#ah the word is latent

[enchantedephiphany]

Bold of you to assume I didn't memorize the definitions of words from the SAT prep book during homeschool highschool

But yes for words I didn't memorize lol

the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.

[redflagshipwriter]

Check Yes (to go on a date with a dead guy) ch3

“So, what’s your deal?” Jason asked, when Danny’s mouth was full of food. “You’re dead, I notice.”

Danny choked. He gave Jason a betrayed look with big blue eyes, a hand clapped over his mouth to contain any mess.

Jason smirked back, unrepentant. “I died once,” he shared. “Got better though.”

“You got be-”

“You were surprised about what it’s like to fight humans,” Jason continued. It was hard not to laugh at the confused outrage on his date’s face. “So that implies you fight someone else? You’re fighting ghosts or something? Or do ghosts have some kinda natural enemy? Vampires or some shit?” He might have been a bit flippant but sue him, it sounded a lot more magical than his daily life.

Danny opened his mouth and no words came out. He looked like he was in pain when he grudgingly admitted, “I do have a lot of beef with this one vampire guy, Vlad.”

Jason threw his head back and laughed. That was such a vampire guy name, what the hell?

“No, no, it’s not funny,” Danny protested. He waved his hands wildly, flinging a bit of bean from his burrito across the roof they were perched on. “He’s also a ghost- well, he’s a half of a ghost, but that’s a long story from when he was in college.”

“The half-ghost vampire has an undergraduate degree?” Jason interrupted. He needed to know what this fucker studied. Was it like, social science? Literature? Theater? That might explain Danny’s implied belief that a theme was an inherent rogue thing. No, wait, business administration?

Danny gave him a withering look. “He’s got a Doctorate.”

Jason flung his hands up in defeat against the world. That made more sense than an undergraduate degree somehow. There was just something about the type of person who got a Doctorate that made them, you know, creeps.

‘Or maybe they’ve just got enough specialized knowledge to act on latent creepiness,’ he mused. ‘...Shit, am I developing an anti education stance? Can I blame this on Crane and Quinn?’

Danny was continuing with his explanation of the vampire’s background. Every word made it nuttier. “He’s a scientist, actually, and the mayor of a small town. And he lives in a cheese mansion.”

This was a sharp divergence from vampire stereotypes and he needed to know everything.

“Is the mansion made of cheese?” Jason interrupted. He was leaning in, intent on every word. Why was this vampire the most interesting man in the world?

He got a weird look for that. “No, it just belonged to the Dairy King,” Danny said, like it was everyday knowledge that you could expect a layperson to have.

“Of course, the Dairy King,” Jason said wisely.

"Enough about me though!" Danny flailed a bit. "How did you get my uh, number?"

Ah. Jason took a big bite to delay while he chose his words.

There was no point in trying to hide his vigilante identity from Danny. The guy probably didn't even understand the concept.

So he might as well top whatever story Danny had.

"The bat guy who taught me all about being a child soldier got grabbed by this group of loser cultists, right?" He gestured in a way that did absolutely nothing to illustrate the situation.

Danny cocked his head. "This is off to a good start."

"They tried to sacrifice him. You gotta remember him - big ugly guy, dressed in black and gray, underwear on the outside of his pants in a way that's never been cool?"

Danny didn't seem to have words, but he lifted his hands to make two ears on top of his head.

He pointed with both hands. "That's the guy," Jason agreed. "At the time, we didn't know what kind of sacrifice it was. We were thinking more along the lines of blood sacrifice?" He shrugged as if the idea of B biting it meant nothing to him.

Danny made a pffft sound of air escaping between his lips. "I tossed him back." He flailed in place. "I- isn't- wasn't that- that was a while ago," he stuttered. "I kinda forgot about him."

"...You got offered a cape, then a few weeks later a bunch of others, and you didn't make a mental connection?" Jason checked.

Danny flushed. "Time doesn't match up between the realms and anyway, I'm really busy!" He crossed his arms and accidentally knocked over his drink. "I've got a lot going on in my life. Anyway, for a ghost?" Danny blew a raspberry. "I'm sorry to break your heart, but none of you dress wild enough to stand out in the Infinite Realms. We've got robot dudes and child pirates and giant eyeballs and stuff." He gave Jason a smug look. It was cute.

Jason acted on impulse and reached out to ruffle Danny's hair. He realized what he was doing too late. His hand froze above Danny's head.

Danny tilted his face up and made an inquisitive sound.

"There was a bug." Jason pulled his hand back. What was wrong with him? He didn't go touching other people just because they were cute. "It flew off."

"...Right," Danny said. "You're being very normal." He seemed delighted by this, the little gremlin. "So. You were a child soldier too?"

Jason nearly fell off his perch.

Danny shrieked a laugh and pointed. "Ha!" He crowed. "I win! I shocked you first!"

"There wasn't a competition!" Jason lied. His face was bright red. It was too late to save face. "What do you mean too?" He demanded. "Were you a child?"

"Somewhat recently," Danny said. He gave Jason a catlike smile. "Adults come from teenagers, teenagers come from kids, kids come from babies. Do you need to know-"

"I know where babies come from." Jason cut him off. He tried to look off put at the way Danny laughed at him but fuck it, it was funny, in a dumb way. "Of course you were a kid, that was silly of me," he admitted. "Ghosts are made from humans, right?"

"Well yes, but actually no," Danny said, philosophical. "Some of us. I was. Other ghosts are made from like, vultures, or ideas."

It kinda seemed like ghost taxonomy was more complicated than he was ready to get into at the moment. Those two things were pretty fuckin disparate.

Jason sighed heavily and picked up his food again, just to have something to do with his hands.

A thought occurred. He didn't let it show on his face but he felt sick to his stomach.

Danny was dead. Danny said he'd been a child recently, and a child soldier.

Someone needed their ass kicked.

Danny: we are having such a whimsical time!

Jason: sirens screaming

[maxlarens]

i promise i'm writing my max oneshot CURRENTLY but i had to get the sillies out about this really badly. australian spring/summer i love u i love u i love u!!!! also at this point i think the difference between a one shot and drabble on this account is non existent and simply based on vibes. this is only a one shot bcs it feels a bit more coherent i suppose?

LN: australia street

pairing(s): lando norris x piastri!reader, oscar piastri & piastri!reader

word count: 1.3k+

It all feels very familiar, nostalgic even— though you've never been in quite this situation before. With Oscar sure; you always rope your brother into doing things when you're in Australia again. But this is the first time that Lando's joined you.

It's nice, to be home.

Not that it's yours or Oscar's home anymore (that's not true. It always will be, no matter where in the world you jet off to). It's certainly not Lando's. It's hard to put words to the feeling, you just know it's nice.

You're driving, of course, because Oscar and Lando can never decide which of the two of them should drive. So you'd snatched the keys to the Piastri family '96 Holden Commodore and slammed the driver door behind you before either of them could say boo. Lando had snagged the passenger seat in a mad dash that you'd watched play out in the rear-view mirror, while Oscar had complained all the way to the backseat.

"Whered'ya wanna go?", you half turn your head to ask Oscar, checking your blind spot at the same time.

Oscar hums as he thinks. You can feel Lando's eyes burning a hole into the side of your face.

"Do you remember that fish and chips shop—"

You do, "Where Dad used to take us? Yeah, it closed down," then you add, "Besides, Lando hates fish. Jeez, Osc."

"Ah fuck," Oscar groans, "That sucks."

Lando makes a noise, indignant, "I can't believe you forgot. It's my one thing."

Oscar rolls his eyes, "It's not your one thing, Lando. You have plenty of things."

They start to bicker, devolving into an argument that you only understand about half of, about pet peeves and the things the other one does that get on the other’s nerves. You chime in a few times to agree about Oscar’s annoying habits, the things you'd grown up complaining to your Mum about. Quietly to yourself, you decide on a route to an old Italian place you know is still kicking around— they won't mind.

You roll your window down, feel the balmy spring breeze in your hair, on your face. It smells like the bloom of jasmine flowers, of warmth, of the smoke of people BBQ-ing in their backyards. You breathe deeply, absently aware of the petered-out conversation. Oscar dozing in the backseat like he always does. Lando looking out the other window, watching gum trees and bottlebrush on the sides of the road. 'M looking for koala’s he'd said the other day, which had made you laugh. You'd been tempted to tell him about drop bears, but you're sure that Daniel had already warned him of the dangers.

"Do you miss it here?", Lando asks suddenly.

"Mm," you affirm, "I do."

"A lot?"

You shrug at the question, not sure why he's pressing it, "Sure, Lan."

"Then why do you travel with Oscar?", you spare a glance at him, he's fiddling with a bracelet on his wrist, the one you'd made him that matched the one you'd made Oscar that matched the one you wore, "Don't you want to, y'know, settle down here?"

You raise an eyebrow, scoff a little, "God, I'm not an old maid, dude. I'm not ready to pop out babies yet. Far out."

"No, no," he's blushing, you know he is, you don't even need to check, his tan cheeks growing a little darker, redder, "Fuck. That's not what I meant. You know what I meant."

You snicker. You do. But Lando is fun to rile up.

A latent sigh leaves your mouth, "I dunno," you admit, "It's my favourite place. But I have the rest of my life to come back, and besides, it's more special like this. I appreciate it more when I'm only here for a short time."

Lando hums, turning your words over in his head. You think he may be about to say something else—

"Do you like it here, Lan?"

You're not sure why you ask. No, you are. There's this fantasy that keeps floating around in your head. Little bits of it have been coming true on this trip. Lando standing in the garage with your Dad, talking about project cars and then showing him grease covered parts, explaining where they'll eventually end up. Your Mum roping you, Lando and Oscar into helping her cut vegetables at the kitchen counter. Your younger sisters giving you loaded looks behind Lando's back, you trying to pretend you have no idea what they mean by them. It's a pipedream, it's weird and you need to stop doing it.

But you can't. Sometimes, you look at Lando and your thoughts just pick up and run away with themselves.

Lando nods in answer to your question, "'Course. It's very," he trails off, fingers finding the beads on his bracelet again, he hums, "It's very you. Hm, does that make sense?"

You feel warm all of a sudden. Something creeps up your neck, settles at the base of your skull. You blink a few times, remind yourself to focus on the road.

You skitter out a laugh, an awkward thing, you're trying not to look at him, your hands tight on the wheel, "Yeah— uh— it does. I s'pose."

You lapse into silence for a short while. The sky is eggshell orange and purple and red, stretching out in front of you. Punctuated by the star-brightness of the street lights, terracotta tiled roofs and the shadowed branches of towering Eucalyptus trees. It fills you with a feeling you can't name— there's nothing else quite like it out there. Not in London, not in Monaco, not in any of the many other cities you've traveled to or lived in for a stint.

They're all gorgeous and interesting in their own right, but they don't live up to the special peculiarities of suburban Australia. The flash of a possum's eyes where it's skittering across a powerline. The faint sounds of kookaburras laughing as dusk falls. The glow of families watching TV in living rooms coming through screen doors left unlocked. Old men tinkering in wide open garages. Wheelie bins with red and yellow lids out on the curb— cricket stumps painted on the sides.

It’s special. In the way that home is always special.

Then Lando says, apropos of nothing, “Pretty.”

“Huh.”

He shrugs, gestures around at the neighbourhood, “It’s pretty. Warm too. I can see why your parents live here. Raised you guys here. I can see myself doing that.”

You decide not to tell him about the bipolarity of Melbourne weather. Cold to hot to wet to dry to gusty all in a few hours. You let him enjoy the rare consistent spring day. And you try not think about what he’s saying, what he’s admitting. You try not to think about what you might be admitting, driving him through streets you used to play in, to places you used to go with your family, talking about settling down, like it’s on the horizon anytime soon.

It’s not— you’ve not met anyone to settle down with.

At least you don’t think you have.

It’s certainly not Lando, in the passenger seat of the old family car, fresh off a day of meeting your grandparents for fuckssake and taking a tour of your childhood bedroom. Laughing at your old boyband posters and the teenage girl shrine you’d kept to Niki Lauda. It can’t be Lando, who you turn to when you can’t turn to your brother, who gives you his hoodies when you’re cold even though he’s colder, who’s come on a bloody trip to Australia in his four week break because you’d said you wouldn’t know what to do without him for that long.

It can’t. It’s not.

He’s talking in hypotheticals and you’re getting carried away with yourself again. Like you always do.

listened to this playlist while writing😌

[memekais]

the magnus archives sentence starters. s1ep6-10 feel free to change pronouns as needed!

I don’t know what happened. I mean, I’m sure she’s dead, but I don’t…

Drinking and clubbing are my relaxation methods of choice.

While I’ll admit I’m not above the occasional party drug I swear that I was stone cold sober when this all took place.

Maybe I wasn’t quite as sober as I said earlier but I certainly wouldn’t have called myself drunk.

I know I’m not an unattractive guy and I live local, so I’m always alert, shall we say, for any possibility of finding myself a partner.

I mean, we had sex. There’s not much more to say about that, really.

Show it to the police for all I care, I just need someone to understand.

I just hope it’s not too late already.

A lot of people call me lucky, you know.

Not many came through the entirety of the war in one piece.

