’ll be so so satisfying to wreck you, ruin you. You know what you are, Miss? You’re my pet, if you able to do as i said... well then i see to it that your grades will be high enough to pass.” He mumbled, his lips tracing your collarbones as his palm graze on your blouse, right on top of your nipples, pinching it slowly causing you to gaap out a “Yes sir, anything!” and arched your back.

“Good girl. Now get up and bend over my desk, i don’t have all day, little girl.” He rasped, and oh how easy it was for you to obey him.

~

“Spencer! Oh!”

“That’s right— fuck you’re so fucking tight.” He grunted, tightening the grip on your hips and hair as he slammed his cock in and out of your overly sensitive cunt.

Your cheeks were warm, hot— blazing hot against the wooden table as your eyes rolled back and pleasure consumed the last bit of your sanity. The head of his cock grazed against your spongy spot everytime it slammed back inside, causing you to let out a choked out mewl.

“Shut the fuck up, slut.” He grunted, the name should’ve grossed you out but you moaned out loud instead, tightening your walls deliciously around him, making him let out strings of “fuck— fuck Y/N, such a tight little cunt, my plaything.”

“Yours prof—oh! please i’m close..” You moaned, your legs had gone numb, as well as your joined arms behind your back. The hand that gripped your hips went to smack your ass as it bruises nicely and you cried out, feeling your high gets closer and closer. “Please please please..” You chanted his name and please’s like a prayer.

“Fuck— cum baby, go on, cum for me little one!” and so you did, pulsing around him like maniac as your whole body trembles, mouth agape letting out strained moans and mewls. “Hng—ah ah P-Professor Reid..”

He pulled out instantly at the sound of your voice, but his hand quickly found its way to stroke himself in a fast pace as he tugs you to your knees, “Get on your knees, bunny.. there you go.” He whispered, his other hand ruffling your hair as you open your mouth and wait like a good girl.

“That’s it, ahh what a good little slut i have— fuck, gonna let me fill your mouth hm? maybe mark your face too yeah?” He rasped, hands getting sloppier yet the veins were almost like they might popped any time soon, you looked at him with your doe-like eyes and nods eagerly, “Please..”

“Fuck— you’re fucking perfcet- yes fuck! Thats it take it, take it little girl.” He moaned out loud as he paints your face white, some landedon your cheeks, mouth, lips, neck— everywhere, it was a lot.

He admired you as you swallowed some that had landed on your tongue and lips, eagerly moaning at the taste of him which caused him to laugh as he zips his pants back up, tucking his vest. “Same time tomorrow, oh and.. next time don’t bother to wear anything under your slutty outfit. See you tomorrow, Miss Y/l/N.” He whispered all sweetly, before grabbing his satchel and place it over his shoulder, but just as he was about to leave, you reached to grab a tissue.

“Miss Y/N..”

“Yes Professor?”

“My mark stays til you get home or your score will be below standard.”

Well fuck.

~

thanks for requesting anon! i appreciate it, this was delicious, sorry for the long wait!❤️

[nightshade-minho]

-Inferno-

Warnings: public sex, insinuated break-up, cheating (kind of), fingering, oral (f. receiving), exhibitionism, unprotected sex, creampie, Master!kink, degradation, humiliation, size kink, light dacryphilia. 

Wc: 3k+

Note: (@chanonymous told me this Minho gives off Black Widow vibes- and I just had to write another superhero!au. Minho’s alias in this is Black Widow, but he isn’t really affiliated to or similar to the Marvel Black Widow in any way. Y/n’s alias is DragonClaw, and she’s a dragon-shapeshifter with pyrokinesis. I know this is the second Y/n I’ve written with pyrokinesis- I’m sorry, I just love fire hhh-)

Why?

Why did the universe hate you so fucking much? 

It was torture enough being one of only two female superheroes at this year’s Annual Gala. It didn’t help that said female superhero was The Peacock, aka insufferable, bitchy diva- who was currently on the stage, that melodious, lilting voice of hers flooding through the speakers.  You watched as the men around you fawned over her, listening eagerly as she regaled everyone with yet another one of her self-centred tales. 94% made up, you were sure of that. 

“There’s no way she’d be able to beat up 50 gangsters with her powers.”

And there it was. His voice. Him. The real reason for your anger and frustration tonight. 

You carefully ignored him, hating the way he was seated right next to you at the table. How did this happen? There were currently 50 tables in the venue, more than enough to accommodate every superhero in the state. But of course, your rotten luck had landed you right next to him.

“I just don’t understand. Isn’t her power looking pretty, or something like that?”

You gritted your teeth, still not looking at him. However, the awkwardness of his unanswered question lingering in the air became too much to bear.

“It’s Allure. Her power is Allure.”

“Meaning?”

You rolled your eyes, answering reluctantly.

“Supernatural beauty that can be used to manipulate, distract and hypnotize.”

‘So...basically, looking pretty. Huh. That’s a cool superpower, being so beautiful that people can’t help but do what you say.”

You stayed silent, your eyes observing the seated audience, all of them absolutely enamoured by the beauty on stage. You’d entertained him enough.

“I think you’re prettier, though.”

That was it. You whipped your head around to face him, breath slightly hitching in your throat as your eyes met his. “Shut up.” You hissed. “Stop trying to talk to me.”

“Why?” He asked, smirking. 

“You know why. I don’t like you. That’s why.”

“Come on, Y/n. No one here knows about our...history.”

You glanced around, putting a finger up to your lips. “Why don’t you scream my real name a little louder? I don’t think the Grand Master heard you.”

“Look, just because you used to be a supervillain once doesn’t mean you still are so-”

You were sure he was doing this on purpose. You quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, shooting a look of apology to the dude opposite you, who turned to look. As soon as the man turned away, you glared at him.

“Look, Minho.” You seethed, your voice dripping with venom. “I’m not the only one with dirty secrets here. If you don’t shut up, I’ll stand up right now, and tell everyone who really caused that wildfire in California.”

“It wasn’t my fault-” 

“Yeah, right.”

Minho sighed, rolling his eyes as he grabbed your hand, wrenching it away from his mouth. 

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been saying sorry ever since that day. Although I’m not the only one who should be apologizing, and you know it just as well as I do.”

You turned away from him, choosing to ignore him once again. The pain was still fresh, the emotions still raw. You remember how devastated you’d been that night, how you’d wanted to murder everyone in sight. Instead...you turned a new leaf, and chose to reinvent yourself as a superhero. Usually, tragic incidents and heartbreak lead to the birth of a supervillain- in your case, it was the opposite. You’d felt so miserable and dejected that you became good. 

And the man sitting next to you was the cause of it all. The fact that he had the audacity to sit there and flirt- especially knowing everything that happened between the two of you? It made you want to bury him six feet deep.

You fiddled with the spoon on the table. “How...how is she?”

“Who?”

“You know, her. Your girlfriend.”

“...girlfriend?”

“Spitfire.”

“Oh. Her. Um, she’s fine.”

Minho was lying. He hadn’t seen Jiwon- Spitfire, since that fateful night. Somehow, though, the lie had come out before he could stop it.

He watched you nod slightly, your face still turned away from him. 

Fuck, why did I do that? What was I expecting? That she’d be jealous? That she’d beg me to leave Jiwon? That she’d fall at my feet and ask me to take her back? Stupid.

Minho shook his head, closing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair and tried to focus on the woman speaking. But..he just couldn’t. His eyes kept drifting to you. He wished he could take the mask covering half your face off..wished he could see your beautiful eyes staring into his again. 

Wished he could kiss you just one more time...

***

The next few minutes passed by in silence. You were about ready to walk up on stage and strangle the woman, droning on and on. She seemed to go off on tangents constantly, the story growing longer and longer until you just couldn’t take it anymore. 

The rest of the audience clearly didn’t share your views, their gazes filled with adoration and wonder. Well...everyone except...

You turned to Minho. He seemed to be lost in thought, his stare fixed on the blank wall. 

“Hey? Earth to Minho?”

He snapped out of his reverie, turning to look at you. His eyes widened as he realized you were talking to him.

“Shh. Black Widow.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s a silly alias.”

“Like Dragonclaw is much better.”

“Hey! Dragonclaw is a very cool alias.”

Minho rolled his eyes as you shoved his arm playfully, your heart growing a little lighter. 

Okay. Just...forget about the past. Talk to him, even if it’s only to keep yourself from dying of boredom...

And so you did. The two of you started talking. He moved his chair closer to yours, telling you what he’d been up to for the past three years, discreetly whispering. 

“Okay, okay. Enough about the missions, tell me more about Spitfire! What’s she like?”

“S-she’s...cool. Very...fiery.”

You scoffed, shaking your head and smiling. “Do you have a thing for superheroes with pyrokinesis or something?”

“Uh...yeah, I guess you could say that.” He winked, noting how your face turned a light shade of pink. Hmm...

“Though...she’s nothing, compared to you. You were really...hot, especially in bed.”

You sneered at him. “That was a bad pun. Seriously, you could do better than that.”

“Oh, what a burn.”

You cringed, pressing your lips together. “Never mind, this was a bad idea. Even listening to Peacock’s speech is more bearable than this...”

“No, wait- I’m worth your time, I promise.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Maybe it was the way you puffed your lips out, or maybe it was your challenging tone...either way, Minho couldn’t help it. Before he even realized what he was doing, his hand was on your thigh. 

Your eyes widened a little. “W-what are you doing?” You stuttered.

Courage, Minho. “I know of a way we can get rid of the boredom...”

“You do? And w-what might that be?” You swallowed, feeling a slight streak of arousal shoot through you, despite his minimal touch. 

Minho’s confidence grew as he observed your flustered demeanor. His hand slowly crept up your thigh, a delightful smirk spreading across his face as you bit your lip, your sudden shyness turning him on. He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Do you want this, kitten? Tell me to stop before it’s too late...”

You shuddered as he called you that pet name. He hadn’t called you that in years...

Minho took your silence as a yes, his fingers creeping up higher until it reached your zipper. He slowly pulled it down all the way, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. 

His hand slipped into your pants. Your breath hitched as his fingers reached your clothed clit, the pad of his finger running over it.

“How does that feel, kitten?”

You struggled to speak as he started rubbing you in circular motions. “It f-feels...good...” You choked out.

“Hmm, that’s what I thought.” 

You heard a clatter as a fork fell to the floor. You twisted your head, Minho shrugging. “Oops. I dropped my fork...”

Your eyes widened as Minho slipped off his chair, crawling under the table. Looking around frantically, you realized that no one had heard the loud noise, Peacock’s glamour still captivating them- they were essentially zombies. 

Honestly. Did she not know how to turn the sexiness off, at least to be professional-

Your line of thought was interrupted as you felt Minho pulling down your pants, down to your ankles. Oh, right. 

So much for professionalism. 

You felt him spread your thighs apart, fitting himself between them. A few seconds passed before his breath ghosted over your clit, his fingers coming up to rub you through your panties.

You clutched the edge of the table, sweat forming on your forehead as his fingers slid aside your underwear. He ran two digits through your soaked folds, humming to himself. “Still as wet and pretty as ever...”

You shifted slightly in your seat, eyes darting here and there. This was so risky. Your eyes went up to Peacock, your brain unable to comprehend her incessant chatter as Minho pressed a kiss to your clit, his fingers circling your entrance.

You let out a soft whimper, leaning back against the seat as he pulled you forward a little. Placing your palm over your mouth, you muffled your moans as he wrapped his plump lips around your clit, sucking it into his mouth. 

He let out an appreciative moan at your taste, pushing a finger into your drenched pussy and trying to ignore the growing bulge in his pants. Minho could barely believe that this was actually happening- he wanted to pinch himself, but both his hands were currently occupied. One was busy gripping your thigh, the other drawing little moans from you as his fingers went deeper.

“Fuck...you taste so good...” He mumbled against your pussy, tongue coming out to lap at your folds. You could do nothing but groan helplessly, his mouth alternating between sucking on your clit and licking at your pussy, fingers fucking you through it all.

Your legs shook as you realized you were about to cum. You pressed your hand over your mouth, trying your best to not let out any sounds. You felt your high build up- flames of pleasure sparking at you...until it was all gone.

You frowned as Minho pulled away from you, confusion filling you as he tugged on your leg. Quickly looking around you, you bent down to lift the tablecloth and make eye contact with him.

“Come down here.”

“W-what? P-people will definitely noti-”

“That wasn’t a question, it was an order. Do as I say, or you’ll regret it, kitten.”

