#when obviously it's her he's fixated on these are just a side effect

[softquietsteadylove]

Vibrators have been mentoined a few times, i think is time gil uses one on thena and leaves her shaking 😌.

"Don't you have a meeting?"

"Princess," Gil moaned directly into her mouth, his hands running up her back, "you think I care about that right now?"

Thena laughed, purring against him. "You might, considering our quarterly reports are upon us."

He groaned. The Ice Queen was on the top of her industry for a reason. But he was more concerned with making out with his wife than his bottom line at the moment. "They can wait."

"Sir?"

Thena pulled herself away from him at the knock on the door, not that they would enter without express permission. She smoothed down her hair and brushed off her dress, sashaying away from him with those delectable hips of hers. "You have business to do, Tyrant."

He grunted. He would just send them away--tell them to reschedule. But His beloved Ice Queen was already across the room, perching herself on the sofa that faced his desk and away from the door.

"Fine, come in."

Gil leaned back in his chair. The two accountants and one assistant scurrying in could obviously already tell he wasn't in the mood for whatever they had to say.

"Go," he waved his hand at them, although he looked over at Thena. He wasn't going to remember any of what they said, but it would be in a memo or an email or something anyway. And if he was really lucky, Thena would 'remind' him of everything they reported later.

Thena met his eye, although she was clearly amused by his lack of attention to the business portion of his 'business'.

He shrugged at her; she was the economist, he was the muscle.

"The winnings from the new pachinko you opened up are substantial. If we look at the gross margin-"

Gil sighed, leaning his chin on his fist. He wasn't absorbing any of this, and he likely couldn't even if he was trying. He watched as Thena rolled her neck, stretching herself after their hasty make out session. That long, pale, sensational neck...

Thena licked her lips, then stretched her arms up in the air. She was behind his associates, in view of him and him alone. She sighed, feigning some boredom.

He made a face; she was driving him nuts and she knew it.

The accountants went on, though. "However, there is the matter of Jasmine National."

"Uh-huh," Gil muttered, still not looking at them as they spoke. Not that they would dare turn to look at what he was looking at. They knew better than to take their eyes off the most dangerous man in Koreatown.

Thena arranged the long skirt of her dress, parting it at her thigh where the slit kissed just above her knees. She tilted her head at him as she crossed one leg over the other.

Gil's hand tightened around the paper under it, crinkling it hopelessly.

His accountants flinched, associating the action with their news. "B-But!--th-the stock we have in the market is currently up! And the real estate we've acquired in Jeju is set for renovation!"

"Great."

Thena uncrossed and then crossed her legs again in the other direction (minx). She arranged her dress, although she let her hand linger over her thigh before slipping through the slit and under.

Gil leaned forward, squinting to get a better look.

"We have the numbers for you, sir."

Gil almost waved at them to get further out of his way. He raised a brow as Thena leaned on her palm, angling her hips away. Her hand was snugly between those surprisingly strong thighs of hers. She wasn't...

"So, as you can see-"

"Y'know what? I don't need to see anything else!" Gilgamesh declared, slamming his hands down on his desk. "Looks great, good work, boys."

They looked amongst themselves. "But sir-"

"Out!" he barked, snapping his fingers in the direction of the door. They hesitated for just one more second, but he reached for one of his desk drawers, "now."

They wisely scurried out, closing the door behind them.

Thena watched them go, releasing a sigh once they were gone. "What a terror, you are."

"You're the terror," he muttered, retrieving what he was looking for in his desk. It was not - contrary to what his accountants had thought it would be - a deadly weapon.

Thena's jaw dropped. "You do not keep that in your desk drawer."

He grinned at her, eager to resume their business from earlier. "Never know when we might need it."

"Who is we?" she glared at him, now deciding to press her thighs together and cross her arms at him. "And what if someone happens upon it?"

"Do your employees get anywhere near your desk?" he asked her dryly, "let alone on that side of it?"

She rolled her eyes, which was as good as admitting defeat for his Ice Queen.

"Now," Gil leaned down to her, gripping the vibrator in his hand. "Lie down, you little tease. Unless you'd like to start things off yourself."

Thena continued to glare at him, even as they both reclined on his black leather sofa. "Your obsession with these things escapes me."

Gil chuckled, though, trailing the tip of the thing up her thigh before flipping her dress as far out of his way as it could go. "It's not this thing I'm obsessed with, Princess."

Thena's head lolled back and to the side as he pressed it right against her, the faint buzzing already filling the air with their hot breaths. "No subtlety."

"Like you're so subtle?" Teasing him like that? He pressed the thing more firmly against her. "Since when do you wear thongs?"

Thena bit into her lip as he managed to reach her clit with the vibrator's head. It was a similar model to the one she used at home. "Sometimes they're - ah! - the most appropriate option."

"Appropriate my ass, Ice," he growled, leaning over to kiss her cleavage. "You just like driving me nuts."

Thena let out a positively sultry sounding moan in response. The tiny little excuse for underwear she was wearing didn't resist much as he moved it out of his way to begin pushing the device into her.

"Feel good?" he pressed his lips to her neck (which she had also used to tease him). Once it was fully in her, he was able to lie over her more. He kissed her mouth, then her jaw, then her neck again, and then finally his hands were free to extract her breasts from the confines of her sparkly dress.

"Yes," she whimpered, her hips rolling as Gil pawed at her. Her hand snaked down to control it better to her standard but Gil grasped her hand with his.

"Don't be a backseat driver, Ice," he grinned against her hot flushed skin. He moved her hand with his, pumping the vibe steadily. "My little control freak."

Thena made some kind of sound of denial, although it was hard to feel intimidated by her when she was busy being so pleasured by him in the moment.

Gil leaned away from her again, moving the vibrator more quickly. He undid his belt and unzipped his trousers. "You wanna finish with this thing, or me?"

Thena moaned louder, although there was a note in her little melody that told him that she didn't appreciate the question. He paused their motion, making her moan become more of a growl.

"I said," he leaned closer to her again, pressing his hardness against her belly. "This hunk of plastic, or me?"

Thena bit her lip again. "You."

"Hm," Gil pursed his lips. He wasn't sure if she really meant that or if she was trying to save his ego. Then again, his Thena wasn't the type to assuage a man's ego for the sake of it--not even her husband's, unfortunately for him.

Who was he kidding; he loved that she had his ego under the spiky heel of her stilettos.

"Gil," Thena panted, eager to finish what they started. She rolled her hips again, but he kept her still. She looked at him, pressing her lips together. "Please, baby, just move."

He grinned. He could see why she liked him hot and begging for her all the time. It was very appealing. "Since you asked so nicely."

Gil extracted the vibrator from her gently. She expressed her frustration at the temporary emptiness he left her with, but he pressed his own tip against her, promising to remedy the situation. "Real thing is better, right?"

"Yes," she sighed as he finally pushed into her, sealing their bodies together.

Now, that, he believed. Their groans harmonized as he finally started moving, making love to his wife as intended. No matter how many times they did it - which was enthusiastically and frequently - he never got tired of the ecstasy of his wife's body.

"Gil," Thena whimpered, gripping his side and his back as soon as he was in range of her. Her legs wrapped around him too, securing him to her as if he was going to slither away.

"Fuck, Thena," he panted, already closer to the edge than he wanted to be. If anything, he was lucky he had warmed her up before diving in; he was already so turned on by her little show he was just about there.

Thena's moans joined the creaking of the sofa's frame, no matter how solidly bolted to the floor it was. Gil made a clumsy attempt to kiss her, but they both needed too much air to linger long. They gasped in puffs of each other's breath. "Right there, so close."

Thank fuck, because he was holding on for dear life. Gilgamesh let his hips drive him, his pelvis meeting hers like an animal's. The slight elevation of her hips, the bounce of her cleavage, half in her dress and half out of it, the pink blooming up her neck and into her cheeks.

His wife was a masterpiece.

Gil groaned up to the ceiling as he shot into her. He was no young buck, but Thena was not of this earth. He ground their hips together, pressing down under her naval but above the line of that devillish little thong she wore.

He didn't even know she had one.

Thena moaned with him as she too toppled over the edge in bliss. She undulated around him, coaxing more from him with each wave of her own pleasure. She drank him up just as greedily.

Gil grunted as he slipped out of her. They said they would stop doing this; working up a sweat while he was in a suit, fucking in the middle of the work day, putting their carnal needs before business.

But he really couldn't care about that when his wife was panting for air under him in all her glory.

Thena sighed as he dove into the crook of her neck, nuzzling into her with light kisses. Her fingers spread out in his hair. "Terrible, we are."

"I thought it was pretty hot."

She gave his hair a playful little tug, although it released just as fast, her body all noodly after her orgasm. "We said we'd stop doing this."

"Yeah, well, that was before my wife decided to show off her hot new panties to me in the middle of my damn quarterly."

Thena laughed; so she did know what she was doing, and she clearly thought it was hilarious, too.

Gil couldn't blame her; he joined her in her laughter. Their business wasn't exactly lighthearted, but at least he could have a good fuck and a good laugh with her about it.

Thena blinked as he kissed her again--like, scooped her up and kissed her like they were in Casablanca kissed her. She looked adorably ruffled from the sex already, but the kiss clearly woke up her senses again. "W-What was that for?"

Gil just grinned at her, unable to contain himself. And why should he? He was the luckiest man in the world, with a woman like her by his side. "A man can't be happy to make love to his wife?"

Thena's eyes dashed to the side, turning shy in the face of his unhindered love for her. She cleared her throat, pulling her dress over herself again. "Not in the office, he can't."

Gil let her pull some modesty over herself again while he shoved himself back in his pants. He also reached behind him, retrieving their little friend. Well, no, it was no friend of his; it was a tool for pleasing his wife, and that was all the respect he would give it. "I don't know if there's much we haven't done in the office, Sweetness."

Thena kneed him in the thigh as she adjusted her thong back into place. He let her retrieve his suit's pocket square to clean herself up a bit down there. She didn't look at him while she did, but she muttered, "exactly why some self-restraint might do us some good?"

Gil just shook his head with a smile as Thena stood. She tested how presentable she looked right away when they were in the office. Tested her steadiness on her feet, smoothed out her dress, combed her fingers through her hair. What a Goddess she was. "I don't know how you can expect that of me when you're this beautiful."

Thena sighed, definitely rolling her eyes at him. But she turned around and leaned down to him again, kissing him the way they ought to kiss every time--like there was no one in the world but them.

Gil leaned into it eagerly, moaning even as she leaned up and away from him again. He pouted at her.

But the Ice Queen met him grin for grin, adjusting the straps of her dress. "Don't you have a quarterly report to go over? I know you didn't listen to a thing your accountants told you."

"And whose fault is that?" he chuckled at her, finally rising from the couch, although he had to wiggle a little to get himself sitting comfortably in his pants again. She pressed her lips together to keep herself from laughing. He gave her side a playful little pinch as he kissed her cheek. "Go over it with me? We both know you'll understand what it says more than I will."

Thena followed him to his desk to pull up the reports, even as she faked a sigh, "if I must."

[avelera]

Thinking about how one of Mel's flaws as a character, as I see it, is that she's fixated on being the power behind the throne, rather than the power itself, despite already having all the ability she needs to be an effective and incisive ruler.

We first see this characteristic of Mel's when she's a child, picturing the sort of hand-picked regent she would select to be her family's puppet.

But Ambessa points out even back then that there's no reason Mel couldn't rule directly. This I imagine is part of the whole fox vs. wolf theme that is a source of tension between them.

In Mel's defense, there's plenty of good reasons to be the power behind the throne. It gives you a lot more deniability and an easy escape-hatch if something goes wrong. You can always throw the puppet to the wolves and start fresh. But it demonstrates a lack of commitment to always be hedging like that and it also lose you a certain amount of direct control. After all, the puppet can always grow teeth.

I think about this in relation to Jayce's Man of Progress image and how he needed to be the face of Hextech (and eventually a Councilor). Because why did he need to be the face of Hextech? Why couldn't Mel do it?

Mel was one of their first believers. She enabled their creation on the night of its inception. Why couldn't she be a partner in Hextech from the beginning, handling the public-facing side from the start? Or taken over from Jayce once it went from prototype to proven quantity?

I'd argue that if she had, a lot of the tragedies that befall Mel later would have been averted.

First of all, it's not as if there's an air-gap between the State and Hextech. There'd be no appearance of impropriety if Mel championed Hextech from the point where the Hexgates open. The Hexgates and Piltover had become synonymous by that point, there's no reason she couldn't continue to advocate and get funding for Hextech even as a Councilor. She had a skill for it, and the knowledge, and connections.

She could have allowed Jayce to remain in the lab, working on new innovations, occasionally coming out to offer the more scientific explanations as needed. But she didn't, why? (Doylist, obviously because we wouldn't have a story, etc. etc.)

I would argue it's part of the flaw or challenge she's facing in the story: she always wants to be the power behind the throne. So she helps elevate Jayce and supports his public persona. This persists until she sees an opportunity for an even bigger play by making Jayce a Councilor. Again, she sees a bright, charismatic, well-intentioned and easily-moldable person that she can work through to enact her own goals in Piltover and, because she is actually a good person, theirs too. She's not entirely self-serving and that's where she's different from Ambessa.

But this is where the problem of setting up a puppet sets in. Because Jayce has agency and he grows teeth and he pushes back on things Mel wouldn't want and does things she wouldn't advise with her superior political experience. Had she been the one in power instead of the power behind the throne, she could have avoided this, she could have molded the situation more specifically to her preferences, based on her superior knowledge. Jayce didn't want to be out in front of the crowd. He wanted to stay in the lab. Mel being the public face would have worked just fine for about 90% of the public appearances a representative of Hextech would need to make to the world. (I say this as someone who works as a public face in tech and has been a startup founder myself, such a role for Mel totally exists and often goes to someone who is a bigger name when the founders themselves are not charismatic or would simply prefer not to do all the wheeling and dealing.)

And this flaw loses her the relationship she could have had with Jayce, I'd argue. If she'd more directly worked alongside Jayce and Viktor, and taken over being the public face, she wouldn't have needed to manipulate Jayce or raise him to the Council, which were the dealbreakers that made him break up with her later.

Of course, they may not have had any reason to date in such a world but then, maybe they would have anyway as partners, now with a stronger foundation beneath them of working together, with both Jayce and Viktor relieved that the public, political side is being handled by a pro with a ton of resources (not that there wouldn't have been tension at all but certainly, this is a world in which I could see some flavor of MelJayVik happening harmoniously).

There's a Silicon Valley AU buried in all of this, free to a good home, but a world where Mel came on as a full partner early on would certainly be fascinating.

[spookyserenades]

Trouvaille - Drabble #4

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader (This is a Namkook x Reader centric drabble!)

Genre/Themes; Hybrid!AU, themes of the supernatural and the occult, religious themes, violence, hurt/comfort, horror, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count; 3.4k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Prompt; Trouvaille Namkook x Reader, snapshot of a random paranormal investigation (Halloween edition!)

Long time no chat! I hope you all like use this little drabble to help through the Trouvaille hiatus :) We've got some ghostbusting shenanigans in this drabble! I love this trio (and missed them so so much!) There's a slight fright factor for this fall season (spooky setting, jumpscares, grabbing) But fluff and some cheekiness there as well. Chat soon and I love and miss you all! <3

“You’re a filthy liar,” Y/N refused to budge from her passenger side seat, even with the expectant looking hybrid flicking her tights-clad kneecap. “This is not a new dive bar. You can go. I’m staying here.”

“The wolf has already driven all the way into the city, Y/N. Might as well see what we can stir up,” Jeongguk, in a recent attempt to cut back on smoking, stuck a toothpick into the corner of his mouth. Y/N wondered if he truly had an oral fixation. “Come on. You’re always going on and on about ‘spooky vibes’ ‘halloween spirit’ ‘doing seasonal activities’, all that shit. Now that I’m taking you up on that, you’re backing down?”