To be perfectly honest I expected you to be dead within a week.

You're usually quite talkative before combat. Morbid, but always talkative.

Heard you had a bit of a close call.

I met the war.

I met the war. It was no taller than I was.

Nothing could be seen but a body beaten, slashed and shot and until nothing remained but the wounds themselves.

Were we the children stolen from their parents by The Piper’s tune? Or were we the rats that were led to the river and drowned because they ate too much of the wealthy’s grain?

Those are musings for poets, among whom I do not number.

I can say without a word of a lie that across all the war I never saw a soldier fight with such ferocity as I saw in you that day.

Just for a moment, I could have sworn that I saw you cast a shadow that was not your own.

All the bones are in his hands.

No screaming, no movement, nothing but the roaring of the flames. 

I didn’t believe in ghosts, to be honest I’m still not sure I do.

I convinced myself that the only way to banish the feeling was to return and finish the job that I started.

I tried to scream but I couldn’t find my breath, I couldn’t move. I was burning up.

I don’t know why, but at that moment I felt an intense, maddening anger at that tree.

Ah, head trauma and latent schizophrenia – the ghost’s best friends.

My father was a murderer. There’s no way I can reasonably deny it at this point.

I think I understand a bit more now why you never spoke about it, preferring people draw their own conclusions, but at the time, I couldn’t fathom why you just sat there silently, letting others talk for you.

Respectable is hardly the word I’d use, but it’s better than nothing.

My father spent my formative years killing dozens of people and I had no idea.

The more I think back over my childhood, the more sure I am that there was something else going on.

I remember I spent a lot of it close to tears, but had been so proud of the fact that I hadn’t cried at all.

For what it’s worth, I don’t think you did it.

I think he did try to look after me as best he could, but most nights he just ended up passed out in his chair.

Knowing what I know now, it sounds awful to say, but those were some of the happiest years of my childhood.

I knew about the dangers, but something inside me couldn’t resist going in.

I didn’t know what I had seen – not really – but it felt like a bad secret, and I didn’t know what to do.

I don’t know why my father did what he did, and I doubt I ever will, but the more I go over these events in my head, the more sure I am that he had his reasons.

I hear someone even made me a page on the Internet and it got a few thousand likes. I don’t know exactly what that means but it sounds nice.

I’m here because I have also dedicated my life to finding and killing vampires.

I have killed five people that I know for sure as vampires, and there are two more that may or may not have been.

There is one man I have killed, unfortunately, who I am now sure was human, but I also know he was a violent criminal so I try not to feel too badly about that.

You see, from my own observations, I believe a vampire to be more like an animal than a man.

I had long since learned, and it’s true now as it was back then, that no-one pays any real attention to a tramp.

I do not know if you’ve ever felt your blood being sucked out of you, but I would not recommend it.

[lavenderfluorite14]

A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Chapter 2: Gift

Summary: Tav gave Astarion a gift. Astarion tries to pay her back.

Chapter Rating: 18+, ❤️‍🔥 Blood drinking, Grinding, Frottage, Making Out, Hurt/Comfort, Angstarion, Astarion Character Study and everything that entails, PTSD, Descriptive Explorations of Emotional and Sexual Trauma Full tag list on AO3. Read on AO3. Chapter 1.

The morning dawned pink and rosy, the sun a bloody jewel in the sky. Tav would be waking up soon and Astarion was putting the finishing touches on his apology. He would be concerned, tender. He would be apologetic but not obsequious, and this would never happen again. Unless Tav wanted it to.

Would she want it to? She had certainly been willing, in the beginning at least. But how would she feel the morning after? Astarion wasn’t used to mornings after. And he had been…rougher with her than he had intended. Shame flooded through him when he remembered how he had lost himself in her like a wild beast. But she had felt so good. Astarion didn’t know if he had ever felt this good before.

He felt happy. That was the word, happy. He must have felt happy once, a lifetime ago. But dwelling on ghosts he could no longer remember and who hadn’t bothered to remember him never led anywhere.

He fully understood now why Cazador had deprived them of good blood. Seven full, strong vampire spawn could find a way to overpower a cruel master. But seven malnourished, pathetic slaves were too busy trying to survive the day to plot a coup. Astarion despised how Cazador could cloak his sadism in calculated logic. He could bash Cazador’s skull in.

Tav stumbled out of her tent, clearly still delirious. She had donned her leather jerkin as usual, but she had also conspicuously wound a strip of cloth around her throat and tucked it into her collar, wrapping her neck snugly in the fabric. Blearily, she scanned the camp until she saw him lounging by his tent. Astarion steeled himself.

“Good morning. How do you feel?” He said lowly, so the others wouldn’t hear.

“A bit woozy, but I’ll be ok,” she said sheepishly.

“It’ll pass,” he hoped.

“How do you feel?” Tav asked.

“I feel wonderful,” he preened. “And now you get to reap the benefits of a fully fed vampire.”

“This is true,” she said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you fight today.”

“I’ll have to put on a show for you. Now that I can fight with all my weapons.” He shot her a fanged grin. Tav laughed, a sound he realized that he was beginning to like.

“Good thing I have a front row seat, then,” she said. Tav began shifting uneasily from foot to foot. “Astarion. I know you’ve been hesitant to talk about yourself so far but we really should discuss this, ah, turn of events.” Astarion nodded stiffly. “I suppose I owe you an explanation or two."

He described the difference between a vampire and a vampire spawn and how you can become one. Tav stiffened at the implication: had he been a true vampire, last night could have gone a lot differently.

“But I thought that sunlight killed vampires?” She asked.

“Oh, it does. I should be cinders in this light. I shouldn’t be able to do a lot of things, honestly.” He went through the list: standing in the sun, entering homes uninvited, crossing running water. “As for any other quirks, well,” he chuckled, “we can figure those out in time.” He was looking forward to it. Maybe the tadpole had bestowed other latent powers.

“Well, if I can help, just ask. We are in this together.” Tav gave him a bright, warm, reassuring smile.

“Oh, you are such a sweetheart,” he deflected. Of course she would say something like that.

“Tav, what’s that around your neck?” Shadowheart called towards them. Tav’s hand flitted towards her neck instinctively, her eyes darting to Astarion. He didn’t move. He wanted to see what she would do.

“I’m just a little cold today so I found a scarf,” she said. She was covering for him. She was really covering for him. Astarion’s stomach dropped. Usually Tav was better at this.

“Tchk. We heard your carousing last night,” Lae’Zel spoke.

“Is that blood?” Wyll pointed towards the scarf, where a small patch of crimson was blooming across the fabric. Astarion licked his fangs.  

“Darlings, I’m afraid I have something rather small I’ve neglected to tell you.”

“Astarion,” Tav turned towards him but he anchored his hand on the small of her back reassuringly. If he now had Tav's support then this was his best opportunity to tell them.

“It’s all right, my dear. They were going to find out eventually.” He squashed the doubt inside him into a hard little ball and cleared his throat. “I am a vampire,” Astarion announced. There was a brief moment where no one spoke.

“So be it. But if I wake with so much as a drop of blood at my throat, I will end you,” Lae’Zel growled. Duly noted.

“I trust him,” Tav interjected. “He won’t hurt us. He has had ample opportunity to do so and has instead become a strong ally.” The group paused again, sharing a glance among themselves. Gale broke the silence.

“Well, I’m disappointed that you didn’t tell me sooner. I’m a pretty open-minded man, actually. But just a word of warning, Astarion: I taste absolutely awful.” What a shame.

“Vamps don’t scare me. No sense judging someone for who they are.” Karlach piped up. “’Cept devils, obviously.” He knew he liked Karlach.

“So long as there are no innocents, I am fine.” Wyll said. “And so long as you keep your fangs to yourself.” Wyll would probably be too sweet, anyway.

“A vampire?” Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “I suppose I can live with that. We’re already monsters in the making, what’s one more. Now come here, Tav. We can’t have you leaving camp looking like that.” Shadowheart led Tav away, her healing magic already surrounding them in a soft blue glow.

But once Tav was out of earshot, the others closed ranks. “I meant it when I said no innocents, Astarion. And if you hurt Tav, you will have to answer to all of us.” Wyll said.

“Is the Blade of Frontiers already rushing to the damsel’s rescue?” Astarion scoffed. “I didn’t do anything to Tav that she didn’t sweetly ask for.”

“I don’t care what happens in your tent. But if you can’t control your bloodlust then I will control it for you,” Lae’Zel rasped, her words a heavy threat.

“Now that I no longer need to hide and we all have an understanding, we will have a perfect accord.” Astarion sniffed. “I am here in the spirit of teamwork and understanding-”

“You say all the right things Astarion, but I don’t think you mean the right things.” Gale accused. Astarion glared back, uncowed. “But either way, Tav trusts you and I will respect that decision. Just promise us there’s no more secrets.”

“I have already told you everything you need to know about me,” Astarion smiled thinly. Gale sighed disapprovingly. “Very well. I suppose I can live with that.” The group dispersed uneasily, leaving Astarion alone to finish donning his armor. Astarion released a shuddering sigh, relief flooding through him. That had gone much better than he had expected. But although they weren’t going to kill him, he had been right: his companions would never actually accept a vampire. And rightfully so, he thought bitterly.

~

Shadowheart had been able to close her wounds and heal her neck, but she hadn’t been able to cure Tav’s dizziness. Apparently she knew the perfect spell, but wasn’t strong enough to cast it yet. Of course.

Tav had been keeping up so far, but she wasn’t acting quite like herself. Before she had been quick with a joke and a laugh, but today she was lagging behind. She lacked her usual air of conviction when she spoke. Yet although his eye lingered on her worryingly, Astarion couldn’t bring himself to regret last night’s unexpected tryst.

She had been incredible. Delectable, even. He had known conceptually that such pleasure was possible, he’d imagined it often, but he had never physically experienced anything like that before. And now its source slept 20 feet away, snug in its own bedroll. Would she let him taste her again? Tav had been understanding and supportive of him so far, but one could never be sure.

The thought of never having Tav again made him feel cold. He could content himself with less, he had done so for centuries. He’d keep himself warm with the memory of her. And her support had theoretically opened up a veritable buffet of other dining options for him. Surely someone else would be just as delicious. He didn’t need Tav.

His eye lingered on her as they moved deeper into the Emerald Grove. Tav really was beautiful, in her own way. Cazador had demanded that they bring him only the beautiful and the strong to dine on. It was said that beauty and strength made the blood richer to the taste. Astarion could recall several times when Cazador had rejected his victims for whatever fickle reason he could concoct. He had still drained them of course, but Astarion had been punished hideously each time.

“Are your standards truly so low? You think this is beautiful, you think this is worthy of me ?”

He wouldn’t reject Tav, Astarion thought. Cazador would have been delighted if Astarion had brought her home. His gut squirmed.

The druids were awful, tedious creatures. These petty squabbles had nothing to do with him and Astarion didn’t see the point in sticking his neck out for Tieflings who would be dead in a week anyway. Especially now that he could choose whether he stuck his neck out or not. But Tav cared. So they were off to find this Halsin character. Astarion rolled his eyes.

Tav needed to rest earlier than usual today. While they were resting, Astarion wandered down to the small, sandy coastline bordering the grove and plopped down onto a rock, slouching gracefully. He just needed a quiet moment to himself. But something clinked when he sat down. Astarion craned his neck to investigate and caught a flash of gold hidden beneath the rock. Carefully, he slipped his hand underneath the rock, fishing for the trinket. He extracted it delicately, holding it up to the light. It was an amulet, carved in the Oakfather’s likeness. As Astarion turned it over, he realized that it had been imbued with a spell, Lesser Restoration, which would cure the wearer from disease, poison, paralysis, or blindness. Astarion swiftly pocketed the treasure, hoping that no one had seen him. Finders keepers.

~

He returned to find his companions laughing. Wyll was in the middle of regaling them with some heroic exploit of his while Tav spasmed with laughter, her body curling in on itself. Karlach, who Astarion noticed was wearing new leather armor, egged him on. No doubt the armor had been bought by Tav with the gold they had all scavenged, which seemed unfair. Why should Karlach get fine new leathers while he was dressed in rags? He had mended his doublet countless times over the years, but it was still falling apart at the seams. They probably couldn’t tell, he thought bitterly. Astarion had taken enormous pains to hide his threadbare appearance and would be mortified if anyone saw through his embroidered facade, but it still stung that no one did. “Get over here, Fangs!” Karlach called. “You’ve GOT to hear this. Wyll, tell it again.”

“So there I was, surrounded on all sides-“ It was surprisingly a pretty funny story. Wyll had lived a full, interesting life in such a short amount of time. His ragged scars only accentuated his dashing charm and handsome face. Somehow Wyll could make a stone eye twinkle with warmth and sincerity. Despite his own alleged beauty, Astarion knew he could never compete with that. And Tav looked at him with such open fondness and admiration. He ran his thumb over the amulet in his pocket, soothed by the sharp edges.

When Wyll finished his tale, obviously victorious, Astarion said “Yes, well. I’m glad our Blade could sharpen himself on such a useful whetstone.” His words were nice enough, but his tone was sour and ambiguous. Wyll gave him a slight nod, as if he didn’t know what to make of Astarion’s almost compliment.