You whimpered softly, your heart beating faster as you lowered yourself to the floor. Minho quickly pulled you under the table, adjusting the tablecloth behind you before turning to you. 

Smirking at you, he palmed himself, eyes watching you hungrily as he crawled over you.

“Minho...this is a bad idea. I’m already on thin enough ice as it is-”

“Shh...” He traced his finger over your chin, down to your zipper, slowly pulling it down. He licked his lips as your chest was exposed slowly, leaning down to nibble at your ear. 

You stared up at him with glassy eyes, throwing your head back as Minho’s lips made his way to your neck, sucking on your skin hard enough to leave a hickey.

“M-Min...”

“Hmm?” He breathed against your neck, his fingers pulling the zipper all the way to your navel, staring at your bare skin. 

“Please...”

“Please, what?”

“I w-want...you...”

He chuckled. “I thought you were scared. Superheroes should be brave, you know?”

You frowned up at him, his infuriating smirk making you want to slap it off his face. “Shut up and fuck me already.”

He frowns. “That’s no way to talk to your Master.”

“M-master?”

He nodded, mouthing at your chest and wrapping his lips around your soft nipple, sucking gently. 

“Looks like you need to be taught a lesson, my little slut...you need to be reminded who you belong to.”

You opened your eyes as you felt the head of his cock against your pussy, moaning softly. Minho stared down at you, jaw clenched. He couldn’t wait a second more.

His hand made his way to the back of your head, gripping your mask, breathing hard. “Can I?”

You sighed, nodding. “Yeah, please...just...need you in me.”

He slowly took your mask off, tossing it to the side as his eyes took in your face fully, breath hitching in his throat. You were just as beautiful as he remembered.

It was too much to handle. Eyes still fixed on yours, Minho steadily pushed his cock into your pussy. He groaned as he felt your walls hugging his length tightly, going deeper until his tip hit your cervix. 

“You’re so fucking tight...how are you even taking this big cock?”

He growled, clutching your waist as he moved you up and down on his cock. You moaned, his solid girth filling you up perfectly. You felt weak, shivering as Minho started thrusting slowly, loving the little whimpers falling off your tongue.

“You’re so...so big...”

“I know. And you’re too small, so easily ruined.”

“Please. F-faster-”

“If I go any faster, I might destroy this tiny pussy.”

You whine, slinging your arms around his neck, an innocent expression on your face as you pouted at him. “Please, Master? Want to be...s-stretched out by you, want my pussy ruined...”

He stared down at you with dilated pupils, a low groan in the back of his throat as this new side of you came out. 

“You’re driving me insane...” Minho sped up his pace, the sound of skin slapping skin growing louder as his hips met yours with each thrust. “What a little whore, so needy for cock that she’d let herself get fucked under the table in a room full of hundreds of people...”

You felt the humiliation rise in you as his hands stayed on your waist, firmly pounding into you. “You like being a little sex toy for Master? Like being used as his personal cock sleeve?”

You nodded desperately, swallowing as Minho chuckled, one of his hands coming up to grope at your breast, thumb stroking your nipple slowly. 

“Well, I love fucking this little pussy open-” He cut himself off with a groan as you clenched around him, spurring him on and making him go harder.

He shifted a little bit, causing his dick to hit your sweet spot dead-on, drawing a long whine out of you. 

“Shh, kitten, you don’t want anyone else knowing what’s going on under here, right?”

You shook your head, biting your bottom lip. Minho grunted, leaning down, face hovering over yours. You held his gaze for a few minutes, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Minho was the first to break. He leaned in and softly pressed his lips to yours, a sharp contrast to the harshness of his cock plunging deeply into you. He deepened the kiss, tongue meeting yours as he held your cheek. The kiss quickly became messy, as his hips went faster.

“M-master, ‘m gonna cum...” You mumbled against his lips. Minho pulled away, his eyes turning darker as he observed the tiny teardrops gathering in your eyes. 

“Aww, is my cock making the little baby cry?”

You whimpered, the tears spilling past as you squirmed, hating the way he’d stopped thrusting. 

“P-please, wanna cum...please! Want Master’s cum filling me up...”

“Fuck, I’ll give what you want, fucking slut.”

His eyes moved over your tear-streaked face, groaning as he lifted your leg up over his shoulder, enabling him to go deeper into you. He began fucking into you, his pace ruthless as he worked towards making you cum, his other hand coming down to rub your clit.

You arched your back as you felt your orgasm approaching, your hands tugging at his hair and making you moan. 

He pecked your lips. “Cum, baby...cum for me.”

You whined, unable to hold it anymore as he pinched your clit. The white-hot pleasure made you cry out, Minho groaning as you clenched around him, your orgasm ripping through you. The overstimulation slowly set in as he fucked you harder.

“Fuck-”

His hips stuttered as he chased his own high, cock twitching inside you. A few thrusts later, he came with a groan, spilling his seed inside you.

You watched Minho, moaning softly at the feeling of his cum pooling deep in your core. His chest heaved as he panted, collapsing on top of you. You hummed, your grip in his hair loosening as he lifted himself off you slightly, eyes searching yours.

“How did that feel?”

“F-felt so good...” You paused suddenly as a thought hit you, now that the pleasure had worn off. 

“Wait...Minho...you just ch-cheated on-”

Minho sighed, rolling his eyes.”I didn’t, Y/n. I was lying. I haven’t seen her since that night. Trust me...cheating’s something I’ll never do again.” He whispered, thumb stroking over your wet cheeks.

You looked up at him, filled with emotions that were familiar, yet also new. 

“Give me another chance, Y/n. Please.”

You thought about it, sighing as you nodded. “Okay...but we’re going to take things slow.”

He let out a small laugh, eyes drifting to the spot where you two were connected. “Bit late for that.”

He pulled out slowly, watching as his cum seeped out of your entrance. He used his fingers to part your pussy lips, groaning softly under his breath at the sight of your stuffed pussy.

Suddenly, a loud voice boomed through the speakers, startling you. You hadn’t even realized that Peacock had stopped talking.

“And for the next speech, Dragonclaw! Come up onstage, and share with us your report from the last few months.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you sat up, half-naked and filled with cum.

Minho smirked at you. “Go on, then.”

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Hi, I hope I'm not bothering you, but before anything, I hope you have a great day and take care of yourself 🌟

Some heacanons for Undertaker, Snake and Sebastian with a fem S/O who's basically a Kitsune? Just like Sebastian, she has a human form and a "demon" form, and her Kitsune form has the usual bigass 9, super fluffy tails and cute ears.

She's usually very teasing, loves to mess around, to trick and play funny, harmless pranks on anyone.

( Like, maybe she trips someone with one of her tails, temporarily transforms in other people, or transforms one object into another for a brief moment aka plays around with illusions and stuff )

I know it's a rather weird request, and you really don't have to do it if it's too weird, haha, but I really think messing around with Sebastian or the servants like that would ultimately be super hilarious~~

Or maybe she can even mess with Ciel's enemies who come dine with him 😂🦊

hihi, you’re never bothering me, I promise!! <3

and this is definitely not the weirdest request I’ve ever gotten, not that I really think any requests are weird! they’re all just different and I treasure each and every one even if it’s not something I write often

and I really liked doing this! my favorite is Snake’s because I’m a sap XD

SEBASTIAN

Oh… dear… she’s too adorable. If there was any doubt about it, a partner who shares physical traits with a cat is his biggest weakness. The ears? The tails? All that fluffy cuteness? He’s… he’s pretty well done for. There are some occasions where it’s to the point that if she wants something and just purrs, that’s all it takes for him to give in.

That said, Sebastian is definitely someone who can appreciate her playful nature… as long as it doesn’t happen to be causing problems for him. (Name) typically has to keep her distance from the estate because of Ciel’s allergy, but when she is around, it’s free entertainment for Sebastian. Provided she doesn’t mess with the servants so much that it makes a huge mess for him to have to clean up, he enjoys watching her play her tricks. Heaven help her if she does screw things up for him at all; even his precious S/O has no immunity from his disappointed glares.

Actually, he finds it most hilarious whenever she fucks with Ciel in any way. And she can do that with her presence alone, or by simply ‘accidentally’ hitting him in the face with her tails, or by switching her body with his so that the poor earl is literally allergic to himself. Much as Sebastian does his best to publicly cover up such sadistic proclivities, he can’t deny that he finds Ciel’s suffering very, very amusing.

Whenever she’s resting, he likes to pet her. He runs a hand over her tails or scratches behind her ears ― and will happily do so for hours if he isn’t stopped. More than once Ciel has found the two of them asleep in a chair by the fireplace… when Sebastian was supposed to be running Ciel’s bath. Although he will never hear the end of such things, Sebastian thinks it’s worth any lecture or punishment Ciel will give him.

(Name) is allowed to pull one, single, solitary prank on Sebastian every year. It’s often her most thought-out and elaborate one, as opposed to her simple ones on everyone else through the rest of the year. Usually, when this trick finally comes to fruition, everyone else is standing there with their eyes wide and mouths gaping, silently asking each other, Has she just done that? Of course, Sebastian always just laughs. Everyone has concluded that (Name) is not to be fucked with, because fucking with anyone to whom Sebastian is devoted on that level will not end well.

SNAKE

She… reminds him a little bit of Joker or Dagger. Someone who’s lighthearted and always smiling or doing funny things is a blessing to Snake, even if sometimes he might be shy about the whole situation. (Name) is a very different person from him, so it’s an adjustment. They’re living proof that opposites attract, though… he does care about her a great deal.

With some pranks, like if she trips someone with her tails, he gets a little worried! He just can’t help it; he knows small things that seem harmless can sometimes backfire. Though, when he sees that she knows who’s used to her tricks, who can take the hit, and she doesn’t do anything dangerous, he relaxes a little. If she ever trips him, ah ― the snakes will do their best to catch him, but he’s probably going to be awfully red-faced for a short while. Damn, he knows what she’s like and he literally fell for it!

Although it starts out as a prank, when (Name) switches their bodies for a short time, it’s more intimate than anything. Despite the fact that he is incredibly disoriented by suddenly being in a female body, let alone his S/O’s body, he gets to see her in his body. More than that, he gets to see himself through her eyes. It’s different than looking in a mirror; he doesn’t see his flaws as flaws anymore. Is his hair really that endearing even when it’s always a bit messy? Do his scales actually shimmer with a gentle, silvery iridescence, making him look beautiful and otherworldly, instead of like an ugly freak? Is his smile really that… nice? It started out as a prank, and he’s surely distressed until he’s back in his own skin… and yet… in her quest for amusement, (Name) has helped her lover see himself in a different light.

Sigh… oh, she most certainly uses his snakes to prank people. Why? Because they see her as someone safe who adores them, so they don’t usually fight her if she picks them up. Thankfully, she knows to avoid using any of the snakes who are venomous, just in case they happen to bite if startled. She owns up to it being her idea, but if a bunch of snakes suddenly spring out of the pantry one more blessed time, Bard’s going to ban them all from the kitchen!!

Snake really, really likes to feel her fur. The skin of reptiles is so much unlike that of her fur, the texture he gets when his fingers rest on top of her ears is… wow. Honestly, he could sleep very soundly ― and in fact has ― cuddled into her, with his cheek nuzzled against her fluffy tails.

UNDERTAKER

Hee-hee… he’s definitely got a special little lady on his hands! If there’s anyone who enjoys a good prank, it’s him. He loves watching her carry out these schemes of hers, even if they don’t require too much planning. After all, a cheap laugh is as good as any other. It’s also a joy to him that he found a woman who has such a prominent sense of humor. This kind of S/O is all he’s ever really wanted in life!

Well… when he’s still in work as a mortician, he encourages her to play tricks on his customers. It’s nothing too involved, the same kinds of things he does himself ― popping out of a coffin, offering them biscuits from an (unused!!) urn… turning herself invisible before brushing up against them with her tail. It’s especially funny when members of the Phantomhive household come to visit and she can play pranks on them.

To that note, it is of incredible amusement to him when she plays her pranks on the Undertaker himself! He has exactly no problems with being a victim of her tripping him or switching out his ink for honey, and in fact is one of the few people who can openly laugh at himself without any embarrassment no matter what kind of prank’s been pulled on him. He just giggles at whatever it was, grinning brightly at her as if she’s just made his entire day. However… (Name) should probably be prepared for him to get back at her with a joke of his own in the same vein as whatever she did. If allowed, it has the potential to escalate into an all-out prank war, so… she should just be a bit careful.