Y/N bit her lip, cornered and effectively silenced. Sensing her defeat, Jeongguk stepped aside, allowing Y/N to slither from her seat and the warmth of Namjoon’s van. She wasn’t planning to traipse around a weathered and dark graveyard days before Halloween– rather, she was in a skirt, heeled boots, and a delicate off-the-shoulder sweater, meant for slinking around a cozy bar. Immediately, the crispness of October evening air had a shudder rolling down her spine, and the haunted-looking cemetery beyond Jeongguk’s leather-clad shoulder wasn’t helping, either. 

“Look at you, Bambi. You already have the camera bag,” Y/N muttered, somewhat mourning the loss of getting tipsy with him and Namjoon that evening. Despite the nickname, Jeongguk’s antlers were completely absent, only the two vaguest spots of calcification present over the spots where the bones usually sprouted from visible. 

Jeongguk hummed like he hadn’t heard her, double checking the batteries on his flashlight. Y/N, rubbing her arms for warmth, scanned the graveyard. It appeared that they were alone, which Y/N chalked up to people actually celebrating in the new dive bar Y/N was supposed to be at that moment. About to open her mouth to complain, her posture went rigid when a heavy garment, laden with rich scent and crushing warmth, was draped over her caved-in shoulders from behind. 

“The least you could have done was tell her to dress to be outside,” Namjoon spoke to Jeongguk through gritted teeth, watching the girl in front of him nearly dissolve into pieces in response to the jacket he offered her.

 Y/N promptly maneuvered her limbs into Namjoon’s sherpa and denim jacket, not even feeling badly that the wolf hybrid sacrificed it to her as she let his smell and body heat curl around her. No matter how gruff his voice registered to the ear, Namjoon had an undeniable concern for those he cared about. 

“Thanks, Joon,” Namjoon’s jacket was somewhat akin to a safety blanket, drowning Y/N’s figure and making her feel like a cake topper next to the tall wolf hybrid. 

Jeongguk had already wandered off on his own, and it was hard to make him out in the darkness since he was both dressed in all black and he had shed his antlers again. 

“I swear, I wasn’t in on this. Your outfit isn’t warm enough, and obviously being here is making you uncomfortable,” Namjoon lamented, Y/N snorting at his insistence of his innocence. 

“I’ll be fine. Just hold my hand,” Y/N reached for her wolf hybrid, hooking her index and middle fingers around his thumb and shivering at the spark that resulted in the contact.

Namjoon made a noise in the back of his throat. Not moments prior, Y/N clocked the way Namjoon’s ears drooped sideways: he was uneasy, too. Her wolf hybrid was amongst the bravest of her boys, but with the amount of intense horror movies Jeongguk was making her and Namjoon watch that week, Y/N thought his trepidation was quite a natural outcome.

“You suspect I’m going to trip on something, don’t you?” Namjoon grunted resentfully, though he adjusted his grip swiftly so the entirety of Y/N’s hand was completely engulfed by his. 

“Watch your step. If she goes down with you, you’ll fucking crush her,” Jeongguk called back, Namjoon’s chest rumbling deeply– while simultaneously squeezing Y/N’s fingers in a vice. “Wait. You have something to record audio with, right?”

“He thinks it’s amateur hour,” Namjoon seethed, jaw pulsing when he waved his Walkman around for the elk hybrid to see.

 “Jeongguk, this is too much. It’s cold and damp out here, why can’t we just go to the bar?” Y/N complained, attempting to save her evening of dodging shadows and being smothered by her wolfish security detail. “We can come back during the day, when the sun can warm us…”

“I’ve told you, Y/N, your pouting doesn’t work on me. You’ll be glad we did this, you know,” Jeongguk replied promptly, speaking around the toothpick in his mouth. Y/N scowled at him, watching her elk hybrid bend to his knees to set up a tripod by a crumbling monument. 

“What are you even looking for tonight, hmm? The spirit of Sam Adams?” Y/N let Namjoon tug her along with defeat, though her mood brightened when she earned chuckles from both of her hybrids. 

“Yeah, I bet you two would love that,” Even under the darkness of night, Y/N could see Jeongguk’s wide eyes rolling back. She was just putting on a show, standing stiffly beside Namjoon with her lip jutting out in a false pout, but by some Samhain miracle, Jeongguk physically seemed to soften in response. “Give me like, an hour of your time. The bar will still be open after.”

“Oh, really?” Y/N cheered, relieved that Jeongguk wouldn’t be conducting a four hour long investigation. “You promise?”

Letting go of Namjoon so the wolf hybrid could place his recording device on a nearby boulder, Y/N gently smacked her chilly palms against Jeongguk’s cheeks and pressed. The action had his lips puckering, the hoop through his lower lip pressed against her thumb, and his eyes as wide and round as they could possibly get. His tapered ears fluttered and stilled, like caught prey, and without his antlers, Jeongguk looked a lot like his least-favorite nickname. 

“Leggo ‘e,” Jeongguk attempted to talk with his lips still pursed, one of his inked hands wrapping around her wrist once the shock wore off. Grinning, Y/N released the elk hybrid, who inelegantly rocked backwards– ass landing on the heels of his combat boots. “You gotta stop doing that outta nowhere.”

“But you look so cute when I surprise you… so no, I won’t stop,” Y/N stuck her tongue out at him, his camera sitting in his lap, forgotten. “Okay, you’re on the clock. 58 minutes left and I’m out of here.”

Shivering like he was trying to shake off tension, Jeongguk squared his shoulders and resumed adjusting his camera. Fortunately, the dimness of the evening saved Jeongguk from being caught with reddened cheeks. 

“What’s my task tonight?” Y/N straightened up, suddenly paranoid she was standing on a grave. 

“Honestly?” Jeongguk cocked his head, expression turning wry again. 

“God help me. Yes, honestly.”

“You’re kinda here as bait. Since you’re witchy and all these dead guys weren’t really okay with that,” Jeongguk admitted, Y/N’s jaw hanging loose. 

“Oh, spectacular. Did you bring some rope to tie me to a stake and light a match? Maybe you’ll attract the apparition of Cotton Mather!” Y/N growled, pretending to paw through the elk hybrid’s equipment bag for a yard of rope. 

“Jeongguk, this is a new low, even for you,” Namjoon interjected, placing a heavy palm on Y/N’s shoulder– protective alpha wolf tendencies. “I’ll stay with you, Y/N. You can do the audio with me.”

“But…” Jeongguk hummed, Namjoon’s fluffy gray ears twitching in agitation. “If she’s alone, she’ll probably get better results herself. Just sayin’.”

“Unfortunately, he’s right. Whatever. I’ll walk around for a bit and just feel things out, okay? And you are so using your money from the last investigation to buy me a basket of fries at the bar after,” Y/N was able to cut Namjoon off before a spat occurred, hoping her carefully constructed “messy” going out updo wasn’t a pigeon’s nest by then. 

Muttering, she swiped a recording device from Jeongguk’s bag, marching off in no particular direction to avoid Jeongguk’s smug grin– and Namjoon’s raised hackles. The chunky heels of the boots she was wearing were sinking into the mud and grass as she walked, making sure to stick to the main paths winding through the cemetery. 

It was somewhat of a challenge to not be creeped out, Y/N definitely picking up on spiritual energy and the thinning of the veil during Samhain, so entities could more easily communicate with the living. Additionally, the lack of her physically intimidating wolf hybrid posing as a bodyguard glued to her side had her flinching at the slightest of sounds. 

The graveyard was large enough that she couldn’t hear Jeongguk or Namjoon asking their usual investigation questions, which wasn’t comforting, either. Swallowing, Y/N switched her recorder on, slowly passing by a tomb with a weeping stone angel affixed to the top. There was a bench beneath an oak tree, looking over the cemetery, where Y/N decided to pause and take a crack at an interview. With Namjoon’s jacket wrapped around her snugly, she relaxed a tad when she could smell his scent. 

As always, she started with breaking the ice– not by giving out her name, of course– listening to the static coming through the device sitting in her lap. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to interpret any of the audio until she and Namjoon hooked it up to his production program, so really Y/N was having a one-sided conversation in a field full of the unseen dead. All the while, she kept one eye on her watch, finally switching off the recorder after 40 minutes of repetitive questioning. Though the sherpa-lined denim jacket she was loaned kept her top half warm, her nearly bare legs were chilly and she was ready to drag Jeongguk to the van by one of his Bambi ears. 

Oddly enough, beams cutting through fog from two other flashlights were nowhere to be found once Y/N stood from the old bench. Chewing her lip, anxiety began to tighten her chest as she debated whether or not to call out either of their names. On one hand, Jeongguk would be pissed if she interrupted a recording of his, and on the other, Namjoon’s fury would be cold and quiet if he found out she didn’t call for him when she was scared. Neither outcome seemed desirable, and put her in a tight spot. Typical. 

Deciding to just meet her two hybrids at the front gates, close to the van and the well-lit street, Y/N picked up the pace and retraced her steps as best she could. Acutely more aware of her surroundings without knowing exactly where her companions were, Y/N was at least grateful she was up-to-date on all of her spiritual protection, so were the missing hybrids. Even still, there was that eerie sensation of being followed nagging at her. 

Though every instinct in her was begging to break out into a full sprint, when she heard wet gravel squelching behind her Y/N immediately paused; like a rabbit frozen in the face of a predator. Holding her breath, her mind automatically began to loop protective phrases, the only thing audible being the blood rushing in her ears. Was there a rustling in the nearly-bare trees, or were there whispers coming from behind her? Balling up her fists, Y/N geared up to make a purposeful beeline to the gate– which was almost in sight– however, she only made it about two steps before a yelp from her pierced the quiet night sky. 

Wiry, cold fingertips from behind dove into the base of her updo, nimbly grasping the hair stick holding everything together just to yank it free. Two things shocked Y/N the most: first, the weight of her hair falling around her, and the ping of the hair stick clattering to the gravel. All things happening in a matter of nanoseconds, Y/N’s brain processed so slowly that she was defenseless. 

As soon as she yelped and her body began to flinch, two strong arms wrapped tightly around her middle, a large body crooking over hers. Utter horror crashed down over her head, and she was positive she was screaming bloody murder as the grip on her waist got stronger. 

“Boo,” a pair of warm– not ghostly– lips grazed the shell of her ear, and Y/N choked on air, a breeze rolling by bringing a familiar scent along with it. “Gotcha right before you ate shit on the grass, too.”

Jeongguk’s presence wasn’t instantly recognizable because his leather and musk scent was lacking the usual tobacco edge, since he wasn’t smoking as much. The fear that took over was promptly replaced by astonishment and fury, and Y/N began to fight her way out of Jeongguk’s embrace, his deep chuckle in her ear. In retaliation, she scraped her nails over the tattoos clasped over her sides, his forearms actually overlapping on themselves due to squeezing her so hard, making him laugh louder. 

“Let GO, Jeongguk! You scared the piss out of me! Let go!” Y/N’s struggles were futile against the hybrid’s brute strength, so she pretended to go limp so he’d let her go. With a snarl, she realized he was probably giggling at her heart thundering in her chest. “What the fuck? I thought you were a rapist!”

“Do you really think anything could happen to you while we’re here? Please,” Jeongguk scoffed, the sharp point of his nose nudging her earlobe playfully. “Again. Weren’t you the one who encouraged scary pranks this time of year, kiddo?”

“Ugh. Get off,” Y/N groaned, her cheeks flaming. All of her boys had a magical ability to talk her out of being annoyed with them, and they all knew it. “You owe me two drinks now, the basket of Cajun fries, and I get to smush your face whenever I want, no complaints.”

“Sure…” Jeongguk eased himself off of Y/N slowly, ignoring the red scrapes marring the back of his hands. “I’ll add it to the list of your requests, your highness.”

“Fuckin’ little shit,” Y/N grit her teeth, finding it unfairly devastating how insanely hot he looked, cocky and satisfied, his dark eyes somehow still sparkling at night. “We’re going. I wouldn’t blame Namjoon if he left you here, you know.”

“Thinking about it,” a new voice joined the conversation, though it was low to the ground. Casting a look towards her feet, Y/N watched her wolf hybrid bend and gingerly pluck her forgotten hair pick from the gravel. “I take back my earlier statement. This is the new low, Jeongguk.”

Y/N was about to violently nod in agreement as Namjoon stood, towering over her, but something made her eyes narrow as she glanced up at him. Jeongguk, now an onlooker, tried to school his expression when Y/N gave Namjoon a deliberate once-over, the girl even stepping away to get a full view. The elk hybrid had to bite on his fist in order to be successful. 

“Hold it. You said you weren’t in on this!”

“I’m not!” Namjoon’s eyes went wide, Y/N snatching her hair stick from him suspiciously. Blinking rapidly, the wolf hybrid pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, awkwardly shifting the gear bag higher up onto his thick shoulder. 

“Joon. Your left ear is droopy, and your tail is stiff. Besides, you keep fiddling with your glasses and your voice is all high like when you’re nervous in public. You knew he was gonna pop out on me like that,” Y/N listed off, ticking each point on a finger pad. To distract her, Namjoon made a quiet, pitiful canine whine, offering the hair stick to her as a peace offering– but Y/N wasn’t easily bought. “Joonie. You’re sweating.”

“S… so?” Namjoon spluttered, forcing himself to look into Y/N’s eyes. Sucking in his cheeks, Namjoon made a last-ditch effort to seem innocent before releasing a ragged sigh. “Aw, come on, sta–”

“March your butt to the driver’s seat before I peel out of here myself,” Y/N cut Namjoon off with (an admittedly adorable) huff, stomping in the direction of the van and not wanting to hear Namjoon’s term of endearment for her while she was still ticked. 

Jeongguk, at that point, couldn’t help but snicker wickedly, brushing past Namjoon in triumph. That, and the sight of Y/N storming away, being nearly eaten alive by Namjoon’s coat, was quite the sight. 

“Do… Do you still want to go to the bar?” Namjoon asked delicately, once he stumbled into his seat in the van, the equipment bag stuffed hastily behind him. The grunt coming from the booth told Y/N Namjoon might have aimed it too close to Jeongguk’s shin. 

“Yes,” Y/N replied haughtily, still feeling the heavy grip Jeongguk had on her. He had been bulking up for the winter… “You guys are mean. I meant to prank each other, not me.”

“That sounds a little unfair, no? Can’t take the heat or something?” 

“You guys are pulling fast ones over me constantly, 12 months a year. Can’t take the heat? Please. I’m a champ,” Y/N accused, sticking her tongue out at Jeongguk in the back seat. He just smirked knowingly, which had Y/N’s mind going in the direction his probably was, eliciting a sharp cough from her throat. “Fine. I guess I should be a good sport, I’m the one who started this.” 

With that, Y/N began to get a little too warm, so she began to unbutton Namjoon’s jacket to strip it from her. Her ears perked up instantly when Namjoon began to growl softly, sending a spark of excitement through her. The mood developing was starkly different than the one that had just dissipated, one wired and charged, and there was no doubt the two hybrids felt it with a certain heightened intensity.

“Keep it on. It’ll be cold at the bar,” Namjoon requested, the gruff authority making her spine straighten out instinctively. However, petulance won. 

“No, there will be a ton of people in there. I don’t want to be hot,” Y/N refused, deciding to ignore the two of them filling the van with their intensity by flicking through her phone. Namjoon didn’t like his protective (possessive?) requests to be denied, and Jeongguk didn’t like to be ignored. Y/N, truthfully, was still aggravated; neither of them apologized for plotting to terrify her. 

The bar was only around the block, so she didn’t ice them out for too long. In the five minutes it took for Namjoon to find a parking spot, she could tell he was feeling remorseful due to the sad thumping of his tail against the car door when he hastily opened it for her, his ears sideways. From that position, she was nearly eye-level with him, and he was brave enough to drink in her expression. 