“Alright everyone, let’s keep moving. We can keep swapping stories while we walk.” Wonderful. He could regale them with all the inventive ways Cazador had enjoyed hurting him over the years.

~

Tav retired early that night. They had defeated the false paladins, but only just. Astarion had been at the top of his game: his movements were more graceful, his thrusts stronger and more precise. But Tav had fought badly. She had crumpled underneath the swing of a Divine Smite, which had hit her straight in the chest. Astarion had yanked her back up to her feet as fast as he could, but Tav never fully recovered after that. It was Wyll who dealt the killing blow, sending those charlatans back to the hells.

Tav limped all the way back to camp. Karlach had offered her arm, which Tav had taken, but once they arrived at camp Tav quickly disappeared into her tent. Tav had given him so much today, too much. He could never truly repay her, but maybe he could give her a present of his own. One that would keep her in peak condition should they dally again. He could feed on beasts for a time, but if he had the option there was no contest about what he’d choose. She’d been willing last night. Perhaps with the right persuasion, and the right protective amulet, she would be again. Astarion pulled the Amulet of Silvanus out of his pack and slipped it back into his pocket.

He strode as casually as he could to Tav’s tent and gave the canvas a few soft taps by way of greeting. “Come in,” came Tav’s groggy, exhausted voice. Astarion slipped silently inside.

“Darling, today was positively marvelous,” he began. Tav was curled up in her bedroll, already falling asleep. Tav rolled over to face him and Astarion laid down beside her, close enough to tease but not close enough to touch. “I’m glad it was good for one of us,” Tav said, rubbing the premature sleep from her eyes. “Are you feeling better?”

“This is the best I have felt in a long time.” Astarion regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. They were too true. “You gave me a wonderful gift today. I think it’s only fair that I give you a gift of your own.” He produced the amulet with a quick flick of his wrist. “It’s imbued with a spell that will make you feel so much better,” he purred. “May I?” Tav nodded. “Then sit up for me, my Sweet,” Astarion ordered softly.

As Tav sat up, Astarion gently maneuvered them so that he was sitting behind her, pulling her against his lap. He brushed aside her hair carefully, baring her neck to him. Despite Shadowheart’s healing, he could still see the faint imprint his fangs had left on her skin. He suppressed a possessive shudder. He settled the amulet gently against her throat, trailing his fingers along her collar bones, then her shoulders, then her neck, where he clasped the chain into place. Tav touched the amulet tentatively, using it as a conduit for the Weave. A soft blue light surrounded them and Tav felt her body surge with energy again.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You are more than welcome,” he whispered against the nape of her neck.

“About you biting me,” Tav began.

“I hope this is a satisfactory apology,” Astarion countered. “What more could you possibly want.” His hands drifted down to her waist. “Unless?”

“You can bite me again, if you want,” she said, arching her neck. “If we talk about it first.” Astarion buried his face in her hair.

“I suppose that is a deeply reasonable compromise,” he murmured. “But I promise, no more bites in the night.  I will wait very patiently until you invite me to dine with you.” He allowed his hand to slide across her abdomen.

“Will you dine with me tonight?” She asked.

Astarion audibly sighed. “I don’t know, darling. You just got your strength back. You should really rest.”

“I feel so much better, really,” Tav said. She gently clasped his hand in hers, slowly entwining their fingers. “Please, Astarion.” His fangs ached.

“Oh alright,” he said, sliding her backwards so that she sat fully in his lap. Astarion pressed his mouth against her ear. “But only because you beg so prettily,” he said lowly. Tav whimpered softly, but remained still. Then he bit her, hard and deep.

Tav was even more delicious the second time. She was rich and full-bodied, like the wine he must have loved in life. Now that he was merely ravenous and no longer on the brink of starvation, Astarion took smooth, consistent pulls from her, running his tongue over her throat after each bite. Tav melted against him, clutching his hand tightly. He wanted this to feel good for her. He wanted to be able to do this again.

“Astarion,” Tav moaned. He sucked harder against her neck, trying to bruise. She gasped and writhed against him, seeking out friction. Astarion finally allowed himself an experimental thrust, dragging his hard length along her backside. Tav gasped, delighted. They found a crude rhythm, instinctively grinding themselves against each other. Soon the tent was filled with the heady musk of arousal, the metallic tang of blood, Tav’s breathy gasps, and Astarion’s low, guttural groans of pleasure.

All too soon Tav’s heart began to stutter. It was a small murmur that interrupted her previously steady heartbeat. The dark animal inside of him told him to ignore it, to keep drinking until he was completely full. Astarion pulled away, swiping his tongue one last time over her, licking up any stray droplets he had missed. Once he was finished, Tav turned in his lap to face him, winding her arms around his neck.

For a moment they were both still. Tav’s eyes shone with lust and adoration, her breath coming in soft pants. Astarion’s neglected cock pulsed beneath her and he fought the urge to thrust up against her. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this warm, this desperate to be touched. He stared at her, trying to memorize every detail of her wanton expression. Tav pressed her lips against his hungrily and he opened his mouth to her with a soft moan. Tav’s tongue gently lapped at his own, sensuously licking up the remnants of her lifeblood. Astarion reluctantly broke the intoxicating kiss.

“I think it’s time you went to sleep, my dear,” Astarion said. Tav drew back, stung.

“Oh, um, alright.” She quickly slid off his lap and Astarion stood up, too quickly to be nonchalant. “Was that too-“

“Don’t worry, darling. You were perfect,” he said, brushing off non-existent dirt. “But you almost died today. And I need you in tip-top shape tomorrow.” Tav flushed with embarrassment, but nodded. “You are right,” she slowly agreed.

“I always am,” Astarion said. He moved to go, but turned back once he reached the exit to her tent. “Sweet dreams, pet. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left before she could respond.

~

Of course there would be a condition. Tav wouldn’t let him drink her blood for free. It was him. He was the price. She would let him drink from her, perhaps nightly, so long as he slid into her bed each time. On some level this felt inevitable. He had always known that he would end up here, tangled in the most powerful party member’s sheets. The tadpole had changed many things but it hadn’t changed what he fundamentally was.

She wanted him. He wanted her. This was a good thing, he’d been actively aiming for this. So what was the harm? His old master had forced him to spread his legs for rotten scraps. His new one would have him on his back in exchange for a feast. This was a good thing!

But Astarion didn’t want a master. He wanted to be free. He wanted….he didn’t know what he wanted. If this was the price then he didn’t think he could pay it after all. Don’t be an idiot, his inner voice mocked. This is the way the world works. Blood for blood. Do you want to go back to Cazador? Then suck it up. This is our one in a million chance to be free and I will not see you fuck it up because, what? The pretty girl wants to kiss you and it makes you feel weird? Would you rather be tortured to within an inch of your pathetic life?

And yet another voice inside of him insisted that this was not fair. Tav had been kind to him. He had fallen on her in the middle of the night and she had fed him. She had defended him publicly to the rest of their company. She had stopped when he had wanted to stop.

Because she wants to fuck you, you imbecile.

He’d talk to her tomorrow and clearly iron out the details of this little arrangement. It was better, actually, if he left her wanting more for a while. He didn’t want her growing bored with him. So long as she didn’t eject him from the group, he could live with anything Tav threw at him. He had survived Cazador. He would survive Tav.

Author's Note:

Astarion is going to have a lot of complicated and contradictory feelings about Tav until more trust is built. This will take time, but I promise we will get there.

Chapter 3: Kiss

[gingerbreadmonsters]

cherry leather looker

or: you're a car, you're a woman, you're a drug!

gn!reader, explicit nsfw, vincent-typical after-school shenanigans. bank me like a millionaire, baby! it’s time for some last-minute summer fun, so you know what that means… my vincent is chinese, so don’t be surprised that he’s got a bit more physical description than i usually go in for. for the wonderful rae @sri-rachaa, mutual of my heart everything i do is for her - happy birthday gorgeous girlie!! all my love, and hope you’re having a fab day <3 inspired by sugar soaker by panic! at the disco, and i wonder if you can guess why…? vincent going off-road in just over 5300 words.

i’m aware that the byline implies fem!lovely, but that’s just because that’s how the song goes lol - lovely here is entirely gender neutral, and their body (including their, um, hardware) is basically not described at all.

this fic contains explicit nsfw content, and is very, very 18+. reader discretion is advised. minors dni. thank you. 

Ugh.

Studying.

Exams aren’t coming up for a while yet, but unfortunately that doesn’t mean you don’t have to study. DAMN loves to pile the work on, latent humanborns be damned, and it’s an absolute nightmare once deadlines start to roll around.

“Lovely!”

Sam’s been tutoring you every Friday for a few months now, keeping you hostage once a week for an hour or two after classes, and it’s awful. He’s not bad at it, he’s just kind of boring, you know? He’s so good at this stuff that he doesn’t really know how to teach it very well, so he ends up doing that infuriating thing where he just reads stuff out of the textbook, nods like of course you’ll have understood that, and moves onto the next thing. It’s infuriating!

You’ve got to be at his place in, like, twenty minutes - normally Vincent would come and pick you up, but he’s got some meeting in town with a client, so Sam’s coming to get you instead. It’s not fair! When Vincent comes to pick you up, he always lets you choose the music, and he brings one of the cars that’s fast enough to get you there in half the time, so he can make out with you in the back seat for ten minutes before you have to go. Sam? Uh, no thanks, for several reasons. Long story short, you’re really not looking forward to studying with him tonight-

“Tianxin!”

…Wait, what?

The car park isn’t full, but it’s certainly not empty. It must be, what, about half twelve? Quarter to one? You’ve just come out of your Introductory Mental Disciplines lecture and your brain is kind of fried - Professor Albright’s a wonderful teacher, but he can be a little… intense, to put it lightly - so it’s not exactly a surprise that it takes you a minute to figure out where that voice is coming from.

“Lovely! Over here!”

Hazard lights flash behind you, and a good handful of other students turn with you to see - ah. Yeah, okay. You really should have known. Vincent Solaire, the picture of romance, big round sunglasses perched amid gracefully-dishevelled hair, waving madly from the driver’s seat of a very red, very shiny, very expensive convertible.

“Get in!”

Well, he certainly doesn’t have to tell you twice.

He’s already got his foot on the pedal as you slam the door shut, chucking your backpack over onto the back seat, and he pulls you in for a breathless kiss while clumsy hands fumble with your seatbelt. As soon as he hears it click, that’s it - before you really know what’s going on, you’re racing out of the car park and down the road out of town, music all the way up and pedal all the way down.

“How did - where-” You’re still a bit dizzy from the speed of it all - how the hell is he here? “What happened to your meeting?”

“Got Alexis to do it,” he says breezily, one hand reaching up to adjust the rearview mirror before slipping down to sit high on your thigh. “I just about stopped Fred catching her and Christian having some fun in the dining room after the clan meeting a few weeks ago, so she owes me one.”

Ah. That would explain why Vincent couldn’t keep a straight face when Sam’s mate had asked if he knew why the dining room table was away for repairs the other day. You don’t really want to know what he told them.

“Actually, that reminds me!” Regrettably, he takes his hand off you to put his sunglasses on properly - only Vincent would be caught wearing sunglasses at night unironically, just because they look cool, baby, look! He does an awkward sort of wriggle as he fishes his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, tossing it lightly into your lap. “Can you check if it’s on silent, please?”

“Yeah, hold on. It’s… no, it’s not.” It only takes a few seconds - you offer it back to him, but he shakes his head, so you just put it in the centre console. “Why?”

“Because…” Vincent’s grin gets impossibly bigger, laughing as you race down the A-road that leads into the woods surrounding Dahlia. “I’d know that old thing a mile away. Say hello, lovely!”

He flashes the hazards again, sticking two fingers in his mouth for a piercing wolf-whistle before flipping off the truck going the other w- hold on, that’s Sam’s truck, why’s he heading out now if you’re meant to be-

“Better luck next time, old man!” Vincent shouts over his shoulder, and there’s that vampire hearing - true to form, his phone lights up with an incoming call, the familiar piano loud as it vibrates. “Finders keepers!”

Twisting round in your seat, you laugh as Sam’s truck disappears when you turn the corner, leaning over to kiss Vincent’s temple partly in shock, but mostly in elation. “Breaking me out of prison, hmm?”

“For you, baobei?” He threads his fingers between yours, that lovesick look you know so wonderfully well, gently pulling your hand to press his lips to your wrist. “I’m stealing you all for myself.”

His other hand flicks the left indicator on, which is a bit of a surprise. Isn’t home in the other direction? “Are we not…?”

He scoffs theatrically, and it’s unfair that he can make it sound so cute. “Going home? No. What’d you wanna do that for?” Your phone starts buzzing, Sam clearly having given up on Vincent answering, but you both ignore it. “I thought we could, uh, go on a little adventure tonight. Just us.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” He flushes slightly at your tone, cheeks slowly turning pink, and your smile widens as he deliberately avoids your eyes in the mirror. “Last time we went ‘adventuring’, we ended up fucking up the suspension so much that even you said you were gonna have to pay someone to fix it. Sure you wanted to bring this car?”

“I - you-!” Flustered, he stabs clumsily at the centre console, pointedly turning the volume up even as his blush deepens and deepens with your wicked laughter. “ Just- just pick a song!”

