#The Candor live here I’ve decided

[dark-raven-feathers]

Might just be me but this building looks like something straight out of a dystopian novel and if weren’t for the fact that the Doctor wasn’t currently living somewhere in the 1800-1900s I would be so tempted to use this.

[jacensolodjo]

Im gonna be real with you, I don’t know shit about political ideology specifics. I don’t know much about communism/capitalism/socialism outside of basic high school tbh.

But I’ve always found it odd how there’s so many passionate communism defenders (especially living in western nations). If communism is so great, then why are there SO many people who ran away from their countries after communism was put into place? Or hell, not even ran away. I’m a first gen American and my social circle is mostly other first gen Americans. One thing I’ve noticed is that a lot of people, or people’s parents, return to their home countries after finishing school, raising kids, or making enough money from a certain career. The only people who I’ve never seen return to their home countries, and outwardly have no interest in it, are the ones coming from communism.

Heh I appreciate your candor. But I'll admit the preview for this in my activity made me hold my breath lol

Sadly I find myself mentioning A LOT as to how we got here.

Unfortunately, this is actually one of the stages of genocide (as popularized by Doctor Gregory Stanton) called 'Denial' and totally continues to work even if those governments no longer exist. But it is stoked by those who want to pretend communist atrocities didnt happen. Combined with the Red Scare era which did NOTHING except make people believe now that it was these poor little communists being shat on by western capitalists. The red scare which created Boomers that loudly claim communism to be unAmerican which creates many millennials and younger to rebel against the previous generations by deciding hey communism was cool actually if it upsets that asshole generation. Or they realize some of their political opinions align with communism so communism has to be cool right? Without realizing it's pretty much human nature you're going to agree on some level with some- thing or -one terrible politics wise.

They do not read past Communism 101. But it's hardly an anti-commie's fault right? They see 'workers of the world UNITE' and they go 'hey YEAH!! Capitalism SUCKS but here's a thing saying everything I do so I'm not wrong!! it's the detractors that are!" But they fail to continue to read where Comrades Lenin and Marx literally call for blood. They want the red=communism to be literally blood. They say over and over and over again that there are too many people, that we need to lessen numbers, that it doesn't matter who we kill so long as communism is installed. Anyone against communism must pay with their lives! How is that better than capitalism then??? how is it not siblings with fascism?

But if you're going to say I'm this thing, you should know more than just a few blurbs about it right? Politics wise, anyway I guess. And no, this isn't gatekeeping. We're talking politics not fandom.

But yes, most of the vocal anti-commies I meet either come directly from a formerly communist country or are the offspring of those who fled communism. But NO commie questions why this could be. Your average anti-commie is in fact just a Red Scare War Hawk Republican, obviously. We're all just patsies of capitalism. It can't POSSIBLY be because we know the blood commies have on their (Red) hands.

It's absurd. All these people have to not only be lying about atrocities but also apparently lying about why they left and refuse to return. All these people coordinated with different cultures in order to tell Tom DIckhead communism isn't that great. And yet it takes little convincing when it comes to other things. We agree fleeing other things is viable. We don't agree people fled communism. Somehow?? I'm a first gen American born and raised here because my birth mother FLED COMMUNISM in Ukraine. If communism did not exist, I would've been born in Ukraine. But I'm wrong because tom Dickhead said so.

As an aside, I will NEVER forget the time a commie said 'you just don't like communism because you hate to see people of color winning', completely ignoring how many MILLIONS of people of color were MURDERED by communists. MILLIONS more people of color were murdered compared to white folks. Tell me, comrade, how is that 'winning'? No one hates Pol Pot for 'winning', they hate him for murdering Cambodians and Vietnamese and everyone who was against his government. No one hates Mao for 'winning', they hate him because his Great Leap Forward was more like trampling on a long line of weaker innocent people. Millions of them. None of them had to die if he hadn't ignored people who said his great leap wouldn't work out too well. Among a number of other reasons the death toll was so astronomical.

When you think of a refugee/asylum seeker from the 60s and 70s, what do you see? Is it not overwhelmingly someone fleeing from an asian country or eastern europe? You know, where communism was in spades?

But yeah. I have many thoughts on this lol like it takes so much mental gymnastics for insisting why we have so many immigrants from "Old country" who never went back there that it makes my back hurt. As you said, a lot of people work in the US for a bit then go back for various reasons. But what about those from communistic countries? Oh, certainly they also sent money back home but that was literally so their family could join them away from that communistic hellhole they came from. Kind of ironic that to get away from communism you need to shake hands with capitalism but that's not the point here. It's just simply not possible to call it 'coincidence' and move on. It's not our fault commies can't seem to grasp the simple answer because there is simply no other legitimate answer besides 'compared to where they came from the US is a cakewalk'. Another on the list of 'things commies refuse to fully think about because then they have to face their own almost religious belief in communism'.

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Voyager - Two

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Oda Nobunaga (Ikemen Sengoku) x Original Female Character Characters: Oda Nobunaga (Ikemen Sengoku), Eri Davidson (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting (so much flirting), Teasing, Oda Nobunaga is a huge flirt and a huge tease, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Slight Timeskip Near the End

Previous Chapter (One): Kyoto | Next Chapter (Three): Lucky Charm

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

"What are you staring at?" The man demands, his mouth turned up in a smirk. "Surely you know who I am."

"I--I really don't," she answers candidly.

This seems to surprise him. He peers at her closely, as if trying to determine whether or not she is telling the truth. He must see something in her eyes that puts his doubts about the candor of her statement at rest. What is your name, woman?"

Read on AO3

Chapter Two: Waking Nightmare

This has to be a dream. 

It is all she can think, as she watches the building they’d just come out of be engulfed in flames. 

“You there. Woman.” 

In her shock, it takes her a minute to realize the man in armor is addressing her. “Y-yes,” she answers, ripping her eyes away from the burning building. 

He’s looking at her curiously. 

I know that look. Eri sighs, deciding to head the conversation off at the pass. “I’ve been living in Japan for several years,” she starts, the explanation coming as second nature to her. “That’s how I became fluent in Japanese.”

He narrows his eyes at her, as if confused by her statements. “You saved my life,” he asserts. “You may be some woman the monks snuck in for amusement, but I owe you my thanks.” 

“Monks?” She shakes her head, confused. “No, I---” She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her hammering heartbeat. In the time it takes her to inhale, she has once again taken in the clothing of the man in front of her. Did I stumble onto the set of some sort of period drama? 

“What are you staring at?” The man demands, his mouth turned up in a smirk. “Surely you know who I am.” 

“I--I really don’t,” she answers candidly. 

This seems to surprise him. He peers at her closely, as if trying to determine whether or not she is telling the truth. He must see something in her eyes that puts his doubts about the candor of her statement at rest. “What is your name, woman?” 

“Davidson Valerie,” she answers. 

“Davidson… Valerie.” The name fits strangely in his mouth, as it often does whenever she tells it to someone whose first language is Japanese. “That isn’t a Japanese name.”

“No,” she agrees, smiling a bit. “It isn’t. I have a Japanese nickname, though. It’s Eri.” 

“Nickname?” The man shakes his head. “What is a nickname?” 

He can’t be serious, right? “You know, a name people call you that’s shorter than your given name. So you can call me Eri, if you’d like.” 

“Eri.” He inclines his head to the side curiously. “You are strange,” he starts thoughtfully, studying her. “Your name is not a Japanese name. The color of your skin tells me that you are very clearly not from Japan. And yet,” he goes on, “you speak Japanese very well.” 

“Yes, I am aware of how strange that is,” she quips, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I hear that from people a lot.” And I’ll thank you to keep any rude comments to yourself, she adds silently. 

Strangely enough, though, his face doesn’t display anything other than mild curiosity. She has been stared at openly before in her time as a foreigner living in a new place, but this is different. There is no fear in his gaze, no suspicion or distrust. He is merely curious. 

Before she can ponder it further, she hears a noise like thunder. She turns her head up to the sky, wondering if another storm is approaching. 

“Ah, and here they are,” the man beside her laughs. She follows his gaze and sees in the distance four men on horseback riding quickly towards them. 

Horses? The thought makes her feel a little faint, but she can’t figure out why. Why are they riding horses?

They are all dressed much like the man in front of her - in what looks like traditional Japanese armor. Frightened, she edges closer to him, unsure of the newcomers’ intent. Eri may not feel one hundred percent safe with the cold, demanding man in front of her, but he owes her his life, and she hopes he won’t forget that anytime soon.

“Oda-Sama,” the fair-haired man in green armor calls, dismounting his horse before it’s even come to a complete stop. She watches in wonder as he approaches them, his facial expression stormier than the clouds that trapped her in a downpour just a little while ago. “I’m relieved to see you alive and well,” he says, looking past them at the burning building. His eye falls on Eri. “Who is this?” He asks, bristling.

Eri is going over his words in her mind. Did he just say ‘ Oda-Sama’? Like Oda Nobunaga? She shakes her head. I must have misheard him. 

The man she rescued turns to her and smiles. “This woman saved my life,” he tells the man in green. “I owe her a debt of gratitude. Her name is Eri.”

The man in green is looking at Eri with open suspicion. Before he can speak, however, the rest of the men dismount. A silver-haired man with pretty violet eyes and a friendly face speaks to her. “It seems, then, that we all owe you a debt of gratitude, for saving our Lord’s life.” He offers her a smile. “I am Ishida Mitsunari. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

As Ishida Mitsunari is the only man thus far to introduce himself properly, Eri recalls her manners and returns in kind. “I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Davidson Eri. Please take care of me.” She ends her introduction with a slight bow, raising her head again just in time to see the other two men dismount their horses and approach. 

“Oda-Sama.” There it is again, that name paired with that honorific. The words are spoken by the man with blonde hair so pale it’s almost white. His golden eyes sparkle in the moonlight as he looks over at Eri. “And what have we here?” He asks. Something about him makes Eri uneasy; he pins her under his gaze, his voice slick and oily. 

“This woman allegedly saved our Lord’s life,” the man in green speaks up, still gazing suspiciously at Eri. “We’ve yet to hear the tale of how it happened, exactly.”

“I just happened to be in the right place at the right time,” Eri murmurs. Or, more accurately, the wrong place at the wrong time. She keeps that last thought to herself. “He-- he was unconscious. And I woke him up. The fire was spreading, and it didn’t feel right to leave him.” 

“Then I suppose you expect to be handsomely rewarded,” the oily man grins. 

“No,” Eri sighs in frustration. “Why is that the first thing that comes to your mind? I wasn’t helping him just to be rewarded. I was helping him because I didn’t want to watch him die knowing I could have helped him. Is that so hard to understand?” 

The man in green narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of his Lord’s laughter stops him. “A fiery one indeed,” he bellows. He looks to the fourth and last man in the entourage, the only one that has yet to speak. “Yasuke, are all of the women where you come from as spirited as this one?” 

The man he addresses is tall, Eri notices - at least a head taller than she is. His skin is almost as dark as hers, and he wears his hair in a long braid that hangs over one shoulder. “In truth, my Lord,” he starts, and Eri is surprised at how soft-spoken this giant of a man is, “I do not believe her to be of my country.” 

“Oh?” The Lord raises an eyebrow. 

“With respect, Oda-Sama, her accent is unfamiliar to me.” He looks at Eri, but his face is friendly. “Perhaps she hails from a different part of the continent.” 

She wonders how long they intend to stand around discussing her as though she isn’t there. Her head has started to pound, likely from the smoke inhalation, and she suddenly feels very dizzy. 

“Are you well, my lady?” The soft-spoken man - Yasuke, his name is Yasuke, she remembers - peers at her closely. 

“Actually, I don’t think I am,” Eri admits. “My head hurts, and I feel a little sick. I think I must have inhaled a lot of smoke.” 

“Come,” the Lord of the group says, an air of finality in his voice. “Let us return to Azuchi. The cowardly men who staged this attempt on my life have gone back into hiding, it seems. We’ll not learn anything new here tonight.” 

Eri opens her mouth to speak, to tell these men that she only needs someone to point her in the direction of the nearest train station so she can get back to her hotel and out of what is very clearly a waking nightmare. But the words seem stuck in her throat, her feet frozen in place. For the first time, she takes in the scene around her, really looking closely at her surroundings. 

There are no streetlights. No cars, buses, or trains. No modern buildings anywhere in sight. She can feel panic closing in on her, digging its sharp claws into the reasonable part of her mind that tries to protest that this can’t be happening. Her heart hammers in her chest, the blood in her ears pounding in a crescendo that makes her head swim. 

Desperately, she digs the fingernails of her right hand deep into the palm of her left, twisting them into the skin hard enough to draw blood. The black curtain over her eyes recedes, but only slightly. Just before the curtain falls completely, she can hear a voice as though very far away. 

“Catch her…” 

Previous Chapter (One): Kyoto | Next Chapter (Three): Lucky Charm

[neverglory]

I’m still here.

Today is another Monday, my second (third?) week into my new job.

It’s a college. The kids are nice enough. My coworkers are friendly.

I would have appreciated their candor more if I hadn’t decided to keep to myself this time.

But it’s not them, it’s me. I have a tendency to talk rapidly and mindlessly about my life, overwhelming someone with so much useless information about my life in the hopes that they find me worthy of friendship.

I don’t necessarily lie about my life now; I just stretch the truth. But I guess that is lying, now that I think about it.

Yes, I live close by. About an hour away (lie)

I’ve never played Pokémon / any video game they bring up (lie)

I’m pretty much a listener to people than a talker (lie)

It’s getting hotter these days. Even though I’m wearing a thin shirt, I struggle with not bringing a sweater to cover myself with (I’m pretty insecure about my appearance, if you couldn’t tell)

Anyway, I was told I could play music on my phone if the office is empty. I consider this dangerous, as my naive mind immediately goes “oh! I can introduce them to all of the videogame osts I love! I can trick them into listening to anime!”

No, Neverglory, you can’t and you shouldn’t.

So instead, I made a Spotify playlist full of instrumental jazz. You can listen to it below, though I’m not sure why anybody would, considering I’m talking to an empty room.

I guess that’s it in a nutshell. I’m trying to mask myself in front of my coworkers. And as much as I would love to believe the old mantra of being yourself, myself is far too unstable, fragile, and desperate to be allowed to exist.

So here I am, instead.

[bisexual-ladyofchaous]

“Look here!” He said boiling with rage, I stared at him into his eyes, and silently watched as his stone cold expression faded and his eyes were replaced by flames, I watched in amazement as the man who I once knew as stone changed so rapidly. “You’re not even listening to me!” He yelled, and I couldn’t disagree with him, as I always had a knack for candor truths. The only thing I could do or say that could possibly call him were lies, I did betray his trust, and for that no words can apologize for me, only my future actions. I stared at him blankly, wanting to speak, but being unsure what to say. I was tongue tied. “I’m sorry.” I said spilling it out, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I said looking at him, a stone cold expression across my face. “That’s the thing,” he said, his lips becoming more and more of a frown, “You knew I didn’t want you to read into it, and you knew that this was a personal matter. What hurts most about this, is I told you not to do this, and you went and did it anyways.” He said getting angrier and angrier and by the second. I wanted to say why I did this, but I didn’t think it would be beneficial for him to know, but at this the risk of him never trusting me again, it’s not worth it. I’ve already lost my wife, I don’t need to lose my best friend. “I went digging into your past, by complete accident. I went to the catacombs, I looked around because I thought a clue would exist in there, I know your not exactly familiar with Violet, but she had her secrets, and I need to uncover them. I’m just trying to give my wife a proper ash spreading, and as for your past, you left it in the open of the catacombs right at the center. You have left your own lies, and broken promises. I may have betrayed your trust, but how many people have been betrayed by you James? How many?!” I yelled, and screamed tears filling my eyes, starring James down. I waited for his response, but none came. “How many?!” I screamed again. For a moment there was silence, then James raised his hand palm side towards me. “Look Laurie Grace, it wasn’t people I’ve betrayed, their less than human.” He said looking at me, but I snapped. “Who are you to decide that? You took lives during the war, and fought bravely in the seas and for that we are great full, but to call these men that you have slaughtered and made lies not human is disgraceful.” I said looking at him my face growing hot with rage. “You weren’t there Laurie, you couldn’t possibly know.” He said looking at me shaking his head. “I may not have been but I was there in my village when they called the love of my life not human. They called her a witch. And they burn witches.” I said, I could feel magic flowing from my fingers, and when I said burn, my body lit on fire. James mouth opened wide, and looked at me in shock, but I didn’t acknowledge it. “You, James, are a disgrace to humanity, to call other men not human, to slaughter them off of the pretenses of your captain, to watch your comrades fall in battle and resume the fight without a sec wind thought, and to not even give the body a proper burial dumping it in the sea. My village wouldn’t even honor Violet by picking up her ashes, or spreading them, so I’ve taken up both, not out of respect but live. You sat there watching your friend die, bleeding out, and you could do nothing but watch and fight, for that I have pity. But to dump him in the sea, without so much as a second thought? You didn’t even give the remains of him back to his family.” I said, the heat fading away from my body the flames softening and eventually turning into nothing more but embers. James looked at me cold dead in the eyes, the James I knew from the back of the shop. “What was I supposed to do?” He asked me. I looked at him dead in the eyes, “you were in water in a boat, you could’ve put him in the cargo load, or at least give him the honor of floating out. And if you at least told his mother that he died, she would’ve been happier, you sir, gave her hope that is false, you gave her the inability to mourn.” I said.

[phillippadgettwrites]

Rebound

Rated X / 1231 words / Posted on AO3

Alexandria, VA, 1991

“Oh my god, yes,” she whimpers against his ear, and he feels her cunt grip him desperately, pushing him nearly over the edge.

“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, thinking about baseball and the case file he plans to start investigating on Monday. Anything to distract him from embarrassing himself in front of the little nymph he has pinned to his couch, her fingernails digging into his ass cheeks as she encourages him deeper.

He’d felt embarrassed bringing her back here, knowing that he had no bed on which to do the thing it was very clear they both intended on doing, but she’d never even asked about his bedroom. The door had snicked closed behind them, he’d made a glib comment about his apartment being shabby, and within thirty seconds her hand was stuffed down the front of his pants as they stumbled towards the living room.

He tries not to think about Diana, who took her bed and a majority of the other furniture with her when she moved out abruptly just a few days prior. He’d wanted to ask her if she planned to ship her Serta over to Europe or if she was taking it out of spite, but she never gave him the chance to. A note on the counter along with the engagement ring he’d given her were apparently intended to be her final words to him.

The ring that had adorned his own left hand for the past year is in his jeans, which now lay on the floor somewhere near the coffee table. She’d asked him about that ring back at the bar, her berry-stained lips quirking at the corner while her eyes narrowed appraisingly.

“Married?” she’d asked, and he didn’t miss the disappointment in her voice.

“No,” he’d insisted, slipping the ring off and tucking it in his pocket. “Planned to be, but no. The ring was…more symbolic I guess,” he’d tried to explain, but she slid her palm confidently over his wrist to silence him.

“As long as you’re not involved now, I don’t need to know the details,” she’d said in a syrupy voice, her tongue thick with whiskey.

He gathers that she recently ended a relationship as well, though she was far from forthcoming with the specifics. New to the area, definitely over eighteen, mouth like a siphon: this is the extent of the information he needed before deciding to take her home and fuck her within an inch of her life. He doesn’t even know her name.

“Wait,” she says raggedly, pushing his hips away. “I wanna be on top.”

He smiles at her confidence, her candor. He’s so used to women talking in circles around what they really mean, and he finds her straightforwardness refreshing. She sinks down on his cock and suddenly he’s incapable of rational thought.

“Jesus, you’re huge,” she murmurs, her eyebrows stitched and her hands on his shoulders.

He looks down at where he’s disappearing between her legs, his shaft glistening with her wetness. He settles his hands on her narrow hips, thinking that her petite frame is probably more responsible for the tight fit than he is, but he certainly doesn’t want to discourage her from waxing poetic about the size of his cock. His eyes scatter over her body: alabaster skin, small, pendulous breasts with pert raspberry nipples, a full patch of carmine curls at the apex of her thighs. He lifts his gaze higher and finds her smiling coyly at him, her lip pinned between her teeth.

“You’re really beautiful,” he says reverently, lifting his hand to palm her cheek.

She closes her eyes briefly, her fair complexion pinking under the influence of his praise. When she looks at him again, her pupils are dark and mischievous.

“You say that to all the girls you have sex with on this couch?” she asks as she lifts her hips, dropping down again sharply. She gasps as the head of his cock collides with her cervix, and he groans, resisting the urge to arch up into her.

“No,” he replies tightly, “but I’ve only had it for a couple days.”

She laughs, and he feels her contract around him. The combination of the barking, melodious sound and the way it grabs at him makes him feel a surge of joy that catches him off guard. Unexpectedly, embarrassingly, tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

She cocks her head to the side, considering him, and then seems to decide that she knows what he needs. She leans forward, brushing her lips across his softly, and whispers, “Make me come.”

He ruts up against her, grinding lasciviously as he pinches one of her raspberry nipples between his fingers. She whimpers, bringing her own hand down and tucking it tightly between them. He feels her knuckles press into his pubic hair as she plays with her clit, her kisses growing sloppy as they are increasingly interrupted by soft moans and spasmodic clutches that make his balls draw up tight against his body.

“What’s your name?” she asks him suddenly, her voice an octave higher than it had been moments before.

“What?” he asks, thrown off his rhythm.

“I’ve never had sex with a man I couldn’t name, and I don’t intend to start now,” she says, disturbingly practical for a woman moments from climax.

“Mulder,” he provides, thrusting up into her sharply.

She gasps, then grinds her hips forward and back quickly.

“I’m gonna come,” she professes, her cunt squeezing him with a strangling grip.

He growls, holding back with every ounce of strength in his body. Her head tips back, the column of her neck glowing in the low light as she falls apart, clutching and releasing, a flutter of a moan tumbling from her lips. He pistons up into her greedily, finding his release as she comes down from her own.

Minutes later, he returns from the bathroom after disposing of the condom and finds her tugging her jeans over her hips, a bashful expression on her face.

“I better get going,” she says lightly. “Thanks for the drink.”

He leans against the door jam, catching a final glimpse of her breasts before she tucks them back into the cups of her little black bra.

“I never got your name,” he says, wondering if she’ll give him her number if he asks for it.

She smiles to herself as she plucks her T-shirt off the floor.

“I don’t believe you gave me yours, Mulder,” she says playfully.

“I did, Mulder is my last name,” he defends. “That’s what everyone calls me.”

She eyes him skeptically, deciding whether he’s telling the truth.

“Dana,” she says finally, slipping her feet into her shoes.

“Dana,” he repeats. “Maybe sometime we could—”

“Look, Mulder,” she cuts him off, and he holds his hand up to stop her.

“It’s okay, I get it,” he says, and she relaxes a little, relieved.

“I’m just not really available,” she explains. “I start a new job on Monday, a whole new career, really, I just got out of a relationship. It’s just not a good time.”