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“Make it up to me?”

Namjoon perked up just a degree, looking down at her through his eyelashes. Millions of possibilities flooded through the wolf hybrid’s mind, but conscious of the fact that he was blocking half of a sidewalk, he made a decision. With an arm around her waist, Namjoon helped her out of the van, and before she was too stable on her feet, he pressed his lips to the center of her forehead gently. Y/N hummed lightly, too pleasantly surprised to be embarrassed several pairs of eyes were on her. 

“‘M sorry we scared you,” Namjoon murmured, his chin resting on the crown of her head, body awkwardly bent. Giggling, she ruffled his starlight hair, Jeongguk interrupting by sliding the side door open. “Let’s go in. I’ll buy you the first drink.”

“Hey, that’s supposed to be me,” Jeongguk spun on the heel of his combat boot, already at the bar’s entrance. The sound of rock music and jovial conversation pulsed from behind the door. “Yeah. Sorry, kiddo.”

“Okay, okay, I forgive you. Hey, let Namjoon go in first. His height parts crowds, we’ll get to the bar faster,” Y/N yanked Jeongguk back by his belt loop, Namjoon shouldering by with reddened ear tips and his dimples creating deep craters in his cheeks. 

“After yo–”

Y/N stopped holding the door open when Jeongguk placed a hand on the wall beside her face, reached up to boop her nose, and then leaned in to whisper: 

“I’m only sorry I didn’t film your reaction.”

“Oh, you motherfucker!”

Please do not repost or translate my work. Thank you!

[littlecorpselady]

Running out

House of wax (part 1)

Note- admittedly a bit longer than my usual work and more of a observation what'd life in the sinclair house would be like but Bo so yk

Steam floated towards your face, the warmth overwhelming your senses as the hand waving in front of your face moves before your mind can fully process it, instincts are a funny thing. No amounts of evolution could ever cover up what nature had implanted. Pouring the boiling water, the tea bag took its effect as you hummed, settling down the kettle and grabbing the fridge door. No milk, again.

Everything always seemed like it needed replacing in Ambrose, from basic fridge supply to the squeaky doors all around the house. Not that it bothered you, aware enough to know that the nearest shop was a good drive away and Bo didn’t always have time to drive back and forth for the smallest things but now that you think about it, what is he even busy with? Besides obviously his “work” with incoming tourists, it feels like he’s never home, even the side of his bed sits there practically in dust. You were sure from occasions where you’d watch the show for about 20 minutes before losing interest, that the tourists didn’t come every day, only every now and then really. It wouldn’t even always be groups either, sometimes just one person, already a body at times, lifeless when Bo brings them in.

Did he idly work on cars, work on lightbulbs and broken windows around the town? How long does he need to even spend on renovations, the place looked as abounded as it was anyway, nobody rarely even goes in the houses.

So where is he most of the time? Right on cue, the front door swings open and it’s followed up by a heavy set of footsteps. Pushing the fridge door shut, you peek in the doors direction just to find Vincent there, holding the door open for Jonesy to happily trot her way inside. He wasn’t allowed out without either talking to Bo beforehand or having his guidance, like a child. He catches sight of you tilting your head in his direction asking a silent question, something Vincent himself would usually do. He couldn’t help but add it to the list of things you had picked up from being around the place for the last couple of months. After all the kicking and sobs deep into the night, it all fizzled down to acceptance and soon picking up on the small almost unnoticeable habits if it wasn’t for Vincents observative skills after years of silence and solitude. Instead of properly acknowledging your inquisitive look, instead you receive the typical wave of dismissal as he makes his way into the kitchens space with his gaze lowered and body fixated in a slumped position. It was nothing like how his twin walked, Bo moved with pride clouding around him with his posture straight and eyes up. Maybe it was in his nature, maybe it was a habit from years of practiced interactions with tourists. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he had always been that way, forcing a smile and a charm to slither through life getting his way.

Vincent dug through the drawers in search of something, you tapped his shoulder in hopes that this time you’d be properly acknowledged. In response to it, he uses his fingers to indicate he’s looking for the scissors. Turning to your left, he gestured to the bigger pair held up in your right hand upon holding them up to him. He takes then and leans against the counter to snip off a few loose strands off his jumper, it takes him a good two minutes seeing as it properly got caught up in a branch or just ripped up. They were getting old anyway, none of them bought anything new, Bos boots even had a little rip at the front of them from sprinting and hard days filled with ‘work’. The last time any of them bought any new clothes must’ve been Bo, after you arrived and managed to settle down, he handed you a pile of clothes one day after spending weeks wearing his old shirts which he had to force you into wearing. Either he bought them specially with you in mid, the idea you preferred, or they came from the piles of suitcases collecting dust in the old sugar mil. As you re focus in the moment rather than staring off into space, you notice the small rip on the hem of Vincent’s sweater, nothing sewing can’t fix. Again, your hand moves before yourself touching the rip at the hem of his sweater, surprisingly soft to the touch beneath your fingertips.

His blue eye behind its masks socket takes a moment lingering on your hand before meeting your gaze at the same time. “Hold on for a moment.” You turn back to search through the drawers from the top to the bottom ones. It takes a moment before you hopefully pickup a forgotten looking biscuit tin and pop the lid off, the material’s you had hoped for lying there unused for what looks to be centuries.

Vincent leaves momentarily to go and grab a chair to pull into the kitchen. His posture slumped down and hands neatly laid out in front of him on his lap, fingertips lightly fidgeting and picking at the skin around his fingernails whilst watching you sew away. His gaze isn’t judgmental nor is it impatient, the opposite actually, much politer than most you’ve come across, he waited with patience and a more curious gaze almost. The moment was interrupted with the swing of the front door promoting your head to pop up almost suspiciously. It shouldn’t be suspicious; you did nothing out of the ordinary than have an interaction with Vincent longer than a second. His eyes lingered for a few seconds longer than necessary before tilting his head to the side in the same direction where Bo stood, grumpy as ever. Not only grumpy but also tired. He kicks the front door shut with a light kick before heading for the living room, you make a note to lock the front door, even if the chances of having an intruder were next to nothing. Patting Vincent on the leg to gesture you were finished, his eyes slowly go back to you, but he doesn’t move, at least not for a minute. Unbeknownst to you, as his hand reaches halfway out before pausing, stuck on whether it be weird if he continued. After a second, whilst your sat back on your feet and sorting out the contents of the tin with the intent to keep it in your nightstand for past time, his hand is on your hair giving your head a gentle well meaning pat. Despite the initial confusion, you got the point that it was supposed to be a sort of gesture meaning gratitude, his hand pauses after it and retreats by his sides now in a loose fist. You stand up giving him a smile and a “no problem” before taking the tin with you out of the kitchen. Midway through your journey up the stairs, Bo calls out your name from the couch, your name this time and not the usual nickname. Bo raises a brow to the nervous look on your face as you come over to him, sat manspreading comfortably on the couch, one hand patting his right thigh.The moment was nice, enjoyably silent before yet again the front door swung open and this time it was bo

“what’s wrong sweetheart?” His tone is calm, relaxed even despite that previously grumpy look he came in with. “Nothing, it’s just. Your home tonight?” He smiles and you feel silly for even asking, before you can tell him never mind, he replies “Of course i am, acting like I’m never in.” He leans back, spreading his legs a bit but before you can sit down in his lap, he instead gestures for you to sit on the floor in front of him. Once seated on the floor despite the initial reluctance, he leans forward with one of his hands reaching out to run through your hair. It wash soft beneath his calloused fingers, recently washed as well making it glide and run through his fingers with ease. After about a minute, he grabs a brush from the bedside table, presumably Vincent's neglected brushes before combing it through your hair. The room stilled and your eyes fluttered shut. He was being nice, too nice. It'll run out eventually and you know it will, eventually everything does.

[thecolourpurple123]

Fourier Lugunica ramble (with excerpts from Ex 1)

Fourier is, much like all the members of the Lugunican royal family, somewhat airheaded but charming in nature. The Lugunican royals are all genuine and good people, but not particularly skilled stewards―which is pretty much the exact description the LN uses across all the side content I've read recently including Ex 1, 2, and 3.

In his normal state, he's prone to being incredibly impulsive and needy. He rolls up to the Karsten estate at random to bother them with whatever he's fixated on at any given moment and is very good-natured about the teasing he is subject to―not being particularly aware of the depths of Ferris's wit, but always rolling with whatever punches he does see. Fourier's obviously a bit pampered considering how he whines about the cold to the degree that he never goes anywhere without his fancy red coat, but he's not totally adverse to hardship or pain seeing how readily and regularly he challenges Crusch to duels for years of their youth despite never really standing a chance.

Generally, he does not concern himself with his own status, and readily waves it off in pursuit of whatever he's fixated on because he's just that kinda silly goofy guy. At the same time though, he's keenly aware of his status as the fourth prince, and while he does know the kind of effect he can have on people―as seen in how he stalls for time when Crusch is fighting the rabbits by distracting the people at her party with improvised songs and sword demonstrations―Fourier is not one to care for the fact that he's royalty in any ambitious or grand sense. However, as seen in Ferris's unusual appointment as a royal knight, he does know when it can be used to get what he wants/thinks is right and necessary.

Further, Fourier is very much one for bravado and putting on a brave face. He wants to be strong and look cool, especially for Crusch, and in all matters Fourier is one to throw himself headfirst into situations with a high degree of overconfidence. It's actually noted as being part of his charm, the fact that he so readily pretends that he's better than he is and is princely, while also not really caring for being seen as princely and competent, which ends up making those times where he's princely and competent all the more impactful to the people he interacts with.

(here we see Fourier and Ferris discussing after the duel with Crusch to make her wear a dress, for a more relaxed example of Fourier being both overconfident and not caring for how he appears which Ferris takes advantage of to tease him)

(this one is of Crusch talking to Fourier about Ferris's family history that he pretends to already know about and lies to Crusch about blatantly to save face, only to prove himself unknowingly in her eyes in the next breath)

(and this one is Julius talking to him later in Ex 1 for a more serious example of how Fourier views other's views of him)

Ultimately, Fourier is a bit of a walking contradiction. He's oh! so jolly yet still respectable and competent when the need arises. He doesn't care for status yet walks around with overconfidence. He's keenly aware of social dynamics at times when it counts, yet often blunders his way through conversations in a way that's disarmingly absent-minded.

It's a contradiction explained by the fact that Fourier is one of a rare few of his family to be a "master of the blood" as Miklotov puts it, or the Lion King's Blessing as the fandom has come to call it. He's able to just… intuit things, a lot of the time. He knows what moves to play to win at games, knows answers to obscure questions his tutor asks without knowing why, is able to only ever show up to the Karsten estate when Crusch and Ferris aren't too busy to see and hang out with him, and of course is able to coordinate several royal knights to rescue Crusch from Ferris's dad while also setting Reinhard as insurance for stopping Miles (a spy he doesn't know exists, just has a hunch exists based on pretty much no evidence at all) from escaping back to Vollachia all without ever knowing the full scope of his own machinations.

I think the most iconic moment of Fourier is this:

In one move, Fourier pushes Crusch to accept her dual roles of being a Lady and being the martial heir to house Karsten, thrusts Ferris into knightship in a way that doesn't leave him insecure or gives him any room for doubt, and saves Crusch's dad's life from the rabbits―only to after Crusch and Ferris leave, tell a servant Crusch tied up that he has no idea what's going on and that they should probably figure that out.

Fourier is effortlessly foundational to Crusch and Ferris's entire worldviews, and he doesn't even know how or why he just follows his instincts and garners their total respect and admiration. He's humble in an unspoken way that leaves his dramatic overconfidence as endearing instead of irritating. He's a royal with once in a generation blood, yet all he cares for is to see the buds in the garden that are those he holds dear in his life bloom into their own.

The only time he ever really cares for his station, is because Crusch is a little obsessed with the legacy of the Lion King, and Fourier wants that attention on himself (all the while not knowing that he already has it). He makes giving his everything feel like nothing yet still everything―which is all the more tragic, all the more foundational for Crusch going forward, because that very essence of Fourier is exemplified in his death where his very memory is but a footnote in a wider chapter of the nation's history. Everything to Crusch and Ferris, but nothing to a nation in mourning.

This is why, after finishing Ex 1, I have gained an appreciation for Crusch who I'd thought as a very boring character having only experienced her presence in the main series. For years now, I've always looked down upon that short-sighted selfish goal of hers to break the covenant with the dragon, just because she can't get over Fourier's death. But it's deeply understandable if you come to know Fourier, and see it from Crusch's perspective.

Crusch started with this chip on her shoulder regarding needing to be worthy of inheriting this mantle of the lion, and then by the end of the novel she inherits this impossible dream of Fourier's too―where he pictures this future together with Ferris and Crusch as he dies in her arms, not even able to finish telling her that he loves her before he goes.

Fourier was her Lion King, he always was, and in his absence, given this singular opportunity through her candidacy and in the context of the seemingly callous attitude of the Sage Council and the gathered nobles… to me, it just feels so earned that she would despise the Dragon, whose mere promise of protection overshadows the deaths of so many royals who were amazing in their own rights. Ultimately, Crusch's ire does come from misplaced grief, but it's one I can't help but respect now. The path Ferris and Crusch walk is not one that is kind to either of them, but it is one that is quite fitting. One that is lonely by necessity, because even though Fourier told Ferris to rely on his friend Julius, he was unable to finish telling Crusch his full feelings for her, leaving Crusch with an impossible dream and shoes she can't fill even with Ferris at her side.

So basically, all of this is to say that my favorite ferret man Ferrier Lugunica haunts the narrative and after reading Ex 1 he lives in my head as rent free as he does in Crusch and Ferris's.

[silviakundera]

Snowfall watch comments backlog, ep 7-8

Ep 7

me trying to sight-read the actual drama name: 冰雪谣 ..ice...snow... FUCK. FUCK. that's the language radical, right? um. 😭 hi google translate, help me yet again por favor.

vocab so tiny I always know like 1.5 characters in a drama name and it gets me nowhere

"My feelings for you make it impossible for me to forget you. I feel restless and cannot bear you might disappear from the world."

Loser Li. bruh.

We pause this gay programming for a check-in on doctor bestie and blind girl

Doctor bestie is not at all pressed. Because he's mildly evil? or he simply can't imagine this loser as a threat? or.... cause he really hopes that Shen Zhiheng will break and eat him, thus chilling the fuck out? 🤔

Blind girl says goodbye to her dad, who is worthless as a parent but clearly succeeded in business with such brilliant insights as: when mysterious animal attacks besiege your town, LEAVE. IMMEDIATELY.

I like that both her parents are different aspects of terrible. The dad isn't a 1 dimensional monster, he just is shallow & selfish. Only willing to do the bare minimum for her, as she doesn't bring him value.

There are peaceful protestors trying to get the protagonist released, so in the grand tradition of corrupt institutions everywhere, Team Warlord turn it into a riot

Doctor Bestie is now concerned and getting involved, going to rich nepo baby for help. Not a bad plan. He's calling Zhiheng not just a friend, but like his closest family. 👀👀

"Mr Shen, I've come to rescue you."

Blind girl makes the most badass move, to falsely accuse him of assault in order to get close enough to give him strength by kissing him with a bloody mouth. Legitimately clever!!!!

Superintendent Chi has our vamp released, I presume due to the press and power brokers in Xia getting involved

Most important: now we're getting the Mu family involved. The 32nd heir of the Mu family 👀

Vamp Daddy Shen Zhiheng and Barely Legal Blind Teen Mi Lan continue checking all boxes of their hurt/comfort trope

Ep 8

Vamp Daddy is taking an ice bath. Because I guess that's a vampire medical treatment now. sounds awful but you do you. Perhaps say something to the blind girl instead of letting her stumble around your bathroom as you sit there naked, though. ??