If she’s up for it, occasionally he will walk her on a leash through London’s streets to shock the populace. Not only is that image brazen and sensational enough to likely induce some ladies to faint, he’s parading a supernatural creature through the streets. Most people will think it’s some kind of costume, but he just gets a kick out of causing a scandal like that. He thinks it’s the funniest thing ever… the papers will be talking about it for weeks!

Genuinely believes she’s one of the best things in his life. She’s added many more laughs to his daily goings-on, and not to mention she’s an absolute treat to cuddle with at night. He doesn’t require as much sleep as she does, so he can stay awake long after she’s drifted off, just… looking at her. Much as he doesn’t feel the need to treat her like glass, he’s still soft for her in a way he isn’t for many people.

[thepapergirlandthespiegelman]

Might stop reading Worm.

Content warning: bugs/insects/arachnids and related horror, body horror mention, miscellaneous violence mention, sexual violence/assault mention

My thoughts on the first ten arcs of Worm. (contains spoilers)

So, I finally got around to reading Worm. It was kinda big when I was in high school, and I still know some people who are/were into it, so I thought it was time that I gave it a serious shot. I did actually try to read it in high school once, but I couldn’t get into it and stopped reading after the first chapter. I tried to be a little more persistent this time to give it a fair evaluation.

When I started reading Worm this time around, I kind of just breezed past the warning at the beginning (“This story isn’t intended for young or sensitive readers. Readers who are on the lookout for trigger warnings are advised to give Worm a pass.”) I don’t consider myself someone who really gets triggered by media. I think it’s important to talk about stuff, including fucked-up stuff. It’s uncomfortable, but that discomfort is part of the point. I think it probably should bother you to read about terrible things, even fictional ones, given that those fictional atrocities almost always have real-world counterparts.

I think I vastly underestimated the amount of fucked-up-ness that is in Worm. When I read that warning, I thought, “Okay, this story’s probably dealing with some dark themes, and there might be some particular scenes that are really disturbing.” After reading the first ten arcs, though, I feel it’s more accurate to say that fucked-up-ness is Worm. It is the core of the story, and there is really very little else.

So it’s not that any particular thing that happened in the story triggered an immediate, strong, psychologically-damaging reaction in me, but as I continued reading, I began to notice that not only was I not enjoying myself, I was actually finding it subtly unpleasant. When I read about something bad happening, I get hit with a small dose of negative emotion. As it turns out, that adds up over time, especially when there aren’t any positive scenes to balance out the negative stuff. Without me even noticing for a long time, Worm was making me unhappy.

Here’s what I did like about Worm:

Impressive world-building - Wildbow is exceptional at inventing different locations, groups, and individual actors and thus creating a detailed ecosystem of capes and civilians.

Lots of characters, lots of superpowers - Directly related to the previous point, Worm contains a lot of characters...arguably too many characters. I generally prefer stories that focus on a smaller number of characters in order to give each character more room for development, but I appreciate Wildbow’s talent for coming up with vivid, if simplistic, characterizations. There are also some really interesting superpowers and interesting takes on common powers.

Inventive use of Taylor’s superpower - Taylor is always coming up with new uses for her power: having black widow spiders spin silk for her suit, using her bugs are a sixth sense to keep track of her enemies and environment, using venomous bugs to take hostages, covering her body in bugs as a disguise, coating her bugs’ stingers in capsaicin for extra punch, using human-shaped swarms to fake out her enemies...The list goes on and on, and I really appreciate how Wildbow took this oft-overlooked superpower to the next level.

Danny Hebert - The only character in the story who I can say I genuinely like. Danny Hebert is a union organizer whose pet project is getting the ferry up and running again so that there can be more interaction between the poorer and wealthier parts of Brockton Bay. I also loved the scene where he supports Taylor in the “mediation” with her bullies and their parents at school. Even if he was impotent, unable to protect her, I could tell he was on her side. His one screw-up is when he locks Taylor in the living room and tries to force her to talk to him, but it definitely makes sense with his character (a little bit of a pushover) and the story (Taylor was shutting him out and seemed to be putting herself in danger) that he would end up letting Taylor’s grandma convince him to take a forceful approach. Don’t get me wrong, locking up your kid is a horrible thing to do (I should know, my parents did it to me, and it fucked me up), but I still ended up feeling bad for him when Taylor just up and disappeared. She didn’t even call her dad to let him know that she was still alive after Leviathan! I mean, on the one hand, I do actually appreciate that she started making an effort to protect her father from the dangers of her cape life, something that I was kind of appalled to see that she never even considered before. But damn, did I feel bad for Danny.

Here’s what I didn’t like:

Way too much fucked-up shit happening - Name an atrocity, Worm’s probably got it. The plot is mostly just terrible thing after terrible thing and reveals of how terrible all of the characters are, with many terrible things that aren’t directly treated in the plot peppered in along the way.

Lots of capes, no heroes - This is one of those themes that sounds deep on paper but is really just cynical and fatalistic. Even if all the capes are corrupted by power (or by the toxic power dynamics between capes), what about civilians? Where’s the thoughtful therapist or the brave fire-fighter? Danny Hebert is one notable exception to the “Everyone is terrible” rule, but we don’t see all that much of him. Other than him, the only person I can think of who could possibly fit this “civilian hero” role is Aisha’s social worker, who I don’t think even has a name.

All superpowers are evil - This is arguably just a rephrasing of the previous point, but I think it’s important to mention. Worm contains so many superpowers, but it seems like they’re all being put to evil purposes. Panacea, the superheroine with healing powers (really just dominion over health and illness of the human body in general), makes some really despicable threats (e.g. giving someone cancer with a touch, or giving someone a disorder that will only manifest at an unknown time in the future, leaving them to anguish over their fate). Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing inherently wrong with writing a character using this type of power for evil ends. There’s a lot of interesting stuff to explore there, and I actually love that Panacea is a character that acknowledges the burden of having a healing power, feeling unable to take any time for yourself while simultaneously growing to resent those you feel obligated to help. My issue is not with Panacea but with the fact that literally every superpower in the story is painted in a negative light. It just feels absurd to suggest that, for example, someone like Gallant couldn’t use his power (carefully and thoughtfully and with consent) to heal people with emotional trauma. Superpowers in Worm are only for violence and conflict and crime, and I just don’t understand that. Again, the rogues form a token exception, but we rarely actually see them, and one of the first rogues we meet, Canary, is immediately subject to harsh and unjust punishment and never heard from again.

A misguided focus on only certain types of crime/violence - Worm deals with gang violence, robberies, and general chaos-inducing terrorism. It focuses on crimes perpetuated by working-class individuals and small to medium size illicit groups. There’s some commentary on state-sanctioned violence in terms of the corruption of the Protectorate and Dragon’s worries of having to obey a despot should one take over the government, but it’s not exactly framed in a way that highlights the struggles of the average person; the focus is almost entirely on capes. Worm doesn’t discuss things like wage theft, illegal rent hikes, or, dare I say it, the inherent violence of capitalism, which, while less flashy, are important problems with far-reaching consequences. It’s weird, and honestly kind of unrealistic, that there’s not a single anarcho-communist cape. Whether you agree with that kind of politics or not, it’s still a glaring omission if the setting of the story is trying to emulate real life. Again, Danny Hebert’s role as a union organizer and interest in restoring the ferry and reintegrating the city pay token attention to some of these ideas, but the vast majority of the story is unconcerned with addressing the source of, or solutions to, poverty and crime in Brockton Bay and the wider world of Worm.

So those are my thoughts. There’s a part of me that still thinks, “But so many people like this so much! Maybe it’ll get better!” I have a really strong drive to understand why others like the things that they do, to be able to share in their appreciation. But from what I’ve seen in a couple memes I happened upon, things are getting worse, not better for the world of Worm. And even if things start to resolve at some point, I’m not sure it would be great for my mental health to continue reading up to that point.

The breaking point for me, if you’re curious, was when a main character was just casually revealed to be a serial rapist. That wasn’t even the point of the chapter, it was just kind of thrown out there as an extremely-not-fun fact. So I was still reeling from that reveal while also experiencing all of the atrocities said character was committing in the moment, and after that was when I realized, “Hey, maybe this is not the kind of content I should be reading.” It even took reading a few more chapters into Arc 11 for it to really sink in, but I had this weird revelation of like, I get to choose which fictional worlds I spend my time in, and the world of Worm isn’t one I relish.

If you do enjoy Worm, I’d be curious to hear your thoughts on what makes it appealing to you.

[procrastinatorimagines]

Our Little Secret Part 13

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries / The Originals

Series: Our Little Secret

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 //

Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 // Part 15 (Final)

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 1,030

Summary: Y/N Gilbert tried to put Mystic Falls - it’s problems, and her whirlwind romance with Klaus Mikaelson - behind her after she graduated, but all it takes is one unusual phone call to bring her right back to where she started and into the path of her first love as she races to solve the mystery threatening the lives of everyone in her home town.

Tags: @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce // @april-14-blog // @akshi8278 // @keiko0 // @mylovehes // @your-new-mom // @mikaelson-emma​

It felt different, walking these halls, you were older, one of the adults leading the charge this time instead of following others. You weren’t in High School anymore. Well... not technically. 

Your mind was wandering, you knew that, but you were too tired to focus, images of your confrontation with Damon and Elena back in school about continuing to sneak around with Klaus springing to mind as you walked through the same hall, closer now to your destination. Walking head first into mortal danger certainly helped put things into perspective - should you have fought harder for what you wanted back then?

No, you shook your head, you’d made the right decision. You and and Klaus weren’t right for each other back then, but your eyes couldn’t help but linger on him in that moment as you glanced his way.

The vampire came out of no where, or maybe your senses were too slow to fully survey your surroundings, but either way, one second you were walking, the next you were on the ground, a soul sucking creature on top of you.

Thankfully you’d brought your crossbow up to defend yourself on impact, its frame the only thing separating your body from the long and deadly claws of your assailant. 

It was off of you almost as soon as it had appeared, Klaus snapping its neck and throwing it down the hall as a fight with two other vampires seemed to be going on between the rest of your group. 

Klaus pulled you to your feet, “you hurt love?” 

“I don’t think so,” you patted yourself down, shaken but unharmed as Klaus sighed in relief, hand still on your arm.

You looked to where Ric and Hope were dispatching of the other two, a grim look on all your faces. 

“We’re definitely getting closer,” M.G. stated, glancing around at the scene.

“Agreed,” Landon nodded, still staring a little in awe at the way Hope had handled herself in that fight. You couldn’t blame him, you were impressed too, she was definitely her father’s daughter in that moment. 

“We may be closer to the source, but we aren’t exactly closer to figuring out what’s going on,” Ric sighed in frustration, reloading his crossbow in preparation for another attack. 

“Okay, so what do Mystic Falls and New Orleans have in common?” Josie raised the question to the group.

“Mikaelsons,” you answered, looking between Klaus and Hope as they nodded gravely to each other, Hope’s face a look of guilt and Klaus’ a look of anger. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” a lilted female voice sounded from behind, causing you all to turn in an instant, weapons raised. 

Suddenly, you found yourselves face to face with the woman you could only assume was the witch behind all of this. Her hand on the head of one of the soul sucking vampires like it was a pet, two more flanking her from behind, barely containing themselves as they awaited her command to attack.

She was striking, raven black hair cascading down her equally black and extravagant dress as she smiled with blood red lips. All she needed was a pointy hat.

“Who are you?” Klaus demanded, a fire in his eyes and venom in his words that had the hairs of your arms standing on end.

“Cassandra,” she introduced herself with a bit of a flourish, did she expect you to know who she was? From what little you knew about the Malivore pit, it erased that person from the world and memory. 

Cassandra pouted, as if she’d just realised this too, clearly hoping for a more dramatic reveal. To be fair to her, you were sure her reputation would have preceded her given what she’d been capable of doing in such a short amount of time. 

“Why?” You asked, thinking about your sister and her family, and then that taxi driver who’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time; what had it all been for?

Klaus tensed as Cassandra’s eyes slipped away from him and Hope to you, as if noticing that there were others in the hall besides the Mikaelsons. She looked amused as she took you in, an ordinary human.

“Why revenge of course,” she replied, her mask slipping momentarily to allow a bitter snarl to slip out as she spat out a name: “Dahlia, your aunt, and your great-aunt, never appreciated my vision, too focused on growing her own power to see exactly what magic could truly do. 