He nods. It’s not really a good time for him either.

“Maybe we’ll cross paths again someday,” he says hopefully as he follows her to the door, and she stops before opening it.

“Perhaps we will,” she replies. “Goodbye, Mulder.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

[mxvladdy]

Unrepentant: Chapter One

Yoz! Finally, I sat down and edited this! (Yaay I'm slow as fuck)

I loved writing Diavolo's True Form piece (Located Here) so I wanted more and really to write this headcanon I've had since he was introduced! It is suggested to read his true form before this but you do you and live your best life.

Anyway idk how long this will be but all the true form stuff will be in this fanfiction :)

Hope ya like!

Word Count: 4k

Rating: General

The Devildom moons glint high above you outside your bedroom window. Their perpetual radiance casting dancing shadows across the walls. The solace of your empty room envelops you like a warm hug. It pulls the stress of the day away off your shoulders leaving you sleepy. Dropping your book-laden bag to the floor you flop face-first into the freshly washed sheets of your bed.

Exam season was rolling in fast and all of the academy was gearing up for the students' and teachers' inevitable breakdowns. From personal experience, you saw firsthand what happens when a demon gets stressed out. Even the lesser demons you know can cause some major damage when they reach their boiling point, though it pales in comparison to the havoc the big seven cause. Just yesterday Beel lost control in the middle of cram school after the teacher refused to let them out on time for dinner. Poor Lucifer was still scrambling to pay for the damages and trying to find a replacement in time for next week's lessons. Then, on the same day at the other end of the campus, Satan all but totaled a classroom in a fit of rage after another student dared to try and correct him. Bless the Old Gods themselves that at least Levi and Belphie were easy to deal with during these times. They were both book smart and beyond capable with their studies, they just lacked the wherewithal to put the effort in. Well, Belphie was more guilty than Levi when it came down to it. Most of the time Lucifer could be seen dragging Belphie to class by the ankle, face stormy with rage. It was humorous to watch-just from a distance.

As for you, you figure it was best to just be out of the direct line of fire. One too many brushes with death in the Devildom for your comfort. During this time of year, it became almost a sport. You got really good at dodging large pieces of furniture and spells during exam week when the brothers finally start coming to blows. Not that you fault them, they were just letting their aggression out as any good primordial being would. But, the lack of sleep and constant fear of annihilation by bookshelf is murder on your grades. After a few meetings with Lucifer and Diavolo, you all decide you should stay in the palace till after exams.

The palace.

You smile softly to yourself tracing a thumb over your clavicle. Your finger ghosts over the healing black marks running down your skin. It was rocky at first, rebuilding your relationship and trust, with Diavolo after your "run in". He acts like you were made of spun glass and eggshells, physically trying to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible. All the while you had to butt head with seven of the strongest and most bull-headed men you had ever met. Their protectiveness towards you tried your patience in ways you never expected. It took what you are pretty sure was your guardian angel to finally get the brothers to relent. With Simeon acting as your chaperone you start to live again. It was nice to finally feel comfortable around the demon again. Seeing him return to his normal candor and temperament again was a breath of fresh air. Thinking of him makes you flush, the cool air of your room burning your cheeks as you recall all the stolen evenings in his and Barbatos's company. All the hours spent laughing at their outlandish assumptions of modern human social norms while they tried to guess if they were correct or not, and then there were the nights where it was just you and the prince. He was nothing but cordial and proper, just conversations between two friends.

A nice glass of port and dinner...maybe an errant brush of fingers when there was no need to touch a time or two. Perhaps a gaze held too long to be considered appropriate.

You groan into your pillows, feeling your heart flutter. You couldn't deny he was fascinating, and yes, perhaps you were a little infatuated with him. Who wasn't? You say it on the daily how other demons fawn over him. He is one of the strongest of their kin after all. Power is a huge part of the Devildom hierarchy, and he exudes it in spades. To a demon, he is the peak of their ideal. Yet, to you, from a human perspective, you enjoyed his personality and jovial nature. It was a side very few got to see of him and you cherish each moment you got to enjoy in the privacy of his quarters.

Of course, watching him crush an unruly usurper without a second thought was kinda hot. Hmmm-

A sharp rap at your door startles you. Was it time already? "Door's open Simeon!" You yell over your shoulder grabbing your robe and go behind your room divider to undress.

"Good evening!" The angel chirps entering your darkroom. With a wave of his hand, he lights your fireplace. The bright flames dancing to life to chase away the cold of the perpetual night.

"Show off." You come back around your divider to face him. He shrugs with a bashful smile offering you the tray he brought with him. His lithe fingers grab the few bottles he needed, leaving the rest for you. You unscrew the lid on one of the jars of salves specially crafted for you. You inhale, humming in delight, and the fresh scent of honeydew and lavender wafting up at you. "This one is new!" You beam dipping a finger in your eye the soft green goop. It was warm to the touch and made your finger go numb.

Simeon nods, twirling his hand in the air to make you turn around. "You mentioned stiff joints last night so I made something to help." His hand strokes over your back while he mutters to himself. "This is healing up nicely, though the color is becoming more opaque." You nod in acceptance. The curse- taint- whatever it was when Diavolo injured you hadn't stopped at just mental damage when it struck you. It took root on your body, burying itself deep and spreading through you like an uncontrollable flame. It wraps and twists itself around your arms, shoulders, and sides joining and merging with itself to rest around the tender skin of your neck. You found it beautiful in its own right. Like those ornate chokers in Levi's animes or the ones Mammon wore in some of his high-end modeling shoots. Yours was just as gorgeous but very permanent.

"These are coming along nicely," Simeon remarks looking over your back. He rubs some of his sweet-smelling ointment into your sides. He traces over some of the more intricate lines, they radiate power heating his celestial skin in a way you could not sense. The marks pulse in warning, threatened by his celestial power. Simeon frowns, taking his hand away. "It looks like Lucifer marks have been consumed completely now too."

"Really?" You crane your neck trying to see Lucifer's mark at the base of your neck. It figures Lucifer's was the last to be consumed. Solomon had hypothesized that since he was the eldest and thus the strongest it would make sense that it would take longer for Diavolo's blight to consume it. So far he has been correct.

Over time you watch as all the brothers' marks were taken over. Their bright colors bleed out to be replaced with an iridescent black. It was a little unfortunate since you loved the colors of their marks, but there was nothing you could do about it.

Simeon hands you a jar over your shoulder while he inspects the growing marks on your back. "I increased the dosage in this, your arms were still itchy, correct?"

You nod, taking the jar. You grimace as your nails scratch the delicate glass. Your skin wasn't the only thing that physically changed after Diavolo's magic took root. Your nail plates gleam black now, no longer clear and flimsy like human nails normally are. They are sharp now with lethal tips. They could gouge stone like it was tissue paper and even pierce the hard shell of a demon's skin. Beel had been impressed by the nick you gave him during P.E. It healed quickly so no harm was done, but it frightened you still.

Tutting, you shoot your fingers a scathing glance. As a defense mechanism, this new addition was great, but daily life was a pain. Your hands tore through everything if you weren't careful. Delicate pillows and sheets were kept far away from you lest they turn into ribbons. It was beginning to look like the brothers had adopted an unruly cat let loose in the halls.

Asmo fussed over you for days trying to figure out the best way to care for them. He wasted some nice clippers on you until he landed on a heavy-duty nail file. Your manicure only lasts a few days at best, but it was better than turning your pillows into pin cushions. Aside from your skin and nails, you could see better in the perpetual night of the Devildom. The blue haze of the twin moons is cleaner now. Every surface their light lands on shines like a beacon illuminating farther than you could see before. Gave Mammon a good scare walking the halls in complete darkness, you didn’t need a light anymore just the moons.

It was utterly fascinating to you, and Solomon. The mage takes every opportunity he could to poke and prod at your changes and charts them down with feverish excitement. So far, much to his displeasure, you show no more magical prowess than when you first arrived in the Devildom but he was certain you should. For now, no one knew what to expect so you were to just monitor yourself and check-in with Solomon and Simeon daily till they deemed this settled.

"There," Simeon finishes examining your back and neck, making sure he covered the entirety of each mark. "Looks like everything is in order. I'll leave you to rest for the evening." He wipes his hands helping you back into your robe before tidying up the small mess he made.

"You sure?" You ask following him to the door. "I feel like we haven't hung out for ages! I could fetch us some tea." You smile up at his soft face. You miss just hanging out with him. As of late all he has been to you is an on-call nurse. It would be nice to talk with him and Luke about something other than you for an evening.

Simeon smiles but shakes his head. "Perhaps tomorrow, Madame Scream has a few new cakes out this month. Luke has been talking my ear off about them and I'm sure he would love your company too." He eyes the door knowingly. "But for now someone else wishes to steal you away." He bids you goodnight then, leaving you clasping the doorknob and looking about into the pitch-black hallway.

It's in the moment you lock your door and turn to crawl into bed that someone knocks on your door. Your heart leaps in with an indiscernible emotion before beating fast with excitement, your brain following along slowly after it. You couldn't stop the smile crossing your face as you made your way back to the door. Something deep within you knew who it was. "Dia!" You swing the heavy door open and hug him tight. The moment your body makes contact with him you feel amazing. The grind of the day is gone, chased away by his warm arms encircling you. "I thought you were busy all evening?"

He chuckles swaying from side to side. "I was! But, what kind of prince would I be if I didn't throw my weight around every so often?" He leans down and nuzzles his face in your crown. He smiles into your hair. You were smelling more and more like him each day, it was titillating.

Dia breathes deeply taking in your sweet clean scent and savoring how his smokey amber smell was mingling with it. It was faint now, perhaps only strong enough for him, Barbatos and Lucifer can discern. Soon though lesser daemons will take notice of his scent mingling with yours. He makes a quick note to tell Simeon to look into a stronger ointment, it will be needed soon. Diavolo pulls away, clicking his tongue. He glances down at where your nails punched through the thick fabric of his waistcoat to graze his skin. "Do you have time for a drink? Barbatos went topside today and purchased a bottle of whiskey barrel age wine. It smells simply divine ." His gold eyes glance up to the large grandfather clock in the corner of your room. It was far past polite visiting hours, but he couldn't give less of a damn, despite the warning of his closest circles.

The nobles were beginning to notice how much he favored you and thus the court was beginning to talk. They were beginning to question his loyalty to the goal of the program, his fascination with one mere human raised concerns throughout his family members. "Why are you spending so much more time with that one?" They ask claws and fangs clinging as they nash and hiss at him, so many of his bloodline still refuse to use glamour believing it was an insult to their heritage. "They are of no importance, playing favorites could lead to a disaster for your crown." He knows many of them would love that.

For him to lose his neck and the crown so the old ones could rule again was a dream for many of them. Diavolo grimaces inwardly, they weren't wrong either. He was infatuated with you. Even Lucifer was beginning to express concern. While having you and the program was raising his ratings and the morale of the general populace, those of royal blood were beginning to create factions again. So far many were loyal, but the ones starting to make waves were the oldest in the circle.

He had plans in place of course, pieces on the board ready to move at a moment's notice. It would be messy when it happens and with you still in his kingdom...such actions were best to be avoided. No, for now, the brothers were enough protection from potential defectors and nay-sayers. He will do as he pleases, especially when it revolves around you.

"That does sound good," You agree tapping your chin in thought. It's been ages since you last drank a human liquor. All Diavolo's ports and sherries, while delicious, did not affect you. You missed the warmth that settled in your stomach after a good drink. "A good drink could calm my nerves. Give me a minute to change?" You step back into your room to scurry back behind your room partition leaving the massive demon to stand at your doorway.

"Nerves? Do you need more time for your finals?" He lumbers in coming to stand by your bed. He licks his lips staring at your rumpled bedding. It was still warm from you sitting there with Simeon. Deep down in his stomachs turns detecting the cherry sweet scent of the angel covering your sheets. He wanted to rub his body on the bedding, erasing that weakling's scent from what was his- He pulls himself back forcing his fangs back down. He trusted Simeon, no one was better suited for healing demonic wounds than an angel.

The prince observes your shadow scurrying about behind the paper screen. "There!" You jump from behind the screen in an oversized shirt. The fabric drapes down to rest just past your knees, the sleeves long and folded several times. "Ready to go?" You come back to his side slipping on your slippers.

"But of course!" He offers you his arm. "Though I am perhaps a little overdressed for the occasion, no?" He ribs, teeth flashing in jest. You accept his arm squeezing it tight and look him over dramatically.

"Yes, very much so...What good is a nightcap if you are still dressed in your day clothes?" You tug at his pressed white tie. For the first time that day, Diavolo laughed freely.

The walk from your room to his was a long one but filled with idle safe conversation. You jump from talks of the upcoming garden parties to what this week's lunch menu will be. Neither of you was blind to the prying eyes and ears lurking in the shadows of the corridors. You were unfazed by them now after months of coming to visit Diavolo and Barbatos during the evening. You became accustomed to their judgmental gazes and gossip over time. You nod politely to one of the visiting earl's and his entourage. They pass, many eyes looking you over curiously. "Earl Jan and his entourage have taken a liking to you." Diavolo rumbles watching the demons wander off to one of his many smoking parlors. "He finds your many human idioms and stories refreshing."

"Really? I have classes with a few of them they-"

"Young Prince." Diavolo stiffens by your side lurching to a halt. His hackles rise.

"Pleasant evening Lady Marquess?" The prince calls out not bothering to even turn around to acknowledge the baroness. You turn though curious as to who drew such vitriol from the normally genial demon.

The baroness scuttles out from where she had been standing, the shadows around her falling off like an elegant cloak. Her pale mandibles click in distaste when your eyes meet hers. Her hundreds of spider-like eyes latching onto you unblinkingly before flicking to Diavolo's tense back. "You missed our meeting on the upcoming festivities. I have some more requests on the dress requirements for the ball." She pauses head listing down to look at you again. Even without lips, you could feel her scowl of disgust. "It would be good for your little pet. Their dress attire at the last one was... lackluster."

Bull. Asmo and Levi had designed your outfit for the last ball. It had been amazing, the crowds looking on with jealousy and lust as you clung to Dia's arm. You don't have to look at Diavolo to feel his displeasure. "Such asinine topics like that can wait till tomorrow." He sniffs pulling you closer. His free hand comes up to grasp your hand around his bicep. “Good night Madame.”

You keep your eyes forward letting Dia escort you. The Marquess hisses quietly under her breath, something dark and biting in their native tongue. Diavolo goes rigid in head-snapping about inhumanly fast. The temperature in the hallway drops.

"Dia." You call in warning, breath wafting up in great puffs from the chilled air. He ignores you, turning his full attention to the interloper. He replies in turn voice simmering with rage. She wilts, head tilting down into a mockery of the usually appropriate bow when speaking to him. Beneath the fringes of her bangs, you could see a smirk playing on her lips. She struck the exact nerve she was looking for. "Dia," You pull on him more adamantly. "Come please?" His shoulders loosen at your words. His gold eyes drifting down to look at you.

"We will speak of this later matrona." He leaves the matter at that leaving with you in haste. The rest of the walk is tense, his eyes now darting to each shadowy corner in case another guest jumps from them.

"I apologize for that." Diavolo sighs the moment the doors to his private quarters close. He loosens his tie and tosses it to his smoking chair by the fire. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be out in a moment." He smiles at you before disappearing into his bathroom.

You take a seat kicking off your slippers to dig your toes into the plush hide of some animal you didn't know the name of and pour out two drinks for you and Diavolo. Waiting for him to reappear you eye the treats laid out on the table next to you. They looked too good to ignore. Popping a few tarts into your mouth you groan at the sweet citrus and mint creme that coated your tongue. Your ears twitch at the creak of the bathroom door.

Burly arms drape over your shoulders as Diavolo bends to nuzzle your neck. "Too good to wait?" He chuckles. You flush hyper-aware of the sugar cookie crumbs on the corner of your mouth.

"You said help myself." You reply after swallowing.

The prince hums. "That I did." He raises a thick finger up to collect the crumbs around your lips. "Ah- Barb outdoes himself again." He licks his finger coming around to take the seat next to you. Diavolo busies himself for a moment propping his feet up on his footrest and taking the drink you prepared from the table along with a good handful of sweets. Despite his casual demeanor you still could feel his agitation thrumming through your markings.

"I'm sorry." You blurt out. He looks up at you with a frown. "That confrontation in the hall, what the Marquess said was about me wasn't it?" You didn't know what her heated words meant, but the context of the exchange was quite clear.

A glint of pain flashes through his golden gaze. Diavolo goes for his drink, downing half of it in one large gulp. "You have nothing to apologize for. " He licks his teeth deep in thought before dropping his head back with a grunt. "What are politics like in your realm? Are they all-" He waves his glass vaguely.

You sit for a moment thinking hard on what you remember of human politics. "Most countries are no longer run by royal families. Though they still have a lot of sway with laws and the like." You take a sip. "But, back when royal families were more prevalent I would say they were like this." You mimic his little hand wave with a little smile.

"Homicidal and power-hungry?"

"Quite so." You chuckle looking into the fire. "Perhaps I can take you on a mini trip to go visit some old palaces?" Diavolo perks up intrigued.

"Where do you have in mind?"

"Maybe Italy?"

His eyes grow dark. "And why there?" He bites out. You shrug feeling as though you just crossed an unspoken line.

"Just-well. Your name, at least in human culture, is Italian, and you slip into it so casually. I thought you would like it..."

"I am not looking for you to humor me." He cuts you off. His glass thunking heavily on his oak side table, amber liquid sloshing over the side. "I get enough of that from the court. I only wish to spend time with you." You acknowledge him with a faint nod curling into your seat. "Ah-no, no mi giglio." Diavolo reaches for you, scooping you up to sit in his lap. "Forgive my agitation. If it is somewhere you wish to go then I would be happy to take us... The south is beautiful this time of year I hear." A shuttered look crosses over his eyes before he blinks it away. "Shall I get started with preparations?"

He pulls you in closer, your heat seeping through the thin layers of clothes separating the two of you. He feels you melt into the soft planes of his body. His closeness soothing the itching of your bandaged and oiled skin. Dia falls silent listening to you nod off on his lap but does nothing to stop you. Closing his eyes he instead enjoys the feel of his pseudo mark upon your body vibrating in harmony with his magic. Stroking your neck and spine he is unable to control the flood of unwanted memories bubbling to the surface of his mind. As you sleep peacefully unaware of your wishes he spends the rest of the evening watching the flames die down, lost in a waking nightmare.

[icyxmischief]

Loki Ep 1 Pt 1

Here comes the blow-by-blow initial review: 

--Wise to start at the point where AA!Loki (our new current Loki) stole the Tesseract and skipped out of Endgame (also incidentally the point at which I, gratefully, stopped watching Endgame, L O L ).  

--I was at first a bit cautious about the rhetorical device of making Loki more “relatable” at the expense of his ferocity, mystery, and elegance, but I’ve decided that doing so allows a kind of “behind the scenes” glimpse at the character as a living breathing person who lures the audience into sympathy with him, by granting us the “privileged” view of the bumps along the ride that he has to deal with in order to cultivate that enigmatic persona. It makes us feel like his buddies as we watch the film. I was worried this would make the film too much like Ragnarok, with its manically anarchic humor that has its place but is ill-suited to the Thor franchise.  Instead, it’s just enough of a dose of irreverence to afford us candor from the master of deceit.  When he rips off the collar/mask and spits out sand in the Mongolian desert, that one simple detail sets the stage wonderfully for that new angle at the character. It’s such a small narrative device, but it makes all the difference. 

--The need to stand on the only higher point in the desert to tell the Mongols his “glorious purpose” catch-phrase was pretty fucking hilarious. My darling, your need to grandstand and overcompensate for being invisible all your life is in rather endearing evidence <3   “Never mind,” lol.  His diplomacy skills are highly IC. 

--Tiny nitpick: if he speaks Alltongue, which he does, he would have understood the Mongolian woman and spoken in her language already. 

--Referring to Loki as a “Variant” is a wonderful bit of meta built into the show.  Beyond the literal interpretation as a person who causes variations on the “Sacred Timeline,” Loki is anything but a conformist in any regard, and wears that V proudly. 

--”I think I’ve had my fill of idiots in armored suits telling me what to do” lmfaooooooooo. Golden.   “This is your last chance, now get out of my way,” god Tom hasn’t forgotten how to make Loki’s voice go from warm and pleasant to venomous and smoky.  

--He learns so fast and is so resourceful.  The timeline is being reset and he’s immediately watching with steel-trap focus to learn his new adversary.  After exhaustion and psychological torture, after a face-off on Stark Tower with his brother that compelled him to weep, Loki is still that sharp minded and that’s admirable as fuck. 

--I know people are gonna take issue with the number of times he got himself and the collar on his neck “rewound” by the agents, used as a gag, but I actually find this joke at his expense permissible: it showcases his sympathetic and admirable trait of being extremely obstinate and determined, of surviving.  THAT SAID, these agents had better not be mere humans if they can strongarm a Jotun physically without breaking a sweat (I’ve read that they almost certainly are genetic clones/mutations bred specifically for work at the TVA, so that tracks). 

--The TVA’s....mid-sixties corporate office space mundanity? Is a hilarious technique that strikes me as very Terry Pratchett, which is always a good thing. 

--NOT a fan of the stripping him naked thing when he’s spent his whole damn life having his agency violated in one way or another, and recently quite literally and violently, but every “villain” growth story unfortunately requires being knocked down a few pegs.  Some have also posited that this is also a metaphysical “stripping” of Loki’s entire identity to date, allowing him to move forward and heal via the trials of working for these people. I hope so.   Trying not to make a Big Deal out of the way that he stammers when he says “now, now hang on j-just a minute,” before he is dropped through the trap door. 

--Hoping we deal a little more comprehensively with the SEVERE C-PTSD Loki has contracted from his time with Thanos. For Loki and Loki’s psyche, this starts mere hours after the siege of New York in 2012.

[renegades-garbage]

Renegades Divergent AU Prologue

Hi, a while ago I made a post asking people if they would read this AU and some said they would so I’m writing it. Sorry, it’s been so long since I posted that jhdvcuvcduv.

This prologue isn’t my favorite thing I’ve written but the actual chapters will be better I promise.

My goal is to get chapter one out in the next couple of days but idk. Upload schedules stress me out lmao. 

Anyways hope you enjoy this, please tell me if you do I need validation. Ok, love you bye.

Also here are the people that said would read this(if anybody else wants to be tagged in the next chapters let me know)- @aaaangie  @the-wee-woo-royal  @ luna-maximoff-22 

Prologue 

The world was in shambles to say the least, and six teenagers decided it was their job to fix it. They were in a time we now call the Age of Anarchy. Violence littered the streets, and poverty ran rampant throughout the country.

Everyone hated the ones called prodigies. They had gifts; amazing powers, but many let fear muddle their views of prodigies. Alec Artino, more commonly known as Ace Anarchy, wanted to change the world. He was a prodigy himself, holding the power of telekinesis. He preached equality but what he did to get it was anything but fair. 