Nepo baby comes to harass Loser Li but as it pales in comparison to the layers of neurosis in Li's psychosexual fixation on Vamp Daddy: I do not care and you can't make me

Things have become very cute at casa Shen as doctor and teen have invited themselves in. Everyone is having a great time together and Li Man is very satisfied with being bossed around by Vamp Daddy, as long as she gets to fuss over him in return.

Nice scene of Mi Lan with the printing press. Vamp Daddy is getting so cranky about everyone in town knowing she's obviously his girlfriend, when he's the only person who's bothered (including said girl). Let it go, man.

The Mu heir shows up with an entourage giving me TMNT Foot soldiers flashbacks

Can't believe that Vamp Daddy and bestie just feed Mi Lan his blood to see what happens, hiding round the corner to spy on the side effects GUYS. THIS IS HUMAN EXPERIMENTATION ON YOUR GF. asdfghjk

I do appreciate that when he explains simply that vamp blood is not a good cure for her blindness, she actually just accepts his expert opinion and doesn't stubbornly run around trying to do dumb shit. I have a pet peeve about characters who have no knowledge about something but won't listen to the people with actual expertise, and persist in stubbornly chasing after their idea. just to cause plot annoyances.

She's 18 but more mature than some 30 year old characters.

The Mu foot soliders demo their strange shadow powers. Many boxes died this day. RIP.

Again Mi Lan proves to be very sensible: "What would you write?" "If I were to write the ending, I don't think I'll die." She would like her & her boyfriend to survive together, thanks. I feel u, girl.

[salezmanradioz]

🎙️, 🔒, and ✈️ :]!!

🎙️ What’s your favourite (used or unused) voice line in the games?

My favorite line that I constantly quote from IEYTD is Juniper's "WINE, GLASSES- AND OH IS THIS BRIE?????" or his other line of "Then you took the time to write "JUNIPER HATED ON IT" and sent THE BOTTLE TO ME". It's so funny because why did he say Brie with such a emphasis on it, it's hilarious. But also him whining about wine is really funny.

🔒(If you subscribe to the relevant headcanons/theories:) What allows Agent Phoenix to reset after they die?

In the sense of the way I write my Phoenix: My Phoenix (Polyblank otherwise known as) is connected to a radio that he once carried years ago. When Prism was creating her robutlers and attempting to make them more "sentient" in a sense and more "human" she unknowingly made a sentient program on her computer titled "Nexus" which is similar to that of clippy. A former agent who was no longer in the field managed to , in a sense "possess" the former data on themselves. After a while, Phoenix latched onto the closest thing he knew, the radio. - I went on a long tangent but for the jist of it, Phoenix "resets" in his radio. I would imagine during the Death Engine while falling to their most certain death, he would've retreated back into the radio to recooperate. Obviously the radio would have been broken to smithereens but the Handler knows exactly how to fix it and here comes Phoenix crawling out the radio like nothing happened.

In a more closely related to the IEYTD franchise: I just think ultimately the game in itself is very silly and I just think that Agent Phoenix just defies all laws of how the world works in the game and just keeps defying death. Injured? Definitely, but alive. I like to think the TK Implant has something to do with it as well. There's NO WAY possible that the TK implant does not have side effects, both great and horrible.

✈️ Give a shout out to a fan artist / fic writer / etc. in the fandom that you appreciate! @purple-to-my-tangerine / @heres-to-all-that-is-mine Hi I immediately thought of Bug. Bug honestly let me indulge into the IEYTD more fandom (surprising). I didn't meet Bug through IEYTD but ey is pretty darn cool. Bug has watched me transform my John Juniper and Prism interpreations into OCS (I will still draw em for IEYTD but they'll be from now on tagged "IEYTD au" since I don't want too many people thinking they STRICTLY belong to IEYTD). I like silly and positive spin on things no matter who the characters are from the franchise :). Bug is a cool friend @cowboypigsy I mean come on buddy, I've know you for YEARS how could you NOT be here. Anyways, Pigsy sent me the IEYTD openings before a year ago and I listened to em like "wow these are so cool". Now here I am knee deep into this game. I took a listen again and got obsessed until I fixated on it. I then dragged Pigsy into the fixation with me and now we have agents, actors and cute gals.

There are other artists and writers I secretly lurk on (hi I'm too shy to engage sometimes) but I appreciate everyone's work here <3. I think this fandom is great and while every fandom has it's own flaws, I think most people here, if not, are pretty relaxed. Anyways shout out to the other artists and creators <3

[cartelheir]

@sharpsuite : Chishiya likes essentially nothing that New Years Eve and New Years Day tend to be about. He doesn't like the crowds, he doesn't drink, he doesn't find any of it FUN. But he begrudgingly goes out with Pat during some of the day like a grumpy cat. In the spirit of the day or whatever it is. He's absolutely NOT going to be out at any bars or clubs after the new years is rung in. If she wants to, that's fine. It just won't be HIM. There is one thing he likes though. THE FIREWORKS. And he knows a spot better than any of the public spaces full of drunk or soon to be drunk morons, who crowd the space and make it hard to see. He shares as much with Pat, with the promise that he does really mean it and no, it won't be a letdown. So she better be home with half an hour to spare, and she can go back out later if she wants. THANKFULLY, she does show up. ( Chishiya won't admit the fact he WANTED her here with him and the idea that she might not had been a lonely, aching thought. And it won't matter now because she IS here. ) " Come on. " Chishiya reaches out to loosely grab her wrist and pull her after him as he heads to the stairs. Doesn't think too much on it being one of the more blatant times he instigates contact. His free hand fishes around in his hoodie pocket before he pulls out a silver key and glances over his shoulder with a gleam in his eyes. " I made a copy of the key. Technically tenants aren't allowed access. " He shrugs. " Not yet at least, they might be upgrading it. But for now that means no one else can get up there. BESIDES ME, obviously. And you." And the subtle smile he offers is genuine even in its quiet nature. He unlocks the door and leads them out onto the rooftop. His apartment is a towering luxury apartment - giving them a dazzling view of the city lights below, and th fireworks that are sure to happen soon above them as well. No buildings in the way, no cameras or arms or towering bodies. Just the open night sky to let them view almost 360 degree surrounding of fireworks as they start to go off in preparation for the grand finale. It'll be breathtaking when the final moments. Thankfully not LITERALLY this time. "...I've never celebrated New Years with anyone before. " Which isn't really a surprise, or shouldn't be. But it's also dawned on him he's never actually said those words either. Chishiya's eyes are fixated on the fireworks, the thrum in his chest and the memories. But when he speaks next, his gaze is focused on her only. " Happy New Years, Pat. " // heh, i had to. 🥺

it's almost midnight. she was supposed to be at the party she promised to attend with her boyfriend of the month. instead she follows chishiya up the flights of stairs, just a bit skeptical ( he's never been the partying type, after all ). there's a bottle of champagne in her hands, which she knows chishiya won't want any of so she forgoes the fancy glasses and sips straight from the bottle instead, not drunk but comfortably tipsy.

up on the roof, they can see almost the entire city. the city lights below are already so beautiful, all the neon blues and pinks and the people gathered around the crowded main avenues, and pat finds that she doesn't miss the party or the boyfriend that much.

nothing could've prepared her for when the clock strikes midnight. the sky lights up brighter than a carnival, brighter than what she pictures heaven to look like; only comparable to the fireworks at the borderlands. they surround them on all sides, some of them so close that pat's sure it'll hit their spot and she instinctively reaches for chishiya's hand to pull them out of danger, until she relaxes. she keeps his hand in hers, just because. the booms are the loudest she's ever heard this close, like she's flying above and within the explosions of light and color and shimmer in the sky.

gold sparkles explode into hot pink and into the most startling navy blue she's ever iseen, effectively taking her breath away. she can't look away even when her mind wanders to all kinds of memories of the strangest home she's ever had. she wonders if this can be their new home, if the two of them can create an entirely new world out of this moment ━━ each explosion scattering stars across the universe and giving birth to new constellations that no one but them can see.

she doesn't even notice she's a little choked up, maybe on the brink of tears though none of them fall, until she tears her eyes away from the spectacle to look at him. " happy new years. " she smiles, barely hears herself above the rush in her head. with the kind of confidence only a moment like this could've given her, she doesn't hesitate to inch closer and let her head fall to rest upon his shoulder. " not bad for a first celebration, huh? "

[snkts]

She bought him a card.

While perusing the aisle of a local pharmacy, mikoto has come across the store’s shelf of greeting cards. Cards for birthdays, cards that offered encouragements to “Get Well,” “Thinking of You” cards, and of course, Father’s Day Cards. Curious, she had picked-out a couple. Father’s Day was this Sunday. Mikoto made a mental note to call her dad that day and also… she bought a card, one that had a picture of some American National Park on the front. It looked natural and it reminded her of Logan.

When Mikoto returned to the mansion, she wrote on the inside of the card: “Logan. Thanks for looking after me, Mikoto,” In Japanese. Then stuffed the card in its envelope, addressed it to Logan, and left it on her desk. Within four hours of buying and writing her card, Mikoto chickened out of giving it to him. (It was too much, he wouldn’t appreciate it, she was just a student). It remained on her desk for the rest of the week and all through Sunday. She called her dad that morning, had a nice fifteen minute conversation with him, and then, admittedly, the rest of the day was like any other Sunday. A symptom of living on the other side of the planet from her parents.

Then again, every Father’s Day had been like this since Mikoto was a child. Her change in location had effectively changed nothing.

But that evening, after dinner and playing some card games in the common room, Mikoto returned upstairs. The light was on in her room and she only had a second to process that as odd, before she turned into the doorway and saw Logan standing at her desk. In his hand, the envelope open on the desk, was the card she had bought.

Mikoto’s breath caught in her throat, her cheeks flushing. He had obviously already read the card but Mikoto couldn’t read the look on his face. What should she say? What does she even do in this situation? She couldn’t even think of a joke to crack the tension or play off the card.

“I wasn’t going to give it to you!” Mikoto blurted-out. And before she could stop herself the words tumbled out, “I bought it but then I thought it would be weird since, we’re not — you’re not my — and you probably don’t want to be… not that I need you to but, anyway, it’s not that I don’t, but now that you’ve found it, I guess. You should just ignore it. Sorry.”

Her eyes fixated at the floor, just in front of her feet. Mikoto wound a strand of hair around her fingers, tugging lightly on her scalp. Finally, she sighed.

“Can we please forget this ever happened?”

Logan knows what day it is. Of course he does. He just didn't think he had any reason to care. It wasn't a big enough deal for Charles to postpone training or classes, which suited Logan just fine. When it came to combat and survival, rust formed fast. Only way to keep it off was to keep active. ... But maybe he'd be a bit more lenient today if they were a minute or two late.

"Sorry, Mr. Logan, had to call my Dad!" or "Couldn't get the old man off the phone, you know how it is." greeted him every time the footsteps fell a bit faster. (No, he didn't know how it was, but he didn't say that. Only grunted and told them to fall in.) A part of him couldn't help but twinge with jealousy. The part that still remembered Itsu's soft hand in his when she told him they were finally having a baby. (The bright dark horrible red steaming against the stark white snow as he saw that future stolen forever.) But that was an old wound, and, like all his injuries, it healed enough that he could stay standing. Crying didn't bring anyone back. Besides, the kids were happy, and he wasn't about to ruin that for them - not today.

Aside from those minor interruptions, it had been pretty normal. Some of the kids had surprised Charles with a few little trinkets which he had accepted gladly. Dinner had been a bit fancier - that had been nice. Sure, the food here was always good, but he wasn't one to turn down fancier eats when offered. The kids had gone off to their evening classes, and he'd managed to score the Danger Room for a few hours of private training. After that, it was time for the most important nightly ritual of all: A glass of good whisky and a nice cigar. Both were kept in his room, secure and hidden from anyone who might want to share (labelling your shit only went so far in this place). He was leaning on his balcony, arms loosely crossed, tumbler dangling from his fingertips and cigar hanging from his teeth, when he noticed something weird. He could hear the muffled chatter of the kids in their classrooms. Birds chirping, check. Wind blowing, check. Crickets chirping, check. But overtop of the rustling of critters in the underbrush and Storm in the greenhouse upstairs was another noise - metallic sound effects and a repetitive, simple song. The first time it played, he ignored it. The third, he growled. The fifth, he jammed the cigar into his ash tray, threw back the rest of his whisky, and went to shut it off before he lost his damn mind.

"Christ, Skippy, what're you doing in here?" He pushed the cracked-open door the rest of the way, brow furrowed in annoyance. "Ain't you s'posed to be in class any-...?" He trailed off. The room was empty. Nobody was here. The overheads were off, the only light coming from the monitor. 'PAUSE MENU' flashed on top of the screen in bright letters. Logan sighed and shook his head. Of course. Well, time to look for the mute button. He bent over the desk and reached for the mouse when something else caught his eye. An envelope.

An envelope with his name on it.

Logan cocked his head and furrowed his brow. What was this? Some kinda ransom note? He plucked it off the desk and straightened. That was her writing, sure, and he didn't notice any weird smells here, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. There were plenty of people who could make that happen - Mesmero, for example, or Mastermind, assuming she didn't decide to run off on her--

Own.

...

Oh.

He blinks at the card in his hand, waiting for his thoughts to catch up to his eyes. It's a card. It's a Father's Day card. It's a Father's Day card for him. What? ... What? He opens it carefully, half expecting it to explode or crumble to dust or be made out to someone else and put in the wrong envelope, or who knows what else, but no, that's his name in there, too.

He's too busy reading and re-reading the message to notice the footsteps. He does hear the sharp intake of breath and his head snaps to track the sound. He stares at her. She stares at him. She turns bright red and he glances down at the card again. And she starts talking. And talking, and talking, and talking. She did that when she was nervous. Opened her mouth and didn't seem to know how to close it. He folds the card closed again with one hand, and when she looks like she's not about to light him up like a Christmas tree, he closes the gap between them. A strong arm circles around her shoulders and pulls her close, holding her against his chest.

"Thanks, Skippy." He says, resting his chin on her head and giving her a squeeze. "Means a lot."

More than he could ever put into words.

Happy Father's Day, indeed.

[iwritesmutnottragedy]

Jaguar Paw has been taken as a sacrifice tribute by a larger Maya city state. He is being kept with the other hunters from his village and other slaves when he sees an unusual woman who is brought and tied up along side him. She is wearing clothing unlike any he has ever seen before and is obviously injured from fighting off the other army as best as she could.

Jaguar Paw was curious for the woman, her outfit were so strange to him, so unusual that he couldn't help but stare at the woman. "Who are you?" The tribesman asked in his native tongue.

Sara looked up at the man next to her, shaking her head and replying in english. "I...I don't understand you. I'm sorry."

He furrowed his brow slightly, her language was completely foreign to him. It sounded like strange gibberish to him. "What's your name?" He asked again in his native tongue, wondering if she could at least get the gist of what he was saying.

She sighed and slumped a little more against the ground. Her wrists were bound in front of her and she twisted and pulled at the natural twine, trying to find any weakness. If she could just get it loose...she could try to break free when they weren't looking. When she noticed that Jaguar Paw was still looking at her she stopped, quickly trying to cover her actions.

"What? Stop looking at me or they'll notice." She hissed softly, ducking her head towards him. "I knew I should have tried learning some of the dialects. At least then I might have stood I fuckin' chance." She grumbled, knowing he wouldn't be able to understand her.

She was trying to free herself from the bonds that were tied around her wrists, but no matter how much she struggled, they still remained firmly in place. Jaguar Paw listened to her complaints in her unknown tongue, not understanding a single word she was saying. He could only watch as she huffed and cursed under her breath, clearly frustrated with her situation.

He shifted closer to her, his eyes fixated on her struggle. He wanted to know more about her but was unsure how to communicate effectively. After a moment of thought, he gestured down to her wrists bound with the rope. "Are you uncomfortable?" he asked in his native tongue, hoping she might understand his intentions.