The drive isn’t too long, all things considered - it’s only about an hour, maybe a bit more. It’s not like the roads are all that busy at 1am, you know? At first, you’re not really sure where he might be taking you, but about twenty minutes in he turns down onto the coast road, and it clicks.

“At this hour? It’ll be freezing!” He really thinks he’s slick, doesn’t he? And okay, yeah, he kind of is, but there’s no way you’re telling him that. Got to keep him on his toes, after all.

“Mmm, it will be, won’t it?” Up ahead, the lights turn red at the junction. Ever a man of opportunity, he wastes no time - the car’s barely stopped before he’s kissing you, one hand under your jaw and the other sliding down to rub teasingly over your hip. “Gonna keep - nnng - gonna keep me warm, lovely?”

“Haahh-” Soft, always so soft. Pulling slightly against your seatbelt, closer closer closer - ooh, is that strawberry chapstick? Between the fizz of his hands on your skin and the sweetness of his mouth against yours, it’s kind of hard to come up with a coherent response. “Yeah, mmm, yeah, just- hm?”

Unfortunately, he breaks what was shaping up to be a very nice kiss as a motorbike speeds past, straight over the junction. Oh. Right, yeah, the traffic lights. You’d sort of forgotten about that. Thank goodness there’s nobody else behind you. Vincent’s gaze meets yours, washed in green light, lips already slightly pinker than normal - you’re so tempted to ask if you can pull over. Come on, nobody’s looking. Just for five minutes?

(Well, maybe ten. Fifteen. Twenty? Maybe just a bit longer-)

The glovebox clicking open knocks you out of your pleasant reverie, watching Vincent rifle awkwardly through the mess of CD cases before extracting a half-empty bottle of chewing gum.

“Want some?” He rattles the jar towards you, popping two in his mouth before grimacing in surprise. “Wait, this-”

Pushing his sunglasses back up into his hair, he looks properly at the label this time, and you’re not saying his age is catching up to him, but… “Fuck, I forgot I ran out of strawberry.” Undeterred, he takes a third one before handing you the bottle, stepping on the pedal as you put it back in the glovebox. “I think it’s spearmint? Peppermint? Oh, I don’t know - the one Lexi had the other day.”

“Did she get it for you?” You’re surprised. When Alexis and Vincent buy things for each other, they’re normally one of two things: specifically designed to make the other’s life noticeably worse, or costing at least several thousand dollars. Somehow, you doubt that this particular jar of chewing gum was either of those things, but Alexis Solaire is nothing if not full of surprises.

“Nah. Nicked it off her desk,” he declares, looking far too pleased with himself as he flicks the indicator down. “She likes that awful cinnamon-flavoured shit more anyway, so really I’m doing her a favour.”

(Yeah, okay. That sounds more like the pair of them. You won’t mention the industrial-sized roll of tin foil that you saw her and Christian dragging into Vincent’s room at Will’s house.)

Humming along to the CD player, he turns off down one of the side roads - you know the sort, one of those that’s not really a road at all, just a sort of gap in the hedgerow. It’s just dirt, and it’s kind of bumpy, but it gives Vincent an excuse to go and fuss over his precious paintwork, so he’s fine with it. Sam complains about it every time he comes down here, but that’s what you get when the suspension on your truck is practically prehistoric, isn’t it?

“Wanna go inside for a bit? Or straight out to the back?”

“Uh…” As nice as the house is - and make no mistake, it’s really nice - you’d rather get straight to it. It’s not everyday you get to spend some time at a place like this. “Straight through?”

“Sure.”

The house belongs to William, but it’s not associated with the business as one of the actual, like, ‘Solaire Properties’. Really, it’s just for family or clan stuff - you’ve been down here several times before, mostly for birthdays or celebrations or whatever. Vincent’s never gone into too much detail, but from what you’ve heard about William’s life before the whole rich-vampire-king palaver, he’s always liked the sea. He loved it from afar, as Vincent puts it, but you gather that he never really had much of a chance to enjoy it.

That’s why he bought this place, apparently - a long-held dream fulfilled, and you’re not going to begrudge him that. It’s not very easy for vampires to really do beach holidays. Good on him for finding a convenient (if eye-wateringly expensive) way to do it.

(When she’d mentioned it to you the first time, Alexis had called it a nice little summer house. Your definitions of ‘nice’ and ‘little’ clearly aren’t quite the same. For starters, you probably wouldn’t include a multi-million dollar beachfront property in one of the most beautiful places on the California coast, but apparently that just shows how much you know. Turns out the dollar really is almighty, and William Solaire certainly has a lot of them.)

“Hope you brought your swimsuit, baby,” he says innocently, fiddling with his phone and unlocking the gates. His wry grin betrays him, though - he forgets every time that you can still see him in the rearview mirror. “Water’s nice, this time of year.”

“You little…” Oh, he’s going to be for it in a minute. “Who on earth do you know that brings a swimsuit to a Dreamwalking lecture?”

“My lovely, caught unaware? Surely not!” He gasps in faux surprise, now not even trying to hide the smirk spreading across his face. “I reckon you had this planned, you know.”

“Yeah?” This should be good. “And how did I do that, hmm?”

“Oh, it’s very simple,” he proclaims, free hand gracefully pulling his sunglasses off and tucking them in his shirt pocket as he turns down the drive. “You’ve lured me out here with your effortless charm and stunning good looks, with the promise of getting to take a swim all alone with my gorgeous lovely, only to turn on your heel and deprive me of the one thing I’ve been looking forward to all week.“ It’s unfair how cute that stupid pout of his is, sighing plaintively as he laments your supposed scheming. "You’re so mean to me, you know that?”

“Am I, now?” It’s always fun, playing along with him. “I’m sorry, my love,” you say mournfully, leaning across to press a kiss to his cheek and smiling as he tries not to blush. “However could I make it up to you?”

“Well, I do know one way we could make this work…” he says, valiantly ignoring the flush slowly spreading across his face at the absolutely shameless once-over he gives you. “I mean, you don’t have to be wearing anyth- hey!”

“Nice try, loverboy,” you announce, haughtily settling your newly-acquired sunglasses atop your head. “Like hell you’re getting me in there with nothing on - it’s fucking freezing!”

Vincent sighs, plaintive and airy, like it being 1am and pitch-black outside shouldn’t matter. Ooh, he’s lucky he’s so pretty. “Too bad, sha gua, too bad. Guess I’ll have to find some other way to get you w- okay! I’m st- I’m stopping!”

Bastard. One-handed, he bats away your hands from his hair as he pulls up by the sand, fingers flexing on the wheel when you manage to get just close enough to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Rude.” He huffs, giving you that stupid, cute pout that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “I thought that was pretty good, actually.”

You give him a look. “I’m not sure pick-up lines have ever been - hey - waitwaitwait!”

You’re never going to be used to that vampire strength, are you? The angle is ridiculous, but his hands lock around your waist before you can protest, and somehow he manages to manoeuvre you over the centre console and into his lap without too much fuss.

Vincent opens his mouth, smug as anything, but he only manages a sort of garbled half-noise before your hand quickly shuts him up.

“That does not count as a pick-up line!”

He stares, cross-eyed, down at your hand for a surprised second, before petulantly trying to lick your palm in retaliation. Luckily, you’re wise to his tricks by now - you pull your hand away just in time and fix him with the best glare you can muster, although it’s probably undercut by the fact that you’re trying really hard not to laugh.

Undeterred, he smirks up at you, brushing the hair out of his face with a satisfied flourish.

“Yeah, but you thought it was hot.”

Fuck. He’s right. You stutter into an excuse for a second, but it doesn’t come - instead, you just slide your hands up his chest, over his shoulders and up to his jaw, before just leaning down and kissing him. It always works.

True to form, he melts into your touch, letting you kiss the mint-flavoured smirk right off his face with a pleased sigh. Quick fingers twist into the fabric of your shirt, and you’re just running your tongue over his bottom lip when-

“Wait - just - just a sec-”

He pulls back unexpectedly, reaching over and fumbling around in the glovebox for a second, one hand holding your hip to keep you balanced in his lap, before extricating an old receipt. Neatly, he drops his gum into the paper, folding it in half to stick it to itself before depositing it into the cupholder to throw away later.

“Okay!” He grins up at you, blindingly beautiful, and you almost have to blink away the sunspots in your eyes. “Where were we, again?”

This time, you don’t bother trying to hide your laugh - instead, you just muffle it in his shoulder, letting him nip affectionately at your neck against the gentle sound of waves lapping at the sand. “Hate you.”

“Yeah,” he replies airily, and you don’t need to look to see his smile. “Hate you too.”

You pull back and he ducks his head slightly to kiss you again, tongue brushing lightly against your lip until you tilt your head slightly to - yeah, that’s a better angle. Vaguely, you’re aware of him guiding your legs around his waist, and you can feel him standing up and getting out of the car, but most of it is forgotten as the warm haze of his kisses swirls through your brain and makes your fingers go all tingly.

Although your eyes are closed, you can tell that he’s walking somewhere from the movement of his body against you, the sound of sand under his feet, but where’s he going? Into the house? Cracking one eye open, you can see the dark shape of the garage in front of you - so he’s heading towards the water, then. Wait, but why would he - oh, no fucking way-

“Mm - mmf!” Swallowing a giggle at his stunned face, you wriggle out of his arms with a sharp twist and a burst of vampiric speed, before turning and scrambling away across the sand. Shocked, he’s not quite quick enough to grab your arm as you dodge out of the way, and he laughs in surprise as you make him chase you further and further towards the sea.

“Oh, I don’t - I don’t think so-!”

“Catch me if you can!”

As fast as you’re going, it’s basically no distance at all until you’re splashing into the shallow water. Spray kicks up around your ankles, soaking into your shoes and socks, but it can’t weigh you down. You dance out of his way regardless, heart pounding giddily as adrenaline rushes through your body, dipping your hand down to flick water at him whenever he looks in danger of getting slightly too close.

“Still - fuck! - still too slow!” He almost manages to snatch the back of your shirt, and you stick your tongue out at his wounded expression as you back up into the slightly deeper water. “See, I told you I was faster…”

“You - get - get back here!”

He lunges for your waist, but he’s too slow - with a splash, he topples through the space where you used to be and goes face first into the freezing water. Luckily, it’s deep enough that he doesn’t just hit the ground, and you wade gingerly towards him as your body starts to register the cold.

“Lovely!” Spitting out a mouthful of seawater, you’re met with the distinctly-bedraggled shape of a very wet Vincent Solaire, blinking the salt out of his eyes. The shock of the cold water forces the breath out of him, but for some reason it can’t make him any less unfairly attractive. You don’t bother to hide your satisfied smirk at the sight of him raking his soaked hair out of his face with one hand, white t-shirt now slightly see-through and clinging to his chest.

“You - you!” he gasps, pointing accusingly at you with as stern a glare as he can muster. “Oh, when I get my hands on you, I-”

He’s cut off by your gleeful kiss, throwing yourself through the waist-deep water at him and knowing that he’ll catch you. Mmm, he’s such a sucker.

“Yeah?” you say between kisses. “You’ll what?”

“I…”

After a pause, he shrugs half-heartedly and gives in to let you kiss him again. “Probably - mmm - yeah, uh, probably that…”

Moonlight sparkles on the water as he clutches you tighter, drinking in the familiar taste of you. Cold currents come and go, but neither of you really notice, far too swept up in each other for it to matter - besides, the warmth of his body against yours is more than enough to keep you happy.

After a little while, he moves to kiss slowly down your neck, leaning you back slightly in his arms to get a better angle. Your fingers tangle in his hair, dark and dripping, and he sighs happily against your skin when you pull slightly, just the way he likes.

“Tianshi…” he murmurs, fangs digging gently into your skin because he knows it makes you shiver. “You shouldn’t tease, you know.”

“Mm, you started it,” you reply. “Whose good idea was it to go swimming in the middle of the night, again?”

“Hm.” You can feel him pouting, muttering quietly into your shoulder. “Like ‘m giving up my lovely for some stupid tutoring.”

He makes a good point. This is much nicer than whatever boring textbook questions Sam was supposed to be making you do right now. In your magnificent generosity, you reward your saviour with a benevolent kiss to his temple, before your hand trails down over his neck, his shoulder, across his-

“Did you-?”

“Hm?” Tilting back just a little, he looks down at himself like he’s as surprised as you are that his shirt has disappeared. “Oh, yeah.”

Biting back a laugh, you smack his arm with a quiet slap. “Now who’s the tease?”

“What? Do you like wearing wet jeans?” he asks smugly, smirking as he hears your heart speed up - the dark water comes up to about his waist, so you dread to think what other bits of clothing he’s got rid of while you weren’t looking. “That’s what I thought.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, patting him on the shoulder in consolation. “Remind me to send him flowers when we get back.”

“Who said he taught me? You don’t know! I could’ve, um-”

His cry of indignance is swiftly cut off by your flat stare. You know exactly where he got this from. After a brief stand-off, he sighs in apparent defeat, bending down slightly to scoop you up so that he’s properly carrying you. “Yeah, it was Gavin.”