When I made my creations, she called them abominations, tried to take my magic and stop me from creating more. I ended up in that place because of her, but at least I had plenty of time to plan my revenge.”

“Dahlia’s dead,” Klaus told Cassandra, “I helped end her.”

“And for that, I thank you, even though I’d rather have done it myself,” she curtsied a little in thanks, “but, alas, that simply won’t do. You see, Dahlia put a curse on me, stopping me from creating any more of my vampires, and that curse won’t be lifted until the Mikaelson line is eliminated. Once I’m finished with your darling daughter Hope, I’ll more on to Dahlia’s ward Freya, and then I’ll be free.”

Klaus growled, a deep sound that sent a shiver down your spine as his eyes went yellow, veins growing black. Your grip tightened on your weapon, taking it as a signal that things were about to get ugly.

“So why target the rest of the town too?” Hope demanded, taking a step towards her father’s side, fists bunched and shaking with rage, “why not just us? Why hurt everyone else?” You could see a difference between father and daughter then, Hope’s moral compass shining through as she spoke.

“My children are hungry,” Cassandra answered, a terrifying twinkle in her eyes as she raised both arms in the air, her sharp nails like talons at the end of her slender fingers. You tensed, sensing what was coming as she continued: “and who doesn’t love a little chaos?”

The moment her arms dropped, her vampires exploded into a frenzy, and suddenly you were fighting for your lives.

[beauty-and-passion]

Hmm, I remember you wrote about Roman's pet and Janus' association with a specific snake species. But what about the rest of the team? In terms of whom do they resemble / are associated with from the animal world? Or what kind of pet could they theoretically have?

Oh, I think I talked about it here and there, so I’ll take the chance to better talk about it now :D

Roman: I already dedicated an entire post about why I think he could be a phoenix and I still haven’t changed my mind. A phoenix is cool and majestic, it's magical and it literally dies in the fire, to be reborn from its ashes - just like Roman should. so it's a great animal for him.

Patton: a giant frog with abs. Yes, I know, it’s probably the last thing we all imagined, but that’s what we got.

Jokes aside, that’s a great animal for Patton. Frogs are usually associated with transformation, change, fertility and prosperity. Transformation and changes are two big issues Patton had to face, by his own admission: at the end of POF, he said to Thomas how difficult it has been for him to cope with the idea that Thomas was growing up, things were changing and he had to change as well, by giving more mature answers to more mature questions.

While fertility and prosperity can both be associated with his figure. Patton calls himself a father and a father, as the name suggests, is someone fertile, someone who has been able to produce an offspring (in Patton's case, his kiddos). So not only a frog fits from a thematically point of view, but also character-speaking.

Logan: a raven. Why? Because ravens are cool and their appearance fits someone tall and formal like Logan.

But more importantly, ravens are fucking clever. Their brains are among the largest of any bird species. They communicate with each other, have problem-solving skills, are inventors (aka they're able to use small instruments like sticks to get food) and have a good memory (if a raven buries some food somewhere and other ravens see it, they remember the place and steal the food).

Also, when they're young they play together and with other species like dogs and wolves as well. They're even able to make their own toys with sticks! So yes, Logan would be a perfect raven.

Janus: he’s a mangrove snake, because Joan said it was their first inspiration. And when Joan said it, I said yes. Janus’ appearance and behaviour are perfectly fitting for the mangrove snake and I wrote an entire post about this too because the snek boi deserves appreciation.

Virgil: I know the fandom is divided between cat, spider and some other animal, but I think Virgil would be a tarantula. Why? Because it would have a lot in common with the other two dark sides' animals:

is a predator

is venomous

is incredibly dangerous for humans

is commonly considered scary and to be feared

And even if we see cats as predators, they're not venomous and we're not so scared of them, to run away as soon as we see them. But I know I would run into another continent, if I see a tarantula in my home.

Remus: he's an octopus and I love it because octopuses are funky marine predators and they're FUCKING CLEVER.

Octopuses are marine Houdinis: they can escape from everything - even from their own aquariums to search for food or come back into the sea. They can navigate through mazes and, more than once, they were able to value a situation and react accordingly. Also, they have both short- and long-term memory and that's huge, considering they don't even have a skeleton.

Oh and by the way, the blue-ringed octopus is among the most venomous animals on the planet, so they're not just cool animals, but also extremely dangerous when they want.

Orange: I think a scorpion would fit very well. It works from a chromatic point of view and, most importantly, it fits all the other characteristics: it's a venomous predator, it's dangerous for humans and scary because of its nature.

Also, I have two different stories about scorpions, that show the double nature of this animal.

The first one is from my father: when he was young, he got stung by a scorpion. And it was an extremely venomous one, so he was immediately treated at the local hospital.

And yet, the aftermath was terrible. He’s 60, he experienced a lot of different kinds of pain in his life, but he always says THAT pain was the worst he's ever felt. The scorpio stung his hand and it doubled in size in a matter of minutes. And, for the following days, it was as if every nerve was on fire: sleeping was impossible, he was in pain all the time. And it took a very long time, before the pain finally managed to fade.

The second story is from my brother. One summer he was on vacation and, after a long day at the beach, he came back to the hotel to take a shower. And in the shower, just chilling in the corner, there was a tiny little scorpion. It probably wasn't even dangerous, but I would've still run away screaming. My bro, on the other hand, took his shower, while keeping an eye on the scorpion.

And the animal completely ignored him. It didn't even go away. It was just chilling there. And when my brother picked it up with a stick to put it in the garden outside, the scorpio just climbed on the stick and let my brother do it.

Maybe I'm a bit biased, but I like the idea that the last side can be both incredibly dangerous and absolutely harmless. A bit like every other predator, after all XD

[honeysidesarchived]

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part ii.

word count: 9.2k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he’s a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. if you’re here i imagine you know exactly what he’s about.

notes: hello! it has been a hot minute since i updated, but i promise i am not dead. i just went on a real vacation and juggling two longfic projects at once is (surprise) very time consuming! but i am here with chapter two. it's a lot of roman pretending not to be jealous when he's actually seething inside (we love to see it), as well as a few little drops of intrigue. yes, i know, i TOO wanted an entire longfic about roman and varya just making out between dramatic proclamations of their violent devotion for each other, but alas, alack.

special thank you to my beta @starcrier who of course helped me proof a good portion of this, and is eternally my cheerleader and the loml, as well as @shallow-gravy who put her eyes on the very very rough draft of this when i wanted to bash my head into the top of the desk a-la-roman's theatrics. without you this chapter would not have happened!

and thank you to everyone who has read this so far! carry your throne was truly my baby and so getting to write a sequel for it is the most incredible feeling. your support means the world to me. <3

Roman did not like sharing his things.

It was perpetually difficult enough to have let Varya waltz around the club so that she might have happily enjoyed being lavished attention on (attention that was, to be kept in mind, not his)—but watching a stranger, an interloper from her past, indulge himself in her, that was excruciating. Because that’s what it was, in the end; less about his girl enjoying herself and more about people enjoying her, realizing they would never have her, that she would always be his.

So as Irina took the twins back upstairs and Roman ushered her back into the throng of partygoers, he did so with intent; Roman watched Varya wind her way from person to person, lingering at their friend Dorian—dutiful member of the press always content to show her in a good light—before she and Maxim connected.

Roman watched them. He watched the way Maxim beamed at her, the way he ducked his head to hear her say something. He laughed and rocked back on his heels a little, and when Varya brought the glass to her lips, Roman saw it—saw Maxim’s eyes dart down to her mouth, their ascent short-lived as he busied his hand with sweeping a stray curl from her face. Maxim seemed very comfortable touching Varya, he thought. Men were never comfortable touching Varya. They were either—he had found, at least—aware of her proclivity for having hands cut off or (what he could only argue was the most correct deterrent) understanding of the simple politeness that came with not putting your hands on another man’s woman.

More than anyone, Roman appreciated having the things which others could not, so that he could be envied: but this?

This was treasonous. Poisonous. Heretical. Not in my fucking house.

Puzzling yet was Varya’s willingness to let her childhood friend conduct himself in such a way. She was a greedy thing, his girl; he knew that she so loved the attention, preening and glowing under the adoration. Greedy and hungry for love. Had she always been so active a participant in the act of touching, of being touched? Even by a stranger?

Not a stranger, he reminded himself tartly. Childhood friend, the man whose father she killed. That’s two fathers now, in her ledger—her own and someone else’s. And petulantly, he thought it a bit unsettling that it was a bond he could never have with her—dear old dad was already dead as a fucking doornail, wasn’t he? No chance Varya would want to ice him for Roman a second time.

He had determined to swallow his pride (impressive, gracious, generous) and make his way over when Dorian swept in; Dorian, preening and wrapping his arms around Varya from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and making the noisy announcement, “Stealing her away, thank you!” just before he steered her past Maxim. There, the crowd shifted and scooted out of the way to reveal the birthday cake getting wheeled out on its little tray, decorated in gem tones and sparklers.

The determination to close the distance between himself and their newfound associate did not abate, even with Dorian’s well-timed interjection. As he wove through the crowd of milling partygoers, accepting compliments on his good work, he waited until he got within a foot or two of Maxim to stop. Everyone was applauding the cake. Everyone was having a great time looking at the expensive cake glimmering under the oh-so-obnoxious chandelier, but mostly he thought they were applauding his wife.

So, Roman clapped. He clapped, because the cake was out and the sparklers were fizzing and popping prettily, dancing golden light across his wife’s delighted face. He clapped, because everyone else was clapping, too. He clapped, and he flashed an all-teeth smile at Varya from over the top off the elaborately decorated cake (tasteful, not gaudy, of course).

Over the fizzing and popping, and without taking his eyes off of Varya, he said to Maxim, “Did you fuck my wife?”

Maxim clapped. He clapped, too, and he stood there for a moment and blinked a few times and replied, “What?” His accent was thicker than Varya’s, and thicker than Ilarion’s had been.

“You speak English, don’t you?” Roman snipped, his words and perhaps some of his annoyance masked by the party chatter. Varya shrieked delightedly when Dorian dabbed frosting on her nose. “I asked if you’ve fucked my wife?”

The blonde cleared his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, apparently grateful that the attention had gone from clapping now to cutting the cake. In the corner of his eye, Roman could see Zsasz lurking—watching, keeping an eye, making sure he didn’t need to intervene on Roman’s behalf. Always a good man.

“No, Mr. Sionis,” Maxim replied, talking over the din of music and laughter.

Good, Roman thought. And then: “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Fuck,” Roman bit out, “my wife?”

Maxim barked out a laugh. He looked caught off-guard by the question—like maybe he wasn’t sure if Roman was asking to threaten or offering to join their marital bed—and then he said, “You have put me in an uncomfortable position. If I say no, I am insulting my childhood friend. If I say yes, I am insulting my new boss.”

There was something about this that flared a little spike of victory in Roman’s chest. Yes, that was right—he was Maxim’s new boss. And Maxim should be nervous about pissing him off, shouldn’t he?

“But,” the blonde plunged on, “I imagine having something that other people want feels good, does it not?”

His eyes narrowed. He smiled thinly. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “Yeah,” he agreed, “it sure fucking does.”

There was a moment where it looked as though the other man was going to say something, his mouth opening but no words coming out, brows knitting together at the center of his forehead; but then silk and warm stretches of skin were filling up Roman’s vision, Varya having swept around to come to him, eyes bright. They’d only been at the party for a little while, but already his fingers were itching—he wanted, having stood by idly while greedy hands brushed against his Varya, and it was time to erase them all, he reasoned. Wipe her clean of them as best he knew how.

Still, she had not looked so happy in a while, he thought. Varya always beamed around the twins, practically glowing radioactive from the inside out, but it had been a long time since he’d seen her so delighted without them in her arms. And surely, this was a testament to his doing—his meticulous, flawless planning, regardless of whatever wrench Maxim Kuznetsov was trying to throw. Yes, Roman thought, he had done exceptionally, in this as in all things.

“Romy,” she said sweetly, “are you playing nice?”

“I’m always nice, kitten,” he demurred, sliding his arms around her waist and nosing the hair at her temple automatically. Every time she came around, the gravitational pull was inevitable—hands on, hands on, hands on, making sure everybody knew exactly who she belonged to. “But you can ask your little friend, if you’re worried I’ve hurt his feelings.”

He said, you can ask, but he kissed her after he said it, purring against her mouth and keeping her otherwise preoccupied; when she did pull away, still encircled in his arms, she smoothed her hand along the exposed skin of his sternum and looked inquisitively at Maxim.