Her eyebrows rose and she brought her wrists up for him to see. The restraints bit into her skin but she wasn't ready to give up just yet. With a sigh she lowered them back down to her lap and tried to relax and bide her time. It wasn't exactly like she could bolt while the sun was still up anyways. Instead, she turned her attention to the man tied up next to her and decided to try her best at making some kind of connection, despite the language barrier.

With effort she brought up a hand and placed it on her chest, saying her name with careful pronunciation. "Sara. I'm Sara."

Jaguar Paw's eyes flickered to her bound wrists as she held them up for him to see. He noticed the discomfort and understood that she was not easily able to break free from it, at least not right now. As she lowered her wrists back onto her lap he listened intently as she attempted to communicate with him. She placed a hand over her chest and spoke her name slowly and clearly. He repeated her name back to her, trying his best to mimic her pronunciation, "Sara?”

He looked at her intently, his eyes studying her face and her features. Despite the language barrier, he felt a connection forming between them, and he wanted to learn more about her. Jaguar Paw's curiosity was piqued, and he tried to communicate with her in his own language again. He pointed at himself and said his name slowly and clearly. "Jaguar-Paw," he said, hoping she might recognize his name.

"...Balam.." She repeated in his language, recognizing that one word. Then, in her own language once more. "Jaguar? Your name is Jaguar-something?" She mused to herself, the irony not lost on her. With a little chuckle she shifted to show her side where her shirt had been pulled up. There was a tattoo spanning the smooth skin there of a roaring jaguar in photo accurate detail, unlike anything capable of being tattooed in this time. "Jaguar, Balam-- right?"

Jaguar-Paw's eyes widened as Sara repeated his name in his own language, calling him 'Balam.' Then he watched as she pointed to her tattoo, a detailed and lifelike rendering of a roaring jaguar that was unlike anything he had ever seen. He looked back at her and nodded in understanding, a small smile forming on his face. "Yes, yes! You understand." He couldn't help but admire the tattoo, it was so incredibly detailed and realistic.

In a moment of excitement, he scooted closer to her, his eyes never leaving the tattoo on her side. He reached out a hand and pointed at the tattoo, his fingers tracing the outline of the jaguar. "What is this? How did you get it? It looks real, like a real jaguar." he asked curiously, forgetting momentarily about the language barrier.

She shivered at the feeling of his touch on her skin, goosebumps raised in response. However gentle he was being, it still reminded her of the various bruises that were hidden by her torn T-shirt and purposefully ripped jeans. She shuddered and tried not to think about how the other warrior's hands had felt on her, their bruising grip and curious gropes as they tied her up. "I wonder if they ran out of room on the women's pole.." She murmured, looking over at the women from his village who were all tied together and held in a different part of the camp. The sad, oppressive energy of the enslaved caused a knot in her stomach.

"...Hey, Jaguar." She whispered after a few hours had passed. "I'm going to try to escape...but I need your help. Will you come with me?" She knew he didn't understand her but she just hoped that he could some how tell she *wanted* to talk to him, and that would be enough incentive to help when the time came.

Jaguar-Paw noticed the shiver that ran through her body as he touched her skin, and he could see the goosebumps rise in response. He saw the bruises and marks on her skin that were hidden beneath her torn T-shirt and torn jeans, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and anger at whoever had hurt her.

As the hours passed and Sara whispered to him, he listened intently, trying to understand her words. Despite the language barrier, he could tell that she wanted to talk to him and wanted his help with something. He nodded vigorously in response. "Yes, yes! I help you.”

A large smile broke out across her face and she nodded along with him. "Okay, okay..." She reached her arms behind her and felt into the back pocket of her pants, she managed to grip her small folded pocket knife. It was wood inlay and inconspicuous enough that the warriors hadn't cared enough to take it from her. Just an odd smooth chunk of wood at first sight.

She dropped the knife by Jaguar Paw and hoped he would be able to figure out how to open it quickly. "You can cut the ties while they're not looking..."

When he saw the smile form on her face, he knew that he had made the right decision. As she reached into her pocket, he watched intently, unsure of what to expect. When she produced a small folded knife, his eyes widened in surprise. He recognized it as a potential tool for escape.

Carefully, he picked up the knife and examined it, feeling the weight and texture in his hands. He tried to figure out how to open it, and after a moment of fiddling with it, he was able to unfold the small blade.

He looked back at Sara with a look of determination, ready to cut their ties. He waited until the warriors were distracted and not looking in their direction before he slowly slid the blade against the twine that bound their wrists together. He worked quickly and carefully, trying not to make any noise or attract attention.

As the ropes slackened, he felt his heart racing with adrenaline. He looked at Sara and nodded, signaling that he was ready to make a run for it. He knew that they didn't have much time and that they needed to act fast before the warriors noticed their escape.

She got up quickly, prepared to run and practically shaking with a potent mixture of anxiety and excitement. But-Sara turned back and looked at the other slaves, still tied up. She couldn't just *leave* them...but they didn't have time to untie every person. Turning to Jaguar Paw, she held out her hand for the knife. "We at least have to leave it with them--"

As Sara got up quickly, ready to run, Jaguar-Paw noticed the look of anxiety and excitement on her face. But then he saw her hesitation as she looked back at the other slaves, still tied up. He realized what she was thinking and nodded in understanding.

He handed her the knife, understanding that she wanted to leave it with the other slaves. "Yes, yes. We leave it for them," he agreed, knowing that every bit of help counted in their escape.

A warm smile lit up her face as she took the knife from him, and gave it next to a very tall and broad man from his village. Blunted took the blade and quickly began freeing himself without a backward glance and she decided that was her que to leave. Sara spun around, grabbing Jaguar Paw's hand as they took off into the jungle.

As they ran into the jungle, their hands tightly clasped together, they could hear the shouts of alarm from the warriors behind them. The trees and foliage whipped past them as they sprinted through the jungle, desperate to put as much distance between them and their captors as possible.

Jaguar-Paw's heart raced with excitement and fear as they ran together, their feet pounding against the jungle floor. But he felt reassured by Sara's hand in his, knowing that they were in this together.

They weaved through the dense foliage, avoiding obstacles and hazards as they ran. The air was hot and humid, making breathing difficult, but they didn't dare slow down or stop. They could hear the sound of warriors searching for them in the distance, shouting commands and calling out to each other.

As they continued their escape, Sara and Jaguar-Paw found themselves crossing a small stream. The water rushing over the rocks and around their feet helped to cover their tracks and make it harder for the warriors to follow. They waded through the stream, careful not to slip on the slick rocks, and emerged on the other side, still holding hands.

Even after they got to the other side, the two continued to walk until the sun started to set. At that point Sara froze and looked around. She knew they needed to find something that would qualify as shelter to spend the night. Desperately, she looked and him and reached out a hand to stop him. They needed a moment to think, a moment to plan...

A moment to try and figure out a better way to fucking communicate. Sara sighed and sat down heavily at the base of a tree. They *had* taken her cellphone, even though it was a useless smooth black and gray box to them. Maybe they thought it was some kind of obsidian mirror? She wasn't going to guess.

"Jaguar...Shit." She raked a hand through her hair, shaking her head. If only she had google translate or...Her eyes widened with an idea and she reached out her hand for his, waiting for if he would place it in her grasp.

Jaguar-Paw could sense the urgency and the importance of finding shelter for the night, but he also knew that they couldn't keep running indefinitely. As Sara stopped and reached out her hand to stop him, he halted mid-stride.

They both needed a moment to rest and plan their next steps. He could see the frustration and worry etched on her face as she sat down heavily at the base of a tree. He watched her closely as she raked her hand through her hair. He could tell that she was trying to come up with a plan.

When she reached out her hand for his, he didn't hesitate to take it in his own. He could feel the warmth of her palm against his skin and he could sense the desperation in her gesture. He waited patiently, wondering what she had in mind.

"Okay, I know this is going to be really weird.." She had never tried anything like this. Sara had always used her magic for either healing, evocations or party tricks...not to try and cross the barriers of time itself. She could feel Jaguar Paw's energy-- ancient and wild but also...just the same as any other person. It was both odd and a comfort and she quietly summoned her own energy to the palm of her hand.

The skin there began to heat up supernaturally and her dark eyes lowered to look at his mouth. Very gently, almost hesitantly she placed a hand on Jaguar Paw's cheek. Her stare pinned him in place, begging him not to move as she closed the distance between them and thought Hear me. Understand me and I wish to understand you.

It was a desperate plea to both her ancestors and her own patron goddess, the kiss meant to solidify the bond between them and affirm the spell. When she pulled back her eyes were wary...in fact, her whole body was tense with nerves. "...Did that work? Can you understand me?"

As Sara placed her hand on his cheek and leaned in towards him, Jaguar-Paw was taken aback by the unexpected gesture. But he could feel the heat of her skin against his and the intensity of her gaze as she looked into his eyes and silently pleaded with him.

He heard her words, not in spoken language, but in a kind of thought or feeling that passed between them. Hear me. Understand me, and I wish to understand you.

He could feel her desperate plea, the bond that was being formed between them, and the strange magic that was at play.

As they pulled away from each other, he looked into Sara's eyes, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. She had communicated with him, not through spoken language, but through the spell that she had cast.

He could feel the connection between them, the magic that was binding them together and allowing them to understand each other. "Yes," he said quietly, his voice rough and slightly dazed. "I understand you.”

The magic that Sara had worked was strong and powerful, and it had succeeded in bridging the language barrier between them. But it also had other effects, strengthening the bond between them, making them feel closer and more connected than ever before.

They were now tied together by more than just their shared escape from their captors. They had a deeper connection, an understanding that went beyond mere words. They could feel each other's thoughts and emotions, and they knew that they could rely on each other in ways they had never experienced before.

Sara sagged in relief against the tree and let out a shaky sigh, "That's good. Fuck. So...your name is Jaguar?"

She asked more casually now, sitting up and letting her legs rest after half a night of running through the jungle. It was so tempting to just curl up and sleep but she knew that they needed to keep going eventually.

Jaguar-Paw nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yes," he said, his voice still rough and deep. "My name is Jaguar-Paw."

He was still trying to process the strange magic that had allowed them to understand each other, but he was also glad to be able to communicate with her in a way that they both understood.

"What about you?" he asked, looking at her with curiosity. "What is your name?”

"Sara." She repeated from earlier. Now that they had stopped moving and the shouts of the pursuing warriors had faded to nothing more than the night time sounds of the jungle, she could feel the different aches and pains from when she'd tried to fight off the warriors settle in. "Do you know where we are?"

"Sara," he said again, committing her name to memory.

He looked around at their surroundings, taking in the sounds of the jungle at night. He could feel Sara's body relaxing as they sat there, and he could see the exhaustion in her eyes. He knew that she had been through a lot, and he could sense the pain that she was feeling.

"No," he said finally, shaking his head. "I don't know where we are. This is not my territory. We are deep in enemy territory.”

He looked around again, taking in the dense foliage and the unfamiliar sounds of the jungle. "We need to keep moving," he said, his voice firm. "We can't stay in one place for too long. The warriors will be searching for us, and we need to put as much distance between us and them as possible.” She nodded in agreement, taking a few deep breaths and summoning what was left of her strength so that they could continue on through the forest. At least she was wearing boots. Sara looked at Jaguar Paw suddenly a bit sheepish and reached out one hand to rest on his arm. "I understand. But first, are you okay? Are you injured?"

Jaguar-Paw felt a mix of surprise and gratitude as Sara reached out to touch his arm. He wasn't used to being asked if he was okay, or if he was injured, and it felt strange and unfamiliar to him.

"I am fine," he said gruffly, shrugging off her hand. He could feel the scrapes and bruises on his body from the fight earlier, but he was used to them. He was a warrior, after all, and pain was a constant companion.

"I can handle myself," he added, a note of defensiveness in his voice. He didn't want her to worry about him or waste energy on his injuries. She had her own injuries to deal with, and they needed to focus on their escape and survival.

He pushed himself up off the ground, wincing slightly as he put weight on his injured leg. He tried to hide the pain from her, not wanting her to see him as weak.

She followed after him, letting out a soft groan as her muscles protested. As a traveling artist she was used to standing outside all day in the hot sun, not running around in the jungle. They began walking again, looking for anything they could use as shelter. Sara noticed the way that Jaguar Paw favored his leg and kept close just in case he needed any help. When he stumbled over a fallen log she reached out and laid her hand on his arm.

"What are we looking for? I've...I've never been in the jungle this long."

Jaguar-Paw gritted his teeth as he stumbled over the fallen log. He had tried to hide the pain and weakness in his leg, but her hand on his arm reminded him that she had seen through his tough facade. He hated feeling weak and vulnerable, but he couldn't deny that her touch gave him a strange sense of comfort.

"We are looking for shelter," he said gruffly. "Somewhere we can rest and hide from the warriors. A cave, a tree hollow, anything that can provide us with some protection.”

Her dark eyes scanned the surrounding area, now knowing what she was looking for. A tree, split in two in the distance with just enough space for the two of them to fit inside seemed to stand out and she locked onto it. Her arm came up to point and she asked. "Like that?"

Jaguar-Paw followed her gaze and saw the split tree that she was pointing to. He nodded in agreement, his expression serious.

"Yes," he said. "That could work. It's not ideal, but it's better than nothing. Come on, let's move quickly."

He took her hand in his and began leading her towards the tree, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any signs of danger.

As they approached the tree, Jaguar-Paw could see that it was even bigger up close than it had looked from a distance. The split in the trunk was large enough for them both to fit inside, and it provided some cover from the elements and any prying eyes.

He motioned for Sara to enter first, wanting to ensure that she was safe before he followed after.

She went in, prepared to sit then paused. If they were going to stop and rest there they she should try and give them some more cover. Exiting the tree hollow, she began to pick up long fronts of foliage and drape them across the opening. It was a poor makeshift door but would do it's job of hiding them from view. Sara paused for a moment, admiring her work before coming back inside and finally sitting down, the heavy sigh of relief palpable between them.

"So...your leg. Can I see?"

As the foliage settled into place, creating a makeshift door and hiding them from view, Jaguar-Paw watched her appreciatively. He could see the exhaustion etched on her face, but he was also impressed by her resourcefulness.

He grunted in response to her question about his leg. "It's nothing," he said stubbornly. "Just a scratch."

He knew that his leg was more than just a scratch, but he was too proud to admit it. He didn't want to appear weak in front of her.

But the pain in his leg was gnawing at him, and he couldn't ignore it any longer. He let out a soft grunt of pain as he shifted his weight to try and get comfortable. He knew that she had already seen through his tough guy act, and he couldn't keep hiding his injury from her.

"Bullshit." She whispered, noticing the way that his brow shined with sweat even in the moonlight. As quietly and smoothly as she could, she came to sit next to him and gently rested her hand on his arm, completely contrary to the tone she had just used a moment before. "You can trust me, we need each other. Right?"

As Sara sat next to him and placed her hand gently on his arm, Jaguar-Paw felt a strange mix of emotions welling up inside him. There was a part of him that was touched by her concern and care, a part of him that wanted to put aside his pride and lean on her. But there was also a part of him that was still hesitant to show weakness.

He let out a deep sigh, his stubbornness warring with his practicality. "Fine," he muttered gruffly. "You can look at it.”

He shifted his weight, wincing as he did so, and offered his injured leg out towards her. The pain was getting worse, but he tried to hide it by gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.

There was a deep bruise, and she could see where the muscle was tense and quivering. Perhaps a terrible sprain or a torn ligament? She couldn't be sure. As gently as she could, she wrapped her hand around his ankle and tried to pull his leg straight. Testing the movement.

"How did this happen? Obviously, during your capture, but how...what happened?"