“Knew it!” you sing, cheerfully kicking your legs as he starts to walk back out of the water, up towards the sand. “You think I haven’t seen him trying it with Freelancer before?”

He pretends to sulk, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “And here I thought you were looking at me…” The sand crunches quietly underfoot as he carries you towards the car, and the slight breeze is pleasantly cool against your warm skin. “What do I have to do to get your attention, hm?”

Sneaking a downwards glance, you raise an eyebrow. Turns out he wasn’t lying about the jeans. “I could think of a few things.”

“Only a few?” He scoffs, before leaning down to press his fangs to that sweet spot just under your jaw. “Keep up, tianxin, and you’ll get more than that.”

A burst of magic fizzles over your body, warm and crackling shivers from head to toe. Before you can blink, you’re both completely dry, and one look at him tells you exactly what you need to know - ooh, he’s been practising that one. He preens under your gaze, tossing his head proudly to flick his now-dry hair back out of his eyes.

God. He’s so pretty.

The walk back to the car isn’t far, but he doesn’t put you down - instead, he opts to lean down and lay you gently back against the hood, kissing you down against the warm, smooth metal. Back arched slightly over his arm, it’s a little uncomfortable, so you have to shift around a little bit in order to-

“Mmm…”

Maybe he thinks it was on purpose, or maybe he knows and he just doesn’t care - whatever the case, he rocks his hips back down to meet you, and that’s when you notice that he’s got rid of your clothes, too.

“Haah - Vincent!”

He doesn’t even have the good grace to look appropriately chastised at your muffled shout, just grabbing your wrists before you can try to slap his side and pinning them above your head with a devilish smile. Any protest you may have had quickly disappears when he grinds against you, thin cotton all that separates you, melting into a soft moan that drips off your fangs and runs down your chin.

“What - nnng! - what’s the matter, lovely?” he says, breathless. “Having second thoughts about your study session?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Lost in the heat and the hardness of him, it’s getting more and more difficult to put words together. “Think you - mmm, think you should persuade me…”

You don’t have to tell him twice - the world blurs around you as he lifts you up, depositing you on the passenger seat as he slips down to kneel in the footwell, and you hastily grab his shoulder in surprise as he presses the little button on the seat, sliding it back to give himself a little more room.

“We have - fuck! We have a bed in - inside!” Your half-hearted protests go ignored in favour of strong hands impatiently tearing the rest of your clothes away, shredded fabric littering the floor beside him. God, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

He lifts one dark eyebrow, challenging, although he can’t quite keep his eyes on your face. “You want me to wait?”

“No, no, this is - no, this is fine-!”

Words melt away as he eagerly grabs your hips, pulling you forwards to the edge of the seat and burying his face in you with a long, drawn-out moan. Mmm, he really doesn’t waste any time - your fingers unconsciously find their way back into his hair again, twisting and tugging with every flick of his tongue, sloppy, sticky kisses that make your cheeks burn and your insides twist with need. Your nails digging into his scalp only seem to encourage him, wonderfully warm as he licks a slow, burning trail all the way down before speeding back up until you’re shuddering in his enthusiastic hold.

“I - oh, I - ahhh…”

Almost too fast for you to notice, a tiny burst of magic swirls around his fingers - oh, you definitely remember Gavin teaching him that one. Gently, he eases his middle finger into you, stretching you ever so sweetly, and you have to clamp your hand over your mouth to stifle what you’re sure would be an embarrassingly loud whine.

“Baby…” Vincent clearly disagrees, though, nudging your legs up over his shoulders and nipping at the soft inside of your thigh in disappointed reprimand. “Wanna hear!”

A graceful hand runs blindly up your body to tug your hand away from your mouth, depositing it firmly back in his hair where it belongs. You can’t complain - and even if you wanted to, the high-pitched keen that fills your mouth as a second finger slips inside you leaves no room for objection.

It doesn’t help that even like this, he’s still so fucking beautiful - crescent-moon eyes closed, groaning in pleasure at the taste of you, achingly hard but refusing to let go of you even for a second. Your head falls back against the headrest, back bowing as you roll your hips slightly, and the change in angle lets his fingertips press just right - fuck, just right against that spot inside you that makes your breath stick in your chest and your eyes go all blurry.

“Yeah?” The look he gives you is wicked, filthy grin all smeared and sticky. Fuck, he sounds absolutely wrecked, words lazy and languid as he kisses the words into you. “Right there, xingan?”

You nod frantically, nails scraping harsh lines into the tanned skin of his shoulders. He hisses with the pleasurable sting, and you watch them fade and heal over almost as fast as you can make them. “Mm-hmm, mmm, yeah-!”

It’s too much - deft fingers curling and stroking, the vibrations of his voice thrumming over you, all warm and wet and messy. Fuck, it feels like your whole body is burning, trembling in his grip, skinbuzzing like a livewire. The leather underneath you sticks and catches as you writhe under Vincent’s attention, and a flood of heat rushes through you at the reminder that you’re just out here in the open, entirely at his mercy.

“I - oh, fuck,” you gasp out, curved forwards over him as your body greedily tries to pull him impossibly closer. “It - ahh, it’s-”

“I know, baby - I know,” he chokes out, sounding almost as desperate as you feel. “Come on, come on, lovely - nng, please!” Mouth full, sentences all slurring together as he buries himself in you, it’s enough to make you wail with each breath, the delicious stretch of his fingers and the sharp tease of his fangs. “Please, want it, I wanna see-”

He strokes his thumb over your thigh, silent question obvious as he looks pleadingly up at you - you must nod, or tell him yes, yes of course, because the next thing you know is the white-hot ecstasy of the bite, needy and glittering, and all of a sudden you’re falling apart. Legs trembling, eyes slammed shut as you sob through your orgasm, all you know is the familiar kiss of Vincent’s mouth on you, strong hands trailing warm, comforting patterns over your skin, and the distant sound of your own cries.

For a long moment, you’re floating, a joyful balloon on a satisfied string. Vincent takes you in his hands with a soft smile, and slowly pulls you back down to earth.

When you finally blink back to yourself, you’re slumped loose and heavy over Vincent’s shoulder, flopped forwards against where he’s kneeling up in front of your seat. He hums quietly as he feels you stir, one hand smoothing comforting circles into your back, and you nestle your face into the side of his neck with a pleased sigh.

“Back with me, baobei?”

“Mm,” you say eloquently. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He kisses the side of your head before tenderly nudging you backwards a little bit, giving himself a bit more room to clamber out of the footwell. He almost manages it, too - the effect is ruined slightly when he trips over the lip of the floor, stumbling awkwardly into the open door and nearly smacking his face against the handle, and you giggle at the indignant glare he shoots at the side of the car.

“Ooh. Smooth.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbles, though there’s no heat behind it. “Only the best for you, xiaogongju.”

You take his offered hand with a flourish, letting him guide you up and out of the seat and onto shaky legs - after a few steps, he decides to take matters into his own hands and just lifts you up into his arms like a bride, your head back on his shoulder. From here, you gaze idly out at the dark line where the sky brushes the sea, just barely visible even to your enhanced eyes, and let yourself rest in the gentle sound of the waves.

(A quick look back shows you - oh, that’s going to be a bitch to clean out of the leather. Whatever. It was worth it.)

“Love you,” you murmur through your hazy smile, fingers brushing back and forth over the dips and hollows of his collarbone. “Gonna get you back later.”

“Love you too, baby.” Waves lapping at the sand, salt and heat and happiness, the chill of the breeze. “I look forward to it already.”

He catches your lips in a short kiss, sweet and soft and painted in moonlight. Vincent carries you into the house, closing the door behind you, and all you can think is that this is much, much better than a study session.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[inky-writing]

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: betrayal,

Word count: 1,907

Chapter 8: Holidays in Volterra

June 2005

The streets of Volterra were as ancient as time itself, full of history. Esme walked through the narrow cobblestone alleyways, her steps echoing faintly against the towering stone walls. The city’s air was heavy, a fitting setting for the Volturi, whose presence loomed over the vampire world like a storm.

She pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face as she approached the imposing wooden doors of the Volturi’s headquarters. The guards stationed outside, Felix and Demetri, straightened at her arrival. Their sharp eyes assessed her briefly before they stepped aside, granting her entry.

“Esme Cullen”, Felix greeted with a smirk, “Back again so soon? Aro must be pleased”.

Esme ignored his tone, offering a polite smile instead. “Duty calls, Felix”.

She stepped into the grand hall, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The air inside was cooler, tinged with the faint metallic scent of blood. The sound of murmured voices and rustling robes grew louder as she approached the throne room.

Aro, Caius, and Marcus awaited her, their imposing figures seated on their ornate thrones. Aro’s face lit up as she entered, his hands clasping together in delight.

“Ah, Esme! My dear, it is always a pleasure to see you”, Aro said, rising to his feet. His voice was silky and warm, but his crimson eyes betrayed his calculating nature.

Esme inclined her head respectfully, “The pleasure is always mine, Master Aro”.

He gestured for her to come closer, his expression eager, “Tell me, how is your mission? The Cullens are still none the wiser, I trust?”.

Esme’s lips curved into a faint smile “None suspect a thing. They are still blissfully ignorant of my true purpose.”

Aro’s eyes gleamed, “Excellent. And what news do you bring?”.

Esme hesitated for a fraction of a second before beginning her report, “Edward grows more attached to the human girl, Bella Swan. She knows their secret now but has chosen to stay by his side. The others remain their usual selves, though Alice’s visions…” She paused, her brow furrowing slightly, “They have been less reliable as of late”.

Caius leaned forward, his sharp features twisted into a frown, “Less reliable? Explain”.

“Alice claims her visions are blurred”, Esme continued, her voice steady. “Particularly where Bella and Y/N Swan are concerned, and it isn't only due to me manipulating her mind”.

At the mention of Y/N, Aro’s interest visibly sharpened. He stepped closer to Esme, his pale fingers clasped together, “Ah, Y/N Swan. The anomaly”.

Esme nodded, “Indeed. I’ve attempted to influence her as I have others, but she remains unaffected by my powers. It is as though she exists outside of our realm of control. It is also as if everytime I try, she senses it”.

Aro’s lips parted in a slow, predatory smile, “Fascinating. Tell me more. Does she exhibit any unusual behavior?”. 

Esme hesitated, carefully choosing her words, “There are… anomalies. It is subtle, but… undeniable”.

Aro’s eyes gleamed with intrigue, “How extraordinary. Could she possess latent abilities, perhaps? Powers she herself is unaware of?”.

“It’s possible” Esme admitted. “But if she does, they remain dormant. For now”.

Caius scoffed, leaning back in his throne. “A human with potential powers? Ri-di-cu-lous! She is no threat”.

Aro’s smile remained, “Perhaps not a threat, but certainly an asset. Imagine, Caius, what she could become if nurtured under our guidance”.

Caius waved a dismissive hand, “Speculation! We should focus on acquiring Edward and Alice, as planned. Their gifts are far more valuable than a 'what could be'”.

Aro nodded thoughtfully, though his gaze lingered on Esme, “Continue your observation, my dear. Keep a close eye on Y/N Swan. And ensure that the Cullens remain unaware of our interest in her”.

“Of course, Master Aro”, Esme said, bowing her head.

Aro’s expression softened “You have done well, Esme. Your dedication to our cause is most commendable. And how fares your time away from… our dear Carlisle?”.

Esme’s smile tightened ever so slightly. “He remains as devoted to his ideals as ever. It makes my task all the more… challenging. But I will succeed”.

Aro’s laughter echoed through the chamber. “I have no doubt you will, my dear. Now, go. Enjoy your time in Europe, and return to us with more news”. Esme bowed once more before turning to leave the throne room.

As she walked through the corridors of the Volturi’s, her mind raced. She had managed to maintain her cover for decades, but Y/N’s presence threatened to unravel everything. The girl was an enigma, immune to her manipulation and untouched by the powers of the others.

For the first time in years, Esme felt doubt. What was Y/N Swan? And why did she feel like the key to something far bigger than any of them could imagine?

Esme sat alone in the opulent room Aro had provided for her in Volterra, the dim light of the candles casting long, flickering shadows against the stone walls. It had been nearly a week since she left Forks, and though she maintained the guise of a dutiful matriarch of the Cullen family, her true self felt alive only here, amidst the power the Volturi represented. The thought of her supposed family scattered across their summer holidays brought a faint smirk to her lips. Let them think she missed them; it made the charade easier to uphold.

Jasper and Alice had gone to some remote mountains, likely indulging in Alice’s whims of adventure. Rosalie and Emmett, inseparable as always, were somewhere tropical, basking in their love and vanity. Edward, the ever-brooding one, had stayed in Forks with Carlisle. Esme’s smile faltered at the thought of Carlisle. Despite her powers, her hold on his mind had been slipping. He had always been difficult to influence fully, his moral compass and inner strength providing resistance she hadn’t encountered with others. But lately, it had become more troubling. And then there was Y/N.

Esme’s lips pressed into a thin line as she rose from the red velvet chair and crossed the room to her desk. Y/N was an enigma. No matter how hard she tried, her powers couldn’t penetrate the girl’s mind. It was as though Y/N existed in a sphere of her own, immune to manipulation. Esme’s frustration had grown with each failed attempt to uncover the girl’s secrets. That was why she was here now, in Volterra, seeking answers from those who knew more about the supernatural world than anyone else.