He formed a group of prodigies known as the Anarchists. They caused great destruction and many deaths, but they saw this as necessary to get prodigies what they deserved.

This violence is what caused Hugh Everhart, Simon Westwood, Georgia Rawles, Evander Wade, Tamaya Rae, and Kasumi Hasegawa now called the council to form the renegades, and the factions. 

The renegades were a group of prodigies who swooped in to save the day and destroy Ace Anarchy. The factions are what they decided would be best to keep the peace. Everyone would live in a different faction with an assigned attribute, and when they turned sixteen there would be a choosing ceremony where they could pick the faction of their choice to live in for the rest of their lives. 

 The Renegades Council decided that each of them would lead a factor. Hugh(captain chromium) and Simon(the dread warden) would lead Dauntless, the brave. Georgia( lady indomitable) would lead Erudite, the intelligent. Evander (blacklight)  would lead Candor, the honest. Kasumi (tsunami) would lead Amity, the peaceful. And Tamaya (thunderbird)  would lead Abnegation, the selfless. 

Many people saw this as a wonderful solution to the war they were fighting. They started to look at prodigies as heroes and protectors instead of villains.

The Anarchists on the other hand hated the factions. They saw this as just another way to strip people of their rights, so they became The Factionless, and everyone hated them.

After the age of anarchy the Anarchists were silenced and things settled down. People lived in peace and most stayed in their home faction when it came time to choose. People looked up to prodigies and The Renegades became a huge organization with prodigies from all factions. Things were perfect all because of the council.

[sleeperswakewriting]

First time smut? Could be both or one inexperienced with a dose of comedy ^^

Summary: Childhood friends to lovers, Levi finally works up the nerve to ask Petra to go to prom with him. After years of pining, they decide to lose their virginity to each other on prom night.

Rated: M

Word Count: 5.4k

Prom outfits based on this!

now playing inevitable by anberlin and I think we're alone now by tiffany

If you told Levi Ackerman that the best night of his life would include loud music, drunk teenagers, and a broken air conditioner, then he would have called you crazy and told you to piss off.

Except, of course, unless you mentioned one small detail.

He would be attending prom with his childhood crush, Petra Ral.

Friends since they were babies, neighbors both raised by single parents, they were the best of friends.

Even if they were polar opposites.

Petra was on the cheerleading team, doing cartwheels and somersaults by the time she could walk and was a social butterfly with a heart of gold.

Levi had exactly five friends, not including Petra—Erwin, Hange, Mike, Eld, and Gunther. He met them when they were in elementary school and his friend group had stayed the same ever since.

Throughout the years, their friendship faced trials and tribulations, mostly due to the fact Levi had been in love with her for as long as he could remember, and Petra was absolutely oblivious to the fact.

So much so, that she would dance around the room while they did homework, clad in booty shorts and a loose t-shirt with no bra on. He knew she saw him as a brother, going as far as to kiss him on the cheek in times when she was feeling particularly affectionate, and allowing him to wrap his arms around her with each heartbreak she faced.

"Levi, why don't you ever date? You could get any girl you want!"

He didn't dare tell her why. Even though Petra would never actually leave him, he enjoyed their affable candor, her free touches, and smugly, their Friday night movie nights, a ritual they had since they were children.

Which was also the point of contention between her and her current boyfriend.

He had a bit of a reputation as being a hard ass, also Petra's silent bodyguard even though she didn't need it, and one guy in particular—Oluo, had the nerve to come between their sacred time.

And Petra being Petra, invited him to their movie night, to Levi's chagrin, but miraculously, Oluo had taken a liking to him and the three had a few more movie nights together.

Eventually, they broke up amicably, with Petra teasing Levi that it was because Oluo had a bigger crush on him than her.

It was their senior year, which meant college applications were rolling out, and for the first time in Levi's life, he faced the reality that he might be alone.

Petra had gotten a full scholarship as a cheerleader, Erwin was going to business school, Hange to a STEM school, which left him...

"Directionless!" His mother called him. "I've worked so hard raising an intelligent young man and you can't pick a school?! Application times are ticking, Levi, you need to choose something—-a major, a school, something!"

He asked Petra what she thought about him going to school across the country, and in her infuriating smile, she patted him on the shoulder and said whatever made him happy.

I want to make you happy, he wanted to say.

The summer of their junior year was filled as it always was; late nights talking around the bonfire, camping, and summer jobs.

Petra had gotten him a gig as a camp counselor, a job he wouldn't have gotten if it weren't for her since he had "the personality of a boar," as Hange aptly put it. But, with her sweet persuasion and way with people, she had convinced the manager that Levi would be a fine addition to the team.

And he could lead the children's soccer league!

As luck would have it, he was pretty good with kids, and they latched on to Levi's stoic personality with glee.

It was a sleep-away camp, and while the girls and boys slept in separate cabins, counselors included, Levi knew Petra had a rule-breaking streak (that she got from him) and snuck out after curfew so they could watch the stars.

"The night sky is easier to see than in our hometown!" She exclaimed, leaning against his shoulder.

There was no way she would be able to hear how fast his heart was beating, how his cheeks were heated from how close she was, but all of that seemed to change when she took his hand in hers.

"This is our last summer like this, isn't it?" She whispered, and he dared to wrap an arm around her, even though it was far from the first time.

"Yeah," he agreed gruffly, not wanting the cruel reminder. Would they stay friends? Would she leave him? Did he fuck up all his chances to be with her?

Erwin and Hange kept telling him to tell her how he feels—they weren't getting any younger, and Levi morosely pointed out that she's dated several people, with none of them like him at all.

Well, there's a reason why none of them worked out, they observed.

Petra leaned in closer, burying her face into his shoulder as she sniffed. "I'm not ready for senior year. So many choices to make. I mean, I'm glad to be more independent, but I like living with my dad, you being right next door, and our friends all being in one place. Everything is going to change."

Levi swallowed, her words like bile in his throat, but choosing to placate her.

"Well, not everything."

She looked at him, eyes watering with hope.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, looking away from her, not being able to tolerate her steady laugh, her playful friendly shove, and an "Oh, you!"

But she did neither of those things, and he looked back cautiously, noticing a different look in her eyes.

Maybe it was the moonlight, but her gaze was tender, her lips puckering in a way that he'd never seen before, and before he knew it, she was leaning in to kiss him.

Levi had his first kiss when he was 13 years old in a game of spin the bottle, with Petra in attendance. She had been making eyes at a boy all night, and in a fit of frustration, he spun the bottle furiously, hoping it would land on her, but instead, on another girl who he was fairly sure had a crush on him.

Petra walloped with the rest of their friends, cheering and loudly goading, and it was over before he could blink twice.

Hange took pity on him later, locking them in a closet for 7 minutes in heaven, but it turned into Petra crying over the boy who wasn't paying attention to her, with him consoling her as best friends do.

She was bliss, her sweet pea body spray engulfing his senses, as he tentatively kissed her back, wondering if this was some delirious dream he was having.

Petra was moaning in a way that he thought was only in fantasy, at night when he dared imagined himself as her boyfriend, and when she pressed her body against his, breasts deliciously folding against his chest, he groaned in return, releasing them from the kiss to catch his breath.

"Petra, what's going on?" He asked, caressing his forehead to hers, begging that this wasn't some mistake.

She kissed his cheek, then his nose, as she giggled, "I love you, Levi. You've always been there for me, I guess what I've been looking for has been here the whole time. You...You feel the same way about me, right?"

Nifa and Nanaba had teased her relentlessly that she was building a harem since, for every guy she dated, Levi was very much a part of her life, even accompanying her on some group dates.

"I don't want him to be lonely!" She argued, putting on her watermelon lipgloss. "You know how he is, all by his lonesome. Everyone knows he's like my brother."

Nanaba laughed, giving her a look, "Well someone better call the cops because brothers shouldn't be looking at you like that. I can't believe you wear this around him," she said, pinching Petra's thigh that cut off just at her ass by her extra-large PJ shirt.

Rolling her eyes, "Please, we've seen each other in diapers. And in cringey Halloween costumes. I think we're past feeling embarrassed."

"Whatever you say," Nanaba said, noticing the pink hue on Petra's cheeks as she talked about him.

Levi thought he would be caught dead before he said I love you to anyone but his mother, and even then, it was given in brief, stilted tones.

But with Petra, he said it as quickly as he could, pulling her in for another kiss, wanting to hold on to her for as long as she would allow him.

His mother was thrilled, always having a feeling that her son harbored feelings for their ginger neighbor, and her father awkwardly patted him on the back.

"Glad it's you, son. I'm tired of all the jocks she brings around," and with a crane of the neck and a stern look, he said, "By the way, Petra, same rules apply, door stays open at all times!"

Petra groaned, stomping up the stairs. "Daddy, it's Levi! We used to listen to music on my boombox when we were 10, remember? We'd keep the door closed so you couldn't hear the CDs we bought from the thrift store."

Her father gave her a cautionary glance to her, then to Levi, who for the first time in his life, felt scared of the serene man.

"Door. Open." Her dad said with a final word, and Petra huffed, dragging Levi into her bedroom as she bemoaned how much she wanted to kiss him, earning a cough from downstairs.

Their relationship was "going steady" as some would call, with it being Levi's first relationship (he hoped his only), and Petra getting used to the idea that he was now her boyfriend.

He got jealous quite often, to the extent where he would hold her hand in the hallway or would walk with one arm wrapped around her shoulders. If he was feeling particularly whipped, he'd hold her books, but he wasn't sure if the snickers from Erwin and Hange were worth it. Not the one for PDA, Petra was surprised when he asked to hold hands, and she was more so endeared at his exuberant affections.

So far, these were the happiest days of Levi's life.

When springtime came around, with the seniors abuzz with the promise of graduation and more importantly, prom, he came to the dreaded realization that Petra was expecting a "promposal," something he had seen throughout his four years of high school but always wrote it off as annoying.

He supposed he didn't think he'd be lucky enough to go with the girl of his dreams.

It started with Nifa, who received a promposal from Gunther in the most saccharine way possible, a candy gram.

Then Nanaba and Mike, the latter coordinating a flash mob with their friends. (Levi didn't dance, but Petra told him all about it and showed them the final video they recorded).

It was a given that Eld and his long-time girlfriend would be going together.

Hange dropped on Levi that she and Erwin were also going as a pair, but it was nothing serious, and decided to go together just so they wouldn't have to deal with the headache of finding an actual date.

Which left Petra, waiting for Levi, and not being the one for grand gestures, he sat himself down to work on a promposal in the only way he knew how to.

Coding a video game.

Petra may be a cheerleader, but she was also a huge nerd thanks to Levi, where they spent most of their childhood playing every video game between his Gamecube, her PS2, and subsequently, their Nintendo DS's, and trading and exchanging games throughout their adolescence.

Their personal favorite was Zelda, with Petra often handing the controller off to him for the harder dungeons, and he knew just what to do when they had their usual Friday night movie, this time at his house.

Cuddled up on the sofa, they were kissing, barely paying attention to the movie as the white of the TV illuminated their bodies. A half-eaten box of pizza was open and cups of soda were on the table in front of them.

It was getting late, and he knew Petra had to be home soon, and he tried to focus on not losing his nerve. Hands at her waist, her plush body against his, he told himself there was nothing to worry about since this was Petra and she chose him when she could have any guy in the school. Eight months of dating should have said so.

Petra seemed to catch his hesitancy as she broke the kiss, but suckled at his lower lip in a way that he adored before she whispered, "Something wrong?"

She knew him so well.

Pulling her in for one more kiss, he reached for the remote to shut the TV off. "I coded a game," he said seriously, wondering if his face gave away his nervousness. "I was wondering if you could try it."

Eyes sparkling, Petra nodded excitedly. "It's been a while since you've made something!"

He ran to get his laptop, already having the file ready while he opened his computer, sliding it in front of her.

"It's, uh, standard WASD to walk, and you can use the numbers to click on objects," he explained as a black screen opened, showcasing a pixelated version of Petra. She held a magic wand with some fire at the end, and she was smiling, wearing her cheerleading outfit.

"Is this me?" She asked, giggling as she went through the dungeon, shooting fire bolts from her wand.

He nodded, staring at the screen in apprehension.

"Not to be a critic, but it's a little easy. Maybe add some mazes so it's not as linear?" She suggested, blasting through a monster.

"Sure, yeah, I'll keep it in mind," he said absently, chewing at his lip as she made it to the final room.

A dragon with a letterman jacket appeared, and Petra easily dodged his fire while she gave more flicks of her wand. The dragon poofed away in a cloud of smoke, revealing a chest, and as she clicked to open it, the chest opening sound from Zelda played, making Petra squeal.

"Oh boy, what am I gonna get?" She asked with an excited clap, and the screen enlarged, a picture of a blue rose and a question in pixelated letters asking,

IT'S DANGEROUS TO GO ALONE. WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME?

YES / NO

Mouth gaping, Petra looked to Levi, who was nearly squirming out of his skin in panic, clasping his hands together firmly.

Petra smiled, moving the cursor over to "YES" and clicked on it, playing the item received sound from Zelda, and confetti popped on the screen.

Crashing into Levi, Petra kissed him, wondering why it took her so long to see that she had been adored her entire life.

"You're so romantic," she sighed, tugging at his hair and running her fingers down his undercut.

Levi wanted to nearly cry from relief but quickly forgot about his distress as Petra flicked her tongue down his earlobe. She whispered she had five minutes until curfew, and it was a good thing they were neighbors so she wouldn't have to hurry home.

---

It's too damn hot, Levi thought to himself, tugging at his cravat that contrasted with his black button-down and white suit. A chain tied the two ends of the jacket together, also accompanied by a white pocket square, and even though he liked his ensemble when his mother first helped him pick it out, it was starting to feel too tight as sweat clung to his skin, the layers of the fabric suffocating him in the mid-spring weather.

Maybe it wasn't the only reason he was hot, he entertained, seeing Petra dance with their friends, dressed in a spaghetti strap orange dress and matching cream ribbon. Around her wrist was a blue rose corsage, the one he gifted her when he picked her up from her house in his mom's beat-up minivan.

She looked radiant, and perhaps what made her even more attractive was the fact that she was dressed for him. He had seen her in dozens of outfits ranging from sweat pants to middle school formals, but tonight, this was just about the two of them.

Blushing, she accepted his flowers and corsage, posing for pictures by the stairwell he used to climb with her, pretending monsters were chasing them.

Wrapping his arms around her had never felt so right as they slow danced, the dim light and rainbow disco ball illuminating their touch starved bodies. Levi Ackerman didn't dance, but for her, he would do anything as long as she was by his side.

Pressing her cheek to his chest, happy she chose only an inch for her heels so he was still taller, she whispered to him, "Are you nervous about tonight?"

Petra had agreed to go as fast or slow as Levi wanted, especially with it being his first relationship, but there was one request she had after he had asked her to prom.

"I want to have sex with you if you're ready," she said after a heated make-out session.

"Here?!" He asked, looking at his childhood bedroom, the same navy walls he had known for 18 years staring back at him.

"No, not here!" She giggled, flopping down onto his body.

"Prom night," she said quietly. "I've been saving myself for someone special and I want it to be you. I've never gone all the way with a guy...."

"Really?" He asked in wonderment, assuming Petra had sex, a thought he kept firmly shut off at the back of his mind.

"It just never felt right before. Until you." Scooting up to meet his lips, he groaned, evidence of his arousal for her apparent from the first time they kissed and then after. Sometimes she palmed his pants, sometimes he took care of himself right after she left, but he never wanted to push too far, or come across as inexperienced to Petra.

"We're both 18, I was thinking we can rent a hotel room. I can tell my dad I'm sleeping at Nifa's. You can say you're at Erwin's."

A million thoughts and images flashed through Levi's mind, but the only thing he could hear was I'm going to have sex.

"Prom night, then," he agreed.

He had stayed up hours the night before reading up on sex, the technical side of things, the intimate parts, and discussing protection with Petra the weeks leading up to it. They agreed on condoms, so he went to the store in the middle of the night to get a box, and stuffed them in the back of his underwear drawer so his mother wouldn't find them.

Before he left for Petra's, his mother embraced him, giving him the speech that he was growing up so fast, how proud she was of him, and that she was so happy he and Petra were dating.

It was then she pulled out a plastic shopping bag of condoms and started putting them in his pockets, both his jacket and pants, and Levi nearly pushed her to the ground, face flaming.

"What the hell, mom?!"

She gave him a stern look. "I know what kids do on prom night, Levi. I just want you and Petra to be careful—Don't make me a grandmother just yet! Look, I got you different sizes and flavors—"

They were not having this conversation, and Levi haphazardly unlocked the front door, barely sliding his shoes on, "Stop. Just stop. We're, uh, we're fine. We have everything we need."

Kuchel breathed a sigh of relief, placing three more condoms into Levi's hand, accompanied by forty dollars. "Good. Just be safe. Tell me if you need anything, and have fun at the hotel," she winked, and Levi gaped at her.

"What?" She asked innocently. "I know you guys are 18. And I might have heard Petra in the grocery store gossiping with her friends."

He facepalmed, groaning. Of course, Petra would be broadcasting losing her virginity.

To you, he reminded himself.

Levi stepped back into the house, kissing his mom swiftly on the cheek, muttering I love you as he took the car keys and drove down the half a block to Petra's house. Kuchel waved as she closed the door, happy her son was finally with Petra.

"A little," he admitted to Petra, back in the present. He kissed the crown of her head, holding her close. "Are you?"

Nodding, she raised her head to look at him, though they were nearly at eye level.

"But I'm happy it's with you."

A more upbeat song began, causing the numerous couples on the dance floor to break away and spin onto the dance floor. Petra let him go, but grasping his hand as she guided them back to their friends, encouraging them all to hold hands.

"To senior year!" They shouted, and as much Levi wanted to say he hated crowds, the sweat, and the lack of personal space, he found himself not caring, savoring the last tendrils of adolescence.

---

Petra was talking nonstop as they drove to the hotel, only 15 minutes away from the prom venue, and while she was usually a chatterbox, she found it was more from nerves than actually having anything significant to say.

Levi had one of their mixtapes in the CD player, burned during their middle school years written in sharpie Levi and Petra's mixtape, volume 5. Stolen songs from the internet, coupled with tracks from both of their iTunes libraries, Petra always marveled at how opposite they could be, and yet shared similar interests.

The songs were so familiar to her that she involuntarily sang along, reminiscing how often she played their shared songs and rolling over in excitement on her bed when she found a track she knew Levi would like.

Levi parked, hand still resting at the clutch as he looked to her with a steady breath. "We're here," he said quietly and Petra nodded sweetly in return.

Both brought two small duffles to change out of their prom clothes, and shuffled into the hotel, checking in, trying not to look like two teenagers about to have sex for the first time, but ultimately failing as Levi's hands shook as he slid the key card in.

Booking the cheapest room they could find that wasn't a motel, there was little space to walk other than the perimeter around the king-sized bed, a TV with a dresser, and a door leading to the bathroom where Petra excused herself to.

Levi switched the lights on, checking for anything unsavory, and dropped his duffel bag to the floor, checking himself in the door mirror.

Should he change? He didn't want to look too casual, not having the faintest idea of what "sexy" pajamas looked like for men, and he awkwardly paced, debating to at least take his jacket off, unhooking the chain to let his lapels break free.

He hung the jacket over the nearby loveseat, then fiddled with his cravat, wondering if he should take that off too since Petra may find it to be a nuisance, and before he could debate with himself any longer, he heard the bathroom door open up, revealing Petra in a pink baby doll outfit.

Blinking at him with doe eyes, she blushed furiously, not meeting his wandering eyes.

She was definitely not wearing that before they got in, so she must have changed, and suddenly, Levi felt very overdressed as his mouth went dry.

Licking his lips, he hurriedly got the "sex stuff" from his bag, throwing the box of condoms onto the nightstand, followed by lube, and Petra started giggling as he undid the condoms from his pockets as well.

"How many times do you think we're going to have sex tonight? 50?" She joked, eyes raking at the varieties.

"My mom insisted," he grumbled, heat creeping up his neck and Petra's eyes widened in embarrassment and fear.

"You told her?!"

"No!" He blurted defensively. "She figured it out. You know how perceptive she is."

Petra hummed in agreement, scooping up the condoms and putting them back into his duffel.

"I think it's safe to say we can just use that box," she said, pointing to the Trojan extra-large, then running her hands down his arms.

Levi shuddered, unsure if he wanted to keep staring at her or rip the lingerie off, but found himself unable to speak as Petra kissed him heatedly, tongue diving in, and placed his hands on her breasts.

"You can touch them, you know," she whispered, and Levi could have come alone from the contact, his hands touching the silken mounds he had fantasized about ever since they hit puberty.

He backed them into the bed, with Petra's back falling against the plush sheets, and she moaned as Levi pressed his weight against her, gently rocking against her body. She reached for his cravat, tugging it off so that it hung around his neck, and began unbuttoning his dress shirt.

"Have I told you how handsome you look tonight?" she purred, her pearl earrings catching the light in the room.

"Yes, but I can stand to hear it a bit more," he replied, daring himself to touch her legs, each graze of his fingertips like electricity down her spine.

The babydoll deliciously pushed her breasts together as a cute little ribbon sat in between her breasts. The material was nearly opaque, and his mouth watered, thinking of Petra in a thong, despite the number of times he'd seen her in a bathing suit.

"And you look, uh, amazing," he breathed above her.

"Really?" Petra exclaimed in relief. "Nanaba helped me pick it out, said that you're probably more into cute-sexy than sexy-sexy."

Gently sliding the straps down so he could kiss her bare shoulders where her freckles met, he said, "Anything you wear for me is sexy."

"Mmm," Petra sighed as he continued working at her top, finding the ribbon in the back and letting it fall off her arms until she was left in her bare breasts.

Instinctively, she went to cover then, but at Levi's eager and furtive look, she released them, guiding his hands back onto her chest, encouraging him to knead and caress her.

He was clumsy, but in an endearing way, fascinated that he was able to elicit such sounds from her, and when he realized she was only wearing her underwear, and he was wearing too much, he immediately discarded his shirt, then moved to unbuckle his pants.

"Let me help you with that," Petra said, sliding onto her knees to unzip his fly, then eagerly sliding them down his legs as he kicked it off.

"Wow," she breathed at the tent in his boxers, and he had the urge to cover himself as well until Petra reached for him, stroking his length and he moaned loudly.

"Y-you can't do that, I'm gonna come," he coaxed himself to say despite how magnificent it felt.

Blushing, happy she was able to make him feel so much with so little, Petra removed her hand and embraced him as they fell back onto the mattress.

They kissed again, feeling each other's bodies for the first time in this state, hands needy but asking for permission, Levi skimmed the tips of his fingers over Petra's ass, earning a hiss of pleasure.