As Sara gently pulled his leg straight, Jaguar-Paw let out a low growl of pain. The feeling of her hands on his ankle was both soothing and disconcerting at the same time. He wasn't used to being touched so gently, and it made him feel vulnerable.

"It happened during the raid," he said gruffly, his voice laced with pain. "When the warriors attacked, I was fighting them off, and one of them hit me with his club. I didn't have time to avoid the blow.”

She winced in sympathy and rubbed a spot on her arm where she'd also been hit, albeit lighter. They probably hadn't been using their full force with her, several strong male warriors against one woman. Gently, she splayed her hand over his injured leg.. she was already so tired from the earlier enchantment, but if healing him gave them better odds, she would manage.

"I can heal this...if you want?" She asked, looking up into his eyes nervously.

Jaguar-Paw felt a wave of both gratitude and hesitation as she placed her hand on his injured leg. The idea of someone healing him, especially a woman, was strange and foreign to him. In his culture, healing was traditionally left to the shamans and elders, not to outsiders. But he could sense her sincerity and her desire to help him, and he couldn't deny that the pain in his leg was getting worse by the hour.

He looked into her eyes, his expression guarded. "Can you really heal it?" he asked gruffly.

She met his gaze with a confident nod. "I can."

Healing life energy began to pool in the palm of her hand, and it heated up similar to how it had earlier while casting a spell. Sara's eyes drifted closed as she felt the broken blood vessels and bruised muscles of his leg. She willed them to mend quicker, visualizing the damage disappearing like a blossoming flower-- leaving the area new and healthy.

She let out a ragged breath and sagged forward so her forehead nearly touched the ground. "Thank you, Ix'chel." She murmured to her patron, exhausted but grateful for her gifts.

As Sara placed her hand on his leg and began to heal him, Jaguar-Paw could feel a warm, soothing sensation spreading through his injured limb. The pain began to ease, and the stiffness in his muscles loosened. But he could also see the toll that the healing was taking on her, how her eyes closed and her body sagged forward in exhaustion.

He watched her as she murmured her thanks to her patron, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and guilt. He was touched by her willingness to help him, but he also felt uncomfortable with the idea of being in debt to her.

He wanted to say something, to express his gratitude for her help, but he wasn't used to expressing his emotions in such a way. Instead, he simply grunted and flexed his now healed leg. "It's better," he said gruffly. "You really did it.”

Picking herself back up felt like trying to scrape dried gum off of the bottom of a desk. Her body felt like lead, and she was happy they had already found somewhere to rest because she didn't think she could run or move if she tried. She rested heavily against the dried wood, not even caring if bugs got in her hair.

"You're welcome." She offered with a small smile. "I'm glad I could help.”

As she sank against the wall, her body heavy with exhaustion, Jaguar-Paw couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at her condition. She had worked so hard, first to communicate with him and now to heal his leg. He could see how tired she looked, how her body seemed to sag from exhaustion.

He couldn't help but feel responsible, as if her exhaustion was somehow his fault. He shifted, making himself more comfortable. "You should rest," he said gruffly, his voice quieter than usual.

"You've done enough." He added, his usual gruffness softened by a hint of concern. He didn't want her to push herself any harder than she already had. "I'll keep watch.”

Sara didn't have it in her to argue. She simply shifted into a more comfortable position and tried her best to relax. But her mind wouldn't turn off and she found herself turning towards Jaguar Paw. Her large dark eyes were curious in the dark.

"Will you tell me about yourself?"

As she turned towards him, her eyes wide and curious in the dark, Jaguar-Paw felt a mix of surprise and unease. He wasn't used to talking about himself, or his past. His people valued strength and bravery above all else, and sharing personal details was seen as a sign of weakness.

But there was something about her that made him want to open up, to share a little bit of his world with her.

"What do you want to know?" he asked gruffly, shifting to make himself more comfortable.

"Everything." She said honestly. Before ending up in this time, she had been fascinated by the Maya. Now that she was there, though...

"How old are you?" She began, her eyes tracing over his features. He was obviously an adult, but beyond that, she couldn't tell.

Jaguar-Paw felt a wave of defensiveness as she asked about his age. In his culture, age was seen as a sign of wisdom and strength, and revealing his age could be seen as a sign of weakness.

But he took a deep breath and tried to let his defensiveness go. He could sense her genuine interest, and he didn't want to shut her out completely.

"Thirty-three," he said gruffly, his eyes meeting hers in the dark.

"Oh. Nice." She stretched, her jean clad legs reached across the space of the hollow for a moment before she curled back up. "I'm twenty-eight."

Her expression turned serious, and she asked in a quiet voice. "Do you know why they wanted us? Who were they?"

As she asked about their captors, Jaguar-Paw's expression darkened. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, feeling the anger and frustration rise up inside him at the memory of the raid on his village.

"They are the Chontal," he growled, his voice full of disdain. "They are a tribe of savages and cowards. They raid other villages and take captives to sell as slaves. That's why they wanted us.”

Jaguar-Paw paused for a moment, his jaw clenching as he thought about the raid. "They attacked at dawn, taking us by surprise. We fought back as hard as we could, but they outnumbered us. I was captured trying to protect my family."

He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze lowering to the ground. "The women are prized as slaves for the men to do with as they please," he continued, his voice tight with anger. "And the men are sold to the highest bidder.”

Her eyes widened in shock and she searched her brain for why that sounded familiar. She was sure there was something in the writings of Bernal Díaz del Castillo about the Yokot'anob. The Chontal. Her blood turned to ice. The reality of her situation fully sinking in.

"Shit. I'm so fucked.”

Jaguar-Paw watched her expression change, seeing the horror and realization cross her face as she processed his words. He could sense her terror and fear, and it only seemed to heighten his own anger and frustration at their situation.

"Don't worry," he said gruffly, trying to reassure her. "We'll find a way out of this. We'll get out of this alive and find our way back home."

But the truth was, he wasn't sure if he could keep that promise.

Her lips thinned, and she debated whether or not to tell him the whole truth of her situation. He had already seen her use magic, what point was there in trying to hide it?

"...I don’t think I'll ever be able to go home." She whispered sadly.

Jaguar-Paw's gaze snapped back to hers at her words, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "What do you mean, you won't be able to go home?" he asked gruffly, a hint of concern in his voice.

He had assumed that they were both captives, taken against their will. The idea that she might not be able to go back home was a strange and troubling concept to him.

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to push down the feeling of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him. His own village was in ruins, his family likely dead or captured...but she was from a different world, a world that he couldn't even begin to understand. Would she ever be able to return to it? And if not, what would that mean for her future?

He wanted to ask more, to probe deeper into her situation and find out more about her world, but the words stuck in his throat.

"So, I'm going to sound crazy but I need you to trust me." She prefaced. With great effort she struggled back up into a sitting position. Her hands shook a little as she raised her shirt again and showed him her tattoo once more. "You remember looking at this, right?"

Jaguar-Paw's eyes widened as she showed him her tattoo again. He remembered seeing it before, though it still confused and perplexed him. Without thinking, he reached out and traced the design with his finger, feeling the smooth skin beneath his calloused fingertips.

"I remember," he said gruffly, his voice a mix of curiosity and wariness. "What about it?”

"So the reason it's such a detailed image of a jaguar is because the year that I'm from, that's a very simple thing to do. Just expensive." She explained, trying to illustrate her truth with something tangible. So that he couldn't deny what she said.

"I'm from the future. Like, a few hundred years in the future." She explained quietly, her eyes searching his face for his reaction.

Jaguar-Paw's mind immediately rejected her words. It was too absurd, too outlandish to believe. People from the future? It was like something out of a dream or a legend, not reality.

"Future..." he repeated, his voice disbelieving. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "That's not possible. No one can travel through time.”

Her lips thinned and she nodded, realizing that he might not be ready to hear such a thing. Instead of pushing her point, Sara collapsed back down against the ground. She was too tired to argue with him anyways. Her eyes began to drift closed and she struggled to stay conscious. "Yup. Gotcha.. "

She'd let him come up with his own explanation then. Sara sighed and stretched out once more, beginning to fall asleep.

Jaguar-Paw watched her struggle to stay awake, his mind still trying to make sense of her words. He knew she was tired, exhausted both physically and mentally, but he also knew that their situation was far from over.

He shifted closer to her, feeling a strange need to protect her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Get some sleep," he said gruffly. "We'll talk more in the morning.”

She nodded and drifted into a deep, solid healing sleep. It didn't matter that she'd never slept on the bare ground before, Sara slept so heavily that it was like she was back at home in her plush bed. But even then, shortly after the sun began to rise and the moon had fully set she stirred and then jolted awake. The events of the past twenty four hours came rushing back to her and filled her with adrenaline.

Jaguar-Paw was awake before she stirred, his senses hyper-alert and vigilant in the small space. He had spent the night keeping watch, his ears and eyes straining to catch any hint of movement outside the hollow.

As soon as she shifted and jolted awake, his eyes snapped to her face. He had been waiting for her to wake up, wanting to continue their conversation from the night before.

"Morning," he grunted, his voice gruff and tired. "Did you sleep well?”

Sara turned toward Jaguar-Paw and nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She felt like she'd spent a week camping with no supplies...but it was still infinitely better than being captured as a slave. "Yeah, I'm good. How about you? How are you holding up?"

She felt bad that he'd spent the entire time awake. Sara stretched and sat up more, preparing to take a turn keeping watch so he might also be able to rest for awhile. "How long was I asleep?"

Jaguar-Paw grunted in response to her question, feeling the exhaustion seeping into his bones. "I'm fine," he said gruffly, shifting his position to ease the stiffness in his muscles. "I've had worse."

He watched as she sat up and prepared to take her turn keeping watch, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. She had exhaustion written all over her face, and he knew she needed more rest. But he also knew that the Chontal could find them at any moment.

"You slept all night," he said, his voice rough with fatigue.

She grimaced and ran a hand through her tangled hair, beginning to systematically take out the knots one by one. "I'm sorry. Healing takes it out of me."

She wasn't used to explaining how her abilities worked but figured she owed him as much. He had helped her escape. They were in this together now.

Jaguar-Paw watched as she worked through the knots in her hair, his gaze tracing over her slender fingers as they moved through the tangles with practiced ease. He had never really paid attention to how delicate a woman's fingers could be.

As she explained the toll that healing took on her, he grunted in understanding. It made sense that using the magics she had would drain her energy. But that also meant that she wasn't at full strength. "How long before you're recovered?" he asked gruffly.

She appreciated how straight to the point he always was. It helped keep her calm and focused. "I'm already mostly back to normal. By tonight it will be like nothing ever happened."

It was unusual for her magic to work that quickly but she could already tell the difference. She felt stronger, and more awake than she had since being captured. It was like the jungle...this time had affected her magic and amplified it somehow.

Jaguar-Paw grunted in acknowledgment at her answer, grateful that she was recovering quickly. But he knew that they couldn't stay in this hollow forever. The Chontal could find them at any moment, and they needed to keep moving if they wanted to survive.

As they sat in silence, he couldn't help but glance over at her again, his eyes tracing over the curves of her body. He tried to ignore the strange feeling that rose up inside him at the sight of her.

He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze away from her, trying to focus on something else. He didn't understand why this woman had such an effect on him. She was so different from any woman he had ever met before, with her strange magic and her soft, delicate appearance. It was like she was from another world.

Suddenly, he remembered her words from the night before. She had said that she wasn't from this time, that she was from the future. He turned back to her, a frown on his face. "You said something last night," he said gruffly. "About being from the from the future. Is that really true?" he asked, his voice a mix of doubt and curiosity. He didn't want to believe such a thing to be possible, but everything about her was so strange and unfamiliar. He had to know the truth.

Sara's lips thinned and she debated telling him. He hadn't reacted the best the night before but she supposed that was understandable. It did sound crazy, even to her own ears. She sighed and began to braid her hair now that most of the tangles had been removed. The atmosphere of the rainforest meant that she would never be able to be rid of all of them as the humidity worked against her.

"Yes. I was telling the truth." She met his eyes, even though everything in her wanted to look away. "If you can feel our connection-- you'll know. It's true."

Jaguar-Paw's frown deepened as she confirmed her previous statement. Time travel? It sounded like the stuff of legends and myths, not something that could be real. But the conviction in her voice was hard to deny.

He shifted, still struggling to process this new information. He could indeed feel a connection between them, a strange pull that he couldn't quite explain. Could that be the proof he was looking for?

He let out a deep breath, his eyes still locked on hers. "What does that mean, this connection between us?" he asked gruffly.

"It's a side affect of the spell I cast so you could understand me...I didn't realize it would connect us quite so deeply." She explained, a blush rising to her cheeks.

Jaguar-Paw's eyes widened at her explanation. So it was a side effect of her magic, not something more. He felt a pang of disappointment in his chest, but he pushed it down, reminding himself that this woman was a stranger, and not someone he should be having such thoughts about.

He forced a gruff nod in response to her words, trying to hide the effect they were having on him. "So it'll go away eventually?" he asked, his voice rough.

At that question she had to look away, her eyebrows coming together as she tried to find the words to explain what she knew. "...Perhaps. I've never done a spell like that before. I've never time traveled before. I know it sounds crazy-- I feel crazy." She explained, desperately hoping he believed her.

Jaguar-Paw watched as she struggled to find the words to explain her situation. He could feel her desperation, her need for him to believe her. He knew that she was telling the truth, even if it seemed like something straight out of a story.

"It does sound crazy," he admitted gruffly, his eyes still locked on her face. "But I believe you."

He paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. "What happens now? If this connection doesn't go away?”

Her full lips pursed as she thought about all of the possible consequences. When she focused, she could feel him there in the back of her mind. His thoughts and feelings where like the softest whisper-- it took only a little bit of effort to turn up that dial until she could feel what he felt. Can you hear me? She thought at him curiously, not sure how far the connection went.

Jaguar-Paw's eyes widened as he suddenly felt a strange sensation in his mind. It was like a soft whisper, barely there but somehow still clear. He focused on the feeling, trying to figure out where it was coming from.

And then he heard her voice, clear as day in his mind. Can you hear me?

He let out a start of surprise, his eyes snapping back to her face. "I can hear you," he said gruffly. "You're in my head.”

Her heart dropped but she could understand why he would want that. Sara looked down at her hands, the lines of her palms and broken nails. "I'm not sure how to break the connection, if we can while I'm still..." Alive. She finished silently, knowing now that he would be able to hear the thought. It was an odd, deep connection that she had never shared with anyone. Great Mother, Ix'Chel, what have you done? She lamented.

"I promise I'll find a way to fix it once we're safe." She swore, a fierce determination in her expression.

Jaguar-Paw's heart clenched as he caught her silent thought, sensing the despair behind her words. But the determination in her expression reassured him, and he found himself believing her promise.

He let out a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil of emotions inside him. He had never expected to find himself connected to someone like this, especially not a woman from the future. But here they were, forced to rely on each other both emotionally and physically.

"Okay," he grumbled, his voice gruff. "But you better keep that promise.”

[kiryll-antiqua]

Ring

Among Kiryll’s gifts was what appeared to be an Eorzea-styled ring of Eternal Bonding, attuned to an aetheryte installed in a closet in the Imperial Palace.

Only used once, or perhaps twice, although, if he remembered right, three times, or maybe a fourth? 

It was a way that was devised to give Kiryll a private audience with Lord Varis at his leisure. It came with a letter of apology after they had parted from their first time together. Since Varis had no way of using such a thing himself, and Kiryll could just teleport anywhere he wanted once he got access to a place, so it seemed discreet enough.

Kiryll had had another such ring once, which was exchanged as more of a way of helping a friend get a leg up on getting her start in adventuring than any kind of romantic encounter. He hoped she was well, wherever she was, for they had both moved on at least twice from each other's circles by now.