Earlier that day, she had presented her concerns to Aro, Caius, and Marcus in the throne room. Her true mate, Dominic, had stood silently by her side, his presence a grounding force she hadn’t felt in so long. She’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be in his company, the bond they shared far deeper and more genuine than the façade she maintained with Carlisle. Dominic, with his sharp intellect and unwavering loyalty to the Volturi, had immediately agreed to help her uncover Y/N’s origins.

Esme’s fingers traced the edge of an ancient tome on the desk. Beside it lay several scrolls and documents Jane and Alec had retrieved from the archives. She had spent hours reading them with Dominic, piecing together fragments of information that might explain Y/N’s peculiarities. There were theories, of course, but nothing concrete yet. Still, they were closer than they had been a week ago.

Dominic entered the room silently, his crimson eyes meeting hers with a look of determination. He carried another scroll, this one older and more fragile than the rest.

“Jane found this in the restricted section,” he said, placing it carefully on the desk. “It mentions beings who are immune to mental manipulation. Rare, but not unheard of.”

Esme leaned over the scroll, her eyes scanning the faded script. The text spoke of individuals known as "Anchors," humans with a natural resistance to supernatural influence. Some believed these Anchors were connected to an ancient lineage, their bloodline imbued with a mysterious power that shielded them from psychic abilities. Others theorized they were chosen by higher forces, their immunity a defense mechanism against darker entities.

“Anchors” Esme murmured, her mind racing. “Do you think Y/N could be one of them?”

Dominic shrugged, his expression thoughtful. “It’s possible. But there’s more. Some records also suggest Witches and Sirens. They have abilities of their own, often tied to the natural world. Weather manipulation, heightened intuition, even control over living creatures”.

Esme’s thoughts flashed back to Forks, to the strange occurrences Y/N had mentioned in passing, when talking to herself during a walk in the woods, and that Esme overheard, the way animals seemed drawn to her, how the weather often mirrored her emotions. Could it be true? Could Y/N be something far more significant than she had anticipated?

The discovery unsettled her. If Y/N was an Anchor, or a Siren, or anything else entirely, it could explain why Carlisle’s mind had become harder to influence. Those creatures were said to have a stabilizing effect on those around them, breaking through natural and supernatural manipulations without even realizing it. And if Carlisle was Y/N’s mate…

Esme’s grip tightened on the edge of the desk. She had mentioned the possibility to Aro earlier, her voice carefully measured. “Carlisle has been… distant”, she had said, “I suspect it’s due to Y/N. There’s a connection between them, though he doesn’t seem aware of it yet”.

Aro had leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “A connection, you say? How intriguing. And troubling, if true. We cannot afford to lose Carlisle’s loyalty”. Caius had been less subtle in his disdain. “If the girl is a threat, eliminate her. It’s that simple”.

But Marcus had surprised her with his quiet insight. “If she is indeed Carlisle’s mate, removing her would only push him further away. We must tread carefully”.

Now, as she sat in the quiet of her room, Esme felt the weight of their words. She couldn’t let Y/N disrupt everything she had built, everything she had worked for. But eliminating her wasn’t an option—not yet. Not without understanding the full extent of her abilities and the potential consequences.

“We need more information,” Esme said, her voice firm. “If Y/N is not human, we need to know how to neutralize her without drawing suspicion”.

Dominic nodded. “Jane and Alec are already looking into it. We’ll find a way”.

Esme leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. Y/N’s existence was a complication she hadn’t anticipated, but complications could be managed. She would see to it personally. After all, she had spent decades perfecting the art of control. One girl wouldn’t be her undoing.

Dominic reached for her hand, his touch grounding her. “We’ll handle this together,” he said. “As we always have”.

Esme gave him a faint smile, grateful for his presence. She was sick and tired to hide her true self, but it was for the greater good. And together, they would uncover the truth about Y/N and ensure that the Volturi’s plans, and her own, remained intact. For now, she would return to the archives and continue the search. Answers were within reach. She could feel it.

Chapter 9 >>>

Tag list: @inky-bonnie

[mageofquandrix]

Emmrich Lucien snowed in, for the WIP Folder Game, please 😁

This is the one I'm actively fighting to finish! I was overly ambitious with my deadline and regret it a lot!

Emmrich & Lucien get snowed in to a little town. They have fun in the snow, spend lots of time together, and there's only one bed.

First draft, be kind. Also, some of my notes are left in it.

“Finally, Emmrich and I will be heading to Cumberland to access their special collections and to consult with a few experts there. There isn’t an eluvian, so we’ve arranged to travel there from the Necropolis. We should be gone for several weeks, so in the meantime, everyone be careful and watch each other’s backs.”

“Since only two of us are going,” said Davrin, glancing up from his carving with a face that almost could have ben innocent, if he’d managed to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, “it’s a good thing it’s you and the Professor. You know, since you’re both so good at watching each other’s…backs.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes and glared at his friend, even as a blush creeped up the back of his neck and up to his cheeks, damning him. Last night in Treviso, Davrin had noticed when he just happened to glance over when Emmrich had been bent over, and hadn’t let it go since. He didn’t dare turn to look at Emmrich, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see there was color high on his cheeks as well. Perfect.

-

Emmrich walked out of the Necropolis into the bright Nevarran sun, warm on his skin despite the chill of the day. He set down his bag for a moment to look for Rook through the crush of carriages doing their morning business, and finally saw him, across the way. His heart warmed as he simply obbserved him for a moment.

He stood with two novices, the pair both gangly and sleepy-eyed in their beginner’s robes. They stood around with all the grace puberty typically afforded, but watched attentively as Rook - Watcher Ingellvar, he reminded himself, it was Lucien he was witnessing here - reloading the rather poorly stacked crates. He slowly lashed them down, talking and gesturing as the youths nodded along, then untied it again and gestured for them to try.

Lucien glanced around the carriage field, and it was most charming, the way his face lit up when he saw him. He waved, which Emmrich returned before finally heading over himself, bag in hand.

“Professor Volkarin! Just in time, I was just finishing up teaching these two how to safely load up a ca-Emmrich.” Emmrich followed his exasperated gaze to the additional bag in hand.

“Ah, yes, I just remembered a few things. I-” He frowned at the way Lucien was clearly fighting back a smile. “When going on a journey, one should be prepared for any eventuality!”

“Of course, Professor,” Lucien said, and he bent and took the bag, giving a playful wink before turning and helping attach them bag.

He was always doing things like that; little winks, little comments, little touches that, shamefully, always struck him like a bolt.

It was harmless, of course;  he was under no illusion that any of these harmless flirtations meant anything more. It was appealing, that’s all, to be imagined as attractive to such a dashing young man.

If only the others hadn’t taken notice, picking up apparently on is latent attraction, and using it to put them under the microscope HEY EDIT THIS WORD IT BETTER DO THEY EVEN HAVE MICROSCOPES

He understood why. Lucien did prefer his presence; this much he knew to be true. The young man seemed to relish at having another watcher in the Lighthouse - simple homesickness, he’d thought at first. He hadn’t realized until the others commented that his mannerisms - the way he affected his voice, down to the way he dressed - had changed. Apparently, seeing the others accept Emmrich had given him the ability to behave as came naturally to him, something, he gleaned, hadn’t always been a possibility as they traveled on the way to Solas. Understandably - the South in particular struggled with misunderstanding their work- but it still warmed his heart that his presence made Lucien feel more at home. HOLY EXPOSITION BATMAN

[toast-tales]

Cursed Cravings, Chapter 7: Quest for Answers

In which Danny does her best to learn more about her new living situation from a smug giant and a cheery, possessed house. Contains: ~2.2k words | Chapter 1 | Read this story on A03!

Danny wasn’t disturbed the next morning as she expected to be—whether it be from Christopher coming to rectify Sam’s mistake and return her to her cage, or for her to learn what it meant for her “service” to be required. Instead, she was free to lie amongst the blankets that spanned a bed larger than anything she could have ever imagined before. She had no issues with her toes sticking out from under the covers, or rolling too far towards the edge of the bed in the middle of the night—and she certainly didn’t have any problems involving not having enough blankets to keep her warm. 

If it hadn’t been for the latent anxiety pestering her all night, she was sure she would have gotten the best sleep of her life.

She was content to lie there as the sun came up—not that she had much of a choice. She supposed she could call for Sam to help her down, but where would she go? What would she do? It was much more pleasant to submit to this small amount of comfort amidst a sea of uncertainty and fear.

As if he could sense this comfort of hers and absolutely could not let her have even this small moment of peace, she heard a set of giant footsteps approach her room, followed by a knock at the door. 

“May I come in?” 

Danny glared at the door. Asking for permission. Cute. “No.”

There was a pause, a silent moment of the giant possibly contemplating his next course of action, before the doorknob turned and the door opened ever so slightly. She rolled her eyes and flipped over in bed, facing away from Christopher as he entered. Of course he was just gonna come in anyways. Why did he even ask?

She half-expected to be picked up and dragged from under the sheets, but to her surprise, Christopher seemed to stop just before the bed, and she remained where she was.

“What do you want?” she growled, still stubbornly facing away from him.

“An apolog–ah!” Christopher’s sentence was cut off by a small yelp of pain, which intrigued Danny enough to turn around and give him an amused smirk. He seemed to be rubbing his ankle with a withering glare directed towards the rug.

He placed something down on the nightstand next to Danny—a human-sized tray of breakfast food. She looked slowly between it and the giant, narrowing her eyes in such a way that it suggested she was calculating the necessary velocity to toss it at him again.

Almost as if he could sense her intent, he took a courteous step backwards. “What I meant to say was, I brought you something to eat.” He spoke in the same stilted manner as someone who was mildly annoyed that they had a knife held to their neck.

She just glared at him silently, filling the dead air between them with the meager weight of her animosity. Silence, at least, would have the same impact on a giant as it would on a human. 

Christopher stared back at her with a much more dead-eyed expression, like she was boring him more than anything. He gave her a curt nod. “I’ll leave you be.”

He turned to exit the room, but as he did so, she found herself breaking the silence and calling out after him. “Hey!” 

He stopped in place, but didn’t turn to face her. 

She sat up in bed, crossing her arms. “Stay here for a minute. I’ve got a few questions for you, bastard.”

Sam said give him a chance, right? Fine. This is me, giving this fucker a chance.

Christopher turned around and met her eyes again, although this time, the seeming apathy was replaced with…surprise, and even a hint of amusement as a small grin crept up his face. He pulled a nearby chair up next to the bed, and sat down a respectable distance from Danny, folding his hands into his lap. “Well, I’ll try to answer as best as I can, doll.” 

“Danny,” she corrected him, already beginning to regret extending an olive branch. “First. I want to know what you did to Nathan yesterday, when he came here. He was terrified, and I’m still not buying your fucking story about him ‘trespassing.’ Did you hurt him?”

She kept her voice even, though there was enough deadly venom laced in her tone to drive an unspoken point home. 

Christopher blinked a few times, like this was an odd question somehow. “...no, I didn’t hurt him. A lot of people are…frightened of me simply due to my size, and I imagine your friend was one of them. Nathan is perfectly fine, I assure you.” 

Danny’s eyes flicked mercilessly over the giant’s face for any hint of deception, finding the inscrutable, seemingly sincere expression nearly impossible to read. She didn’t want to believe him, even if what he was suggesting was the best possible explanation in terms of Nathan’s wellbeing.

For now, she’d have to take his word on it. She could question Nathan when she got back home.

“...you say that, but you sent him off in the middle of winter, at night, alone. Not only that, but he’s having to take care of the whole house by himself for a month. How do I even know he made it back okay?” Her voice broke—speaking it aloud made her realize her fears even clearer, and it made her heart clench in fear. 

Christopher returned her worries with what appeared to be a genuinely sympathetic look. “I had someone make sure he arrived back home safely. And,” he grinned, “because I’m so generous, I’ve arranged for a small donation to be made that should tide your friend over through your absence. I’m not heartless, Danny.” 

She found the suggestion laughable. “Generous? You’re keeping me prisoner here. Why the fuck are you helping us? Isn’t this supposed to be some sort of punishment?” 

Christopher sat up a little straighter in his chair, although she caught what seemed to be a sort of weariness to his posture. “There are simply rules that must be followed. I don’t delight in torment. Only one person needs to repay the debt that is owed—there is no need to punish further than that.” 

She snarled back at him unkindly, loathing the impersonal, matter-of-fact way he spoke about punishment and rules in such a way that it almost seemed to make sense—when in fact, keeping her prisoner here for Nathan’s “trespassing” was actually insanity. 

But if what Christopher was saying was true, then she could at least put the thought of Nathan struggling on his own out of her head…somewhat. Surely, he would still be worried sick, frightened, and alone.

It’s just a month. That’s all. 

“So what am I expected to do here, exactly?” This was the real mystery to her—what, honestly, could a human even do in a place so large?

“Sam will be the one to direct you on what needs to be done. I expect they will be here shortly.” He stood up, and nodded towards her with a cordial bow of his head and a placid grin. “Until then, be well, and enjoy your breakfast.”