"I need you," she whined, and unsure of how to proceed, Levi detached himself and grabbed a condom, hands shaking as he undid the wrapper.

"You know how to put it on?" Petra asked out of concern and fascination.

He nodded, slipping it down while pulling the tip. "I've done a test run just to make sure. I, uh, was thinking of you the entire time—-" Fuck, this was not romantic in the slightest, Levi chastised to himself. Petra didn't want to hear how he tested the physics of it, how to avoid using it incorrectly which led to him snapping it against his fingers.

But practice makes perfect, and he felt confident as he hovered above Petra, kissing her neck softly while feeling awkward from the latex between them. She hooked her thumbs over her panties, taking them off, and spread her legs for him, her expression yearning and hopeful.

"I've heard it might hurt," Levi said, breath heady at the sight of her womanhood, a cute ginger patch of curls.

"It's okay. You can't hurt me, it's you," she said gently, resting her hands against his shoulder blades, egging him forward.

Levi placed the tip at her entrance, holding his breath as Petra wriggled beneath him, gasping from the friction and he slid in very slowly, both moaning from the contact.

Petra was slick with arousal, and as he continued to push in, they gasped in time, and Levi had to keep himself from moving too firmly because she felt absolutely wonderful, all warm and tight.

"You okay?" He asked, noticing her wrinkled expression, and Petra gasped, opening one eye.

"Y-yeah, you're just really big. But I feel okay."

Pride swelled within him, kissing her gently as he throbbed with desire, and asked her permission to move.

Lifting her hips, he groaned, pumping into her once, then twice, then on the third—-

"Argh!" He gasped, already coming, not being to restrain himself because that's how good she felt.

Shame washed over him as Petra realized what was happening, and she held him gently as goosebumps danced across his skin.

He immediately removed himself from her, hobbling to the bathroom, and Petra looked worried as she processed what had just happened, but pleased that nothing unsafe occurred.

She squeezed her legs together, disappointment and frustration throbbing between her legs, but Levi reappeared, looking thoroughly abashed as he tucked his underwear back on.

"Petra, I'm so sorry about that. Let me make it up to you—"

And before Petra could protest, he crawled to her on all fours at the base of the bed, and placed his hands on her knees, opening them slightly.

"I read that most girls like this better away," he began, kissing her inner thigh, and Petra rolled her head back, happy he was tending to her, but squeaking as he immediately dove his head between her legs, then licking her core with an unpracticed tongue.

"Eek!" She screeched, kicking him in the chest out of reflex from the surprising sensation.

"Ow!" Levi exclaimed, falling back and looking like a mixture of pissed off and fear.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked, inching back to her, and Petra plopped her head against the pillow, laughing hard to herself.

"I should be asking you that, I'm sorry I kicked you," she said, giggling into the popcorn ceiling, then turning to face him. "I think for that, we need to warm up a bit. But...I don't want that tonight. Another time," she added with a hopeful look and Levi smiled sadly, hanging his head.

"I'm shit in bed."

Petra weaved a hand through his hair, realizing how much pressure he was under. "No, you're not, Levi. You were just excited. If anything, it's flattering," she said, an adorable pink blush filling her cheeks.

"We'll get better with time and practice. While we wait for you to reset, I brought something for me. I figured something like this would happen."

She padded to her duffel bag, taking out a pink dildo, and clicked it on. It vibrated, and Levi looked at her with a dumbstruck face as she smirked in response.

"Maybe we'll need all those condoms anyway."

[haileygarciasunshine]

Kissing into the New Year

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Fem!Reader 

Written: December 30th, 2020

Posted: December 30th, 2020

Warning: None, Gets steamy

Word Count: 646

Summary: Used Prompt Person A complains about never having had a New Years Kiss before. Person B surprises them at midnight from my Promptlist

New Years Masterlist

“Do we have to go?” You groaned letting your head fall back against the couch. 

The sweet melody of Tom’s chuckle filled your ears. “Of course we do!” He beamed gliding back into the living room. “You’re my best friend. I’m not going to let you be alone on New Years'.”

Letting out a frustrated huff, you rolled your eyes. “Whatever you say.”

Tom sent you a toothy grin before returning to his bedroom. Sighing, you returned your attention to your phone. You were sitting on Tom’s couch in a black form-fitting cocktail dress, that stopped mid-thigh.

"We’re gonna be late.” You called not bothering to glance up. Tom had been getting ready for the New Year's Eve party since before you were at his house.

“I know love, I’m almost ready.” He stated as his voice sounded closer than before.

Glancing up, your jaw fell slack as you took in Tom in a suit. He was always breathtaking when he dressed up, but it always took you by surprise whenever you saw him.

“Ready?” He questioned as he finished buttoning his suit blazer.

“Uh-huh.” You hummed, clearing your throat. 

Standing up from the couch, you followed Tom out of his house and into his vehicle. 

The car ride to the party was filled with off-key singing and laughter.

Tom had always been your best friend. He was one of the only people you could count on to come in your time of need. Tom was the type of person to drop everything to assist the person in need. The closeness that you felt over the years had begun to develop into something else. That feeling of something else, you buried down deep not wanting to ruin the relationship you had with him.

Once you arrived at the party, you were quickly whisked away from Tom. Dancing around the room, you chatted with other party-goers as well as your friends. 

Deciding you needed a break, you burrowed yourself into the nearest corner. As you attempted to ground yourself, you tried to blend into the fake potted plant.

“Hiding are we?” Tom’s familiar voice questioned from beside you. “Not very convincing if you ask me.” He commented standing next to you nonchalantly.

“Maybe.” You giggled. “I just needed a breather.”

Tom turned to face you as he nodded. “That’s understandable. It can be overwhelming in this setting if you’re not used to it.” 

Nodding you frowned. “Yeah.”

“Did you meet someone to be your New Years' kiss?” He questioned attempting to cut the thick tension that grew between you.

“No..” Your voice trailed off. "I’ve never had a New Years' kiss...”

Tom’s jaw fell slack at your candor.

“You’ve....You’ve never..”

“Nope.” You frowned, the feeling of sadness washed over you.

“Well, now you do.”

“Tom?” You questioned skeptically, gazing into his eyes.

“If you’ll have me, I’d be more than happy to be your first New Years' kiss.” He spoke, lifting his hand to scratch the back of his neck as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“I...uh... Are you sure?” You questioned feeling slightly off guard by his comment.

Tom was cut off by the sound of partygoers counting down.

4....

3...

2...

1...

Tom's hands gently cradled the back of your head, as he took a step forward. His chest was pressed firmly against yours. Angling your head upwards, he leaned down before placing his lips on yours.

“Happy New Year!” The partygoers yelled as they rang in the New Year.

Placing your hands on Tom’s waist, your back colliding with the cool wood wall. Nipping at your bottom lip, Tom licked your bottom lip before resting his forehead against yours. His hands moved to rest along your jaw.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that.” Tom breathed, before pulling you back into another kiss.

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[edendaphne]

“Discordant Sonata” Chapter 17

>>Click here to read on Ao3<<

>>Click here to read on Wattpad<<

-------

CHAPTER 17: LULLABY

(Mood Music: Quiet Beauty - James Todd)

One Chilly Sunday Evening

Chat Noir laughed so hard he was practically gasping for air, and his heart thumped like a drum in his chest.

How many times had they done this? Was it five? A dozen? A hundred? Racing Ladybug across city rooftops felt so normal, so natural, as if he’d done it a million times across countless different lifetimes. Whatever the case, there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“I win!” he announced, breathless, as he landed on the solid ground of the Dupain-Cheng bakery’s balcony, promptly followed by his partner.

The light of the moon illuminated her graceful frame as she caught her breath, and it took all of Chat’s willpower not to gawk as a bead of sweat made its way from her temple to her cheek, then trailed down her jaw and onto her neck.

“Only because you cheated!” Ladybug chided, trying (yet failing) to hide an amused smile.

Chat put a hand on his hip, cheekily cocking it to the side as he caught his own breath. “I bet you could’ve won if you really wanted to. Were you trailing behind me on purpose to check out my assets? Or don’t tell me that you’ve never been tempted to take a peek?”

Ladybug raised a quizzical eyebrow, and a beat later replied with an impish smirk, “Well... I never said I haven’t.”

Chat’s eyes grew wide, his bright, chartreuse-green sclera becoming more visible than Ladybug had ever seen, their faint glow a stark contrast with the red color that bloomed on his cheeks.

Ladybug giggled (How dare she be so adorable yet still so attractive?!) and stepped towards him, placing her finger under his chin and closing his mouth with a small click. When had his jaw popped open??

“What’s the matter, Chaton? Can’t handle when somebody flirts back?” she teased, her face mere inches from his.

Chat suppressed the urge to squirm under her touch. They’d flirted countless times before, but why did his chest feel so tight when they did so lately?

Trying to compose himself and insert as much confidence as he could into his voice, he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “I’ll have you know that I’m a very desirable bachelor in my day-to-day life! I happen to have more suitors than I can shake a stick at!”

He’d said it jokingly, expecting to get rebuffed; but Ladybug gave him an exaggerated pout, tapping her mouth with her fingers (a gesture he couldn’t help but follow closely with his gaze).

“Ohh, I see…. Should I be jealous?” she said as she looked up at him through her thick eyelashes. “Do I have competition?”

Chat reached for her hand, slowly bringing it to his lips with a slight bow. “Never,” he replied, with a bit more conviction and candor than he’d intended. “Nobody could ever hold a candle to you, Milady. Your wit, kindness, and beauty surpasses them all. It is you alone who holds the key to my heart.”

Now it was Ladybug’s turn to get caught off guard. His words were theatrical and over-the-top, as usual; but there was sincerity behind them. There was something about the way he’d said them that made it feel… real. She couldn’t help but shyly look away, her cheeks a bright crimson hue, and she tucked some hair behind her ear as she always did whenever she was flustered or nervous.

“Flatterer,” she said timidly, attempting to deflect the compliment.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” he replied with a wink.

Ladybug stared slack-jawed, and could only stutter out an ever so eloquent “I-I-I...” By this point, her entire face was as red as her suit, and she covered her face with both hands in embarrassment. “Chaaaaaaaat!” she cried helplessly in defeat.

Chat let out a hearty laugh, giving her a quick, comforting squeeze. He’d won this round of impromptu chicken. Deciding to have mercy and spare her from any further teasing, he changed the subject.

“Anyway, it’s too bad I can’t be the one to drop you off at your house, Bugaboo. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do. But alas, I’m lacking in the whole ‘majestic white steed’ department,” he remarked as he crossed his arms and leaned against the brick wall.

She laughed lightly through her nose. “Well, we’re not exactly your average, run of the mill coupl– uh, partners. Plus, I already know where you live, so that’s easy to do.”

Chat ignored her slip of the tongue, since he didn’t dare to hope for more. At least... not yet.

“That’s for sure,” he replied with a small chuckle. “We’re a rather unique situation. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ladybug leaned next to him against the wall, pressing her back against the cool surface of the bricks as their shoulders bumped.

She hesitated for a few moments, seeming to gather her thoughts. He eyed her curiously, waiting for her to speak her mind.

“So…” she began, looking out into the dark autumn sky. “Which part is true? That you think I’m... beautiful, or that I hold the key to your... t-that I…”

A jolt of lightning traveled down his spine and he stared at her like a kid who’d just broken a window. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out– not even a flustered stammer.

He hadn’t meant to blurt out his feelings so casually a minute ago. In fact, he’d been working on an elaborate speech for when the time was right! It still needed lots of work; he was only on the seventh draft.

He paused to consider. Would it be so bad, though? If he were to confess to her right now?

It wasn’t how he’d planned it. There wasn’t an elegantly decorated rooftop full of roses and strings of lights, or soft romantic music, or any of the other things that would have made it perfect. He was supposed to carry her to a surprise location (bridal-style of course), her lithe arms wrapped around his neck, with a snugly placed blindfold around her eyes to amplify the mystery and anticipation.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d be impressed with his efforts enough to accept his feelings before she could realize that she was too good for him.

Truly his adoration for her knew no bounds. So much so, that he’d asked himself whether it was truly love, or if just an overblown obsession or infatuation.

And yet, he knew that wasn’t the case. He knew she wasn’t perfect. She didn’t need a pedestal. He’d placed her on one when they’d first become allies, but she pulled him up to her level, never allowing him to lower himself or place himself beneath her. She made sure that he always knew he was her equal, and not her subordinate. I mean, how could he not fall in love with her?

So, despite the fact that it wasn’t at all how he planned and he’d suddenly blanked out on his entire speech... he wanted to tell her. Now was as good a time as any.

Ladybug must have sensed the shift in his mood because she recoiled somewhat, jolting away from the brick wall.

She hastily began to backpedal, “N-nevermind, forget I said anything!! Um, anyway, have a good night!”

Chat shook himself out of his daze, then lunged forth to catch her arm as she reached for her yo-yo.

“M-milady, wait!”

She turned to face him, her face full of regret and embarrassment. “S-sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to tease you. Well– I mean, I did, but I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just–”

“No! N-no, don’t worry, you didn’t. It’s just that I’ve been… wanting to tell you something. Something important.”

He felt her stiffen at his words, and her eyes grew wide with apprehension.

Crap. He hadn’t meant to scare her.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise!” he tried to reassure her. “Or… at least, I don’t think it’s bad. I mean, I hope it isn’t. To you, that is. What I mean is…” He rubbed the back of his neck with a groan, then let out a nervous, shallow breath.

She quirked her head to the side, as she unknowingly did whenever she was feeling curious or inquisitive. He tried (in vain) to ignore how cute she looked so he could focus on the task at hand.

This is it. You can do it. Be brave like Marinette!! She’d believe in you!

The butterflies in his stomach multiplied tenfold; there was no going back.

And yet... how do you even begin to tell someone that you can’t imagine your life without them? That you’d sacrifice absolutely everything for their happiness; that you’d rather suffer a thousand deaths than to ever see them in pain? That the thought of losing them kept you awake at night more often than you’d like to admit?

How could he put into words that until she came along, he never imagined he’d be able to feel happiness again?

No; words could never suffice. There was nothing he wanted more than to grab his Lady by the waist and give her the most passionate kiss he could muster so that he could show her his love instead.

But he couldn’t. He had to know how she felt in return before he did something that rash, something that could potentially wreck their partnership if his actions were unwelcome.

He didn’t want to ruin anything. He was utterly terrified. And yet… he yearned for her to know.

He had to try. It might be selfish, but he had to tell her how he felt. Just in case she might maybe, possibly, someday, feel the same way.

Ladybug gently touched his forearm, her slender fingers skimming up and down the fabric of his gloves. “Kitty,” she began, concern written all over her face, her piercing sky blue eyes searching his own. “Is everything alright?”

Chat did his best to offer a reassuring smile, placing his opposite hand on top of hers. “I’m fine,” he answered. “I just have a bit of a confession to make.”

Ladybug’s face softened, and she returned a small smile as she waited for him to proceed, still unsure but relieved.

He swallowed thickly, and tried to steady his voice. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long. Well, I mean– technically we’ve known each other for years– but what I mean is that we haven’t really gotten to know each other ‘til recently. Uhh, that is––”

Ladybug gave a small giggle. “It’s okay, Chat. I know what you mean.”

Chat smiled back. “Anyway, I want you to know that our friendship means absolutely everything to me. And I would never want to do anything to jeopardize that, not ever. With that said, I still need you to know that I… that I...” he trailed off, looking away and biting his lip.

A few seconds passed, and he felt Ladybug’s soft hand touch his cheek, which gently turned his head to face her once again.

“Talk to me, Chat. You can tell me anything.”

Those eyes. Those big, gorgeous, absolutely amazing eyes. She was the sun and moon and stars all wrapped up in a tiny, polka-dotted package, and all he could offer her was himself. Was he enough? He silently prayed she hadn’t noticed how much his hands were trembling right now.

“I know I shouldn’t. I don’t know anything about your civilian self. Not really. Where you live, where you go to school, who your friends are. Whether you already have a special someone in your life. Or whether you–” he gulped “–whether you could ever feel the same way about me as I do about you.”

She stepped closer, sliding her hand down his arm and wrapping her fingers around his own (he’d never been as grateful that his suit had gloves as he was now, given how sweaty his palms were at the moment).

“And… how do you feel about me?” she asked, with a– dare he say– hopeful tone in her voice.

Her eyes bore into his own with such intensity and heat that he could no longer feel the chilly night air. He forced himself to hold her gaze, so she could be sure that his words were genuine.

“I wasn’t sure whether I should say anything or if it should wait until after we defeated Hawkmoth. I didn’t know if I was ready to… to open myself up and risk getting hurt in the process. Because I am so, so afraid of losing you.” He bit his lip, but continued, “But I don’t think I can wait that long. You have to know, because I might not get another chance...”

His posture straightened a bit, and he took both her hands into his. (Was it his hands that were still shaking, or hers?)

“I love you,” he finally uttered, his voice husky and low, as if it were a declaration far too sacred for others to hear. He heard her breath catch slightly. “I love you so much, My Lady.” Chat’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he let out a shaky sigh. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. When you’re with me, I can’t help but feel truly happy. Happy to be your teammate, happy to be your friend… happy to be alive. You make me want to become a better person, and I just needed you to know that.”

He shrunk into himself somewhat, taking an unsteady, quivering breath, having expended all his bravery with his proclamation of love.

He’d done it. He’d confessed.

...Now what?

A few moments passed in silence. He bit the inside of his cheek anxiously, unsure of how to continue.

Mayday. Mayday. The hairs in the back of his neck stood up on end; his mind nervous and uncertain.

“A-anyway, that’s all I wanted to say,” he blurted out. “I know it’s a lot to take in; you don’t have to say anything back.” He let go of her hands and crossed his arms, suddenly feeling quite vulnerable. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I’d prefer if you said something back just so I know where we stand, but you definitely don’t have to,” he continued to ramble. “I don’t want it to be awkward or uncomfortable between us, so I won’t mention it ever again if that’s what you want. I’ll always respect your wishes and do what you think is best, ‘cause I have complete faith in you and I–”

His nervous ramblings were cut short by warm, delicate lips delivering a featherlight kiss to his cheek, and Chat let out a small gasp despite himself.

“Was that alright?” she asked, her voice breathy and soft.

Chat practically swooned in disbelief. “More than alright,” he exhaled. “S-so… does that mean that you like m–”

Ladybug stood on her tiptoes and surged forward to capture his lips, answering his question in a way he never would have imagined when he woke up that morning.

There was no way this was actually happening. Was he still breathing?? The girl he loved not only liked him back, but was doing something he’d only ever dreamed about.

He decided to take a chance. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, to which Ladybug responded with a small, surprised moan, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. At some point, his hands had ended up on the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, and he was sure she’d be able to feel his heart pounding.

Several blissful moments later, they separated to catch their breath but didn’t pull completely apart. Chat was sure that if he let go of her, he would surely melt into a puddle on the spot.

Ladybug panted lightly. “So… does that answer your question?” she asked, still smiling, her lips almost brushing against his.

Chat cleared his throat, then managed to stammer out in a raspy voice, “Uh, yeah, that works.”

He bent his neck forward so she wouldn’t have to stand on her tiptoes anymore, pressing his forehead against hers and closing his eyes in contentment. Surely this was too good to be true, right?! Was he asleep??

But as always, the overthinker in him struck again and a thought came to him. He furrowed his brow in concern as he became acutely aware of the fact that just because she liked him back didn’t mean she wanted to become anything more than partners. Maybe the kiss was a one-time thing and she wanted to keep things professional? He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Why can’t I just be satisfied with what I already have? This is more than I could ever ask for, so why press my luck?

Ladybug, perceptive as ever, noticed his unease.

“What are you thinking about, Chaton?” she whispered with a slight frown.

Deciding to be honest, he loosened his hold on her and stepped back, his jaw tensed. A few thoughtful seconds later, he tried to explain, “I just… What do you want me to be to you? I know we can’t exactly act like a ‘normal’ couple. It’s not like we can go to the movies or amusement parks together, and you can’t exactly take me to your house to meet your parents. So, umm… what happens next?”

Ladybug reached for his hand, squeezing lightly. “If you’re worried that I’m only interested in a fling or a friends-with-benefits type of relationship, I’m not. I don’t know how this is gonna work, and I do want to take things slow, but… you are so special to me, Chat. All I know is that I want you in my life. As more than teammates. Do you want that too?”

“Yes!” Chat exclaimed (a bit more emphatically than he’d intended) and nodded. “I want to make this work! I really do.”

She reached up to cup his cheek, stroking it gently with her thumb, and he couldn’t help but lean into her caresses. “And, while I don’t think we really need a formal label for what we have, if giving it a name makes you feel better, then… What if we’re ‘dating’? What do you think? Sound good to you?”

Chat grinned, lifting his hand to run it through her long, dark hair. “It’s more than I could’ve ever hoped for,” he replied, completely elated. “I’ll make you happy, I swear it.”

She stepped back into his space and wrapped her arms around him, letting her hands wander until they settled on the base of his back. And even though he was much larger than her, her hugs always somehow managed to completely envelop him in feelings of safety and comfort.

“You already make me happy, you dork.”

Chat shifted his body so he could make eye contact with his beloved once again. His hand wandered to her jawline, which caused her to shiver with what he hoped was pleasure and anticipation. He made his way down her jaw towards her chin, his movements slow and deliberate, relishing how absolutely beautiful yet adorably shy she appeared in this moment.

Tilting her chin upwards with his forefinger, Chat leaned down and Ladybug’s eyes fluttered shut, her blush still visible under the faint glow of the balcony lights. Chat shut his own eyes in preparation…

...Only to bolt upright in alarm. His ears twitched and he whipped his head around, searching. Without a word, he scooped up Ladybug and bounded up onto the rooftop, landing behind the balcony wall. Ladybug let out a less than dignified “EEP!!”, clinging to him as she was whisked away.

Upon landing, she was about to ask Chat what was going on but he gently placed his finger on her lips. Then he moved it to his own lips, shaking his head. Ladybug understood and nodded. Then they stood there, still as a statue, and waited.

Hinges creaked as the hatch door swung open, and the pair heard someone climb out onto the balcony. Said individual took a deep breath of the fresh evening air, then walked towards the railing to look out into the city.

A few minutes passed, and Chat finally realized the rather intimate position he and Ladybug had put themselves in during their hasty escape. There he stood, back pressed to the wall, with his partner essentially plastered up onto him, their limbs an intertwined mess, leaving not even a sliver of free space between their bodies. Ladybug seemed to realize this at about the same time, and they looked to each other with matching flustered grins, blushing furiously. She made to move away slightly and give him some space—

But her yo-yo had partially unraveled during their clamber onto the roof, and had wrapped around them, becoming tangled in both his cape and his tail. She giggled awkwardly, then began squirming— first lightly, then a bit more vigorously when it became clear that that was ineffective. Chat bit his lip almost painfully, trying very hard not to think about their current situation, lest he unwillingly embarrass himself in a more... somatic way.