The idea of a marriage ceremony was a little skewed in his own mind. His own parents had been married all his life, but his mother's safety had depended upon his father keeping it a secret, so things like ceremonies mattered very little to him in terms of romance. He himself as an escort man found himself on the wrong side of marriage vows quite a lot, usually by accident, usually finding out during or after his services were being performed.

During his first few weeks with Varis, getting to talk about Lady Mia and how devastated he was at her loss, left him in a state of disinterest for marrying again, yet here this letter was, and there this ring was.

Their letters back and forth were always circular. 

I miss you, I love you, I need you, please stop what you’re doing and be with me, sent back and forth to each other, with more or less words added depending on the mood, with various levels of sorrow or contempt added on.

Kiryll couldn’t tell if his fixation was worse, or if Varis’s fixation was worse, but Kiryll figured that if Varis were truly off his rocker, he did have the means to do something intense, like have him kidnapped if he wanted, but it obviously wasn’t what he wanted. And that’s what kept Kiryll’s thoughts swirling back to him.

The first time he tried it, he didn’t even think it would work, but it actually did, and he immediately teleported back home. He had no idea if anyone even noticed he had tried.

The second time he tried it, it was the middle of the night, and he crept out into the room, trying to be as silent as he could. Varis had a habit of sleeping on his side, and usually clutched something close to his chest, usually a pillow or a blanket when a partner was not available. Kiryll placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to wake him, but he was completely out. This would have been the perfect time to perhaps murder him while his guards thought his room completely secure, but that was never what he wanted. Unsure how he would take to waking up next to him, Kiryll wrote him a note instead. “Will call again tomorrow a little earlier.”

The third time was a little more fun, and could have very well counted as the first or only time it was used to its intended effect.

The fourth time was when it fell out of its hiding place as Kiryll was moving out of Ul’dah, after he had helped defeat the Endsinger. He had no idea what he was thinking, but he tried it and found himself in a freefall in Babil Tower, which he supposed was better than finding the room in a state of desecration initiated by Zenos, but it was still upsetting, but not so upsetting that he couldn’t quickly chant Return before hitting some grated metal platform.

Ul’dah continued on, as bright as ever, not having a single clue what he was going through, and for the most part, it was good that it didn’t, and it would be pretty terrible if it acknowledged his grief, because then a lot of people would know about it, but it was too hot outside, and too bright, and too noisy for his tastes, so he just made for his apartment and continued to pack.

[raven-awed]

What He Noticed First

Ominis Gaunt x fem reader/MC

Fluff/angst

Summary: Ominis finds himself dealing with a lot of complicated feelings, especially when he realizes he has a crush on the new fifth year.

A/n: This started out as a cute fluffy idea but turns a little angsty. I’m thinking about writing a second part.

*not my picture

Vanilla, Ominis noted to himself about the new fifth year student. She smelled like vanilla. He wasn’t sure if it was her shampoo, perfume, or lotion, but every time she shifted or moved in her seat next to him the sweet smell of vanilla floated in the air.

Professor Ronen asked a question while Ominis was lost in thought, but y/n’s hand shot up in the air, answering the professor’s question with a soft and delicate voice.

“Excellent,” the Charms professor applauded before diving further into his lecture.

During class, Ominis made several other observations about y/n, other than her enticing scent, she was bright, eager to learn, and quick with occasional witty comments that she’d whisper to him or the student sitting at her other side.

“And that concludes our lesson,” Professor Ronen announced.

Ominis furrowed his brow, class had seemed to go by in a blur. Had he really been so fixated on the new girl that he hadn’t hardly heard a single thing Professor Ronen had said.

“See you next charms class,” y/n said to him as she rose from her seat.

“Yeah,” Ominis replied, still slightly dazed. “Goodbye.”

Even as she left the classroom, the sweet scent of vanilla lingered near him. Without much hurry, he gathered his things and took out his wand leaving with the rest of the stragglers to his next class.

Over the past several weeks, he had become better acquainted with y/n. He began to recognize her by other little details than just the way she smelled, like by the rhythm of her walking or the sound of her quietly humming to herself as she explored the castle.

When the opportunity would present itself, he sought out reasons to chat with her, even for simple things like discussing homework and how she was adjusting to Hogwarts.

He eventually learned more about her and her life, although he had remained reserved about sharing about himself. He’d rather listen to her talk anyways, than drudge up any unpleasantness.

It didn’t take long before Ominis began to associate anything made with vanilla with y/n. He’d be in Honey Dukes or in the great hall and smell something similar and a small smile would form on his face without fail.

He hadn’t really noticed himself until Sebastian had pointed it out at Hogsmeade. Fortunately, Sebastian hadn’t made the full connection, but seemed utterly bewildered over Ominis smiling over cakes.

At first, Ominis didn’t really think much of it, so what if he smiled everytime he smelled vanilla or that he’d feel a little flutter in his gut when he she’d walk into the room. She was his new friend, that was it… He denied to himself that it was anything else.

It wasn’t until one day in potions when he was faced with tangible evidence. He could hear all the girls giggling and buzzing with excitement as Professor Sharpe wrote on the chalkboard.

Sebastian groaned, “What a waste of time.”

“What is it?” Ominis quietly asked him.

“Apparently, we’re learning about-“

“Amortentia,” Professor Sharpe stated flatly, obviously not excited about the day’s lesson either. “A powerful love potion, and while we will not be brewing any in class, it is important to learn about its features and effects, if only to not become a recipient of its effects.”

Professor Sharpe moved to a potion station at the front of the class and asked all the students to gather around. “Amortentia induces the recipient to become infatuated or even obsessed, which could lead to some rather dangerous outcomes.”

The potions professor lifted the lid of the cauldron, “Amortentia smells differently to each person, particularly things that each individual is attracted to.”

Ominis stumbled forward a bit as the other students closed in closer to the cauldron. Standing almost in front of it now, all he could smell was vanilla, it was overwhelming to all his other senses, almost as if he was floating in a sea of it. Ominis bit his bottom lip tightly, his teeth digging into his skin as he realized why.

Finally, Professor Sharpe replaced the lid and Ominis felt like he could breathe again. His shoulders slumped as he stood there.

“You alright?” Sebastian pressed. “Look like you might throw up.

“I-I’m fine,” Ominis said, rubbing his face. “Think I’m just tired.”

Once class was dismissed, Ominis fled to the Slytherin common room. He flopped onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. How was he supposed to act around y/n now?

As the evening approached, Ominis remained in bed, afraid to go downstairs to the great hall, in case he’d run into y/n.

Dread filled him at the thought. He was suddenly self conscious about everything, what if said the wrong thing, or worse, what if y/n figured out how he felt and rejected him?

Eventually, he fell asleep still dressed in his uniform. It wasn’t a restful sleep, he woke in the morning cranky and irritable. He still had no solution for his crush problem other than avoiding y/n as much as possible.

He was the last one to leave the common room, he was hoping most people by now were done with breakfast, so he could at least eat in peace.

As expected, he wasn’t greeted by the usual noise and chatter, just a few students finishing their meals before heading for class. Sitting alone at the far end of the Slytherin table, Ominis served himself toast and a glass of pumpkin juice.

He stilled midbite as he heard footsteps approach.

“Relax,” Sebastian yawned, sitting next to Ominis. “It’s just me.”

“You slept in rather late,” Ominis commented, swallowing. “What were you up to last night?” He raised a brow, waiting for his friend’s reply.

“Nothing,” Sebastian shrugged.

Ominis frowned at Sebastian, they had been friends long enough for him to know that it was not nothing.

“I was just exploring the Restricted Section,” he admitted.

“Again? Are you trying to get expelled?”

“I’m not going to get expelled,” Sebastian sighed, playing with his food.

They parted ways after breakfast, heading to their respective morning classes. Being a few minutes late served Ominis well, he slipped in quietly and took an empty seat in the back row.

Typically, he sat near the front with y/n right beside him, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to act normally around her. Still, even sitting far from her, his stomach still flipped every time she spoke up to answer a question or giggle with whoever she was next to her.

He always assumed people were exaggerating when they spoke of infatuation and love. But this ache in his chest was practically indescribable. He yearned to be near her while simultaneously feeling nauseous at the thought of being close to her.

How does anyone handle feelings like these with any poise?

He recalled all the times he chuckled at the misery of others. Listening to other poor souls stumbling over their words or saying foolish things or behaving awkwardly simply because they were in the presence of someone they liked.

Now he was just another one of those bumbling idiots, but worse, he was too scared to even talk to her anymore. He felt like a coward.

When class ended, he tried to leave first. As he walked through the threshold, he could hear y/n calling after him and rushing towards him.

On one hand, he loved hearing her call his name, but he was also struck with anxiety, his palms already beginning sweating as he tried to walk faster.

“Hey,” she said, having caught up to him. “Are you alright?”

Ominis could hear the concern in her voice, he felt like he could melt on the spot, especially as she tugged on the sleeve of his robe to get him to stop and talk to her.

“I’m fine,” he answered sharper than he had meant to.

“Are you sure?” She pressed. “Sebastian said you weren’t feeling well yesterday and I didn’t see you this morning at breakfast.”

Ominis lowered his brow, “When did you and Sebastian talk?”

“Last night,” she answered in a small voice, while his voice rose.

“When, last night?”

“I really shouldn’t say more,” y/n replied softly. “I just.. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His jaw clenched tightly, how had it escaped his attention how close you and Sebastian had become, and why did it bother him so much?

He wasn’t stupid, this meant you and Sebastian had been in the Restricted Section, together, for some reason unknown to him.

Ominis sighed, his body relaxing a bit, “I’m fine y/n, really I am. I appreciate your concern.”

“I’ll see you later?” She asked.

Ominis nodded.

A couple of days passed, uneventfully for Ominis and the other students. Y/n seemed quite busy as of late, which was both a blessing and a curse. It was easier to avoid her if she wasn’t around, but it felt like ages since he had last spoken to her.

It was late at night and Ominis found himself unable to sleep. Thoughts of y/n and his troubles plagued him as he explored the quiet and empty halls of Hogwarts.

Despite his worries, he figured it would be best to get everything out in the open and go ahead and tell her how he felt. He simply needed to find the right time and place. And just like that the right place came to mind, The Undercroft.

It would provide the privacy that he desperately needed in order to make his confession. Even with Hogwarts being as vast as it is, there weren’t many places one could find absolute privacy, always a student or ghost coming in and out at all hours of the day. But in the Undercroft, they could be alone.

Without thinking, he started walking towards the hidden entrance. It had been some time since he had last gone down there.

His mind was already envisioning what he’d like to do or what he could do. The Undercroft wasn’t exactly the coziest place, but there were a few things he could do to make it more comfortable: more lights, maybe a few chairs or a blanket. He could even plan a little picnic or something.

He groaned to himself, “That might be a little too much.”

As Ominis approached the secret passage, he heard the distinct sounds of the gears twisting and passage opening as someone came out.

“Hello Sebastian,” He greeted, but quickly realized his mistake. “Wait.”

The familiar sweet scent of vanilla hung in the air giving y/n away. “Y/n?” He questioned, listening closely.

“Hello Ominis, I-“

“Did Sebastian bring you here?” He snapped, unable to disguise his anger or hurt.

“I won’t say a word about The Undercroft to anyone, I swear,” she pleaded.

“That’s not- That’s not the issue,” he murmured defeatedly. “Everything is ruined.”

He had wanted to be the one to show her, it was his secret afterall. And he feared that y/n and Sebastian were becoming something more than just friends.

Why else would Sebastian share such an important secret with her? Or help her sneak into the library?

He didn’t want to have to compete with oldest and dearest friend, and even if he did, he already felt like he had lost the battle. Ominis hated having all these conflicting emotions, especially the jealousy that he was currently overwhelmed by.

It didn’t seem fair. In a blink of an eye, Sebastian had seemingly won y/n over, even if both of him and her didn’t see it like that, yet, but to Ominis it was inevitable that they’d fall for each other.

“Ominis,” y/n spoke gently. “What’s ruined?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shook his head.

Without saying another word, Ominis retreated alone back to the common room.

[thecameronchronicles]

You Should Be Thanking Me

TW: Smut. Language. Degrading Language. Enemies to Lovers!

*This is obviously when he is not with Elaine, but also no hate to her! <3

SUMMARY: You hate him. Everything about him gets under your skin. At least it did until one night at a wrap party…

WORD COUNT: 2700

*Requested*

You Should Be Thanking Me

You couldn’t bring yourself to watch how every girl who met him simply threw themselves at him, all for a character he portrayed on screen. You fought the urge to constantly invade these interactions with the truth of how you really saw him. And yet you did not want to ruin the experience for the fans of the show that also served as a means to a paycheck for you. 

Even if you didn’t share scenes with him, you were forced to be at his beckon call as an assistant, just a stepping stone to the job you truly wanted as a producer, and one he made difficult to achieve as he pushed every single one of your buttons. It led for your reputation to feel these effects as you weren’t able to be in his presence for longer than sixty seconds without bickering about something so stupid that it sent everyone in earshot to roll their eyes in annoyance. And yet, you had a reason to celebrate as you would be free of him for at least another four months as you’d just helped finish wrapping the latest season of Outer Banks. 

You were already well into your second wine cooler by the time he arrived at the wrap party, the urge for something stronger worsening, as his eyes faded into frustration when finding you there as well. So without a care of judgement, you took the entire bottle of the closest liquor and made your way to the opposite side of the establishment to try and forget how enduring him was part of your job. If not for the fact your dreams were so close within reach, you would have allowed yourself the peace of his absence by resigning. And yet, you just couldn't give him the satisfaction. 

The morning after the wrap party had you stumbling through an unfamiliar hotel room that was a connection to the room in which the festivities had been held the night before. Evidence of released inhibitions created obstacles to your discombobulation until you were able to move successfully into the bathroom. With a renewed sense of self granted by a splash of water, your eyes fixated on the sight of a specific t-shirt set over your torso-a shirt you knew belonged to HIM. He’d worn it far too often that it had faded to such a degree it was difficult to tell its original colors, and it was now covering your modesty as the details of the last night remained fuzzy, you curved around the corner to find him sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Running his fingers through his hair and extending his wingspan into a stretch, your eyes caught onto his muscles flexing to his movements and those dimples drawing attention to his handsome features. It was one thing you could never deny about him, which made him even more intolerable-even if you would rather die before having him hear it from your lips, he was painfully attractive. But it didn’t make up for the way he’d treated you with such cold distance and cruel remarks, picking a fight just for the sake of it. And it was the reminder of this that brought you to look at him in disgust as he rose to his feet. 

“Most people would just say ‘thank you’, you know…” He shot in your direction as you sharpened your gaze in his direction. 

“For WHAT?” A look of amusement now came across his expression. 

“I knew you were drunk, but I didn’t think you were blackout drunk…I’m insulted…” He feigned injury by taking a hand to his chest as you suddenly noted a few details that sent your stomach into knots. The disheveled sheets on the bed, a pair of handcuffs set just off of the corner, and your lack of panties left all details pointing towards one thing. 

“We…we-you…we…” You couldn’t even attempt to bring the words to the surface as it was too unnatural for such words to exist. But all your attempts managed to do was widen his bemused expression. 

“Don’t worry, we used protection-” He teased as you hit hard against his chest, forcing him to spill the coffee he was attempting to make. 

“SERIOUSLY?!” He groaned, wiping the new stain caused from your shove from his pants before throwing up his hands. “Calm down, I didn’t fucking touch you so you can stop looking at me like that-”

“Then…Then why am I here?” He scoffed before pulling his phone to view. 

“Of all times you choose to be a jackass…” You muttered as he hesitated for a moment before pulling a video from the night before. As clear as day, your inhibitions were left at the mercy of the whiskey’s effects; your body forced in to him as you were relentlessly badgering him to ‘fuck the attitude out of you’, all while he didn’t feed into your line had instead kept you from making a fool out of yourself-at least more than you already had. 