“Hey, wait!” 

Her protest didn’t stop him this time—Christopher turned and left the way he’d come, leaving her alone with the tray of food nearby. She regarded the door he closed behind him curiously, somehow more confused about the giant than when she’d first sat him down to ask her questions. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

She hoped that she’d finally get some answers from Sam, who rolled into the room a while later as the same cart from yesterday once she’d finished her tray of food. “Hey, Danny, good morning! How did you sleep?” 

“I’m…fine, thanks, Sam,” she grumbled. “So you’re gonna tell me what I’m supposed to be doing here, right?” 

“Well…look, Christopher’s just a little old-fashioned about that whole ‘working off your debt’ thing. It’s just a formality. My advice? Just ride it out for a month and then you can, y’know, be on your way and everything.” 

Irritation bristled across her skin. “So I’m not even supposed to do anything? Are you serious? Nathan’s going to be on his own for a month while I just sit here?” 

The rolling cart almost shrugged with the way its metal handle bent inward. “I mean, I guess I could have you clean something if you really wanted to, but I’ve kinda got things covered. We could do something fun instead.” 

“Fun?” she scoffed. “Yeah, sure. And what is there to do for fun around here, exactly?” 

“Well…” the cart moved a little back and forth, like someone rocking on the balls of their feet. “There’s all kinds of stuff in this house that the family’s collected over the years. Most of it’s just gathering dust now, but I’ve had plenty of time to familiarize myself with everything. I could show you around the place!” 

Danny wasn’t sure how something without a face or limbs could seem excited, but the cart seemed to give off such childish glee at the idea that she couldn’t stay irritated for long. She sighed. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. Sure, Sam.” 

Before she knew it, Danny was riding on top of the cart as it wheeled around the house, going down seemingly endless corridors as Sam gave Danny a personal, very detailed tour of every single painting, bust, and random piece of furniture they came across. Danny didn’t understand half of what Sam went on and on about, but she couldn’t find it in herself to interrupt their enthusiastic narration. There was something almost…calming about it, in a strange way.

Halfway through a monologue about a fancy fruit bowl’s significance in belonging to the ruler of a now-dead civilization, Sam stopped themselves. “Sorry,” they mumbled sheepishly. “I know I’m going on and on. I just haven’t had anyone to talk to like this in a while.”

Danny chuckled lightly. “No, you’re fine. I guess this beats cleaning floors.” She chewed idly on her bottom lip as she considered the rest of what Sam said. “Have you and Christopher…really been alone here? He doesn’t, like, invite people over or anything? No family?”

The cart began to roll down the hallway, although it moved at a much more somber pace than before. “Christopher’s parents died a long time ago. He doesn’t have any other family. And, well…you can imagine how hesitant most people are to visit the home of a giant.” 

The wind that whistled quietly outside sounded eerily like Sam sighing. “He’s been alone here for a long time.” 

“Sounds lonely as fuck,” Danny muttered. Sam didn't reply, but she could feel a silent weight to the air that felt like agreement. 

Her face scrunched up in confusion. “How did that even happen, anyways? Him being a giant? How does he like…get out and walk around?”

“Uh…somewhat complicated to answer, but the long and short of it is that Christopher can’t leave the house. It’s a…spell. The same one that makes it look small from the outside.”

Danny didn’t think she was going to get a better answer on why there was a giant living out in the middle of the woods. Her thoughts turned to something almost bordering sympathy—thinking of how miserable it must be to be stuck out here by yourself, not even able to leave your house. Even if your house was this massive and full of so many comforts most people could never dream of. From her perspective, already dwarfed by the smallest of things in it, the mansion started to seem…lonely. 

Her mind then turned to how such a thing would work on a practical level. “How does he get food, if he can’t leave the house? Do people, like, deliver stuff here?” 

Sam’s next pause somehow seemed a little more awkward than the ones before. “The kitchen is actually magically stocked. But, uh, giants don’t really need to eat food like most people do, so it’s a little useless unless we have guests. Like you!” 

So I’ve been eating…magical grapes? She shook her head, almost distracting herself from a stranger revelation. “He doesn’t need to eat at all?” 

“Nope.” 

“...huh.” Danny wasn’t exactly learned in science, but something about that notion didn’t make sense to her. “How is that even possible?” she asked the temporarily sentient trolley cart who she was riding on through the massive hallways of a magical, giant mansion. 

The cart shrugged as much as such a thing could. “Don’t ask me. That’s just how it works.”

After that, the conversation diverted to much more mundane things, and Sam became much more interested in explaining things not related to giants—like the identity of a heavily mustached man in a painting further down the hall, and the fabric that the rug beneath them was made of coming from some far-off land, and actually it was quite a funny story how the family came into possession of it, and it all started with a dispute over chicken ownership—

Danny listened along, even though she couldn’t help but feel as though there was something in the conversation earlier that Sam had tried to avoid—she just couldn’t figure out what. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Next chapter ->

Sam's not done with the tour yet! Do you think they'd pass up an opportunity to force Christopher and Danny to interact? Just wait for next week's chapter 8, Judging by the Cover!

Thank you for reading!

[isilwhore]

Maedhros & Maglor Week - Day 3

Two drabbles for @maedhrosmaglorweek :

Maedhros struggles with the half-written message beneath his fist. Maglor watches, yet hesitates to offer help. His brother will ask if needed. He rarely does.

“You are very persuasive, Nelyo. Do not fret over each and every word!”

“How do you do it? How do you create beautiful verses that leap from page to one’s heart and mind?”

“I write what I feel,” he answers. “Then out it flows, like the mightiest of rivers.”

Maedhros flinches, his eyes turn dark. “Some feelings have no language and thus can never be spoken,” and he crumples the paper with his one hand.

****

And, because things often get way too depressing for them, a little bit of happiness during more peaceful times:

“I am honored you have invited me to this feast,” Maglor whispers, a smile betraying his latent joy.

“Well Káno, you will not cause any embarrassment. Or start arguments. And your talents are appreciated at such gatherings.”

“Ah yes, I am merely here to sing,” he exhales an exaggerated, playful sigh and Maedhros laughs. That is the best music, he realizes; his brother finally laughing again, the clink of glasses raising hopeful toasts, the strum of his harp.

If only the rest of our brothers were tame enough to join, he thinks. Then everyone would surely be entertained. Or offended.

[hauntingcryptids]

Soft Spot In The Hearts Of A Murderer

Simm!Master x Reader

Summary - The reader has a panic attack after hearing people being killed day after day on The Valiant, and The Master comforts them.

Based On This Request - Anonymous requested - “Hi! May I ask for a soft fic with The Master where they hypnotise The Reader?”

Warnings -The Year That Never Was, The Reader has a panic attack/anxiety attack, hypnotism, hypnotism without consent, canon typical violence

Word Count - 1095

A/n - Gender Neutral Reader. Requested by this lovely anon. I will link the other fics inspired by this request HERE, if you would like to read them. I hope that you enjoy!

------------------------------------------------------------

For some reason, The Master allowed you to roam the halls of The Valient unaccompanied, maybe with the supervision of a guard or two, but usually, you could just go your merry way around the ship. However, you rarely ever did this. You never wanted to see what was occurring on the Earth down below, you didn’t want to see the Toclafane unleash a flurry of lasers onto Humanity, and you didn’t want to see what The Master had done to any of your friends. 

You were a coward. Or, at least, you thought that. Martha was Gods-know-where, her family were being used, and everyone aboard was being tortured and degraded, except for you. And you couldn’t do anything to stop The Master because you were so crippled with fear.

The past couple of days you have been staying in your room all instead of roaming The Valiant on occasion. You assumed that no one would notice your absence. Unbeknownst to you, though, The Master was causing hell to everyone around him whenever he didn’t see you. He constantly tried to escape the day’s plans, but apparently destroying the planet Earth and scouring it for a “fugitive” was difficult and time-consuming work. But eventually, the day was mostly over, and The Master was free to spend some time with you, just in time for dinner.

The Master made his way past random Valiant guards and security toward your room. He thought about what he would order for dinner in order to impress you, which he desperately wanted to do. He had absolutely no idea about how you were feeling or why you were absent today. But if he had been aware, he would’ve spent the entire day trying to cheer you up and make you feel special.

A gentle knock on your door startled you away from your anxious mind. You thought that you might just ignore it, as it was probably just a guard. But then there was another set of knocking, and you noticed the rhythm. Was it like that before? You couldn’t tell. And again: knock knock knock knock. You rushed to the door, worried that you had waited too long and now The Master would be upset with you. You had never seen him upset with you, but he always seemed upset when he was with someone else. He would probably be upset with you at some point, so why not now. 

You opened the door tentatively.

“Ah! Y/n, it’s lovely to finally see you.” The Master smiled at you, but his eyes looked clouded with latent rage. You cursed yourself. You should have gone out of your room today to see him. 

“I missed you today.” The Master up again when you didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise. We all have reclusive days. I just hope that I haven’t done anything wrong to worsen your mood.” The Master entered your room without asking you and instantly began looking around. He actually wasn’t trying to be intrusive, he just wanted to get to know you better. And maybe if he knew you better, then he would know the best way to get you to love him.

“No, no of course you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Y/n.” The Master suddenly stopped looking through the bookshelf he had gifted you, trying to see which books you have read, and he turned to face you.

“I don’t know what -”

“I know that my presence here hasn’t been the most comforting. I have destroyed your planet and terrorized your people and I have, frankly, been a right menace aboard The Valiant, especially when there are some political manoeuvres that I have to plan. All I am saying is that I would completely understand why you would hate me, Y/n.” It almost looked as if The Master’s eyes softened as he spoke, but you assumed that it was a trick of the light.

You didn’t know how to respond. You wanted to say something brave, something calling out The Master’s horrible behaviour, but nothing formed because your anxiety seemed to be controlling everything at the moment. You were too scared that this was all a trap and that The Master would kill you after you revealed your true feelings. But then a rolling thunder sounded around The Valiant.

“What was that?”

“Oh, just the evening patrol.” The Master nonchalantly responded. 

You felt your chest tighten. You immediately thought of Martha. What if this was the moment she was caught and killed? You could have done so much during your time aboard this ship, yet you did nothing. 

The Master was saying something, but you couldn’t hear him over the thumping of your heartbeat in your ears. Your breath began to quicken and heave. You suddenly felt incredibly dizzy, and the room looked like it was spinning. You tried to move to a nearby chair, but you missed the seat and stumbled onto the ground. You heard The Master calling your name, but you were unable to respond; you were far too focused on the anxiety attack you were having and the horrible thoughts circling around your mind.

“Hey. No. Don’t do that. Everything is going to be fine, sweetheart.” You shook your head ‘no’. Things did not feel fine. The Master joined you on the floor and stroked your arms and face soothingly. He hated seeing you like this. Is this how you acted when he wasn’t around? Did he cause you to be in this much pain? The Master never wanted you to hide anything from him, even your bad thoughts. The Master just wanted to comfort you and know the real you.

“Look into my eyes. Everything will be calmer in a moment.” The Master held your face softly in his hands and brushed his thumbs across your temples. You met the commanding alien's gaze tentatively. His eyes were beautiful; they were a warm brown with green specks and waves rolling through his irises. You never noticed that before.

A calm rushed over you. You were no longer plagued by the thoughts of Martha dying or that you were not being brave enough or that you were not being a good companion to The Doctor. You were so calm and relaxed in fact that you felt your body grow limper. You fell into The Master’s chest. He brought two of his fingers to your chin and gently moved your face to look at him.

“Now, tell your Master what’s wrong, sweetheart.”

[ettena088]

I wanted to share the beginning of the fourth chapter of my fanfic "Love Begins with Disquiet," which I hope to have time to publish soon. 😸😸😸

I want to clarify that during the story, Jax and Ragatha are already adults; this is simply a memory.

Between Crowns and Hearts

Twelve years ago...

The grand hall of the Rabbiton castle was alive with energy. The lights from the enormous golden chandeliers illuminated every corner, reflecting off the marble walls and the faces of the nobles who had already begun to dance. Joyful music resonated in the air, while laughter and chatter filled the empty spaces between the notes. It was a splendid celebration, an event organized to honor Prince Jax's tenth birthday. Ragatha, at just 18 years old, watched the scene from a corner of the hall, feeling a mix of exhaustion and latent envy.

"Where could he be?" she wondered, as her eyes scanned the crowd for any sign of the prince. The bustling dance floor did little to distract her from her thoughts. This was the second event in less than a year dedicated to Jax, and although she understood the importance of his position, she couldn't shake off a twinge of jealousy. "I never had a celebration like this," she reflected. Her coming-of-age had passed without much fanfare—just a family dinner, something she accepted with resignation but still weighed on her during nights like this.

She sighed, pushing a strand of hair from her face. Queenie, Jax's mother, had personally asked her to go find him when they noticed his absence at the beginning of the party. Ragatha had bent to refuse, searching for an excuse. "She could send a servant," she thought, but quickly dismissed the idea. She knew both her father, King Kinger, and Queenie had an intention behind their request. They were aware of the tense relationship she maintained with Jax and always found ways to make them spend time together, hoping that the coldness between them would lighten with time.