A voice cut through the silence of the nighttime air, jolting them to a halt, and they ceased their struggles once again to listen in. Chat twisted his mouth, frowning. He wasn’t normally the type of person who enjoyed eavesdropping; but he didn’t exactly have a choice at the moment.

“What are you doing up here, Tom?” asked the voice of Sabine Dupain-Cheng as she climbed out onto the balcony.

“Oh, nothing. Just, uhh... getting some fresh air. No other reason,” Tom replied, with a tone that wasn’t entirely convincing.

Sabine made her way to stand next to her husband. “You wouldn’t happen to be waiting for a certain housecat to return from the akuma attack that happened earlier tonight, would you?” she asked knowingly.

Tom stammered, “N-no! No, of course not! I’m not waiting for anyone! And I’m certainly not worried! Nope, definitely not worried sick whatsoever; not at all.”

Sabine leaned into him with a playful giggle. “That’s what you say, dear. But I can tell you’re very fond of him.”

“I-I am not!” he sputtered. “I just… wanted to make sure he was going to show up at work tomorrow, that’s all. We have that big shipment of sugar coming in and—umm— my back is sore, so I’ll need the help! Yeah, that’s it. I’m just making sure he acts responsible.” He nodded solemnly, crossing his arms.

On the other side of the wall, Chat couldn’t help but crack a smile at Tom’s poorly-hidden concern. He’d never seen this side of him before, at least not as Chat Noir.

Sabine patted Tom on the back. “Well, you should come back inside. It’s pretty chilly tonight and we can’t have you catching a cold. He’ll be back soon. He’s probably just having some ‘alone time’ with Ladybug.”

Chat and Ladybug practically jumped at this statement, whipping their heads towards each other, then back down at their current predicament. Chat shrugged apologetically with a rather sheepish expression on his face, and it took all of Ladybug’s willpower not to laugh at how cute he looked.

“Hmph. You’re probably right,” they heard Tom say, and then footsteps as the married couple made their way back indoors.

“Come on, I’ll make us some tea.”

With that, the balcony hatch closed, and the pair remained still for a few moments to verify that Tom and Sabine wouldn’t come back, in case they’d left anything behind.

Chat was the first to break the silence. “So, uhhh… Now what?”

Ladybug did her best trying to find and figure out where the biggest tangles were, but the range of her movement was quite limited.

“It’s too dark, I can’t see anything,” she replied. “And even if I could, I can’t move my arms much.”

“Same, my arms are pinned down. What should we do?”

Ladybug scrunched her face, deep in thought. A few moments later, her brows raised as an idea came to her.

“Uh… I have an idea, but it’s a bit risky.”

Chat cocked his head to the side with curiosity, waiting for her to elaborate. “Go on.”

“Well, umm… don’t freak, just hear me out. What if we detransformed?”

Chat looked at her like she’d suggested that they throw themselves into an active volcano, and she quickly added, “W-with our eyes closed, that is! That way, we can re-transform and everything will be in its proper place.”

Chat pondered her words. It did seem like the simplest, easiest solution.

“Well… Okay,” he replied. “Let’s do it. I swear I won’t look.”

Ladybug grinned widely at him. “I know. I trust you.”

She leaned into him, placing her head against his chest.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yeah. Claws in.”

“Spots off.”

A flash of neon green and pink briefly illuminated the rooftop, and then it was dark again.

A detransformed Chat couldn’t help but let out a gasp. This was the very first time he’d ever touched Ladybug without the barriers of their near-indestructible suits. Her shirt was made out of some lightweight fabric, much too thin for this kind of weather, as if she’d been lounging at home when the akuma attack had begun earlier and she’d left her house in a hurry. He took the opportunity to savor this moment, wrapping his arms around his Lady’s shoulders, keeping her close and warm.

His fingers touched something silky and sleek, and he almost gasped again in awe. “Your hair is down,” he uttered, almost too quiet for Ladybug to hear.

He felt her smile against his chest. He took this opportunity to glide his bare hand down her long, thick locks, relishing the feel, knowing he wouldn’t be able to touch her like this again. At least, not for who knows how long. He wished with all his heart they could stay like this forever.

Her body shifted slightly, and a beat later he felt her fingers sneak into his own hair, massaging his scalp in a comical manner.

“If you get to touch my hair, I get to touch yours,” she stated, her voice impish and playful. “Good Lord, what shampoo do you use?! Your hair is so soft!!”

Chat let out a hearty laugh. “I bet we look ridiculous right now, just two people on a roof groping each other’s heads. Good thing it’s too dark to see anything.

Ladybug snickered as she lowered her hands, holding onto him to help keep her balance. The rooftop was relatively flat, but the physical contact made her feel safer regardless. “Yeah, I don’t think anyone could see us if they were to look out their windows; it’s a new moon tonight. But we should still keep our eyes closed, just in case.”

She laid back into him and they embraced in silence, enjoying the calm. His hand traced gentle patterns on her back, and she nuzzled even closer to keep warm.

“Your voice,” Ladybug said, cutting through the stillness.

Chat raised an eyebrow. “Hmm? What about it?”

“It sounds different somehow. Kinda… softer? I dunno,” she said, shrugging slightly.

“Now that you mention it, you sound kind of different too,” he agreed.

The glamour magic must be stronger when they’re transformed, he realized. The magic was still present while in their civilian forms, albeit weaker. Out of costume, Ladybug’s voice sounded more… familiar somehow? He tried not to think about that too much; this wasn’t the time or place.

“D-do you like it?” he added, his tone tentative.

“Yeah!” she blurted out. “I-it’s nice. Really nice. I like it.”

He made a pleased sound, then replied, “And yours is lovely. I can’t wait til I get to hear more of it in the future.”

“Same.” Ladybug let out a long, contented sigh. “We should probably get going. They’re waiting for you inside. But you heard Mr. Dupain-Cheng; he’s most definitely not concerned about you,” she said with a snicker.

Chat busted out laughing. “He’s pretty great. Just cautious, is all.” Then he added jokingly, “He probably doesn’t want to get too attached, just in case I suddenly decide to go on a feral murder spree one day.”

Ladybug blew a raspberry and smacked him lightly on the chest. “Noooooo, I am one hundred percent sure he does not think that! I’m sure he’ll warm up to you in no time!”

“I hope so,” he replied with a chuckle. He hesitated before speaking again. “Umm, Bugaboo… Before we transform back, would it be alright if… if I kissed you again?” Ladybug’s entire body twitched in surprise. “Just once, as our real selves.”

He felt her chest rise and fall as she let out some flustered noises. She managed to settle down a bit, and replied in a hushed voice, “Yeah. Th-that would be nice.”

He moved his hand, blindly feeling around until he found the side of her face. He cupped her cheek with a featherlight touch, his other arm snugly around her waist, keeping her steady. She placed both hands on his chest, craning her neck back, eagerly awaiting what was to come. He lowered his face slowly, to avoid bumping their heads together. Their breaths mingled, shallow and nervous. Their first kiss out of the masks… would it feel any different, he wondered?

Their noses touched, and then—

BONK!

They let out a simultaneous “Ow!” and he had to remind himself to keep his eyes closed in his confusion.

Ladybug reached up to feel his face, then gasped in disbelief.

“Chat! You… you wear glasses!”

He snickered at her surprised reaction. “Is that so shocking? Do you not like glasses?”

She sputtered, “N-no! I mean, yes! I mean, th-that’s not it. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all!”

Chat couldn’t help himself. “So would you say that you made a… spectacular discovery?” he said cheekily.

Ladybug let out a long, exaggerated groan at the pun as she plopped her head onto his chest, causing him to break into a barely-contained giggle fit.

“My soul just died a little from that terrible joke,” she croaked out.

“I apologize; that’s just how eye roll!”

Ladybug made an even more dismayed sound that resembled a deflating balloon, which only made Chat crack up even harder.

“You’re soooo awwwwfuuul,” she groaned, but he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Here,” he said, sliding his glasses off his nose and onto the top of his head, resting just above the hairline. “Now they’re out of the way.”

“Good,” Ladybug giggled. “Because I’d really like to try again.”

He chuckled, angling his head down. “Whatever My Lady desires,” he replied, more than happy to comply.

-----------

Marinette glided across her bedroom, half-dancing, half-skipping, humming along to the music coming from her computer while she brushed her teeth. She paused to pick up her mannequin, spinning it around as if dancing with an imaginary partner.

“Marinette, you probably shouldn’t do that with a toothbrush in your mouth,” Tikki advised, though an amused smile tugged at her mouth.

“Hnn-kay,” Marinette replied with a giggle, setting down the mannequin, then made her way to the sink to finish up her bedtime routine.

When she was done, she walked over to where Tikki was resting at the desk, in a little handmade bed that could pass for a stylish pin-cushion or phone rest.

“Ready for bed?” she asked in a chipper voice, scooping up the kwami into her hands then heading up to her loft bed.

Tikki snickered at her charge’s excitement. This was definitely one of her favorite parts of mentoring a Ladybug. “Today was a good day for you, wasn’t it, Marinette?”

“Gosh, you can say that again!” she replied, voice high and giddy. “I just can’t believe it, Tikki! It feels like things just keep getting better and better. Now I get to plan our dates, gifts, anniversary milestones–”

Tikki raised a brow. “Uhh… Marinette, what happened to ‘taking things slow’?”

The girl pouted. “I am taking it slow! It’s not like I’m planning our wedding or anything!” The kwami rolled her eyes fondly in response.

Marinette set Tikki down on the pillow next to hers and flopped down stomach first. She turned around, still holding the pillow, and screeched happily into it, kicking her legs into the air. Tikki couldn’t help but giggle.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep with all this excitement?” she asked.

Marinette turned off the lights and snuggled under her blankets, squeezing her giant cat plushie.

“Yep! Boy, am I beat! I’m totally gonna sleep like a baby tonight.”

Tikki smiled warmly. “Great to hear. Good night, Marinette.”

Marinette let out a long yawn and rubbed the top of Tikki’s head with her finger. “G’night, Tikki.” ------

(Mood Music: The Lonely - Christina Perri)

This was most certainly not a good night. Marinette’s bleary eyes glanced over at the clock next to her bed.

3:00 AM, it said.

She groaned inwardly. She’d woken up about an hour ago and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep, despite being completely bushed.

Something just felt… off. Her stomach was churning and her skin felt like pins and needles. Should she check to make sure the front door is locked? Did she forget to do any homework? Was there a test tomorrow in one of her classes? She just couldn’t think of anything that would require her attention. Why was she feeling so stressed?? Frustration had set in, and she dreaded having to go to school tomorrow (or rather, later today, in a few hours’ time).

Maybe she just needed some water to calm down her nerves. Because that’s clearly what it was, right? Just some subconscious anxiety, maybe about the future, or getting into a good university, or having to defeat Hawkmoth.

Well… when put in that way, she supposed there were a few rather stressful things happening in her life. But even still! She hardly ever had a hard time sleeping before, because she was always exhausted!

She slowly scooted out of the bed, careful not to wake Tikki, and climbed down from her loft. Letting out a lengthy yawn, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Maybe that would help settle her stomach.

And yet somehow, now that she was here, the uneasy feeling intensified.

What the hell?!

The last time she'd felt this kind of unexplained restlessness and malaise was when…

...When she’d found Chat in that alley after his confrontation with Hawkmoth.

Panic sunk into her gut and she bolted towards Chat’s bedroom. She reached the door and was about to burst inside, but she paused. Maybe stampeding into someone’s room uninvited while they were asleep was a bad idea. Not wanting to wake him up, but not willing to leave until she was sure of his safety, she instead crouched and placed her ear against the door.

Expecting to hear nothing except maybe some light snoring, Marinette’s eyes widened when instead she heard whimpering and sobbing. Needing no further invitation, she entered the room.

Chat was curled up in a fetal position facing away from the door, shaking and crying. It was too dark to see clearly, but she could tell he wasn’t transformed.

Is he upset? Is he sick??

She called his name with a small voice, “Chat Noir?”

The panting and sobbing continued, getting stronger and stronger with each second that passed.

“Chat, what’s the matter?” She sat on the bed and placed her hand on his back. The fabric of his shirt clung to his skin; his body was drenched in sweat.

Again, there was no response. By this point he began to toss and turn, almost thrashing in distress and terror.

He’s still asleep, Marinette realized.

“Chat, wake up!” she cried, shaking him vigorously, trying to rouse him from his nightmare. “Kitty, please! Wake up!”

He turned towards her, hair covering his face and sticking to the damp skin, and she had to force herself to not look at him directly to keep his identity a secret.

Seemingly out of nowhere, he surged forward, seizing her by the upper arms, his grip tight as a vise, and Marinette cried out in surprise.

His head hung down, and he sobbed as he squeezed even harder, “No! I won’t do it! I won’t hurt them! You can’t force me!”

She ignored the pain in her arms and called, “Chat! Please wake up! It’s me, Marinette!”

“No!! I’ll never hurt Marinette! Not ever!” he cried in a quivering, desperate voice; then he groaned and hissed in pain, in a way she could only describe as the sound of someone being tortured.

“I’m here, Chat! Marinette is here! You’re safe at home! You’re having a nightmare! Open your eyes!”

He seemed to respond slightly, his hold on her slackening somewhat, and she took this chance to slip completely out of his grip. She threw her arms around his shoulders and he seemed to go limp. She whispered into his ear, “Shhh… It’s just me… You’re okay… you’re safe now. Everything is going to be fine. I’m here to help. Don’t be afraid...” She began to rub his back, making long strokes up and down his torso, hoping that touch would help to awaken him.

Her calm reassurances and rubbing of his back continued until Chat’s hyperventilating stopped, and he slowly seemed to come to. He let out a shocked gasp and threw his arms around her.

“M-Marinette?! Marinette!! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cried, and she felt fresh tears drip onto her sleeve.

She cradled the back of his head. “Chat! Why in the world are you apologizing?!”

“For everything. For being so weak. For being nothing but trouble for you ever since I came into your life. I never meant for all this to happen. It would’ve been easier for you if you’d left me in that alley that first night. It would’ve been easier for you if you hated me, just like everyone else.”

“Minou, I could never hate you,” she reaffirmed fervently, which only made him sniffle harder. “No matter what you’ve done or what mistakes you’ve made, you are deserving of love. You’re a good person, and more people love you than you might think. Things will get better. I promise.”

She held him as he continued to cry quietly, the pair still wrapped in each others’ arms in the otherwise silent darkness.

After a while, she dared to ask, “You don’t have to tell me what it was about, but… How often do you have these kinds of dreams?”

She felt him hesitate, unsure of whether he should divulge this information; but a few seconds later, he relented, and answered in a small voice, “I’ve had vivid nightmares every night for as long as I can remember, ever since I became Chat Noir. But I haven’t had one this bad since before I moved in with you guys. And… I’ve always been able to wake up on my own.”

“Oh, Minou…” she lamented, then kissed the top of his head.

He sniffled a little, rubbing her arm up and down gently in silent apology. “Marinette, I’m sorry to ask, but… c-could you stay? Just for a little longer? I-I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course, Minou. I can stay.”

“Oh, Mari… I was so scared,” he cried. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Never.”

She closed her eyes so she could lower her head and kiss his forehead, barely able to contain her affection for him; immensely relieved that he’d finally calmed down. They situated themselves in the bed, arranging themselves into a position that would be comfortable for them both, and she was careful to avoid looking directly at him. He nuzzled into her, hugging her waist, and thanked her quietly. She ran her fingers through his still slightly damp hair, hoping to help him get as relaxed as possible.

Before long, she noted that his breathing had finally slowed, and she was content to watch his torso rise and fall in a tranquil rhythm until, eventually, she too was lulled into a restful slumber.

Meanwhile, outside the slightly ajar guest bedroom door, a certain baker pursed his lips in dismay... and regret.

------

Discordant Sonata Music Youtube Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLcYhk0HianmrUJWi61Hkbux08qc9oCTdB  

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Prompt My Own Damn Self # :He’s Not the Guy You Marry, But He Is The Guy You [REDACTED] in the Night Club Bathroom at Two O’Clock in the Morning, Which is Also Important

Summary: Literally what it says in the title, except we find out what [REDACTED] means, which is very fun and exciting. That’s right, everybody, we’re 👏 going 👏 there 👏

Warnings: ‼️18+‼️ Extremely Explicit Sexual Content. Do NOT be uncool and read it if you’re not of age. Otherwise, there’s alcohol involved here (wow what a surprise 🙄), like one mention of drugs, and smoking. Aside from that, it’s pretty straightforward.

Genre: Mediocre Smut

Pairing: Hatter/Fem!Reader

Notes: There are two types of people in this world: people who are very attracted to the weird sexy hat guy who started a death-game pyramid scheme, and LIARS.

Real talk, though: this is pretty explicit. More explicit than I’ve gone in a very long time, so I’m a little rusty. It veers into “hate sex” territory, which was kind of fun to write, honestly. I live for the banter. (Also, the “you” character in this is kind of great? I like her.)

HEY! Just another reminder! This is 18+ so if you’re not of legal age, do yourself a solid and ditch this little thing, okay? Okay.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

It starts with tequila shots.

Salt licked. From your wrist. His chest. The hollow of your throat.

Lime bitten. Held between your fingers. Between his teeth. Between your pushed-together breasts.

Music pulses. Lights flash. He’s got a hand on your ass. You’ve got your lips on his neck.

“Wanna go somewhere?”

“Yes.”

And he leads you, hand on the small of your back, away from the bar. People stare. You like it.

‘Somewhere’ is, apparently, a two-stall women’s restroom, tucked away in a narrow little hallway which runs to the left of the bar. A place for shooting up drugs. A place for scribbling on the walls with permanent marker.

A place for sex. Hot, sweaty, anonymous sex.

...Well, semi-anonymous, anyways. It’s impossible to live at the Beach and not know who the man in red is, the man who sells a shot at salvation for nothing more than a few playing cards.

You lean against the tastefully cream-colored counter which hosts, among other things: a sink stained pink with cheap soap; three forgotten tubes of lipstick; a small mirror, holding an abandoned credit card and two small lines of cocaine; a crumpled up hand towel; a half-finished bottle of Asahi beer; and what was probably once a wedding ring.

“Great ambiance,” you murmur flatly. The harsh light of fluoresent bulbs burn your eyes, diverting your gaze to the white floor, “Been ages since I got fucked in a classy place like this.”

“Ages?” Hatter flicks the lock on the door with a low thunk.

“Hours,” you answer, mournful tone betrayed by a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, “Had you not come along, my dry spell might’ve gone on through the morning.”

“Perish the thought.”

And he does not so much approach you as he descends upon you, mouth sucking at your collarbone and leg pushing between your thighs.

“Tell me,” he pants into you ear, breath hot and fingers deft as he unties the strings of your bikini top, “How do you want me?”

“Now,” you hiss back, “Don’t care how, just—fuck, just give it to me.”

“Then, if you would be so kind?” He holds a condom between his index and middle fingers.

In truth, you’re glad for it—you’d rather not deal with the mess after all is said and done—but there’s no way you’ll give him the satisfaction of a ‘thank you.’

“Fine,” you huff, snatching the foil square from his grasp, “Don’t suppose you have anything better to—oh!”

Hands on your hips spin you around so you’re facing the mirror. You grip the edge of the counter, knuckles straining, and watch as he reaches around to palm your breast.

“Apologies,” he makes eye contact with you in the mirror, “but I seem to have my hands full at the moment.”

And that’s when you feel fingertips slipping beneath the seam of your bikini bottoms, an insistent press against the slick of your slit.

You spit a curse and fumble with the condom, desperation setting in as his hands continued to dance across your flesh. After some moments (too many for your liking), you’re successful in your endeavor, and pass the unwrapped nuisance over your shoulder.

“Much obliged,” he thanks, removing his hands to sort himself out, “You know, I appreciate—“

“I didn’t come here to talk,” you snap. He laughs in response.

“Ooh, you’re mean!”

And he’s sliding the crotch of your swimsuit bottoms to the side, exposing only what is necessary and lining himself up—and, okay, that’s the kind of semi-impractical hotness you were looking for from this particular encounter. Your muscles clench involuntarily around nothing and you cant your hips back to get him to move it along...but nothing happens.

God, what is this guy’s problem?!

“But, I wonder,” he whispers into your ear, “are you desperate enough to say ‘please?”

Of all the guys to pull for a quick fuck, of course you get the one who’s a total tease. So smug, arrogance blooming as he presses a soft kiss to your left shoulder. There’s no way you’re giving in to this asshole, so you glare at him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Fuck you,” you spit, teeth bared and mouth formed into a malicious smile.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Close enough.”

You both cry out when he fills you with a single, fluid thrust. And—fuck, fuck, fuck!—that is good. One of his hands curls around the jut of your hip, while the other splays across your collarbone, thumb and forefinger framing the base of your throat in a firm but gentle touch.

Otherwise, he remains still—perhaps he’s being gentlemanly and allowing you time to adjust? No, no, he’s definitely being a tease again.

Seriously, what is his goddamn deal?

Since he seems content to take his merry time, you take matters into your own hands, moving against him in a somewhat-awkward but still satisfying rhythm.

“You,” he says between heavy breaths, “seem eager.”

There’s something in his voice that seems amused, as if he finds your candor endearing. You lean forward a bit, angling your hips so his length is able to sink deeper and, oh, that’s much better.

“Want something done right,” you pant, “gotta do it yourself.”

“You don’t think I’d do it right?”

“Sweetie,” you coo with a condescending smile, “I know you wouldn’t.”

And you’re lucky that guys like him are all the same—arrogant, showy, desperate to prove their sexual prowess—because he finally (finally!) decides to get his sorry ass into gear and make something happen.

The hand that was around your neck gropes at your breasts, the cool metal of that stupid-ugly-tacky ring catching on your skin in an annoyingly tantalizing way. The other shoves its way between you and the edge of the countertop, deft fingertips circling your clitoris in a way that makes your toes curl in your sandals. You bite your lip to keep from crying out as he fucks into you, hips snapping hard but steady against the plush of your ass.

“You know, the people I fuck usually try to be nice to me,” he says, “nicer than you, anyways.”

The hand on your breast pinches your nipple, earning him a sharp gasp.

“Why be nice?” You clench around him, causing his rhythm to falter, “You’re just the means to an end.”

“And here I thought we were making love.”

Teeth scrape down the length of your neck, and fuck—you’re getting close. Your arms are shaking. Your heart is racing. You hate to admit it, but he’s good at this.

“Darling,” he growls into your ear, “I do believe you’re about to come.”

“Shut up,” you snap, trying desperately to sound cool and unaffected despite the fact that your composure is about to shatter and there is not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

“Well, go on then. After all,” he hisses, “I don’t have all night.”

What starts as anger is quickly overtaken by pleasure—white-hot and blinding, enough to make your knees shake and your eyes spring with tears. It’s exactly what you were looking for, exactly what you had been expecting from the most notorious sex fiend at this God-forsaken place.