Roman mimicked the tilt of her head. The blonde regarded him for a moment, and then Varya, and then smiled.

“Your husband is very accommodating, Varushka,” he told her, shrugging as if to say, and what else would he be? “I have never met a man like him.”

He felt his mouth downturn—Varushka, the same pet name Ilarion had used with her. It was one thing to accept that his wife’s twin brother would always be held in high regard in her memory, that he’d had to endure the Varushkas and the closeness that they had shared that purposefully, intimately excluded him.

“That’s because there’s nobody like me,” Roman idled, despite the venom thrumming in his veins. He was cool. He was cool and fine and totally cool. Varya hummed and planted a kiss against the slope of his jaw; her nose brushed the hollow of his throat, more than content to remain there.

But even though their exchange remained pleasant, for a second, the blonde Russian regarded him with the same deadpan, venomous gaze that Ilarion had so often. It was so close to the way his wife’s twin had looked at him, in fact, that the disdain which had been almost exclusively reserved for Ilarion himself now prickled up the back of his throat like a bile—instinctual, muscle memory.

He had seen the same look crossing the faces of the men from St. Petersburg, flown all the way to Gotham to meet their new pakhan, as Varya had put it: disdain. We’re not for you, those fleeting glances said, despite the acknowledgment in all other things that they were. What do we want with some American gangster?

He was vaguely aware of Varya and Maxim saying something, exchanging words, but their voices had dulled to the cartoonish wah wah wah of an old-time cartoon, with Varya’s occasional laugh vibrating against his sternum. Maxim waved a hand dramatically. There was ink, there; he hadn’t noticed it before. He’d been too busy inspecting the man’s stupid fucking face, trying to find the lip of his mask somewhere in there. False fucking face, that’s all it was.

And yet: Roman could not help but feel a little burn of intrigue at the sight of the inked Cyrillic letters on the back of the man’s hand.

“—stairs, my darling?”

Varya’s voice bled through the dull static that had overtaken his mind. He glanced at her, reaching up and tracing the slope of her jaw with his thumb, his other fingers splaying along the spine of her neck. Obediently, her chin tilted. She was complacent like this—docile, even; he could have snapped her neck if he wanted, dug his nails into that warm, dusky skin and watched the blood well, and she would have let him—so much so that he wondered at it for a moment. All of his hard work, all of his tempering, cupped right there in his hand; she was his.

Rather than admit to having checked out of their conversation, Roman pressed the pad of a gloved thumb against her lower lip and deferred, “Whatever you want, kitten.”

Briefly, the thought that he had agreed to let Maxim into his loft occurred. Oh, what a dreadful thought.

“Then it’s settled,” she replied. “You can stay while the party goes on, of course, Maxi.”

Maxim lifted his head, regarding them with a gaze that was no longer venomous, but playful. “Of course.”

“And you’ll leave the address of where you’re staying with Armazd?”

“If you want it, I will.” He cocked his head, smiling politely. “Goodnight, the both of you. I am happy to finally put a face to the name Roman Sionis.”

What the fuck is it with these people, he thought wearily, and with no absence of annoyance. This is just how it had been before—everyone saying things beneath the things they were saying, layers and layers and layers, piling up over each other. Didn’t any of these stupid fucking gun dogs say anything exactly the way it was?

“Yes,” Roman agreed, “I bet you are.”

With great purpose—and having determined that Varya was quite done with the evening—he planted his hands on her hips and turned her, steering her towards the doors which exited out of the club and into the hallway housing the elevator. It was her birthday, after all; there was nothing he could do except whatever it was she wanted.

“Goodnight, Maxim,” he said over his shoulder, steering the brunette in his grasp toward the door. A distressed ugh! sounded to his left, and he turned to see Dorian glaring at him accusingly.

“You get her all the time, Roman,” the journalist announced. “Surely you can spare her for a little longer?”

“Afraid I can’t,” he replied over his shoulder, squeezing Varya’s hip when she stifled her laughter. “You see Dorian, close to a year ago, Varya and I decided that we had plenty of other uses for cake to be explored on our birthdays—”

Another disgusted sound came, but it was too late; Roman was already nudging Varya through the doors to the hallway, and down to the elevator. Once the door clicked shut behind them, it was quiet; it was the one area of the building where it seemed like the air conditioning didn’t quite reach, having so many accesses to the outside, and so the air already felt a little humid and muggy.

“Oh, we forgot the cake,” Varya pouted, trailing ahead of him. She’d collected the hem of her silk dress loosely in one hand, keeping it from the floor as she wandered to the elevator to push the button. The neon red of the Exit sign cut across one side of her, illuminating her in half crimson and half shadow. It reminded him of the night he’d come back to the loft to find her covered in another man’s blood, kitchen knife in hand.

And mine, he thought. Varya Astakhova, the gem of St. Petersburg, only living heir to the Astakhov gun-running fortune, his wife.

“Darling,” she purred, breaking him out of his thoughts, “are you going to just stand there all night?”

“Maybe,” he replied idly. “Maybe I will just stand here all night and stare at my wife, hm? Who would stop me?”

“Well, certainly not me,” she demurred, turning to look at him fully now. “But you can hardly kiss me from there. And what am I suppose to do, go without cake and without your hands on me?”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Roman thought about the way Maxim had looked at him—just for that tiny split second—all of the disdain and venom welling in his gaze before it was wiped away. Your husband is very accommodating, I’ve never met a man like him. And that fucking tattoo on his hand. It nagged at him, dragged his attention away from the very, very delicious task at hand.

“Roman?”

“You go,” he announced. “I’ll be up in just a minute.”

A plush, ruby lower lip pouted out. Roman sidled over to the elevator, planting a gloved hand on the doorway so that the doors wouldn’t close, and she prompted, “What could you have possibly forgotten when all you need is right here?”

“You are most spectacular,” Roman agreed, reaching up and twisting a curl around his finger. “But it’s just a quick thing. Don’t worry that pretty head, kitten. I’ll be up in no time, and you had better—”

When he leaned in, their noses brushed; Varya hooked her fingers in the space between the buttons of his collared shirt and tugged a little, playfully, humming sweetly.

“—have this dress off,” he finished, voice pitching low and warm, “by the time I get up there.”

“And what if I don’t?” The cloying, saccharine tone of her voice belied the little spark of rebellion in her words. Roman made a pleasant sound against her mouth, a humid warmth plunging down his spine when she closed the tiny space between them to kiss him; it was entirely unhurried, and on instinct his free hand went to the small of her back, pulling her more flush against him as her lips parted prettily beneath his to sigh.

He said into the kiss, “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

“Is it a test?” Roman felt her smile. “I love tests.”

“Get upstairs,” he growled, unable to resist a final kiss. “Wicked thing.”

Varya did pull back, reluctantly and with a dramatic, long sigh. She’d always had a thing for the dramatics. “Fine, I will go upstairs all alone,” she drawled. “Don’t keep me waiting, Romy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He stepped back, dropping his hand from the elevator door and turning around to head back to the club. The party was still in full swing; people wouldn’t even begin to start leaving for another few hours, patiently and dutifully babysat by Armazd and Zsasz (well, mostly Armazd—Zsasz was not good at being ‘patient’ or ‘dutiful’ if it didn’t include face-carving). It was like having three nannies on payroll, instead of just the one.

The door swung shut behind him. People chattered brightly over the music, lingering around tables in clustered groups. He could see at least half a dozen mobsters and their families, associates of Varya’s from overseas, socialites she had charmed and wealthy businessmen determined to get into their good graces before the weapons chokehold came into full effect.

But there was only one man he wanted to see.

Dorian Young had been smitten with Varya since the moment they’d met, through Roman—and since then, they’d been nearly inseparable. Dorian had even done her the kindness of writing Ilarion a flattering obituary. It would have been annoying, if Roman considered Dorian a threat in the least. He did not.

“Dorian,” he barked out, catching the brunette’s attention. He smiled, full-teeth and as charmingly as he could. “Buddy-mine. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh?” Dorian arched a brow loftily. “A favor outside of the eternal wisdom of Gotham’s madonna, Roman? How scandalous. You know I can’t resist a special in.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Roman adjusted one of his gloves absently, glancing around the room before inclining his head and taking a few steps outside of the cluster of milling partygoers. He didn’t have many concerns about being overheard, given the noise level, but it was better safe than sorry. “You have access to certain records, don’t you?”

Now two perfectly-manicured brows arched upward before Dorian cleared his throat, dark eyes fluttering in a bat at innocence.

“I’m a journalist, Roman,” he intoned somberly. “If someone were to give me access to records that were anything but public, it would be a grave and disgusting infringement on the American Privacy—”

“Yeah yeah yeah, shut the fuck up,” Roman interjected, waving his hand. “I don’t give a shit about that. How about this: you don’t use the records you aren’t able to access, and you don’t dig up literally everything you can on Maxim Kuznetsov.”

“The ex-boyfriend?” Dorian tsked his tongue. “Roman, green is not your color.”

“Hey? Dorian? Don’t be a fucking moron.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well just say you’ll do it.”

“You mean,” Dorian amended, “that I won’t.”

Roman let out an exasperated noise, clapping a hand onto the man’s shoulder and giving him a little jostle that was meant to convey he wished that he could instead be strangling him in that moment. Varya would have been upset if he did. Dorian flashed him a pearly grin.

“Consider it done. Or not-done, as the case may be.” He took a swig of his drink, sucking his teeth. “Anything I should be on the look-out for?”

“Any red flags. Suspicious shopping behavior. Outgoing calls to private numbers. He’ll likely have two separate phones—one burner, one not.” Roman dropped his hand from Dorian’s shoulder. “Armazd will have his address, if you want to get that from him before you leave tonight. And—one more thing.”

The journalist looked at him expectantly, waiting.

“Not a word,” he continued. “To anyone. But especially not to Varya.”

“If you’re sure,” Dorian ventured.

“The surest.”

It was when he turned to depart the party—for real, this time; he was tired of waiting to unwrap his wife—that Dorian said, “Roman?”

A deep, calming breath. I need Dorian, he reminded himself, and V’s fond of him. Roman pulled another one-eighty. “Yes, Dorian, beloved of my wife?”

“How is Varya?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, really?”

The question was not one that Roman had anticipated. Why would she be anything other than great, glowing, in love with her life? Sure, the last year had been full of turmoil—but they had come out of it fine. Better than fine. Roman had gotten everything he had wanted, and Varya—well, much the same, hadn’t she?

Dorian’s prying reminded him of the way Varya’s body had stilled, the way her expression had hardened, that dark, wild look slipping into her eyes when the lights in the club had blinked on to reveal the surprise party. She’d looked frigid, the softness wiped clean from her in that split moment.

“She’s fine,” Roman replied after a minute. “I mean—she’s great. What do you mean?”

“I can’t get a good read on her. You know,” Dorian pointed out. “And she did watch her supposed-to-be-dead daddy unload a round into her twin brother while she was drugged to the gills on ketamine.”

Well, when you put it like that, Roman thought dryly.

“Some of us, Dorian,” he said primly, “are able to rise above our trials and tribulations and come out better, hm?”

The journalist smiled. He didn’t looked swayed by Roman’s words, but eventually he said, “I’ll contact you as soon as I find out anything.”

“Good man.”

It was only a few minutes from the club’s main floor up to the loft, but those few minutes felt like an eternity; stretching out, impossibly long and endless in front of him. Varya’s birthday was supposed to have been a problem-less occasion, and now he had several problems lining themselves up in front of them. Chiefly, Kuznetsov. And the rest of them, too, but mostly Maxim.

Roman tugged the gloves from his hands and shrugged the suit jacket from his shoulders as the doors to the loft slid open, the gentle ding announcing his arrival. Faintly, he could hear the classical music that Varya favored to play in the twins’ room as they slept; there would be a little speaker on the table closest to her side of the bed, so that she could rouse the second either of them needed her, but they were good babies, like she’d said; it was rare when they didn’t sleep through the night.

He tossed the articles he’d disrobed from onto the long dining table as he passed, nudging the door to the bedroom open.

“Ah,” he sighed, eyes roaming expanses of warm, dusky skin exposed to him as Varya lay stretched out on the bed, “I see we went with behaving tonight?”

“I told you,” she replied demurely, “I love a good test. I can hardly resist the challenge.” Her eyes glittered playfully, and she propped herself up on her elbows, the silk of her underclothes rustling in a way that beckoned him—his hands, his mouth. “You didn’t bring any cake up?”