“LIke I said-MOST people would have just said thank you…” He moved past you, back onto the bed as you paused for a moment before pointing to the handcuffs, a wide smile cresting on his face as he took a sip before offering you an answer. 

“Oh yeah…”

“Rudy!”

“Funny…you said it exactly like that night-but wore a bit less clothing-” 

“Fuck you.” You spat, turning to leave before the sound of your name spoken in exhaustion set you rooted in place. 

“Nothing happened. You got hammered and threw yourself at me. I brought you back here and you STILL threw yourself at me. Did you forget ALL of it?”

“Just tell me why I’m here and not at home…Please…”

“You can’t hold your liquor for shit. You threw up all over your dress and so I gave you my shirt…Then I tried to get you to shower, but you just kept touching on me so I left you in there. When I opened the door, you lunged at me and the only way I could keep you from being even crazier was to tie you to the bed. Eventually you calmed down and so I undid the handcuffs while you were sleeping…okay? So now you can go so I can enjoy my coffee…in peace…without you…” He moved to drink before you set  your hands on your hips. 

“Jesus Christ, what now?!”

“My…where’s my underwear?”

“I don’t know…You weren’t wearing them when you came out of the bathroom. A detail you made sure I knew…” Your glare worsened. 

“Just so you know, whatever that was had nothing to do with you, okay?”

“I can assure you it did. You’re just lucky I was a gentleman-” You scoffed. 

“YOU?!”

“If I wasn’t, you would be waking up unable to walk, okay?”

“Sure…”

“The way you were acting last night, the things you said, rubbing up all over me-anybody else would have taken advantage of them…But I didn’t. You should be thanking me not fucking interrogating me!”

“I would NEVER let you touch me-”

“That’s not what you said last night-”

“Oh really?! And what DID I say that was so damning?!” You came to regret asking this immediately as his eyes lit with mischief as he suddenly crossed the room, pinning you against the far wall with nothing more than his quick step and means of intimidation of a focused gaze. 

“You told me how wet I make you…How you touch yourself thinking about me…" After a moment of being overwhelmed with the heat of his words, you composed yourself enough to return to your rebuttal. 

"I must have been smashed, but I hate to break it to ya, you could have been anybody and I would have-" He leaned further into your body, his knee now between your thighs as he remained just far enough away to keep from making contact, but threatening to do so nonetheless. 

"Nope. Because you were VERY specific about how we met. The way you noticed me…how you wanted to, and I quote, 'learn if you fucked as good as you looked'-"

"I- '' You were quick to try and offer some secondary explanation as this was the truth. When you'd first met him he had entangled you with how he portrayed his role and managed to make friends with everyone in a matter of seconds. But a few ignorant remarks and misogynistic teases and you were left with this admiration soured into aggression. But you would be damned if you would let him know it. 

"You said how you wanted me to take you into my trailer and bend you over until your screaming got us both fired. But my favorite one was how you talked about what you wanted me to do to you…" His fingers traced down your arms, the initial rejection softening in silence at this point of contact.. 

"You said you wanted me to go slow at first…touching you until I would fuck you however, whenever, and as long as I wanted until you would make me come…" He smirked, eyes pulling from your body and back into your mouth left agape he continued. 

"And then you said you didn't hate me. You just hated how badly you wanted me. And you proved it in every touch since then and even more so in your denial now-"

"I was drunk!"

"Being drunk doesn't make you lie, it's actually the opposite. And I got to learn every depraved thing you wanted me to do to you…" He pressed himself close enough to your body to feel the raise of blood pressure leaving your skin warm with anxiety. 

"You-"

"You can lie to me all you want sweetheart…or at least try to…but I know exactly what you want…" He was impossibly close, nose resting on the side of your own with a breath testing your lips. 

"All you have to do is ask… real pretty for me now…" You silenced him by closing the space between you. 

You had imagined this more than you’d care to admit. You couldn’t help it when he was irresistibly charming to a fault. The way his smile lit up a room and his jokes lightened any conversation. The way you admired how he adored and committed to his craft no matter the role and to his fans even more. And you loathed how much you wanted him for all of these reasons and more. The tension, the passion, and the uncertainty would come together in this kiss before the feel of his hands through your hair had you within his control. 

“Is THIS why you’ve always been such a bitch?” You wanted to correct him for the name and yet a portion of your body reacted in having been made alight by its direction made to you. It was something he sensed as he scoffed. 

“THIS,” He led your hand to his cock, beyond intimidating as your small hand clasped around it in mercy. “All you need to stop being so tense? Hmm?”

“Rudy, I-” He would force you into quietude by that pull worsening in your hair as he used his body and this hold to lead you to the bed. 

“I have spent way too fucking long listening to you whine and complain,” He shook his head. “Now I’m gonna make you scream for me…” The dominance fell weak as he used his fingers to pull the fabric around your torso on the floor and you’d find him standing in almost in wait. 

“What are you doing?”

“Savoring this…” He explained while his eyes took in the way you’d been completely bare before him. 

There wasn’t an inch of your skin his fingers hadn’t found until you were pushed onto the bed and forced to look up at him. The way he stood between your legs, chest in a huff from your recent kisses and eyes blazed with a lust you’d only ever seen when he was in character, you almost trembled beneath him. He was always so lighthearted in majority, decadent in the darkness of his desires at this moment because of you…

“Play with it…” He ordered. 

“Now…” When you hesitated, mostly out of embarrassment, he lowered to you, pressing his hands into the bed on either side, but only allowing his breath to tease your lips. 

“You went out of your way last night to tell me how I made you want to between takes…how you wanted to slip away and suck me off because you wanted to see what I look like when I came-not to mention how you ran those dirty little fingers between your legs when we we were alone…So you’re gonna let me see what it looks like until I can validate everything else you said.” He moved back between your legs. 

“So play…” You obliged, swallowing hard, before raising yourself onto your elbows. 

“Faster…” He spoke rather shakily, his hand massaging himself as he was now bare before you. 

“FASTER….” He ordered through clenched teeth as you obeyed, your head falling slack as he took in the motions of pleasure across your body; toes curled, eyes screwed, and the most beautiful symphony of whines and whimpers to ever leave your lips now echoing just for his ears. 

“Two fingers-right fucking now, baby-” Again, you obliged, all to eagerly as he basked in your submission as well as your reaction. 

“Oh God…” You groaned as he nodded, your eyes opening just long enough to find his approval. 

“Did I say you could come?!” He charged, pulling you onto your knees with an abrupt positioning before his cock teased your folds. 

“Wet like the perfect little slut you are-all for me…” He smiled as you nodded. 

“Are you actually agreeing with me?”

“Rudy please!”

“I wanna hear you beg for it…” The idea made him all too pleased with himself to not savor it, wanting to hear just how badly you wanted it one last time. 

“Please!” You forfeited your stubbornness, too desperate for that teasing release to deny yourself it’s beckoning call. 

“One more time…just because I can?”

“RUDY PLEASE!” He licked his lips before finally filling your neediness. Your fingers pulled behind you to try and bring him closer, a handful of your hair taken in his hand now redirecting your grips to his hold. 

“You weren’t lying about how tight you are-shit!” He groaned, motions quickening with each thrust as you both built to that incomparable crescendo only an orgasm could allow, hands to your ass in sporadic assault before you were taken just slightly higher in a hold as he bent over you. 

“Is that attitude gone yet? You gonna keep being a smartass?” You couldn’t respond in anything but his name fading into a groan. Because of this, he’d pull you in a wrap to him, still keeping pace with each pound, while his fingers now moved to your clit and across your cheek to bring you into a kiss. 

“Answer me-”

“Yes.” You rebelled as he held your jaw apart. 

“Looks like we’ll have to shut you up another way then.” You were taken onto your knees, his cock angrily pushed past your swollen lips, as he projected a series of thrusts until you were crying and breathless before him. 

“How about now? Still wanna play with fire sweetheart? I can do this all fucking day-” You only took your hand in faster motions at his cock’s base, eyes narrowing beyond their tears, as he forced you even deeper by the hold at the back of your neck. 

“Swallow.” He supplied this caution before his ungodly pace sent your gag reflex into overdrive until your name left in his curses brought him to his climax. 

You weren’t even allowed to relish in this victory, however, before you were pushed back to the bed and you relgs were over either of his shoulders, his approval to your motions pulling your own orgasm between your legs and to his palate while you were left in nothing but tremors and sweat. 

“Say thank you.” He teased as smirked. 

“Thank you.” You obliged, this final act of submission before you would return to your normal hostility, now sweetened in knowing just how beautiful temporary relinquishment could be once executed. 

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-Is @slut4starkey @pankhoeforlife

[anghraine]

I was thinking about the ROTJ duel some more, and another thing I find really interesting is that the thing that pushes Luke over the edge is the possibility of Anakin turning Leia to the Dark Side.

It’s understandable that this would be a horrifying possibility to Luke. He probably loves Leia more than anyone else in the galaxy (Anakin’s “especially for ... sister” suggests it) and he has the dreadful example of Anakin himself to illustrate how the Dark Side affects people.

At the same time, the idea that Anakin would be able to turn Leia to the Dark Side is IMO kind of ludicrous. I mean, as if she’d listen to anything he has to say! And I doubt he could even manipulate her all that effectively. When you think about it, this is actually a pretty toothless threat. But Luke is so sensitive to it that he loses his mind and flies into a violent rage, hovering right on the edge of fully turning to the Dark Side himself as he rushes at Anakin.

It’s the most glaring example of Luke doing this, but it’s not unprecedented. When Luke sees Anakin kill Obi-Wan, say, he forgets altogether about trying to escape and just keeps shooting stormtroopers until Obi-Wan’s spirit has to interfere. When he goes to confront Vader in Cloud City, Leia shouts that it’s a trap but he keeps going anyway because he’s so fixated on fighting Vader—and iirc, Luke is the one to start the fight. It’s clear that anger is his dominant emotion at that point (“now release your anger”).

And, of course, in ROTJ, he’s there to save Anakin, but he goes berserk at a speculative and improbable threat to Leia, and ends up attacking Anakin and everything in the vicinity, including inanimate objects.

The context of this being about Leia turning to the Dark Side is intriguing, because one of the ways I really depart from fandom is that I don’t think Leia is all that likely to turn to the Dark Side, and I think she’s certainly less likely than Luke. Leia, while often kind (to an extent that’s sometimes overlooked or dismissed), has plenty of anger, to be sure. She could turn and would make a powerful and terrifying Dark Sider. But her anger is a bit different.

She’s short-tempered in general, frequently irritable, often frustrated—arguably even more than Luke (though he can also be short-tempered, irritable, and easily frustrated!). Like Luke, she’s ready to act on her anger, whether in speech or through more direct action. But at least in the films (which are all I care about), I don’t think her anger leads into the kind of fury we see in Luke and Anakin.

She’s plenty assertive, but there’s still something ... contained about her general aggressiveness by comparison to Luke’s and Anakin’s feral rages. This is obviously super gendered, but it is how I see her as she exists onscreen. Put another way, she’s never going to end up going “what have I done?” (explicitly or implicitly) because she always knows what she’s doing and means to do it.

That said, I can still see Leia turning to the Dark Side, but I don’t think she would take the same path. Hers, I think, would be more conscious and deliberate, and probably ideological; she’d have to believe she was in the right, I think, in a way that Luke and Anakin don’t fully need. She’d probably be more terrifying in the long run than either of them could ever be, tbh. But I think the very things that would make her such a horrifying Sith Lord (or whatever) also make it pretty unlikely that she would become one in the first place. IMO, Luke’s terrible fear for her says more about Luke than Leia.

[anendtopursuit]

CHUCKY AUTISM???? thats such a great concept i love it pls indulge me

OK OK SO SO SO! obligatory disclaimer that this is all based on my experience as an autistic person and therefore won't resonate with everyone, but still! here's just... off the top of my head, based on my autism-fuelled chucky character analyses:

special interests/fixations: was at least semi-fixated on peter pan from ages 8 to 14, if not longer. his childhood bedroom had peter pan stuff in it, his parents shared names w certain characters, he read it to the younger kids in the orphanage, he played games w the other kids based on it (w himself as peter n the younger kids as the lost boys), and he themed his second ever murder after it (turning an adult whom he hated/felt antagonised by into captain hook). sure you could maybe argue that this is just a Regular Interest, but i'm including it anyway. he also later insists that his interest in magic is "just a hobby", but fast forward a few years and he has the spells memorised, carries the book around with him everywhere, etc etc.

hyperexpressive: this is absolutely a side effect of being played by brad dourif (and fiona dourif emulating him), but as a human, chucky has THE most cartoonish and obvious facial expressions. he would suck at poker, his face is just too expressive. he's also pretty emotive in his mannerisms, which luckily carries over to his doll forms (e.g. the way he physically jolts forwards and throws his arms down when he's angry)

emotional dysregulation: ...do i need to elaborate on this one?

parroting/echolalia: definitely a little bit of me projecting with this one, but still. even when he's using his own voice, he sometimes recites lines of the doll's dialogue ("hi! i'm chucky, wanna play?" "hi-de-fuckin'-ho, ha ha ha" etc) - and sure, sometimes it's to freak people out, but i have that dialogue as a vocal stim and therefore relate just a tad. he also is rlly uncannily good at mimicking people (most notably nica) and whilst anyone can have that ability, i do find it's easier to pick up people's accents if you tend to mimic people by default.

caroline parallels: one of the characters chucky is paralleled against is caroline, who is openly autistic and has chucky as her special interest. she, like how jake is used to parallel teen chucky, is used as a direct parallel for child chucky. they also get along pretty well in the present day - chucky seems genuinely fond of her, plays video games with her, openly discusses his plans with her, etc. and seems to understand her in a way other characters don't.

self harm: gonna be as vague as possible here to avoid potential triggers. over 50% of autistic people are recorded as having self harmed for one reason or another. chucky has canonically done this since he was 8 (it's not discussed or shown whether he continued throughout the rest of his life, but given his therapist was actively attempting to make his issues worse, it wouldn't surprise me). again, obviously allistic children will do this as well, but i figure it's worth mentioning as it's atypical behaviour.

stims: kicking his legs around. that wiggly arm-wavey dance thingy he does when he's excited. that scene in the 80s of tiff stabbing that girl, and he's physically jolting back and forth and doing stabbing motions next to her.

eye contact: too much of it! he barely blinks, even as a human, and he stares people directly in the eyes. sure, this might be an intimidation thing, but i doubt he's self-aware enough for that. (he also wears sunglasses indoors, which you could spin as either an eye contact thing or a light sensitivity thing, depending.)

empathy: could go to either extreme with this one, tbh! depends on the chucky (and yes, this is where the soul-splitting complicates things).

morality: autistic people tend to be very moral, yes, but we don't always adhere to traditional moral codes. a lot of autistic people view intentional and accidental harm as the same level of severity, and therefore view harmful acts as less morally reprehensible than the average person might. chucky talks about murder as if it's something everybody does, and as if other people are no better than him for much less immoral acts. he still has morals (no killing kids, no homophobia, sexual abusers deserve the most painful deaths, etc), just different ones.

code switching: ok, full disclosure, i'm fully aware that this is a continuity error/a character choice being made later in the series - but still! chucky's accent throughout the franchise switches. between new jersey (assumedly his natural voice, since that's where he's from) and chicago (where he and tiff lived, and where he ended up dying). autistic people will commonly mimic the accents or speech patterns of people around them as a form of masking - it makes sense that when he's in chicago, surrounded by chicagoans, he drops his accent, whereas when he's with tiff, whom he met back in new jersey, he switches back. (again, the irl meta reason for this change is that chucky's new jersey accent was added later on to poke fun at don mancini, but if i had to argue an in-universe explanation for it, then this is what i'd go with.)

ok i probably have more to add later but i'm gonna stop there for now! again, this is all just headcanon and speculation, and obviously not everyone will agree, but yk.

[bensolosbluesaber]

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”