Apparently, he must’ve come too, because he’s pulling out with a surprising tenderness—gentlemanly in one way, at least. He even makes sure to right your bikini bottoms, making sure that they’re once again covering you completely before turning his attention to himself.

“You know, I didn’t know people could glare their way through an orgasm, but you made it happen.”

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

Before you choose to look in the mirror, you fix the rest of your bathing suit with a tremble in your fingers. You can feel him watching you, and honestly, you’re not sure how you feel about that. Good, mostly, but tinged a bit orange with annoyance. You try not to think about that too much and, with a deep breath, look at your reflection.

The first thing you do to assess the damage of your little liaison is check your makeup—your eyeliner is a bit smudged, but that’s easily fixed with a few swipes of your littlest finger. Your hair, however, is another story, so you set to fixing it with a dissatisfied huff.

You hear the snick of a lighter behind you and the scent of fresh-burning nicotine hits your senses. You turn around to see him leaning against the tile wall with a cigarette between his lips and smoke curling in wisps towards the ceiling.

He raises an eyebrow when you approach him, then chuckles when you snatch the cigarette right out of his mouth and take a long, deep drag. It’s almost as good as the sex.

“You know,” he says, “I think you might be a bit in love with me after my spectacular performance.”

That makes you choke, your lungs switching from laughter to coughing and back again.

“Spectacular?” You quell your sputtering with a gulp, “You were passable. At best.”

“Careful, sweetheart. You’re getting awfully close to giving me a compliment.”

You take a step closer to him, shoulders squared, fingers ashing the cigarette onto the floor.

“Not your sweetheart,” you say, taking one last drag and blowing the smoke directly into his face. You smile when he flinches.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you say, pressing the mostly-smoked cigarette between his lips, “I have somewhere to be.”

You turn on your heel and begin to walk away, making sure to sway your hips just so as you do. There’s no way his eyes aren’t glued to your ass, and the thought makes you smile triumphantly.

“Until next time, then,” he calls—and it’s cute that he sounds so sure that you’ll come crawling back to him.

You exit the bathroom with a self-satisfied smirk, enjoying the thought of him lighting another cigarette and trying not to chase after you.

Three days, tops. That’s how long it’ll take for him to beg.

You can’t wait.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

also just in case you were wondering, he DID leave the sunglasses on—BUT they were on his head kinda holding his hair back because I truly believe he would do that. also the kimono has pockets and he thinks it’s very cool to carry around all his stuff in there (for example he keeps a granola bar on his person at all times because sometimes you just get hungry yknow?)

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 811: Pretender:  Part I / III

Neo's eyes flew open and quickly sat up in her bed, quickly looking around. The door was closed, and the room seemed exactly as she had left it, except for the daylight streaming in from the window. She rushed over to the door and tried it, finding it still locked. She let out a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure what to do until the light caught her eye. She rushed over to see the mountains around her, but turning to the side she could see what they called the garden. They acted as if having something that was potentially a garden was something to celebrate about. Annoying children. She saw the chameleon walking through the so-called garden, disappearing and reappearing at a whim. She seemed to stop to enjoy the sun for a few minutes before there was a knock on her door.

Neo slowly moved over to the door and heard a second knock. She knocked on the door. "Uh?" Ruby asked through the door, "Breakfast?" she asked. Neo paused for a moment before knocking again. "Uh, okay?!"

* * *

Ilia sat down next to Jaune's empty seat, and he and Taiyang walked out with trays of food.

"How come she gets the good seat?" Yang asked, and Jaune sighed.

"Because we're not doing the official seating plan where everyone has a spot based on precedance. I mean, seriously."

"Well, how come Weiss gets the other seat next to you?" Yang asked.

"You want to know why?" Jaune asked, "Because you are really distracting, and I would constantly be turning my head, and that just makes me dizzy."

"Then what about Weiss?" Yang asked, "Are you saying she's not worth looking at?" And Jaune sighed once again.

"You know what? I'm not doing this." Jaune replied. "You're all gorgeous. You're all wonderful. You're all beautiful. And I'm not enforcing seating. I really don't want to see you guys fighting about it."

"To play the dragon's advocate." Weiss quipped, "Should your wives not get priority?"

"Do we want to talk about what happens at night?" Blake asked.

This caused Weiss to flush blue and develop a blush, looking around nervously.

"When you put it that way..." Yang trailed off, as her scales flushed orange. "Alright, I'll admit, I've been a heel. Can we save the spanking for later tonight?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Weiss asked, and Ruby Petal Burst into the chair next to Yang.

"So?" Nora asked.

"I don't think she's going to come down." Ruby stated.

"Kind of expected that." Jaune added, as he was putting the trays on the table.

"You did just adopt her." Taiyang stated, "You have to give her time."

"I know." Nora huffed. "But we were orphans, too, and we were eager to have Jaune-Jaune take care of us."

"You were what?" Jaune asked.

"We found each other with alarming alacrity." Ren said with a smile.

"Okay?" Ruby asked, "We know what happened to Ren's family, but what about Nora?"

"Oh?" Nora asked, "She ran away when the Grimm attacked. Fucking bitch." she huffed.

"What-what-what?!" Weiss asked, quickly standing up and pointing at her. She then stood properly and heavily breathed in. "Pardon my exuberance?"

"Your what?" Nora asked.

"My candor." Weiss stated.

"What's a condor have to do with this?"

Weiss developed a frustrated look that quickly turned into a smile "My apologies, but, we had assumed your parents died in some calamity."

"Nope." Nora simply stated. "She just ran the fuck off, leaving me to fend for myself. Ren saved me, and we've been together ever since. And then we got to Beacon, and, you know?"

"Despite his many faults." Ren stated, "Many faults." he repeated, "Jaune gave us something we had never had for a decade, stability and familiarity. From the earliest moments, Jaune put our own sake above his own."

"It was kind of funny to watch him always struggling." Nora stated, "But he was trying to take care of us, so, you know?"

"I know." Yang simply stated.

"Right?" Nora asked.

Weiss then breathed in deep and sat back down, "And Ciel, I must ask how you are handling this?"

"Handling what?" Ciel asked.

"Maybe suddenly becoming Jaune's minion?" Yang asked, "Just sayin'."

"I am unsure how I should find it." Ciel stated. "I have been accepted far more readily than I was expecting, I have spent a good deal of time training with skilled combat instructors, the food is more than adequate. The only thing I have trouble adjusting to is the expectation of self-determination."

"The what?" Ruby asked.

"She wants to be told what to do." Yang replied.

"Indeed." Ciel stated.

"So do you." Ruby said to Yang.

"But only by Jaune." Yang stated. "Wait..."

"Too bad." Blake replied, "You already said it."

"I am used to a more regimented training." Ciel added.

"Unfortunately," Weiss said to her, and paused to let everyone look at her, "if you are to be a Huntress, you will be entirely self-determined."

"Unless she's a Specialist." Yang added.

"Speaking of?" Jaune asked.

"She insists she remain on standby." Weiss said as she elegantly sat down, "Though I suspect it is simply that she has grown accustomed to living in our hangar."

"She's also not the friendly sort." Yang added.

"Maybe we should help her?" Blake asked.

"I did hug her." Jaune stated, and then looked at the far end where Qrow and Raven were sitting.

"I don't know why you're looking at us?" Qrow asked, "We don't exactly have a good track record with this. I honestly don't know how I'm part of this group."

"We took a vote!" Ruby exclaimed.

"Indeed." Weiss added, "We have decided that Qrow is an honourary Uncle."

"And me?" Taiyang asked.

"You have definitely earned your place as an honourary father." Weiss stated.

"Not a dad?" Taiyang asked.

"I have only have one daddy." Weiss stated, and then developed a shocked look, using her hand to cover her mouth.

"I think, at this point." Yang said, and everyone looked at her, "The Cat's out of the bag, right Blake?"

Blake quickly looked back and forth a few times.

"I've got a question." Qrow stated, and everyone looked at him. "What about Rae?" Raven scoffed at him.

"She is still married to Mr. Taiyang." Weiss stated.

"Dad." Taiyang replied.

"Father?" Weiss asked with a bright smile. "As such, she is an honourary mother-in-law."

"That doesn't make any..." Qrow tried to say.

"No, it's fair." Raven stated. "I didn't expect Yang to welcome me back with open arms, like Tai did. I'm happy with how far we've come."

"Why does that sound like you're giving up?" Yang asked.

"Did you want her to try harder?" Qrow asked.

Both Yang and Raven looked at each other, not sure what to say.

* * *

Taiyang walked up the stairs carrying a couple plates of food. When he hit the third floor he stopped in front of Neo's door, put the plate on the ground, and knocked before walking off.

* * *

Neo heard a knock and walked up to the door. After a moment she knocked, but heard nothing in reply. She stood there staring at the door for a few minutes until finally creaking it open. She saw the plate on the ground, and carefully looked around. No one was there, so she quickly opened the door, pulled the plate in, and quickly closed and locked it once again.

* * *

Taiyang carried the plate into the hangar. "Hello?" he called out.

"Hello?" Winter replied, and he could hear the clack of heels as she approached. Winter walked around a corner and looked at him curiously.

"I didn't want to just barge into your room."

"My, uh?" Winter asked, "My quarters?" She then breathed in deep, folding her hands in front of her, "These are not my quarters."

"This is where you are sleeping." Taiyang said, and handed her the plate.

"Thank you." she said to him, "But the reason I am sleeping here is that I am on standby."

"Why?" Taiyang asked.

"Mr. Arc asked me to?" Winter asked.

"But Cinder is gone." Taiyang stated.

"Well, yes, we still have another escaped prisoner they are trying to reform."

"That's not it, is it?" Taiyang asked, and Winter looked at him curiously. "You haven't been asked to stand down." Winter just stared at him, unsure of what to say. "If that works for you, that works for you, but we need to understand what we do."

Winter looked lost for a few moments before her eyes focused on him. "Thank you once again." she distantly said.

* * *

Cinder flipped through her scroll. "What's making you so happy?" Emerald asked.

"Oh?" Cinder asked, "With the CCT restored, there are so many wonderful bounties nearby. Without the CCT, they had trouble getting them fulfilled."

"Don't you have to be a bounty hunter?" Mercury asked.

Cinder played with a scroll for a few moments, before turning it to Mercury and Emerald. The display showed a Vacuan bounty hunting registration with her face, but for Eleanore Gunn.

"You used a fake name?" Mercury asked.

"This is Vacuo." Cinder replied, "They expect you to. It's really only about making sure the right one gets paid."

"What does it mean?" Emerald asked.

"Eleanore is my middle name, and Gunn is a name usually used for bastards."

"You're hardly a..." Emerald voiced.

"I certainly don't remember my father." Cinder stated. "Or my mother. And I do plan to become the queen bitch of the badlands."

[nandalorian]

the gentleness that comes

Sometimes you just get thinking about random things like “what if Jaskier decided to Eternal Sunshine himself to get over the mountain breakup?” and then proceed to ruin not only your life but the lives of everyone else around you. 🙃

Jaskier/Geralt, PG-13

“No mage can do what you’re asking. Not even, I would wager, something as powerful as a djinn, or at least not in any way that would bring you peace,” Tissaia explains with more patience than Jaskier honestly expected. For all the fearsome tales he’s heard of the headmistress of Aretuza, she is either kinder than he deserves, or the stories have done her very, very wrong. Perhaps both. But her eyes are steady, her expression serene. Absolute. “Just as we cannot induce someone to fall in love, nor can we make them fall out of it.” She pauses to offer a sympathetic smile. “I am sorry. For you to have travelled such a long way, I suspect you do not make this request in haste.”

The compassion in Tissaia’s voice is terrible to hear. After all, sometimes kindness can look like cruelty before you’ve gotten enough distance on a thing. Certainly the opposite is true, anyway. Jaskier would know. He lowers his gaze to his hands, of a sudden fascinated by the calluses on his fingertips, the ragged skin around his nails. He has to take several deep, steadying breaths before he answers. 

“No, not in haste,” he manages at last. “I have prayed for it for some twenty-seven years.”

“Any man would be blessed to have captured such a loyal heart.”

Jaskier can’t resist a scoff. “Any man indeed.”

Several long moments pass, and eventually he must accept that Tissaia has said all she can on the matter. He forces himself to smile and climb to his feet, whereupon he sketches a bow fit for a queen. Tissaia doesn’t rise. She barely blinks, a statue rendered in green velvet and black lace.

“Mistress. I thank you for the tea, and your candor,” he tells her, still inclining his head with a hand pressed over his heart. “It’s not often a humble bard may boast an audience with the great Tissaia de Vries. If ever you are in need of musical entertainment, I proudly volunteer my services. I’m in your debt.”

“You are in no one’s debt, Lord Pankratz,” Tissaia answers, serenely as ever. At no point during their conversation did Jaskier tell her his full name, having introduced himself as Jaskier the Bard and no more. His title is useful to fling around in situations that call for it, but not here; Tissaia would see through any attempt at peacocking. “Nor are you merely a humble bard. You are most welcome here, as any friend of Yennefer’s is a friend of Aretuza.”

“Jaskier, if you will. And I’m not quite sure Yennefer would deign to call me a friend, but I’ll take it.” He smiles back and speaks through the tightness in his throat. “It’s been a pleasure.”

He is almost to the door of her study when her voice rings out again.

“Jaskier.”

He turns.

At some point Tissaia stood without making a sound and came around the desk to face him with her hands clasped together. “I cannot fulfill your wish as such. But I may be able to offer an alternative. One that comes at a great cost.”

Jaskier swallows and hopes the thrill of hope--and fear--elicited by her words isn’t completely obvious. “I’m listening.”

+

Her solution is quite simple, really, and so obvious that Jaskier isn’t sure how he didn’t think of it before. 

However, nor is Tissaia’s warning in jest: the cost is great indeed. So great that Jaskier cannot in good conscience be sure it is one he’s capable of paying.

Not monetary, of course, though he came prepared to empty his pockets and offer his soul if necessary. No, the cost is something more significant and precious than any coin or favour. Much more.

“A memory spell is a rather straightforward matter,” Tissaia explains as she and Jaskier walk the halls of Aretuza. Their destination is unclear, but where Tissaia goes, he follows. He’s not stupid enough to do otherwise. “It’s a spell even a novice can be expected to perform adequately, with the proper training, of course. One never knows when war might be averted by something as simple as a king forgetting an accidental slight, or a maid forgetting a conversation they were not meant to overhear.” She shrugs. “Not always the most elegant solution, but effective.”

A shiver crawls down Jaskier’s spine and makes the hair stand up on his arms and the back on his neck.

Magic, especially the kind taught at Aretuza or Ban Ard, is an ethical grey area, and mages have always played hard and fast with the rules, holding themselves above the trivialities and petty concerns of human morality. That’s why they’re mages: feared, awed, and resented in equal measure. 

That Tissaia speaks so casually about altering people’s memories, of mages’ power to decide the course of history according to their own values and interests, is a frightening concept. Most days Jaskier can’t decide what to eat for breakfast. And yet here he is, about to consider letting one of the most powerful mages in history stick her creepy magical fingers in his brain and give it a stir. He should consider getting his sanity checked instead.

Jaskier casts a sidelong look at Tissaia. “But falling in love isn’t like hearing something you shouldn’t, or being offended by a poor choice of words. It’s--”

“Complicated. Yes, quite. And even erasing the briefest of memories does not always go according to plan.”

Without warning, she stops in front of a heavy set of double doors, which she throws open with a flick of her wrist--a useless bit of pageantry, that, but one that distracts from Jaskier’s increasingly pressing urge to flee. Tissaia gestures for him to follow her inside and walks on.

Jaskier doesn’t immediately obey. Drumming his fingers anxiously against his leg, he leans over to peer inside, mind racing ahead to images of a frightening laboratory, potions bubbling away in vials, screaming victims strapped to tables or floating in giant vats. It’s--

Oh. A library.

Huffing to himself, Jaskier adjusts the strap of his lute on his shoulder and hurries to catch up.

The place is massive, far larger than it looks to be from outside, with soaring ceilings and giant stained-glass windows that reach several stories above their heads. Shelves upon shelves line the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling, and dozens more sit in neat rows upon multiple levels, staggered in tiers like a duchess’s birthday cake. They are filled to bursting with books, of course, interspersed with tables and comfortable chairs for mages at study. Jaskier can count at least four fireplaces burning merrily away. Right now he and Tissaia appear to be the only ones here.

With a theatricality he can’t help but admire, Tissaia turns and holds out her arms, encompassing everything and looking very like a queen showing off her kingdom. “What do you see before you?” she asks, voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.

Jaskier furrows his brow. The question is almost certainly a trick of some kind, so he answers with the first thing to come to mind. “Uh… books?”

“Precisely.” Tissaia lowers her arms. “Tens of thousands of books, each of them containing spells, histories, first- and secondhand accounts of untold lifetimes, many of which have been forgotten but not lost.”

“Memories.”

She nods. “Yes. But memories are not like books. And magic, even in the hands of the most talented user, is not like taking a book down off a shelf. It is not a matter of selecting a few chapters to discard and letting the person continue on their merry way. The mind is a much more delicate and complex thing. If it were to be a story, it would be a very messy story indeed, with no clear narrative or plot, no chapter headings, and not necessarily even a single voice.”

“Sounds like some of my earliest compositions.” 

He titters at his own joke; Tissaia’s expression doesn’t budge. 

Unnerved, Jaskier clears his throat and has to break eye contact, looks around the room instead. After a moment, and with a smidge more gravity, he asks, “Why are you telling me this?”

Once again Tissaia regards him with that patient look from before. “Because you must comprehend that there is a price to what you’re asking, and why I do not suggest this lightly. If you are truly serious in your quest to rid yourself of Geralt of Rivia, and I sense that you are, there is a possible way forward. But to erase this one chapter of your life will require throwing out many more--whole volumes, whole books, shelf after shelf of memories. Possibly the entire library, if things do not go according to plan.” She pauses and steps forward to touch his chin, forcing Jaskier to look at her. “Do you understand what I am telling you?”

He swallows with difficulty, throat catching on the boulder suddenly lodged there. It wouldn’t do to ruin the moment by asking how she knows this is about Geralt, even though Jaskier definitely didn’t tell her and did his best to avoid thinking about him during their initial conversation. But his reputation precedes him, after all, and if not that, he really doesn’t want to know the extent of the mage’s legendary powers of telepathy. He also thinks to bring it up now would be missing the point.

“Are you saying I will forget my whole life?” he asks.

“Unlikely, though not impossible,” says Tissaia like that isn’t an utterly testicle-shrivelling statement. “That is the worst-case scenario. The best is that you will cease to remember everything since you met Geralt. That is, in essence, what you want, is it not?”

“I’ve known Geralt since I was barely eighteen.” Panic suffuses his voice without Jaskier quite meaning it to. “I’m forty-five years old.” 

Eighteen-year-old Jaskier is a mystery to him now. Oh, he vaguely recalls joints that didn’t creak and a back that offered him less trouble each morning upon rising, a cock that would swell at a hard gust of wind and balls that never seemed to empty. That boy could sing all day and dance all night in and out of people’s beds. He was loud, annoying, impetuous, drunk on the sound of his own voice, and full of love. So full of love that he could saunter up to a complete stranger with white hair and yellow eyes and end up following him around for twenty-seven years instead. Well… twenty-four, if you don’t count the last three since they become estranged. Which Jaskier absolutely does not.

His enduring muse and most steadfast friend; his life’s greatest and most unfulfilled passion. 

His most profound heartbreak.

Not much has changed about the last part, but Jaskier likes to think he’s grown wiser with age, less migraine-inducing. He lived enough to discover what pleased him before it was taken away.

Are any of those lessons worth unlearning, for any reason?

“Eighteen isn’t a bad age,” Tissaia remarks, breaking through his thoughts, or perhaps deliberately interrupting. She has been steadily taking in Jaskier’s internal struggle with that calm, measured gaze, though her attention is sharp. “By then most of us have some idea of who we are and what we want. Enough that you could begin again.” 

Jaskier slants her a look. “Mages are immortal, and you’re one of the oldest still living. Please don’t condescend to me that eighteen is anything but as unbearably young as it sounds.”

A small smile. Perversely, it reminds him of Geralt. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, forty-five is unbearably young too.”

Ruefully, unexpectedly, Jaskier barks a laugh and concedes the point with a nod. “Touché.”

They linger in that shared bit of humour for a moment, Tissaia’s smile widening and making her look abruptly more human since they met, and then she cants her head. She gestures, and from seemingly nowhere a book tumbles off some far-off shelf and flies into her hand. With an enigmatic smile, she turns it over to reveal the spine and hands it to Jaskier. The Songs of Jaskier the Bard is tooled on the front in gold, winking in the firelight. 

“You’re more fortunate than most: there’s an account of your life right here. Should you want it, that is.”

“I’m not sure I do anymore.” Jaskier peers at the book from the corner of his eye. It almost hurts to look at it directly, to think of the tales sung about in its pages, the joy, the adventure, but also the love and heartache couched beneath every note, every clever turn of phrase. The next words are a genuine struggle to get out, and he tries with everything he has not to cry. “No, I think that time has quite passed. I want peace. And if not peace, then at least blissful ignorance.”

“Hm.” The sound is neither pitying nor understanding, merely thoughtful. Tissaia regards him critically. “Then you may have it. You’re still a young man. Not a grey hair on you, and I’ve my suspicions you’ll live for a while yet.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes at her. What does that even mean. “What does that mean?”

She chuckles. “It means you have time. And time heals a multitude of wounds. Not perfectly, but… passably.”

“And--what? I can find love again, or some such tosh?”

“If you like.”

He huffs. “I used to think that. I did. Give it time, and eventually I’d meet someone new who would make me forget Geralt ever existed, blah blah blah--yes, I know, the irony of that isn’t lost on me.” Jaskier is quiet for a moment. “But I don’t know if that’s true anymore. It’s been three years. The wound hasn’t healed, only festered. The more I try to open my heart to others, the more it seems to close.”

“It is said people linked by destiny will always find each other.”

“Oh, I know that one. That’s a prison sentence, not a comfort.” 

“I didn’t intend for it to be.”

At last Jaskier forces himself to look down at the book in his hand. It has a pleasant heft in his hand, the weight of a life lived well. For twenty-seven--no, twenty-four years he gazed upon the face of the man he loved and loves still. Sang of him, to him, the way seabirds call to the sea, a song in their blood even when the crash of the surf is too far away to be heard. 

Is that enough? Can it be enough?

Perhaps it will have to be. Or perhaps he can simply wake up tomorrow and not remember or care what the correct answer is. Forget even that he asked the question.

He sets the book down upon a nearby table and pauses only to run his hand down the cover, leather supple beneath his fingertips. In his mind’s eye is Geralt--not spitting mad and vicious on a mountaintop, no, but as Jaskier first saw him, sitting quietly by himself in the corner of a tavern. Trying so very hard to escape everyone’s notice, and yet once he caught Jaskier’s eye, quite impossible to look away from. Impossible not to love.