A quick laugh billowed out of Roman as he sidled over, stepping out of his shoes before climbing onto the bed. “It’s vanilla, you know. Not chocolate. It would have been sacrilege, in memory of our first big fight.”

“Was it chocolate?”

“Oh, yes,” he told her gravely. “I’d never forget. Don’t you remember? You were a terrible brat to me, and then you didn’t speak to me for a week, and then you showed up with a cake—”

“Terrible brat?” She laughed, feigning insult. “On my birthday, no less.”

He grinned. Leaning down, he pressed a leisurely, open-mouthed kiss to the top of her sternum, hooking one hand in the crook of her knee to yank her down the bed so that she was more firmly under him, eliciting a playful little shriek out of her before he tugged the tie of her robe loose.

“Your birthday, yet here I am, unwrapping a present,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the slope of her jaw. He rumbled, pleased, “I’ve been thinking about you all day, you know.”

Varya made a sweet little sound. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm.” Roman kissed down the pillar of her throat, dragging his tongue over a faded love-bite bruise. He’d need to renew that. “Especially when you put on that dress. Admittedly, I am a bit disappointed—I was looking forward to cutting it off of you if you misbehaved.”

“For someone who spent all day thinking about me,” she murmured coyly, “you certainly spent long enough coming up here.”

Roman paused in what he was doing—his fingers hooked in the top hem of her underwear, scandalous things that they were—and glanced up at her. He was trying to gauge where she was actually at, emotionally, but true to what Dorian had said, it was almost impossible to get a read on her.

“It’s just business, baby,” he replied.

“Oh. Of course.”

“You see? I told you not to worry about it.”

“Yes,” Varya agreed, “what would I know of business?”

Roman groaned, pressing his forehead to the smooth plane of her sternum. The scent of her jasmine perfume washed over him, and even though he was this close to indulging himself (which he, above all others, deserved the most), he knew Varya wouldn’t let go of the conversation so easily.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted. He let the fabric of her underwear snap back into place against her hip bone, sliding down her body to kiss down her abdomen. “Focus on enjoying your birthday,” he added, “and let your man worry about everything else, hm?”

Varya’s lashes fluttered lightly, eyes watching him hungrily as he worked his way lower and lower still.

“Ambitious,” she murmured, “to think that I will let go of it so easily.”

“Well,” Roman replied against her skin, “I suppose it’s lucky that I love tests, too. And I always—”

The thin, silky fabric of her underwear made the most delicious sound as it ripped, tearing satisfyingly. Varya made a soft, sweet sound, and he glanced back up at her.

“—pass with flying colors.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In his experience, Roman found that the best time to approach Varya about things was first thing in the morning. If he was exerting any amount of true self-awareness, of course, he would have acknowledged that “approaching” Varya about anything was not about the time of day, but rather how it was done—a skill Roman thought he had only honed in their short time together.

It was nearly ten; they’d roused late, thanks to the previous evening’s festivities—including an after-hours indulgence that Roman was more than pleased to drag out— and now Varya was chatting conversationally with Zsasz, who provided minimal noises between mouthfuls of food. It was as though her annoyance from the previous night had faded with the glow of morning, which left only the bones that Roman had left to pick.

Therefore, in a show of good faith, he let the chatter carry on for a little while before he decided to Broach(TM).

“So,” he said, sitting in his usual spot at the head breakfast table, “Maxim is funny.”

To his right, the brunette hummed and idly stirred her coffee. The gentle clink-clink of her spoon against the side of the mug was almost soothing; little creature comforts Roman hadn’t realized very often that he truly liked.

“I don’t remember you ever mentioning him,” Roman continued casually.

“I do not like to talk about boring things.” Varya’s brow was furrowed, lips pressing into a little line as she read the newspaper. “Pass me the cream, my love?”

She was feigning disinterest, but he thought she might have been listening more closely than she let on; one wolfish little ear swiveled in his direction, always.

He did as she asked. “He has an interesting tattoo on his hand.”

“I did not notice.”

“No?”

Varya finally tilted her head to look at him, dark eyes inquisitive. She didn’t ask what it was she was thinking, not right away; instead, she waited, did that thing where she let him sit in silence, maybe in the hopes that he’d fill it with his own chatter. He didn’t, of course. He wasn’t stupid.

“Romy,” she said sweetly, setting the paper down and resting her chin in her hand as she gazed at him, “won’t you just ask me what you want to ask me?”

There was no room to stop the irritated noise that came out of him at her words. He scoffed and settled more comfortably in his chair, lifting his chin a little and watching her.

“Or we can play the little game,” she acquiesced, as though she were speaking to a particularly tedious child. “You don’t really care about Maxim’s tattoo. You just care what I think of him.” She fluttered her lashes. “Hm?”

“No,” he replied tartly. “I’m curious about the tattoo.” He paused. “And also what you think of him.”

“I think he is boring.”

“Well, I could have told you that.”

A smile curved her mouth, delicate and fine a gesture as gossamer spread across those soft, Renaissance-features. That painting of her that had been done in the ballroom of the Astakhov mansion was still around somewhere, wasn’t it? Not that he needed a painting when he had the real thing, but maybe he’d hang it in the foyer, as a reminder to anyone who just happened to pass by.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Roman continued idly, “this man of yours—”

“My man, is he?”

“—is just one more obstacle to getting what I wanted. How do you think he’s going to react when he finds out that you put his daddy in the ground?”

“If,” Varya replied. “And what do you mean, obstacle?”

Another scoff came out of him. “Varya,” he chided, voice welling with a patronizing tone, warm and buttery, “come now.”

“Roman,” she replied. Her tone mimicked his. “Explain it to me like I am five.”

“I know the oh-so-omniscient lords of St. Petersburg and Moscow are dragging their fucking feet because they don’t like me.”

“You are trying too hard.” She settled back, dipping a bit of cream into her coffee and stirring again. Clink-clink. It offered him no comfort now; it had become a way for Varya to dismiss him. Don’t you see, Roman, how busy I am? “They are like cats. If you try too hard to gain their affections, they will balk and bolt. They hate being coddled, except by a woman. It’s terribly outdated, but what can you do?”

“I’m—” A sharp, incredulous noise came out of him. “I haven’t spoken more than a handful of words to the lot of them!”

“You see? That is already too much.”

“Well, I don’t want them to like me,” he managed out, feeling the bubbling frustration rising up in him. “I couldn’t give a shit if they like me or not. I want them to accept that leadership is changing hands and they have a new boss to answer to, now.” He leaned forward, forearms rested on the table. “And I know Daddy Astakhov liked to brand his things, hm? So what’s Maxim’s tattoo mean?”

Varya leaned forward, too. “I do not know,” she replied evenly, “and I wish you would stop bringing that man up in my presence.”

“I can’t very well erase him from the conversation completely when I’m inheriting his business.”

“My,” she snapped out viciously, suddenly, “you are inheriting my business, Roman.”

It was just a split second. It was only a split second of venom welling up in her expression, suddenly so wicked that not even Roman was shielded from it; it was worse, now, than it had been before. Those times he’d seen the switch inside of her flip had been under great duress. Was this duress to her, now?

Women, Roman thought, watching her smooth dark hair from her face and collect herself. Perhaps motherhood had not made her soft, but rather emotionally volatile. He couldn’t afford to look more hysterical than his wife, so he waited—with great patience and grace, he thought—for her. She cinched the silk robe at her waist more snugly.

“You know that I am happy to do so,” she continued, as though she’d not just bitten his head off in front of Zsasz, “and that I have no problem with it. I just want...” Now, her voice trailed off, and she skimmed the pad of her index finger along the rim of her coffee cup before she picked up the newspaper again, as well as the red-ink ballpoint to her right. “I want it done right, that is all. And if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

A buzzing sound vibrated from the marble hallway leader to the elevator. Roman was waiting for Varya to issue her apology (which she was certainly going to do), and Varya wasn’t looking up from the newspaper.

“Who could be coming so early?” his wife idled, spurring on that molten-hot frustration inside of him as she continued to avoid the topic at hand. “Not someone you called on, Romy?”

The buzzer was the last thing that Roman wanted to think about, let alone deal with. He had much more on his mind; Varya’s elegant dodge of his questions, and—most importantly—her blatant dismissal of his concerns about their current timeline. She was all well and peachy over there, wasn’t she, drinking her coffee and reading her paper and not doing him the courtesy of looking at him?

She had always been a needler, Roman reasoned; she had always had a wild, stubborn streak in her. He’d watched her sit and push Ilarion’s buttons for an entire dinner, once, just to see him get to the edge of snapping at her. She was good at it. He liked it about her, liked watching her do it; might have even made a past-time out of the whole sport of it. How quickly can my little viper unravel a man? Place your bets, gentlemen, time ends when the idiot’s screaming his fucking head off in a public place.

And he would have been foolish to think that she never did it to him.

“Zsasz,” she said, without looking up from the paper, “be a darling and get that, won’t you?”

Zsasz, who had been sitting at the far end of the table watching all of this unfold the way a man might watch a trainwreck happen, moved to come to a stand. Roman barked out, “Stay,” and the movements stilled considerably, immediately. It was satisfying, at least, in an exchange which had been everything but up until then. He turned his gaze to the brunette on his right.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he said tersely. He gestured to Zsasz. “Sit.”

The blonde did. Roman could feel Victor’s eyes darting between them.

“Oh, darling, you are spoiling my morning.” Varya set the newspaper down on the table and smoothed it out primly, the thin paper edges fluttering between her fingers. “Why would you ever say such a silly thing?”

“Varya.”

“Surely you do not mean to.”

“V,” he snapped.

“Well, I do not know what you want me to say,” she replied after a minute, leaning back in her chair to finally look at him. “My father never deigned to share his operations with me. It was always ‘what a tedious child you are, Varvara’ this, and ‘since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved’ that. I mean, the man spent most of my life quoting Machiavelli at me. Do you think he told me what all of his little art projects meant?” She shrugged, picking her newspaper up again, ignoring the second sound of the buzzer. “You could just ask.”

The irritation spiked high and hot in his throat. Of course, he could just ask. Of course, he could, but he was the fucking boss, which meant doing things like asking an employee what a stupid fucking tattoo meant were below him. He replied tersely, “Why don’t you figure it out for me? Clerical work and employee management is your forte, after all.”

Varya hummed. It was a prim, musing hm, the sound she made when he’d said something she found to be particularly annoying. “If you wanted me to personally manage Maxim,” she demurred, glancing at him through dark, sooty lashes, “you only had to say.”

Somehow sensing this particular phrasing was not going to go over well with Roman (it wasn’t), Zsasz said, “Can I buzz ‘em up?”

“Yes,” Varya replied.

“No,” Roman insisted.

“Romy, there’s a guest.”

“I’m not through with you,” he snapped.

“I’m gonna buzz ‘em up,” Zsasz announced.

Roman felt the frustrated note rising in his throat, strangling it before it could quite make its way out of him. His jaw set; his eyes followed Zsasz on his way out of the main room and toward the elevator to—presumably—let up their guest (intruder). He drummed his fingers against the top of the dining table and said, “You think you’re very funny, don’t you?”

“Darling.” Varya leaned forward, elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together and cradling her chin atop them. She looked awfully pleased with herself, the little snake, that gigantic stone sitting on her finger. “If I knew what the tattoo meant, I would just tell you. Why not? I could tell you what the word is, but that is hardly ever what the tattoo actually means.”

Darling, she said, as though she hadn’t just snapped her teeth at him moments before. Roman sucked his teeth. Yes, it was very reasonable, he thought; Nikita had always cherished his son over his daughter, had always anticipated Ilarion taking over the business, as Varya had framed it—and even once, Ilarion had confirmed himself. He wanted you and only you, Ilya, and that’s why you couldn’t look at him when he died. That’s what she’d said, and the memory of that night—of Varya, needling the person she was closest to in the world, weaned from venom and taking so much pleasure from inflicting it on someone else—reminded him that there was still much about his wife left to be unearthed.

And it would be an unearthing. Roman had no doubt that it would be a graveyard he would be turning over, full of skeletons—not just a closet.

From the other room, the sound of an infant’s cry drifted down the hall. Varya’s gaze flickered to the space over Roman’s shoulder, behind him, and she came to a stand.

“I will ask, if you would like me to,” she told him, coming around the table and smoothing her hand along his shoulder in what was supposed to be a peace-making gesture. “But I don’t think there is a reason to bother yourself with the detail.”