Jaskier turns back to Tissaia and meets her gaze steadily.

“I understand and accept the risks,” he says, confident in a way he does not feel. That has always been his way. Even, it must be said, at eighteen. It’s enough. It will be enough. “Now tell me what I must do.”

[deathisanartmetzli]

Two for One || Bex & Metzli

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @inbextween @deathisanartmetzli​

SUMMARY: Metzli gets more than just a donation from Bex, and they really don’t like it.

CONTAINS: TW- Mentions of Child Death, Mentions of Parental Death, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Mentions of Homophobia and Transphobia, Vampire Compelling-

It wasn’t technically nerves that coursed through Bex as the uber pulled up to the art gallery, but there was a sense of excitement tingeing her cheeks. On Bex, it could have easily been mistaken for anxiety or nerves, as she stared wide-eyed up at the sign above the doors. There were so many things she didn’t know about White Crest and it’s people, and she found herself almost desperate to know them. Desperate to know the world she was always supposed to be part of. Anyone who offered even a morsel of that was on her list of people to talk to, to befriend, to know. Metzli was at the top of the list, if only because they hadn’t beat around the bush with anything, and Bex appreciated the candor. As well as the shmoozing. It wasn’t necessary, she’d write them a check for whatever amount they wanted, but it was still...flattering. She was still letting herself get used to being okay with being openly out, and it felt nice, she supposed, to be seen in that way. Not that she needed it! Mina was more than enough, and Bex wasn’t that daft (though she still was holding out hope that maybe Metzli was just being nice, maybe they were just trying to butter her up and just wanted to be her friend), but as she always did, she wanted to give them a chance, first. She couldn’t help it, it was as much a flaw as it was a strength. She supposed it was only a matter of time before it bit her in the ass, but she was really hoping that wouldn’t be the case here.

Pushing the front door open, Bex glanced up as the bell chimed to announce her arrival. It was quiet inside, no one else was really around, and she was grateful for that-- she still had a hard time in crowds, fearing the magic that pulsed beneath her fingers, and what harm it could do to people. But Metzli was a vampire, and her magic was mostly harmless against the undead. Which, again, both good and bad. Sai hadn’t taught her any barrier spells yet, so she really had no way to defend herself, other than the can of mace she always carried in her purse. It was a last resort only, though.

Bex perked up when she heard footsteps approaching and grinned, smoothing down the fringes of her dress. “Hi! It’s-- you’re Metzli, right? It’s me. Bex. But you probably already figured that out. Sorry. I’m much better at talking online.” Held her hand out. “It’s nice to finally meet you for, like, real!”

The prospect of meeting Bex in person was one that Metzli looked forward to greatly. Not only was she going to donate to the gallery, but she was a possible fun friend to get…close to. Needless to say, when Bex walked through the door, the vampire was excited, no, tantalizingly thrilled. “Yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bex.” They took Bex’s hand, their hand firm and extremely cold. Acting on their dated customs, they bowed and laid a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. Their smile was one that could win the hearts of most, and could melt even the coldest of them.

Metzli always wore suits to the gallery, but chose the best ones this week in anticipation of this meeting. Today they sported a blue suit with a plaid pattern, a black tie, and black dress shoes to complete the ensemble. Trying to “put their best foot forward,” if you will. “You’re certainly an energetic one. I like that.” Their smile grew wider, not too wide as to cause alarm, but enough to make the warmth grow. “Welcome to my gallery,” Arms extended as they gestured to the open building. “Would you like anything to drink before I give you the tour? Water, wine?” They asked, adjusting the cuffs of their shirt.

“I keep an assortment of reds, but I have some sparkling whites if you prefer,” Metzli continued, trying to be the best host possible. Though Bex did say she would donate regardless, the vampire had to put on a show.

Bex had eyes, good eye sight at that, and they stuck on Metzli’s form as they approached, on the rather suave suit they were wearing, and she felt her inside begin to vibrate. Maybe this was a bad idea. This could go bad very quickly. Really, all she had to do to solve her problem was tell Metzli she had a girlfriend, but how was she supposed to insert that into casual conversation? And why was it that the words still stuck in her throat? She glanced around the gallery again and found it still empty and wondered how long it would take her mind-- and her body-- to stop sending alarms to run away when confronted publicly with her queerness. But it was just...looking. Nothing would happen. She could look. And so she looked.

“Oh, well, don’t get too excited. Sometimes my energy can be a lot. I don’t shut up half the time and then most of the time I don’t even realize I’m not shutting up or talking too much. It’s really kind of a drag. Blessing and a curse? It’s-- see? I’m kind of already doing it.” She took Metzli’s hand to shut herself up and felt a chill run up her arm, into her spine. They felt like Morgan’s hands, cool, soft, but where Morgan’s grip was always gentle, Metzli’s was firm. The swift kiss to the back of her hand just as cold, despite the warmth now in her cheeks. “I-I’m okay right now! Why don’t we just save the drinking for later?”

Her dress-- a nice dress, but certainly not her nicest-- was a blue number, with a floral pattern and frilly, short sleeves. She liked to dress up nice-- an old habit she didn’t really know how to break-- but now she was wondering if, maybe, a more casual outfit would’ve been a better idea. “So how long have you been doing art? Did you own a gallery before this? Where did you live before this?”

Metzli could always tell when they were being checked out, which was often. Confidence emanated from them as they ogled back, a little more subtly. The way Bex stuttered only made them feel empowered, like they had her right where they wanted her. It was something they enjoyed a lot, maybe too much. “As you wish, cariña.” They replied flirtatiously and motioned for her to follow them.

“Please, follow me. I’ll answer your questions along the way as I lead you through the current showings, and maybe if you want, I can show you…the secret gallery. But that’ll have to wait until the end.” Metzli guided Bex down a hallway that led to a large, open room filled with sculptures and paintings. “In this section, I have a collection of works by local artists. Several of which were donated, and many others purchased right from the artists themselves. And if you look in the back corner, you’ll see my most recent painting.” A large painting of a decaying crow was on display. So far it had received much praise and was one of their favorites as of yet.

“As for your current questions, I’ve been practicing art, painting in particular, for about 90 years. After roaming for a bit once I left my clan, I decided to open my first gallery, this very one. I traveled all the way from Jalisco, Mexico. I resided there until I heard of White Crest. It took a while, but I finally made it here. Word travels far when it comes to special places.”

It was just Metzli being nice, Bex told herself. Obviously that’s all it was. They were just being nice because people could just be nice without any ulterior motive. Bex truly believed that. She really wanted to believe that right now. She could convince herself of that. Why would anyone want to flirt with her anyway? Especially a vampire who owned their own art gallery and had probably seen so much in the world. Someone like Bex wasn’t worth that time or effort. They were just being nice because Bex was donating to their gallery, that was all. Surely that was all.

She followed behind Metzli and stepped into the large room that displayed, as they explained it, the local works. Her gaze traced across all the different pieces on display, mouth slightly agape. She hadn’t known there were so many talented people right here in White Crest, but, really, what did she know about White Crest? Not much. It had been stolen from her. She was drawn towards a sculpture in the middle, of some sort of nightmarish, amorphous creature. Her eyes skated over the piece and she longed to reach out and touch it, but held herself back, looking up again when Metzli pointed out their own work.

“Oh, you painted that one!?” She moved quickly towards it, drawn in by the glowing red eye of the crow. It looked half dead, perhaps decaying, encompassing the canvas, and Bex stared at it in wonder. She’d always wished her hands were disciplined enough to put down onto paper what was in her mind, her dreams. Drawing maps of made-up worlds hardly counted. She glanced back over at Metzli, realizing how close she’d gotten to the painting and stepped away. “It’s beautiful.”

Bex had almost forgotten Metzli’s undead-ness, and balked for only a moment when they announced they’d been at this for ninety years. Her grandmother wasn’t even that old. Hands skated over the ridges of the painting, only touching the air in front of it as if she were a ghost. “What did you do before, then?” Looked back over at Metzli, eyes wide with wonder. “Ninety years is a long time. I can’t even imagine being alive for that long, let alone practicing something for all that time…”

Metzli watched as Bex marveled at their painting. Their skill always did a number on women. It was one of the many benefits of honing it. “Before? Oh, well…I didn’t do much of anything besides what my master commanded. Going into those details is not something I will do, though.” Their arms rested behind their back as they spoke, and their voice took on a more serious tone. Memories of that time flooded their mind, making them squeeze their eyes shut to push them away.

Once their eyes opened again, they slapped a smile on their face and turned to face the other pieces in the gallery. “Thank you for your praise. It’s always a pleasure to see my art taken so well.” Metzli continued walking away, motioning Bex once again to follow them. “Next I’ll show you the works I’ve collected nationwide, and even internationally. The collection is smaller, but still striking.”

They felt a little off. The flashes of memories long past made their facade wane slightly and they used the short walk to collect themselves. Showing the gallery to Bex was supposed to be an easy way to get money and possibly a fun time for the night. It was not supposed to make them feel any sort of way. Especially not sad. Lucky for Metzli, the moment of sorrow quickly passed and they moved on. “Do you have any further questions?”

Bex drew her brows in concern, worried she might’ve said something that upset Metzli. She had never been any good at telling people’s emotions from their faces, but the one thing she could recognize aside from anger-- perhaps even more so than-- was sorrow. It passed briefly over Metzli’s face and Bex turned her gaze away, pretending to have not seen it at all. Sorrow was something felt in solitude. It didn’t need to be looked at the way art was. She shifted her gaze back up when Metzli spoke up again, and Bex moved away from the painting and towards them. “It’s incredible,” she said again, stealing one more glance at it before they exited the room. “You’re incredible.”

As they walked, Bex wondered. She couldn’t help it. Her mind raced away with thoughts all the time, and Metzli’s words were making trails through her mind like a flood. Their master, whatever that meant, had made them do things. Probably things they hadn’t wanted to do, from the sound of it. Bex could understand that. Maybe too closely. Her parents had controlled everything about her life, so much to the point that the freedom she now enjoyed felt wrong. She didn’t know what to do with it. She blinked from her thoughts when Metzli spoke up again and found herself in a new room. “Oh, um-- you mentioned that you do, like, community stuff. Art classes. What kind of classes are they? And how often? Do you do them here? If you need a bigger space, I could probably give you the money for that. And supplies. Really, just, whatever you might need. I think a place like this is worth investing in.” She smiled, gently, sweetly. Her father would’ve called this a waste and her mother would have scolded her, but they weren’t around anymore, and even if Bex didn’t know how to feel about her new found freedom, she wasn't going to waste it.

Bex’s comment didn’t go unheard, but with their ego, they were just going to gloss over it so they wouldn’t blow their cover. “Oh, the art classes are held in these two rooms.” Metzli trotted over to two doors next to each other. “Currently only one is being used for now. I’m setting up the other for sculpture classes. Everything has been purchased out of my own pocket, so it’s taking longer than I’d like. But, the painting classes are held every Tuesday and Thursday. Rookies on Tuesday’s and Novices on Thursday’s. With your donation I’ll be able to hire a sculpting teacher and continue to purchase the supplies necessary.”

The excitement in Metzli’s voice surprised them. Crest Works Art was their pride and joy. It was their dream to use art to heal, only themselves and maybe a few others inadvertently, but that was something for them to know, not anyone else. “I was honestly only expecting a donation of five grand, which is more than enough.” The truth of the matter was that they were lowballing in hopes of getting more. The money would help the gallery but the leftovers would go to them. But the more they discussed the matter, the more they wanted it for the gallery. What the hell was going on?

“Whatever you see best though, is just fine. It would be an honor to take a donation from Miss Not-So-Fragile.” Metzli referenced an earlier message the two shared, clearly turning on their charm again. It was an attempt to get back in the zone, get back to what they were supposed to be doing. Which was not getting lost in pointless emotions.

“Out of your own pocket? Wow, you must really love this place,” Bex sighed, a bit of a dreamy tone to her voice as she did. She reached out and slid her fingers along the cool wall, between two of the paintings. Sometimes, she liked to believe she could feel the energy in the world, she was supposed to be able to, as a spellcaster. When she was outside, she could swear she could hear the thrum of the earth, as energy flowed through it, like invisible rivers. It was in everything. She wished she could feel that all the time, like the moonlight with Sai, and the warmth with Mina. “White Crest is lucky to have you here,” she said again, smiling.

“Oh, only five-thousand?” Bex didn’t really know how much was a good donation amount, but in the end, she’d decided she didn’t really care. If it meant keeping a place like this open and running, she’d give whatever. If she could be the person helping someone achieve their dream, then of course she would help them. She turned away from the wall and headed towards Metzli again, in the middle of the room. She chuckled, hiding her face behind her hand for a moment. “You know you don’t have to keep buttering me up,” she stated, pulling her wallet out, “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t like you or didn’t want to do this.” Because she had the ability to choose to do that now. No one to tell her how to live her life. “How’s 50k?”

“It’s not buttering up if I’m enjoying it.” The way Bex just didn’t see how Metzli was laying it on super thick with the flirting was astounding. Completely baffled, they chuckled and were going to continue to flirt when Bex gave her offer. 50k? 50k? They were expecting a higher amount than five thousand, but that? “Holy shit,” was all that was muttered in that moment. “A-are you sure?!”

Metzli didn’t mean to be so loud, but the plan had gone well, too well in fact. Sure they were confident, but it never got them something of this magnitude. “Sorry, sorry. Just wasn’t expecting that.” They chuckled out of pure disbelief. Fooling Bex had obviously paid off, but it was much more than that now. Having a donation of that amount meant they could do more than just the few things they mentioned. This could be the breakthrough the gallery needed to be as successful as they had dreamed. Their master, just like Bex’s parents had no hold on her, had no hold on them. Not anymore.

For a moment, the facade fell again, and actual gratitude showed on Metzli’s face. Bowing like before, they took Bex’s hand and pressed another kiss to the back of her hand. This time though, their hold was gentle, maybe even hinging on being soft. “Thank you, Bex.”

That look right there was what Bex cared about the most. Through the astonishment, it was the look of hope that made Bex’s heart soar. She wanted to give people hope. Hope that they could finally have something good. It was like she’d told Bly-- hope was never bad, it couldn’t be, by nature. Bex wanted to truly believe that. She did. It was nice, too, to watch Metzli trip over their words and stutter, instead of her. She was usually so bad at talking, but something about this place had rendered Bex relatively quiet as she observed the space around her. The paintings, the sculptures, the pictures. They were worth investing in, they were worth giving back to. “I’m sure,” she answered, smiling. She scribbled on the check, before tearing one out and handing it to Metzli. “I really hate saying this, but that’s barely even a dent in the wallet. Like I told you, no one needs this much money. I’d give you more if I didn’t think you’d pass out, or the government wouldn’t try and take it all for taxes.”

Bex wasn’t expecting another bow, and she stayed frozen a moment as Metzli leaned down to kiss the back of her hand again. It felt somehow gentler this time. She felt her face flush and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, chuckling nervously. “Y-you don’t have to thank me! Honest. I’m not doing this for the thanks. I just want to give back to the community and the town and-- and people. People who deserve it.” This was just what people did, right? This was just being nice. People had different customs, was all. “I-- I do expect special treatment when I show up to the beginner painting classes, though.”

And just like that, Metzli knew they had done it again. Another successful event that flustered the naive woman. That was what they were trying to twist it into at least. Gratitude filled their cold heart, but they were determined to believe this was all according to their plan to seduce a millionaire. “Special treatment for you? You’ll get that any time, anywhere, cariña.” A flair of their accent came through and they cleared their throat to breeze past it.

Taking the check, they eyed it with amazement before pocketing it into the inside of their suit jacket. “Maybe we can leave the secret gallery for another time. After such a gracious donation, I believe I’d like to celebrate with a drink. What do you say? The Bloody Stake is calling to us.” Metzli’s charm was subtle and had an air about it that made people want to listen, want to do what they said. Or was that just their compelling? No, that wasn’t it, not now. That was for very special occasions. This was just their natural personality.

Metzli just hoped their luck continued into the night. Having a woman like Bex at their disposal would prove to be beneficial. They’d have to monitor how they approached everything. A one night stand may not be in the cards if Bex was as sweet as she appeared to be. Not to mention that could ruin any chance of them reaping the benefits of having Bex on their side.

Bex stared for a long moment, pretending that the word was just a common thing people from Mexico said. It was just like when people called her sweetheart or darling. That was all. The heat in her cheeks was just from her anxiety, she was always anxious, Morgan said she needed medication for her anxiety. So, clearly, it was just that. She heard the tint of Metzli’s accent and wondered why they tried to cover it up, but didn’t want to ask.

“You know, I’m only a little worried about what might be in this secret gallery,” she finally said, clearing her throat, “more so curious, though. But-- you know, drinks sound nice, too. I could do drinks.” Metzli was smooth, Bex had to admit it, but she was still clinging to the idea that this was just two people getting drinks and nothing more. Like they said, they just wanted to celebrate. Bex could get on board with that, and the idea of drowning the stupid thoughts in her head about her mother for just one night was the most compelling part of it all. But there was also just something...compelling about Metzli, that made Bex want to just say yes and follow them and ignore the alarms going off in her head. They were stupid alarms and she wanted to stop listening to them. She was free now, she could do what she wanted.

After a moment, once the check was tucked safely away, Bex curtsied slightly as she motioned towards the door. “Shall we? Is it close enough to walk?”

The crimson on Bex’s cheeks was noticeable on visual alone, but Metzli heard the rush of blood after her heartbeat picked up. With a bright smile, they walked over to a light switch, and turned it off. Upon this action, a blue light was activated, subtly revealing a door. Due to the light from the windows and other fixtures, it was a little hard to see. “The secret gallery is right behind this door. There’s nothing to worry about, though. Many protective measures have been taken so that the cursed works stay put. Maybe after drinks, we can come here and I can show you.”

As instantly as the door appeared, it disappeared just the same with another flick of the switch. “The bar isn’t walking distance, but I have a car that I can drive us in, if you’re comfortable enough. It’s the black Mercedes out front.” Metzli said, using a tone as smooth and sweet as saccharine. Clasping their arms behind their back, they guided Bex back to the front so they could get to their office. “Give me a moment so I can dress down a little.”

Metzli faded into their office for a moment, removing their tie and suit jacket, and unbuttoning their shirt to their sternum. It revealed a portion of their clan tattoo, a custom ankh with three strikes through it. A tattoo they were ashamed of, but figured there was no use hiding it. With a shrug, all the lights were shut off and they exited their office. “Have you decided whether or not you’ll ride with me, Miss Not-So-Fragile?”

Bex felt that insatiable tug of curiosity again when the lights flickered out. Her heartbeat quickened even more as she looked at the door, now illuminated in blue light-- even took a step towards it-- before the lights were turned back on and Metzli was ushering her back towards the front. “Cursed!?” she asked, brows raising. She wanted to see those, she definitely wanted to see those. She wanted to know if they felt like magic, if she could sense the magic infused in them. She wondered what kind of curses they were. She wondered who put them on them. There was so much she wanted to know.

Instead, she stood and waited patiently while Metzli changed, her eyes flicking back and forth between the office door they’d disappeared behind, and the hallway that led to the room with the secret door. She perked back up when Metzli returned and beamed a smile. “Well, considering I didn’t drive here, I think that might be the best idea.” She didn’t need to mention that she couldn’t drive, and a small part of her worried how she might be getting home later, but a bigger part of her just didn’t care. Maybe the walk would be nice. She headed towards the door, motioning towards Metzli, hands clasped together as she leaned back against the door, hearing the little bell chime once again when it opened slightly. She glanced one more time towards where the secret door was. “Ready?”

“Ready indeed,” Metzli said, following Bex out the door, and promptly locking it. The alarm was set and they were good to go. As per usual, they opened the passenger door for Bex. It was another dated custom, but it always did well with the female population. “Your chariot awaits,” They joked, and went on to the driver’s side once Bex was set up.

Metzli never bothered with a seatbelt, there was no point. The only thing that could hurt them right now was that damn sun, but they would be rid of that monstrosity in a matter of minutes. Turning over the engine, they shifted the car into drive, and began the commute to the bar. “We’re not too far by car, so we’ll be there soon.” A smile spread over their lips as they moved their hand towards Bex’s thigh, no, the gear shift actually. With a flick of their wrist, the gears changed and the car sped closer to their destination.

Just like they said, the two arrived quickly and Metzli winced at the exposure to the sun again. “Let’s get in quickly. The sun…stings.” Thanks to the time of day, which was 5pm, the toxic sphere would linger for a few hours more. But soon they’d be greeted with a dark room and the perfect drinks, with a woman they had just taken 50k from. Happily, they gently pressed their hand to the small of Bex’s back and guided her towards the door.

It was just polite, really, for someone to open the door for her, right? Bex slid into the car, just as suave and nice as she thought someone like Metzli might own, and folded her hands into her lap, adjusting the edge of her dress to rest over her thigh. She swallowed. This was fine, it was just someone taking her for a drink, it didn’t have to be anything more than that. She kept telling herself that. She would never do anything to be unfaithful to Mina, she loved Mina, this wasn’t anything like that. After all, all Bex wanted was a friend.

She kept her eyes on the road, barely noticed Metzli’s hand moving towards her, as she tried to keep her mind calm. It kept going back to that secret room, or to the way Metzli looked at her, or to Mina back home, still frightened over the warden. Or to her mom. They were all things she wanted to forget about for tonight. She just wanted one night where she didn’t have to think about anything stressful, anything painful, anything hard. Finally, the car pulled up and Bex felt her body loosen, not even realizing how tense she’d become.

She slipped from the car and adjusted herself again, feeling a shiver run up her back when Metzli’s hand came to rest on it. She shuffled slightly, but didn’t move away, instead moving quickly towards the door and slipping inside. Metzli’s chivalry was a little old-fashioned, but that was what Bex had grown up with. The inside of the bar was dark, and red-- a lot of red. Bex glanced around, as eyes turned on her. They could smell her, she realized, her humanness. Could they smell her magic, too? She looked back at Metzli. “Where uh-- where should we sit?”

The effect Metzli was having on Bex was obvious in every flutter of her heart, and every hitch of breath. She didn’t need to utter a word of her attraction, they already had it confirmed. With eyes on the two, they bent down at the waist to whisper on Bex’s ear. “No one will touch you so long as I’m around. You don’t have to worry, okay?” They attempted to reassure her, knowing she was probably a little nervous. No. It was to show their dominance in the bar. It was an attractive trait. That’s all. “We can sit in a booth in the back corner. I see that it’s free right now, but let’s get drinks first.”

With their hand still in place, they guided Bex to the bar and requested a special red wine for themselves, and then motioned to Bex. “And you? What would you like, cariña?” An elbow propped them up as they leaned on the bar, removing their hand from her back finally. The bartender made Metzli’s drink as they waited for Bex’s request.

It was comforting to know and Bex felt herself relaxing a bit more. She wondered if it was the check in Metzli’s pocket that was providing her sanctuary here, or something else. Not that Bex was scared-- it wasn’t fear of someone trying to hurt her, she’d been attacked by a vampire before, but that woman had been cruel, perhaps feral, and she wasn’t going to let one incident color her views on vampires-- but the attention drawn to her made her anxiety rocket. She wasn’t used to being perceived like this, it made her stomach churn a little. She wished she wasn’t always so self-conscious. Did they know? Could they see? Could they tell?

She shuffled closer to Metzli subconsciously and looked across the bartop towards the bartender. “Uh, vodka cranberry,” she ordered, leaning against the bar. Drummed her fingers on the bartop. This is where Kyle had worked. In fact, the alley behind it was where he’d attacked her, causing the scarring that was probably visible on her chest. She tried not to think about that. “So you come here a lot? I can see why. Totally has that vampy vibe. Do they serve actual blood here?” she asked, curious.

“Yes, they do. That’s what makes my wine special, actually. Makes partying much more fun when the drinks taste divine.” Metzli replied, sipping on their wine. Instantly, their eyes turned red and fangs extended from their canines. “Hope this doesn’t put you off. It feels like taking off a mask when I can do this freely.” They smiled and requested a special shot and a tequila shot for Bex. Gathering the shots and their wine, they pointed with their head and walked towards the booth they mentioned when the two first entered.

Metzli sat across from Bex and carefully placed all the drinks down. “Okay, I got these for us. Don’t drink this one though. You’ll hate it,” A small chuckle escaped their lips as they scooted their shot closer to them. “To art and to new friendship,” They raised their shot, which prompted Bex to clink hers with Metzli’s. Today had been fantastic so far, and they hoped it would only get better. Much better.

“You did say you wanted to get too wasted, right?” Another chuckle escaped right before taking their bloody concoction of inebriation.

“Can you taste normal food? I know a zombie and they say they can’t taste like, normal human food anymore. Is it like that for you?” Bex was blurting the questions before she could help herself, staring perhaps a little too excitedly as fangs formed in their mouth and eyes shimmered red. She remembered how the other woman’s face had looked when Bex had seen her outside the library, eyes glinting through the dark at her before teeth sunk into her neck. She blinked and looked away. “Oh, no! You’re totally fine! I don’t mind at all. I think it’s actually pretty cool,” she said, smiling. If she could trust Milo, she could trust Metzli. She was trying to get over all that, anyway. If she could trust Kyle, she could trust others. And she did, trust Kyle. “Is it, like, painful? To hold it in?”

She already felt more questions bubbling in her throat, but held them back for now, following Metzli back to the booth they’d pointed out earlier. Her eyes fell from Metzli’s face to the drinks and the shot that was handed to her. She had said that, hadn’t she? “To art and friendship.”Lifted her shot glass and clinked it to Metzli’s before downing it in one gulp, wincing only a little. “Tequila always burns more than I remember,” she admitted, chuckling slightly as she bit down into the lime that had come with it.

“Do different blood types taste different?” she asked, watching Metzli partake in their special wine, eyes wide, once again, with curiosity.

“You sure have a lot of questions, don’t you?” Metzli teased with a smile, and continued on to answer everything once the shots were taken. Bex’s face at the shot made them laugh right as they answered. “Can’t really taste normal food. Haven’t been able to since I was…I guess 20? I don’t remember. I really do miss conchas and coffee though. They were my favorite.” Memories of the late night sweet bread and coffee made them smile to themselves. Some memories were just too sweet to not smile at. “As for different blood types, yeah they do taste different. Blood from slayers tastes especially euphoric.”

Even more memories raced through their head, until a particular memory made their face fall. The one and only slayer they had killed themselves wasn’t even a slayer yet. Their master convinced them it was for the betterment of the clan, that it would save countless of vampiric lives. “But I’ve only ever had a few tastes,” Metzli attempted to shake free of the sorrowful hold the memory had on them. It frustrated them that they kept behaving this way.

“Um…are you going to finally tell me what you are? It’s only fair since you know what I am.” Their signature smile wasn’t as strong, but the attempt was there. They just wanted to move on.

“Oh, s-sorry! I can totally stop if it’s making you uncomfortable, I just kinda always do this,” Bex stumbled through the explanation, “I ask a lot of questions. I don’t mean to! I just get-- excited?” She gave a sheepish grin. “I like learning about new things and people and, well, I mean, you’re just such a fascinating person! I’ve met a lot of people here that I think are interesting or amazing, but none like you. I do even know another vampire, but they’re kinda new to it.” She paused, stopped herself from rambling more by picking up her drink and hovering it by her lips as she took a large gulp. That felt better. She needed to stop being so annoying. Fingers wrung together for a moment. “Sorry. I ramble a lot.”

The mention of slayers made Bex stiffen. She didn’t really think about how vampires-- and zombies, in turn-- could hurt hunters in the way the hunters themselves tried to keep them from doing. She swallowed. She wanted to ask more, but that distantly sad look was on Metzli’s face again, so she clenched her jaw shut instead.

When the subject turned on her, she welcomed it, even if it made her heart beat a little faster again. “What? You haven’t guessed yet?” she teased, smiling, hoping to lighten the mood after her slip up. “Obviously I’m some sort of human. A special kind.” A kind she was still learning to love, but her magic didn’t have to be a terrible thing-- that was the lesson she’d finally learned. Her magic could be special, if she let it.

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. You know what?” Metzli groaned, feeling like they were behaving like a vampire with a stupid soul. What they did was nothing. It was in their nature, so what did it matter in the long run? “Rambling is good. At least what you have on your mind will get out. Better that way.” Before continuing, they motioned for the bartender for refills and two more shots. Drinks would help, they were sure of it. “You did nothing wrong. It’s just—and you know, we’re gonna get back to what you are, but—“ They cut themselves off with a sip of their wine.

“Look, I don’t have a soul. And I did that by killing a slayer. But the kid wasn’t a slayer yet. Actually, they weren’t a slayer at all. My master said they were though. Greater good for my clan and all that. My master wanted me to believe that, so I did. I’m not supposed to feel bad, and for a stupid second, I did. What’s a stupid kid’s life matter anyway?” Metzli practically spat the last few words out, sounding like they were trying to convince themselves more than anyone else.

As they always did when they were frustrated, they combed their hand through their hair, making it fluff up a tiny bit more. Metzli was feeling. They were actually feeling. This wasn’t right. “Now I’m rambling. Puta madre.” The drinks came at just the right time and they downed the wine in their hand before reaching for the shot and taking it. “You can leave now if you want. Nice vampire facade over.” For once, they had actually given up and didn’t care about an easy lay or even about the benefits they could reap. What the hell is going on.

Bex was quiet was Metzli explained. She didn’t really know or understand what it meant to not have a soul, or that vampires could get rid of them. Could zombies? Could fae? Could humans? What was a soul, anyway? Was Bex just a soul whenever she left her body? What did a soul give a person, or make a person? She ruffled her brow, tapped her fingers on the side of her glass in thought. “I don’t want to leave,” she finally said, and, really, there’d never been any point in Metzli’s explanation that had made her want to. Maybe that was the wrong response, but like Bex had said several times before, she wanted to give people chances. As many as they needed. And Metzli had done nothing to Bex to indicate that they wanted to hurt her or anything like that. So what reason did Bex have to leave? “None of what you said makes me want to leave.”

She smiled gently, licking her lips as she took another sip. “I don’t, I mean-- that’s a lot. That you just-- told me. And, really, it feels nice to know you trusted me enough to tell me that. And I don’t think any of it makes you, like, a bad person? If-- if someone made you do it, it’s not your fault, you know.” They were words she’d said to MIna, as well. It didn’t matter how many people her father had led her to help kill, that blood wasn’t on Mina’s hands. She had been manipulated by someone who she thought she loved, and she had been a child. None of that was her fault. None of that sounded like Metzli’s fault. “It’s not bad for...believing in something someone you trusted told you to do. If it was, then I guess I’m bad, too, because I spent pretty much my entire life doing whatever my mom wanted me to do, only to find out that she wasn’t even my real mom.”

And then, in a relatively bold and perhaps stupid gesture, Bex leaned forward and reached across the table, putting her hands over Metzli’s on their glass. “People are just people,” she shrugged, “nice and good and bad are circumstantial things.”

Bex’s little speech made Metzli want to rip off their ears and end their misery. It was a load of bullshit. They couldn’t do that though, and so they continued to suffer. Having no soul made them have no empathy and not feel much of anything really. But somehow, someway, Bex made something snap. “You’re crazy, you know that? Having no soul means I have no remorse. I have no empathy. Everything I do is self serving.” They tried to get that point across, more so to see what she would do. The curiosity won over any want to keep her around for the benefits.

“Even knowing that, you don’t wanna run?” It baffled them, but it also amused them. Bex was so naive and innocent. Her touch only further proved that, and fed into the want to do more with her. “Frankly, it does make me a bad person. I do bad things with no remorse. Hypothetically, I could kill you now and it wouldn’t bother me. I’d feel nothing.” Knowing this might incite fear, Metzli rose from their seat and got into her booth. “Does that not scare you, even a little?” Their brow arched in curiosity and their arm swung around the top of the seat, letting a hand rest on Bex’s shoulder.

“Sometimes people aren’t just people. Sometimes, they’re cold monsters.” This was the most honest Metzli had been all night, but were fairly positive it would fly over Bex’s head.

“Empathy is a learned skill,” Bex said, tracing her finger along the rim of her glass. Everything Metzli was describing just sounded like the kind of person her mother was, but her mother had chosen to be that way, even with a soul. She didn’t know what it meant, that Metzli seemed better even without one, but it crinkled her brow and made the anger that was always in the pit of her stomach taste sour. She took another long sip of her drink, ready to feel the buzz. “Even if you can’t feel it, you can still know it and understand it. I think you...want people to think you’re a bad person.” But Bex didn’t believe bad and good were so simple, so easy. Maybe society told Metzli they were bad, but, really, what made them bad? She drummed her fingers on her glass again. The more she drank, the less anxious she got. The more bold. She licked her lips.

“If that’s how you want to live your life, then that’s fine. I don’t really have any room to judge. It doesn’t matter to me, anyway. Not really. So, no,” she stated firmly, her eyes watching as Metzli stood up from the booth, “I don’t want to run.” Even if her legs began to tingle and her heart pounded as Metzli slid into the booth next to her. She turned her face away and took another drink. “If you really wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it right after I handed you that check.” She pointed towards Metzli’s breast pocket, knowing it was in the suit jacket they’d left back in the gallery.

“I don’t think you’d kill me,” she said, “I’m not afraid of you.” She turned to look at Metzli, meeting their eyes. “People choose to be monsters. With or without a soul, it’s still a choice.”

Brows furrowed at Bex’s speech. Not out of annoyance or even anger, but actual understanding. How much Bex had gone through was unknown to Metzli, but it was becoming abundantly clear that the two were more similar than they had initially thought. They didn’t like this. They didn’t like how her words were having an actual effect on them. “Some choices come easier to others. The harder choices. The ones no one wants to make. The—” Words got stuck in their throat. Metzli felt incredibly flustered even with the agitation building. Bex was being the firm and confident one. She had successfully flipped the script right in front of them.

Lost for words, and lost in thought, Metzli’s free hand fell to their sternum lightly grazing their tattoo. “What are you anyway? Besides all this confidence in knowing my character, you’ve got to have some form of power that makes you feel safe, right? You’ve asked all the questions, it’s my turn.” They hoped the attempt to get back on track would work. It felt so off to feel. How on earth was she doing this? Might as well ask.

Metzli waved for another round that was brought swiftly to their booth and they took their shot, scooting the two untaken ones to Bex. “You’ve missed out on two,” they tapped on the drinks, feeling better now that it seemed the conversation was being swayed another direction.

“Sure, yeah,” Bex nodded, “but that’s just life, right? Some of us have to make harder choices. I guess what I believe is...what choice we make is who we are.” And while she’d made the wrong choices at first, she was making the right ones now. She was choosing to fight for herself and her own life, and she was free now. She would always be free. She even felt relatively satisfied when Metzli was lost for words, and she grinned over the rim of her cup. Her eyes followed their hand as it traced along the tattoo on their chest, and after only a moment of staring, Bex realized herself and turned her gaze back to the table and the drinks on it.

“I’m a spellcaster,” she finally answered, reaching out to take one of the two shots that were still calling her name. It warmed her stomach and she licked the lime off her lips. “I sort of just found out recently, but I’m getting better at it. And, to be clear, it’s not that I have magic that I’m not afraid. I just...don’t think of the world in the way other people do, I guess. I’m not afraid to die, if it’s for the sake of learning. My mom used to always say my curiosity was insatiable and that it would ruin me one day,” she breathed in and picked up the last shot. “Probably the only thing she was right about.” She downed the shot and felt her fingers begin to tingle and her head became lighter. She smiled.

“Better?” she asked, scooting the two empty shot glasses toward Metzli.

Bex definitely had a way with words despite how naive she first appeared to be. Hell, she’d somehow moved Metzli a little, and completely baffled them. “You’re not afraid to die? I guess you and I have that in common. Most of the time I just think existence is pointless. Some parts are fun, but most are so mundane or…painful,” The last word came out a little strained, like it hurt to say it. Quickly though, they glossed over it and teased Bex. “You staring at my chest? Perv.” It was a lousy effort, and she could probably see right through it. But probably not too. Metzli wasn’t sure anymore and it could honestly go either way at this point.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” With widened eyes, they watched as she took her shots and caressed her shoulder with the hand that draped over the top of the booth. “Spellcaster, huh? That’s impressive. Sucks that most magic is useless against me though. But you did say you’re not scared, right?” More teasing. But now, they wanted to prod more. See if she felt anything other than compassion for the vampire.

With their compelling in full effect, they locked eyes with Bex and continued to speak. “Tell me though, are you as gay as you give off? ‘Cause my gaydar has been going off from the moment we spoke online.” They figured they might as well see if she’s even interested before they move on to more interesting questions.

“Not really, no. I-- don’t want to die, of course. I have people who would mourn and be hurt if I died, but I don’t think I’m afraid to. It’s just a part of life, right?” Bex explained, still unsure herself what it truly meant or why she felt that way. There were so many other things to worry and wonder about in life, death didn’t seem like something she needed to fear. Maybe that was the problem with it all, but she couldn’t bring herself to. If she died right here, right now, then that was simply it for her. There was probably nothing after. She’d probably never know. It wouldn’t hurt her. She didn’t fear her own death, she feared other people’s death. She feared loss. She swallowed, barely aware of the hand on her shoulder through the haze of alcohol now in her stomach. Cheeks tinged and she shook her head. “No! No, I-- I was just-- your hand--” she stuttered out, hiding the blush behind her cup again, subconsciously leaning over the table.

She opened her mouth to say something more about her magic, but those weren’t the words that came out. Instead, she said, “I’m gay. Very gay. I just sort of recently came out, it wasn’t safe before, but it is now. Sort of. Mostly. I think? It’s-- complicated. Because I’m also trans and not everyone is, um-- okay with that, even in the queer community.” She swallowed back the rest of the words. Why had she said all that? She did seem to have looser lips the more she drank. Still, she took another drink. “Do I really give off that much gay vibes?”

Metzli could relate to that, too much even. Their master frowned upon their sexuality, and even forced them to keep their hair long. Finding their identity didn’t come until after they left their clan. That was a freedom that only they could attain by escaping. “Well, you’re very much safe now. And you’re a beautiful woman. Anyone in the queer community that isn’t okay with that is not truly a part of the community.” Every word was honest, and even had hints of sympathy to them. Being who you are can come with a cost, and it looked like Bex had paid that in more ways than one.

“Your gay vibes are off the charts, but that isn’t a bad thing. Not to me at least.” A charming smile was strewn on their face and they gently laid their hand atop hers. If it was out of actual sympathy to comfort or to continue to flirt, they weren’t sure. Not anymore. They wanted to believe it was the latter, so that’s how they approached it, still compelling. “Tell me though, is it just me, or have you actually wanted me to be this close all night? To maybe even kiss you? And if so, just do what you’ve wanted to.” Metzli continued, thinking out loud this time. “I find you attractive, very much so, and you find me attractive too, so why hold it off?” It was rather bold, but now was as good a time as any. Especially with the buzz they had going now.

Bex felt her cheeks growing more flushed at the compliment. She couldn’t ignore it anymore-- Metzli was coming onto her. Suddenly, her heartbeat picked up and her fingers tingled and the alcohol mixed in with her nerves and she felt exposed, in this corner, in this booth. The idea that people could look at her and know, sense it, that she was queer, frightened her. It shouldn’t have. She wanted to be brave. She’d told Mina she could be brave, that she wanted people to know. But not like this, not like this. Still, something compelled her to stay seated as she looked over at Metzli. “I-- I’m glad it’s not a bad thing. Not that I thought you would think that! But, y-you know. It’s-- a lot. Being visible. Knowing that people know.” Especially when she’d tried so hard to hide it. She didn’t have to hide it anymore. She was free. She let out a long breath.

Her body stiffened again at the words. A hand over top hers on the table. Her mind raced, every thought landing on Mina. Still, she said, “I have. You’re very attractive and maybe I did want you to, a l-little.” The words tumbled from her mouth and she felt sick saying them. She didn’t know what to do anymore. “I have a girlfriend!” she squeaked finally. “So I shouldn’t want any of that and I don’t know why I said that and I-- I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing, but she was. She pulled her hand away and clasped them together. How could she have been so stupid? Of course Metzli wouldn’t simply like her for her. Why would anyone?

Bex rambled some more, and it overwhelmed Metzli this time. The feeling of victory didn’t last long as they saw how all of their actions had actually affected Bex. Fuck. What in the fuck was happening. Did that actually care? No. Yes. No. They saw themselves in her. That’s why they cared. “Girlfriend?” The next few words were important. Especially if they wanted to keep her around. Why did they want to? “Should’ve known a woman like you would be taken. Sorry for the advances.” Moving back to the other side of the booth, they gave Bex space.

“You’re a good person. One of the only truly good people.” Their words were trembled and unsteady. Was this disappointment from feeling like they lost, or because they actually began to genuinely like her? There were way too many questions. None of which had answers. Not answers that came easy, or that Metzli would like. “I should go, shouldn’t I? Don’t mistake this for anything but…but embarrassment, okay? I’m not being nice here. I have no soul, I feel no remorse. Got it?”

“I-- no, it-- it’s okay.” Bex wasn’t sure if that was true, but the disappointment was palpable. She bit her lip and held on tight to her drink, wondering if it might shatter under her grip. She knew how to make it shatter if she wanted to, she was getting good at that. She looked across the table at Metzli. “You didn’t-- you didn’t know. I should’ve just said something earlier. I’m sorry, I just--” but she stopped talking, because she didn’t actually know why she hadn’t said anything earlier. Fear? Anxiety? Or something else? Maybe she’d like it, the attention. She shouldn’t have. She really shouldn’t have. But she had and it tinged her cheeks and she looked down at her lap. “I’m trying to be better, but I’m not really comfortable being so out yet.”

Then Metzli said that thing that so many other people had said to her-- that she was good, maybe too good, truly good-- and Bex let out a long huff of air. “I’m not,” she mumbled, and this was proof, wasn’t it? Because she didn’t want Metzli to leave. She liked them. She wished they’d liked her, too, in a ‘let’s just get drinks’ way. Why did it always have to end this way? Bex wasn’t used to this happening with people who weren’t guys. But Metzli was like her, they understood a side of the world that most people couldn’t. Not even Mina. She met their eyes as they began to stand from the booth.

“I don’t believe that,” she said to them, but it was quiet, and she wasn’t looking at them anymore. “But I can pretend to if that’s what you want.” She swallowed. “And this doesn’t-- change anything. Not for me.” She downed the rest of her drink and pulled out her phone. “Do something good with that money, okay? I like your gallery, I think you deserve the chance.”

The disappointment in Bex’s voice was evident, and again, somehow she tugged at whatever humanity was left in them. “How do you do that?!” Their tone was frustrated but not inherently angry. Usually once Metzli had gotten such sensitive information, they could use it to their advantage. But this information was sensitive in a way that meant something to them too. Both of them were two different results of the same tragedy. And even though tragedy came in different ways, it hurt the same.

“Stop being so…fucking similar! I—I keep seeing the similarities and I just want to actually…whatever!” Metzli wasn’t yelling, but they were whispering loudly in frustration. Sitting back down, they locked eyes with Bex and sighed. “I’m…I’m sorry.” It was a sincere apology. If anyone deserved one, it was Bex. “I think I’m still gonna go, but I want to make it clear that I guess—I guess I want to be friends. No more flirting either.”

Bex was surprised by the sudden outburst, and while it wasn’t loud or angry, she still startled, sitting up straighter. Metzli was grumbling things at her, about her, something about being similar, but Bex had a hard time concentrating through the haze in her head. The shots were hitting her quickly. She needed to be careful about this, or she’d say something she regretted. Like, ‘Don’t go!’ or ‘I don’t mind the flirting’. Because she did and she should, but alcohol made things like that seem okay. Seem better. She blinked, nodded. “Sorry,” she said again, the word a bit slurred. “I do really like you. I want you to be my friend, too.”

There was a genuine surprise at the apology, though, and Bex couldn’t help but smile. It seemed like she was right. Metzli could blab all day about how they had no soul and didn’t feel remorse or guilt, but here they were, apologizing for making advances on her, for possibly ruining something. Not that it would have. “We can be friends,” she agreed. That was what she wanted most, anyway. “You can go, if you want, though. I’ll be okay.” She tapped her fingers on the table, little sparks of magic dancing on her fingertips. The other vampires in here didn’t scare her. The tequila shots had emboldened her, drawing a lazy smile on her face. “No one touches me anymore unless I want them to.”

If Metzli had a heart, it would probably jump a little, but luckily they didn’t. “Ah, fuck. Look, I’ll take you home. You’re drunk, and I—I guess I would feel a little…a little bad if anything even remotely happened. Lurking in the dark is my job. But this doesn’t mean I feel shit. Okay?” They extended their hand, hoping she’d take their offer. There would be no funny business either. She’d get home safely and that would be the end of it.

“You can also visit another time for the secret gallery. Promise.”

Bex took Metzli’s hand. She trusted them, and maybe that would bite her in the ass, but Bex truly believed that they were a good person, at least by her definition. Maybe other people thought they weren’t, but Bex didn’t care about that. As she was becoming a part of this world, she was figuring out for herself what everything meant to her. There were too many different things about, human morality, human values could be applied to much of it. And even if Bex was human, she wanted to understand. She wanted to know. She would let her curiosity guide her to her death. She took Metzli’s hand and stood up, wobbly.

“Well, you did make me take 3 tequila shots in rapid succession,” she slurred, smiling. She prodded Metzli’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that promise,” was all she said, before she headed for the exit. No one else had to know about this, she decided. This could just be hers.