He felt his mouth press into a thin line. Fine, he thought, fine, the tattoo isn’t a big deal. But what about everything else? “This is all taking a long time, V.”

“I know.” She paused, and then softened a little, all of her button-pushing and needling having dissipated for the moment; Varya leaned down and kissed his temple, and then the top of his cheekbone. “These things take patience, you know. It is not just a—used car business we are inheriting. There are processes, formalities, the like. The men have to know they can trust you.” She paused, tilting her head and regarding him with dark, inquisitive eyes. “You just have to trust me, Romy.”

Roman sighed. I do, he thought, turning his head to look at her. Don’t I?

Of course, he did. She was his wife, the mother of his children—and Roman hadn’t even wanted kids, not really. Not until he realized how much they, by proxy, made Varya belong to him. There was nothing quite so devoted as carrying someone’s child, was there? So yes; he did trust her, in the same capacity at which he supposed a man trusted a relatively-domesticated panther on a chain. Maybe just a smidge more than that. But enough to expect she’d bite off someone else’s hand, and not his.

“Fine,” is what he said, and the word still came out a little petulant. “I will. I do.” Reaching up, he snagged her wrist when she started to pull away, keeping her in place. She watched him expectantly.

When he didn’t say anything—just watched her, gauging her—she prompted playfully, “Are you going to scold me?”

Roman pressed the pad of his thumb to the pulse point on her wrist. His eyes narrowed. “I ought to, vicious girl. You just can’t resist pushing a button when you see it, can you?”

Her pulse jumped pleasantly under warm skin, whether by the term vicious girl or his touch, he didn’t know. It seemed that storminess had passed as soon as it had arrived; and though she hadn’t yet uttered the words I’m sorry, he almost preferred her like this. Coy.

“You would be bored, otherwise.” Her eyes glittered, mischievous. “Don’t you think?”

His fingers stayed curled around her wrist, but she didn’t try and pull away. Watching the flutter of her eyelashes, the way the corners of her mouth quirked upward in a smile, he felt nearly won over. How tedious, Roman thought, that even when he was irritated with her, he found her endearing. That’s amore.

“Don’t goad me,” he warned, and Varya smiled dreamily at him.

“I love you,” is what she replied, and then leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Let’s never fight again.”

He dropped his grip from her wrist and she stepped around his chair, the silk of her robe fluttering behind her as she started to the sound of babbling infants. The one or two cries that had roused her initially had melted down into baby-chat. Roman was reminded, once again, that they had a nanny on the payroll for seemingly no reason.

“Varya,” he called, taking the newspaper from where she’d left it on the table, “I mean it.”

Her voice drifted from down the hall: “Of course, Romy.”

The sound of the nursery door opening echoed, and then Varya’s voice; saccharine-sweet, honeyed and muffled by distance. He glanced over the front of the newspaper, but it was impossible to focus on the words—what did they matter, anyway? He didn’t give a fuck about what was going on in Gotham. He had bigger fish to fry. Bigger, Russian, potentially radioactive amalgams of different fish that seemed to be stalling on a deal that should have been up and done with already. Not to mention, one of those fish breaking off of the nightmare-fish and showing up, unannounced, sporting tattoos likely administered to him by Nikita Astakhov himself?

These things take patience.

Roman suppressed a scoff. Like he didn’t have patience. He’d been the most patient. Varya had dragged her feet for about a month after they’d put Ilarion in the ground, but after that, things had typically moved fast—the engagement, the twins. Everything except the thing Roman had been waiting for since the beginning. Of course, he’d never anticipated inheriting the business himself and had only gone into the whole thing wanting an exclusive deal, but now he knew better. He knew what was owed to him. He knew what belonged to him.

The elevator door down the main hall dinged. Roman didn’t bother stifling the sigh that wanted to come out of him; it was only ten in the morning, who could possibly need him and for what? He pushed the chair back from the table and came to a stand, sucking his teeth and prepping what he thought could only be the tranquil expression of a man ready to murder before Maxim stepped inside.

He blinked. The tranquility fled his face. Zsasz trailed in after him, looking uneasy. There was something about his expression that didn’t sit right with Roman, the hard lines of the blonde’s face setting him even further on edge. Would his suffering never end?

“Oh, Maximillian,” he greeted, keeping his voice the pinnacle of lazily annoyed. “Clocking in for work a little early, aren’t we? Over-achieving?”

“I am an early riser,” the blonde acquiesced. He looked genuinely apologetic, the fuckhead, in Dolce & Gabbana, no less. “I hope I did not disturb you.”

“A big wager to make, first day on the job.” Roman trailed Zsasz with his eyes, watching the blonde pace around the far end of the table. What had gotten into him since he’d gone to buzz their guest up? Idly, he sat back down at the table, resuming to glance over the words of the newspaper he couldn’t have given two shits about.

And he said nothing. He instead enjoyed, immensely, the act of letting Maxim stand there in silent uncertainty. It was probably almost a full minute before Maxim cleared his throat, prompting Roman to set his newspaper down with a sigh, as though it were very troubling that he had to stop this thing he didn’t even want to do.

“If you’re here to play catch-up with Varya, she’s busy today,” he deadpanned, turning his gaze reluctantly to where Maxim stood. “And every other day. Generally, I think it would be safe to assume she’s much too preoccupied to assist with whatever problems you might have; that type of work is beneath her now, you know.”

“I am sure being a mother and wife is more than enough to keep her busy,” Maxim agreed soberly.

“And transitioning the business in my name,” Roman replied pointedly.

The blonde shrugged, smiling a little. “Of course.”

He felt his eyes narrow. He leaned back in the chair, interlacing his fingers while his elbows rested on the armrests of the chair. It was impossible to figure out what it was about Maxim that Varya might have liked; the man was painfully well-mannered and non-confrontational, which Roman knew wasn’t her style at all.

Never mind that Varya had not once said that there was a romantic interaction between them. That didn’t matter. He knew how men looked at his wife, and Maxim had been a little too comfortable touching her for there to have been nothing at all.

“But, I did not come here to speak to Varya,” the Russian continued, taking a few steps toward the table. “I actually came here to speak to you, Roman.”

Roman blinked. Well, that wasn’t what he expected.

“What?” he asked flatly.

“I wanted to come and see if you were free today,” Maxim elaborated casually. “I was Nikita’s man. Now, I am yours. It only seems right I get to know you better.” He gestured with his hand. “I know you have more than enough help around here, and I was tied up in Turkey before, but...”

Roman’s lips pressed into a thin line. He saw no trace of yesterday’s venom in Maxim’s face, no indication that he was trying to be sarcastic or pull some kind of joke. Instead, Maxim’s face looked completely open and earnest.

“You’re here to ask me on a fucking lunch date,” he began, “and not Varya?”

“Varya,” the blonde replied demurely, “is not my boss.”

Huh, Roman thought. He swept his gaze over Maxim scathingly, and then looked at Zsasz, who remained unreadable. Well, wasn’t that just the most unhelpful thing? It did feel nice to hear Maxim say it, even if Roman would rather see him crying or begging or bleeding out.

“I’m busy today,” he replied after a moment, turning his attention back to Maxim. “But you can swing by the—”

“Maxim.” It was Varya’s voice. Roman turned to look at her. There was no baby in tow. This wouldn’t have been unusual, if Maxim had been a stranger; she tended to keep the twins as far out of reach of people she did not know as much as possible, nested away for safety. But Maxim had been her childhood friend, hadn’t he?

“Good morning,” Maxim greeted her warmly. “I was just asking Roman if he would—”

“I know what you were asking,” Varya interrupted. “You overestimate yourself, showing up to your boss’ home unannounced, don’t you think?”

Maxim looked about as lost as Roman felt; the sensation that he’d stepped into a fever dream very suddenly was washing over him. He looked at Zsasz. The blonde gave a little shrug, as though to say, Why the fuck would I know?

“Varushka,” Maxim ventured after a moment, “you know I did not mean...”

“I don’t know anything at all,” the brunette replied coolly. “You should have called ahead.” She paused, and then added purposefully: “Temka never showed up unannounced.”

Roman found himself in the very strange position of feeling...bad (?) for Maxim, standing there a little helplessly, the poor thing. Varya’s words had gutted him. He could only assume that she was referring to the blonde’s father when she said Temka, by the look on his face, and that—

Oh, you wicked thing, he thought, affection welling up inside of him as he looked at Varya, you know just how to unravel a man. Sticking a salted hot-poker straight into his grief-wound, aren’t you?

“I am sorry,” Maxim said after a minute. “I did not mean to be so thoughtless.”

“The transgression is not mine to forgive.” Varya swept around Roman then, sitting back down in her seat. She looked at him, expectant. “Roman?”

“Me?” he asked.

“It is as Maxim said,” she replied. “You are his boss, not me.”

He waited to see if there was some kind of strange undertow to her words, but he could find none; just Varya waiting, expectantly, for him to excuse Maxim’s showing up without having called ahead. It was odd, and he couldn’t figure out why it was that she was acting like this toward Maxim now—had it been the Varya is not my boss comment? Was she trying to make up for their little spat?

It was commonplace for nothing to be straightforward, with Varya. This was different.

“So,” she continued primly, turning to look at Maxim now, “apologize to your boss.”

“I am—” Maxim stopped, like he didn’t want to do it, drawing Roman’s gaze to him. Quite suddenly, Roman thought he knew exactly what his wife was doing; putting the blonde in a position where he’d have to put good faith behind his words. Varya is not my boss, he’d said, but did that matter if he couldn’t even apologize to Roman?

He finished, more smoothly now, “I am sorry, Roman.”

Roman beamed. “Insolence forgiven,” he replied, all thoughts of his disagreement with Varya gone now. He reached over the table, snagging her hand and dragging the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. “As I was saying—I am busy today, but you are welcome to swing by the club later this evening. Before midnight. We get busiest just before the witching hour.”

Maxim ducked his head. “Of course.”

Varya’s nails skimmed Roman’s palm. She didn’t look up when she said, “Was there something else, Maxim?”

“I do not think so.”

“Then,” she replied sweetly, “have a lovely afternoon.”

A moment stretched where the blonde looked a little unsure, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Of course,” and excused himself down the hall. Varya circled something in the newspaper with her red-ink pen, her other hands still interlaced with Roman’s.

“Mr. Zsasz,” she began, “did you let Maxim up?”

Zsasz looked at Roman. “I didn’t,” he replied after a minute. “Armazd did.”

“Hm,” came the reply, even as she noted something in the margins of the paper.

“Were you apologizing for your tantrum, just now?” Roman asked. He would puzzle out why Armazd letting Maxim up was worthy of a hm later. Now, he could see the hint of a smile ticking the corners of Varya’s mouth upward, but she did not sway from whatever it was that had captured her attention in the news of Gotham; instead, she circled something absently.

Varya said, “Did you find it a suitable apology?”

He considered. “Well, I would have liked it better if you’d made him cry.”

“It would have spoiled my appetite,” she demurred, folding the newspaper primly and coming to a stand. “I am taking the twins to the park with Irina. And Zsasz too, if you’ll spare him. I won’t be back until late afternoon.”

“Late? Then you’d better come here, wife.” Roman tugged on her hand, watching her expression warm when he said wife. Once, he might have squinted at loaning Zsasz out to her. Now, he didn’t mind; especially if it gave a peace of mind that she and the twins be that more secure. “So that I can get my fill of you before you’re gone.”

The brunette laughed, letting him tug her down onto his lap. She carded the fingers of her free hand through his hair and brushed their noses together; it was all glowing affection, now, warmth buzzing under her skin.

“Oh, darling, now I want to leave quicker, and more often,” she murmured, “so that you’ll never have your fill of me.”

Roman supposed that was how she’d gotten him in the first place. Hooked him with being inaccessible, with being coveted—as if she had always known he was not a man could resist something considered off-limits—and now that he had her, he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d seen the way that others looked at her, and by proxy him; with want. With envy. Bruce Wayne could eat shit.

“Roman,” Varya said, “I want you to be careful when you are around Maxim.”

He paused, pulling back to look at her a little. She smoothed her hand over the slope of his collarbone affectionately.

“You are right,” she continued. “When Maxim finds out what I did—if he does—he will be angry about it. He is used to being the right-hand man, you know. Do not...” She glanced down, looking for the words. “Do not give it to him so easily. Make him work for it and prove himself to you.”

Tracing the lines of her expression—soft, concerned—Roman dragged his thumb across her wrist.

“I told you, doll.” He planted an affectionate kiss to her wrist. “Don’t worry about these things. I’ve got it perfectly under control.”

“I know,” she agreed. “I know you do, Romy—”

“Then stop this fussing,” he interjected mildly. “You’re spoiling your very charming apology. You know I love a good public humiliation. Which park are you taking the twins to?”

The dark eyes of his wife swept over his face for a minute, contemplative and impossible to gauge, before she smiled at him warmly.

“The one just a few blocks away. It has the most shade. Mr. Zsasz, won’t you bring the car around?”

And just like that, things were back to normal. Varya swept away to busy herself with getting ready and loading the twins, and Zsasz went to pull the car around, leaving Roman at the table for a rare moment of peace. Soon enough, he’d have all the information he needed from Dorian, and he could well-and-truly mitigate Maxim Kuznetsov as a problem, and everything would be back on track. He could bet money Varya didn’t think he’d had the foresight to dig up information on Maxim—it wasn’t his style to get his hands dirty, but extreme circumstances called for extreme measures.

Roman sighed, quite pleased.

Back to normal.

[thiswasinevitableid]

for mermay, indruck, 5, sfw? poison could refer to a love potion of some kind, or maybe a blue-ringed octopus (or other poisonous sea creature) mer?

Here you go!

Even with his future sight warning him this would be awkward, Indrid twitches his tail nervously as Juno, the volunteer checking him in to the venom donor clinic, frowns at her intake form. 

“See, trouble is, because today’s a mer donor day, most of them give their donations from barbs. You’re gonna have to give from your fangs right?”

“Yes.” Maybe he should just cut his loses, come back on one of the Naga days, and hope no one tries to kill him.

“Volunteers gotta go through special training for milking fangs, so you may have to wait until one of them is available.”

“I do not mind waiting. I came to donate, and I have no urgent engagements. Is there somewhere I can be out of your way?”

Juno smiles, “We got some nice sunny rocks--hold that thought. Duck, you just get here?” She calls this to a human in khaki clothing. His black hair is streaked with grey--matching Indrid’s tail--and his smile is so bright Indrid wants to bask in it.

“Yep! Thacker got to the station a little early so I could clock out sooner. Seems like you got somethin’ I can help with.”

“Sure can. Duck, this is” she glances at the form, “Indrid. He’s a mer, but he needs to donate via fangs.”

“Roger that.” The man holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid shakes his hand, his visions having taught him this is the correct way to reciprocate the greeting. 

“How long can you be outta the water?”

“Quite some time.”

“Great, in that case we’ll just go to the normal milkin station rather than me luggin things down here. Right this way.”

Indrid slithers up the beach behind him, drawing perplexed stares from humans and distrustful ones from the other mers. Duck holds open the flap on a tall, tan tent and Indrid heads inside. 

“You ever given venom before?”

“No. I, I am only recently back in the area. When I heard about the program I knew I could be of help.”

“Sure can. Sea krait, right?” Duck gestures to the silver and black of his tail. 

“Yes” Indrid smiles; most people just say snake.

“You reptile cousins can really fuck a human up. And who knows, your venom might be one of the kinds they can engineer multiple anti-vemons from.”

“I would like that. I like humans, and wish to help you. It is not your fault so very many things can kill you.”

Duck raises an eyebrow, “what happens if a King Naga bites you? Or even another venomous mer?”

“....I die. Ah, I, ah, see your point.” He smiles, sheepish, “apologies, although I wish to help humans, most of them prefer to stay far away from me, and so my manners are not always what they should be.”

“No harm done. Here,” he steps up onto a short stool, holding out a half circle of plastic filled with strong, astringent liquid, “put this in your mouth and bring your fangs out; we learned we have to disinfect them right before we milk.”

“PHeelphhh” Indrid winces as the liquid stings his senses. 

“I know, it ain’t pleasant. Won’t be much longer.” The human stretches a thin sheet of rubber across a shallow circle, checks his watch, and then steps back onto the stool, “okay, when I say open, open your mouth wide so I can slide that one out and get this one in position. Don’t bite down until I say to.”

Indrid nods, opens his mouth when commanded. Even with the disinfectant in his noses, Duck’s scent is overwhelming from so close up; sweat, sunscreen, soap, and something woody that must be his deodorant. He bites down when Duck says, drops of venom pattering into the container. The human keeps one eye on the time, explaining that he doesn’t want Indrid to exhaust all his venom accidentally, thus rendering him vulnerable or unable to hunt. 

“Aaaand done, go ahead and put those fangs away.” Duck removes the collection jar, labels it and puts it in a fridge as Indrid stretches his jaw, tensed from giving such a prolonged injection bite. 

“Now, we always give donors a thank you; come pick what you like.” He swings open a second fridge. Indrid cocks his head, studying the packs of what he knows to be sushi and the different types of fruit. Flicking out his tongue, he scents something delicious, and picks up a bottle of pink liquid.

“I will have this Guava Juice.” He pops the cap and dips his tongue in for a taste, then for a second and a third. A charming noise enters the air, like a bird who long ago gave up on being dignified. Duck’s laughing. 

“Sorry, wasn’t expectin that to be so cute.”

Indrid blushes; that’s not a word generally applied to him. 

“Thank you for the juice. And for acomodating me.”

“Any time. Welcome to come back the next time we host a drive.” The human holds the door open for him, waves as he slithers down the sand, sipping his juice. 

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

“Hello, Duck.”

Duck doesn’t even turn around before he replies, “Nice to see you back, Indrid.”

This marks the fourth venom donation day the mer has come to, and he always gets paired with Duck. Duck doesn’t mind one bit; Indrid might be alarming to look at, not the elegantly finned, otherwise humanoid creature most people expect a mer to be. His scales appear on his arms and shoulders, and there’s even a patch of them on the back of his neck. His eyes are blood red, his smile wide and a little alarming even without the fangs showing. He’s also sweet, in an odd way, and takes genuine interest in Duck’s wellbeing and daily life. 

Honestly, Duck wouldn’t chatting with him at a time when he isn’t jamming venom collection jars into his mouth. But asking to hang out with a patient is weird enough without the added difficulty of that patient needing to be in the water most of the time. 

They go through their usual routine, Indrid helping himself to a mango juice this time before waving goodbye. 

Two days later, Duck is checking on tree specimens when he senses red eyes on his back.

“You do not want to touch that trunk, there is a very large spider in that knot.”

“Indrid?”

“......no?”

“Just a prescient voice in the trees?”

“Yes. I am a very helpful tree.”

Duck turns in the direction of the river, one that feeds directly into the sea, “You know I ain’t gonna be mad if you wanna talk, right?”

“Of course, it was merely an attempt at a goof.” Indrid comes into view, peeking out from the bushes on the shoreline, “I was curious about your work and wanted to see you in action.”

“Afraid there ain’t much of that. What you’ve seen is kinda the gist of what I do.”

“I find it fascinating all the same. May I continue watching?”

Duck smiles, “Sure.”

Indrid turns out to be excellent company, in that he’s quiet for large stretches of time only to ask Duck about the exact thing he wants to talk about. It’s not until Duck is wrapping up and readying to head inland to the ranger station that Indrid asks an entirely new kind of question.

“You are a long way from home, aren’t you?”

He nods, “Spent decades in my home town, feelin like I couldn’t leave, like I had a responsibility to stay. When the chance to work out here, to try to preserve this fuckin amazin ecosystem, popped up, I decided it was time for a change of scene.”

He shivers as Indrid’s tail pets his ankle and the mer sighs, “I am glad you did.”

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

Indrid becomes a regular work companion after that. Sometimes he arrives with helpful information, like which paths might have tourists in need of assistance or where Duck can find the specimen he’s looking for, other times he comes just to talk or listen. These days, Duck finds himself hoping for the glimpse of silver and black in the water that announces his friend’s presence, and enjoying the appreciative looks he spies Indrid giving him when he thinks his back is turned. 

So when something slithers in the bushes behind him, he simply calls out, “What’d you think of those cookies Juno brought in yesterday?”

“I do not know of what you speak, human.”

He whirls, finds a King Naga staring him down. This is probably bad, probably the reason rangers are required to carry a machete or hatchet, but he doesn’t want to be wrong and hurt someone just because they startled him.

“Can I, uh, help you with anythin, sir?”

“Yesss, you can. Be a nice human and stay where you are. I hate having to chasssse my food.”

“Uh” he steps backwards, keeping one eye on the fanged mouth, “that ain’t necessary. Know plenty of places you can get food, if you want.”

“Meager portionssss. And not half assss tempting.”

“Look man, I don’t wanna fight, so please just back off.”

The naga hisses, winding closer at an alarming speed. Then there’s a burst of movement and a flash of silver.

“You stay away from him.” Indrid rises as tall as he can, his body between Duck and the threat. 

“Mind your own busssiness, ssseagoer.” 

“Someone trying to make a meal out of my friend is most definitely my business.” 

“Sssso be it.” The naga lunges. Indrid pushes Duck out of the way and catches his opponent, the force of the strike sending them both sliding down the incline towards the river. The naga outweighs Indrid by a considerable amount, keeps pinning him down only for the mer to wriggle free at the last moment.  Duck knows the agreement is humans stay out of Naga/merfolk conflicts, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to sit by and let Indrid get killed for his sake. 

Right as he locates a large, hopefully sturdy branch, there’s a tremendous splash. The naga thrashes in the water as he’s pulled downstream. Indrid is underwater, holding his opponent in such a way that, the next time he strikes, he has to put his head beneath the current. Right into Indrid’s waiting grasp. The mer keeps his head trapped as his tail whips back and forth. It’s only when the naga is mostly limp, and Duck afraid he’s just witnessed a murder, that Indrid releases him. The half-drowned creature drags himself onto the shore, slithering away without a second glance at Duck. 

“And, and do not come back!” Indrid pants from the shallows, struggling to pull himself back onto the sand. Duck hurries down to him, and Indrid reaches out his hand, concerned, “Are, did, did he hurt you.”

“No, not a fuckin scratch. ‘Drid, pretty sure you just saved my fuckin life.”

“Oh good.” Indrid’s smile is bright, even as his eyes grow blurry, “it is nice to end things with a worthwhile deed.”

Duck sees the puncture wounds in the merman’s arm the instant before he passes out.

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

Indrid wakes up, which is in and of itself a surprise. As is the fact he’s half submerged in water. Rolling over with a groan, he discovers he’s still on the beach where he fought the naga. His bandaged arm aches but is intact, someone has thoughtfully placed a pillow under his head, and there’s a small tent just up the incline. Sound asleep in a sitting position outside the tent is Duck. 

He wriggles and crawls his way to the human, arms giving out as he reaches him, which means his head lands in Duck’s lap.

“Huwhazzat? Oh fuck, ‘Drid, you’re up.” Instead of pushing him away, Duck cradles his head and pets his hair, “thank fuck, I was so fuckin worried. Dani said it might take a few days for you to recover but I couldn’t stop worryin.”

“Duck? How long have you been here looking after me?” 

“Since you got bit. So three days ago. Sarah got some anit-vemon down for you, and Dani swam up to bring you extra medicine just in case. Oh, and Barclay brought you food, I been tryin to get it into you when you were a little bit awake.”

Indrid manages to sit up, curling his tail around them, “You did not need to do all this for me. I knew the risks when I came to your aid. You did not need to save me in return.”

“Fuck need, I wanted to. You, you mean so fuckin much to me.” Duck strokes his cheek, runs his fingers up his tail, “I missed you so much the last three days, realized how so often the part of my afternoon was you comin to talk to me.”

The futures take an odd turn and Indrid shakes his head to clear them, certain he’s seeing wrong. 

“And, uh, and I wanted to ask, uh, when you’re feelin better do you, uh, wanna have dinner with me. Like, uh, on a date?”

“Yes, so very much” Indrid drapes his arms around him, resting their foreheads together.

“Mind if I get a little kiss to tide me over?”

Indrid dips his head down, planting a chaste kiss on his lips before rubbing their cheeks together with a purr, “Apologies, but my kisses must be close mouthed. I’d hate to nick you with a fang.”

“Fine by me.” Duck kisses his shoulders, rubs his tail, “any kind of kiss from you is a goddamn blessin. Besides” he murmurs in Indrid’s ear, “sure we can figure out lots of other things to do together.”

“Absolutely” Indrid purrs, “but for now, would you care to join me for a swim?”