She couldn't disappoint them. Kinger, her father, had always expected the best from her, and Queenie... Queenie treated her with a warmth she deeply valued, almost as if she were a second mother. It was for them that Ragatha always tried to improve things with Jax, no matter how much he irritated her.

As she walked through the halls in search of the prince, Ragatha spotted Queenie and Kinger chatting in a corner of the hall, away from the bustle. They seemed relaxed, as if their mere presence was enough to enjoy the moment. She smiled at seeing her father so happy, but that brief moment of peace quickly faded when she remembered her mission.

"It should be him taking care of these things," she murmured to herself, recalling Jax's ungrateful attitude. "All these guests, this whole party, and he doesn't even have the decency to show up. If it were up to me, I'd be enjoying the dance, not searching for him all over the castle."

Ragatha's footsteps echoed loudly in the empty hallway as she continued her search for Jax. Though she didn't want to admit it, her father's and Queenie's words always weighed on her shoulders. No matter how difficult it was to get along with Jax, she tried to keep the peace, hoping that one day he would relent as well. But the reality was that Jax seemed uninterested in improving their relationship. And now, while all the guests danced and laughed in his honor, he was hiding somewhere in the castle, oblivious to it all.

Finally, she reached the library, the place where Jax usually took refuge to avoid social commitments. As she expected, there he was, sitting on the floor between the bookshelves, a look of annoyance on his face that made it clear he had no intention of attending the dance. Ragatha paused at the door, watching him for a moment before stepping inside.

"Ah, there you are," Ragatha said wearily. "Your mother asked me to find you. The dance has already started."

Jax slowly looked up, frowning at her.

"And so what? I have no intention of going to that stupid dance," he replied, crossing his arms with a disdainful look.

Ragatha felt her patience wearing thin. She knew arguing with Jax would only make things worse, but she couldn't help feeling emotionally drained. She stepped a little closer to him, a mix of determination and frustration in her eyes.

"It's your birthday, Jax. All of this is for you. At least you could have the courtesy to show up and thank the guests. It's the least you could do."

Jax glared at her, and then responded with contempt.

"I don't care. All those idiots are here because they have to be. I didn’t ask them to come. Why should I care about them? And even less about what you think."

Those last words hurt more than Ragatha wanted to admit, but she knew losing her temper would only give him more reasons not to cooperate. She pressed her lips together before speaking again, this time in a softer but firmer tone.

"Look, I know you don't like this, but believe me when I say I would give anything to have a dance like this in my honor. An event where everyone gathers just to celebrate my life, to be with me and rejoice for me." She paused, trying to hold back the bitterness she felt as she said those words. "I’ve never had anything like this organized for me."

Jax looked at her, apparently surprised by her confession, but tried to hide any sign of empathy.

"Well, that's too bad," he replied sarcastically. "But it has nothing to do with me."

Ragatha sighed, tired of his attitude. She was about to give up, but she remembered her father and Queenie and decided to give it one last push.

"I'm not doing this for me, Jax. I'm doing it for you." She held his gaze, showing him she wasn't playing. "You don't have to stay long. Just come out, greet the guests, and say thank you. I promise you can disappear afterward if you prefer, but at least show up. It's the least you could do."

Jax watched her with suspicion, but after a moment, he shrugged.

"Do I really not have to dance?" he asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.

Ragatha smiled slightly.

"I promise. Just greet them, and then you can do whatever you want."

Jax sighed, knowing he had no way out, and finally nodded.

"Fine, but only for a little while."

Ragatha smiled.

"That's all I ask of you."

As they walked back to the hall, Ragatha couldn't help but think about how exhausting all of this was. Despite her efforts to connect with Jax, he continued to reject her, as if the mere thought of spending time with her were torture. "One day he will change," she told herself, though deep down, she wasn't so sure. But for the sake of her father and the affection she had for Queenie, she would keep trying.

However, as they crossed the door to the hall and the music filled their ears again, a small part of her couldn't help but think about how, despite all her efforts, she had never had a dance like this organized for her.

[leggerefiore]

could you by any chance do a colress x reader where colress is comforting reader about I don't know something (sfw ig)

cw: comfort, light hurt, short

pairing: Colress/Reader

Colress struggled with many things when he broke away from his interest in his research or engineering. He was blessed with a highly analytical mind that demanded nothing but the utmost focus on his beloved research in bringing out the potential in pokemon. His intelligence had given both many opportunities and just as many dangers. His ability to force away his emotions and instead focus solely on whatever related to his current fascination.

He was never the sort to slow down and focus too much on those around him.

It was what made this situation awkward and painful for him. Returning back to his home after having disappeared off to a private caller's request for his talents, he had realised that he had forgotten to tell you far too late. It had only been a week, sure, but without even a message, it was clear that you had assumed the worst.

You sat on the couch in the small living quarters, clutching one of his spare shirts and sobbing into it. Judging by the small mess around the room, you had likely been in that state for a day or two. He swallowed. What could you possibly be thinking? Your gaze weakly met his after sensing that there was someone else in the room. A sob left you at that sight of him. Rubbing your reddened eyes, you dropped his shirt and looked ready to collapse.

Colress walked over slowly, taking a seat beside you and coming to support you awkwardly as your body shook from your cries. He felt strange… A feeling much like the one he had felt at the fall of Team Plasma. He tried not to consider his emotions too much, as he worried they may get in his way. With you, however, it felt cruel. His gloved hand came to your cheek gently, thumb rubbing against it to remove any excess tears.

“… Ah, this is my fault,” he spoke in a quiet tone, his usual confidence and pride subdued, “I'm sorry, my love. My sudden disappearance must have worried you… What with international police still after me.” You leaned against him, smelling his oddly sterile scent. It was calming, a factor that confirmed that he was, without a doubt, himself. He allowed you to bury your face into his chest. His heart felt heavy. “That was entirely my fault. I was far too excited by the job offering that I simply forgot to tell you… I take full responsibility here,” it felt strange to say those words. Your hand came to grip his arm tightly. He hummed.

… This bond he had with you… He truly could not understand it at times. You were deeply important to him. Perhaps, like the bond he explores between pokemon and trainers, there must be something like that between you and him. “I doubt I'll have any on site work for a while,” he told you softly, bringing another hand to rub your back, “Let's spend a few days together.” He did not want to take a break from work, but it would be too cruel to leave you in such a state.

You finally pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes. His ever present smile was on his lips.

“... Please don't leave like that again…” you whispered quietly. He felt the corners of his lips fall.

“I promise that I will tell you the next time I take a far away job,” he reassured you and leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek.

He only felt relieved again when you have him a weak smile.

Colress had a new point of research, it seemed.

Perhaps you could bring out more of his latent potential.

[charlottedabookworm]

#7 - Morsel

feat Nadir

this one came really easy which is great cos i'm working all of tomorrow so wouldn't have had any time to write

anyway i'm off to make bad life decisions and watch criminal minds at 9pm before i go to bed

“Are you interested in arcana, perchance?”

“My apologies,” Nadir says, blinking slowly as he pulls himself away from the search for even the slightest morsel of information on the great wyrm Midgardsormr, previous Calamities, or transformation of a beings aether. “A guild-member said that I was free to use the library here, if that was incorrect-”

The roegadyn laughs and waves a hand. “Our library is open to all, no apologies are necessary. I simply meant that when I find someone as intensely interested in devouring our books, they are aspiring mages.”

He frowns. “I already am a mage.”

“Oh?” The roegadyn woman blinks at him. “I do not recognise your face so you have not studied the art of arcanum, but you have no focus with you; did you study thaumaturgy or conjury?”

Thaumaturgy? Conjury? Arcanum? These Eorzean’s are so odd. “I am a mage,” he says again, stressing the word. Perhaps it does not mean the same thing here as it does at home?

His companion stares at him before she seats herself in front of him at the small table, leaning forward with a light of curiosity in her eyes. “Ah, I see. I so often forget that the terms we use to classify our mages are not universal.” She pauses, looking at him, before nodding. “In brief: thaumaturgy is sorcery cast through ones own latent aether, using a scepter or stave; while conjury calls upon the elemental forces of nature itself. Conjurers more typically use wands or canes as focuses for their magic and, unlike thaumaturgy, conjury is also used for healing.”

“What of arcanum?”

Her face lights up, just as any alchemist of the Great Work when asked about their experiments. “Arcanum is the art we teach here in Limsa Lominsa! It uses a technique hailing from the Southern Seas to produce symbols of power based around geometry. As such, we use grimoires as our focuses; our magic is reliant upon the written word, using our own aether to power the symbols.”

“I give you my thanks for your explanation,” he says, his mind whirling like a summer storm. “It is fascinating to see how you classify magic here in Eorzea.”

“It is no problem,” she says, still eying him curiously. “May I ask which school you would follow?”

Nadir blinks. “I follow none of them.” He leans back in his chair. “We do not segregate magic as you seem to: I cannot heal as you say your conjurers can, but I am as likely to cast using the elements as I am to cast from my own aether. In my home, I am simply an offensive mage.”

“Fascinating.” His companion says. She leans forward further still, perched more on the table than the chair now, when the sound of yelling tumbles down the stairs.

“Thubyrgeim!” Someone calls distantly.

His companion sighs. “I am afraid duty calls,” she says, beginning to stand. “If you have time, I would love to continue this discussion another time…?” Her voice trails off.

Neither of them had introduced themselves.

He can feel his parents berating him for his rudeness. “Apologies, I am Nadir bin Pashe. I would love to continue this discussion.” he tells her, truly.

Nadir would love learn more of this arcanum, it sounds similar to some of the mages at home who could cast with just drawn images, but with glyphs instead? He had always been interested in learning to cast from drawing but there had never been time.

He has time now.

And if he can learn these Eorzean magics, it will aid him in protecting his people.

[p5x-theories]

The Thief holds him with that power, looking over the blue flame as if he didn’t just preform something meant to be impossible and then get away with it.

Trapped in said blue flame, Arsene seethes. The righteous fury  he was born from returns in full force, but he shouldn’t lash out without knowing his spell will hit.

A red-gloved finger touches him. The blue flames sharply shift to black and red, biting the finger that dares touch him.

“Ow!” hisses the Thief, dropping the power that holds him captive. He holds himself together, rolling on the floor as if he was an actual ball as he draws strength from the cognition around them.

Surprised by your weakness to Curse, Thief?

[I’m putting the rest of this under a cut, just because it’s a little on the longer side!]

The Thief frowns, blowing on the burnt fingers. He has no strength left despite the fury that boils in his veins, but the Thief doesn’t pick him back up.

“..useless.” the Thief whispers. Arsene has never been so happy to hear that word.

With a sharp kick, Arsene is tossed aside. They’re not in the Casino for whatever reason, but instead the deck of a ship (he’d bet its the palace of a politician. all the same regardless of the century), and so he rolls into the cognition sea.

He sinks, and sinks, and sinks.

LOADING…

When Arsene bothers to open his nonexistent eyes, he’s in Mementos.He listens, and hears one voice he doesn’t know, and the voice of the Thief.

The cognition soup around him is.. odd. He can dip into the latent power that built this place too easily for it to be natural.

Only slightly wary of the unknown, he manifests: the form of the Trickster instead of his own, complete with his own false mask and blade. If the Thief ever seeks to bend him to his will, he will pay a steep price for it.

Around the corner, he finds those whose voices he heard: the Thief, and a creature similar to Morgana-an owl. They struggle with multiple shadows with either physical resistance or high agility, trying to ration their SP despite the trouble they’re in.

…the Thief has a mask, and it is different from the mask he wore to ambush the Trickster. His grip on his blade is the one of a novice, using a gun formed from cognition instead of one from Reality, he summons a persona-unlike during the ambush.

Arsene has nothing but contempt for the one who (did? will?) ripped him away, rendering the Trickster a sitting duck for their enemies as he puts his mind back together, perfectly content to turn his back and leave them to their deaths.The Trickster would try to reach out-hoping that, perhaps, he can veer this novice off the path of corruption and killing for the sake of killing because no one can catch you.

Arsene steps from his hiding place and strikes down the wave, finishing with the shadow cornering the boy who isn’t the Thief, yet.

“More are coming.” he says, once the boy acknowledges his presence. “One large strike should cut all of them down.” he notes, watching as more appear.

The boy summons his persona, and Arsene falsifies a manifestation, using a hollow shell of his true form to channel his magic. Bless magic mixes with Curse, and they strike.

..ah.

The tailcoats of the Trickster’s protective suit are fading, just like cognitions did once destroyed. One single burst of low-tier Curse magic, and this form is unravelling.

So that is the price of so easily accessing Mementos’ raw cognition.

Before this body collapses back into nothing, he manages to say a word or two to the boy who isn’t the Thief.

[ashiemochi]

anubussy - viii

✠ Anubussy ↳ sorry, i don't want your touch ↳↳ it's not that i don't want you

➶ pairing: OC x Leon S(exy) Kennedy. ➶ genre: fluff, more angst, gore, longer smut/suggestive themes ➶ word count: no

NOTE: ✠ = time skip ✠✠ = switching povs/characters

prev -> next

Science was never So Ah’s forte, which was ironic because her family were the CEO of one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies – Green Life. 

So, when Chris had Rebecca’s laptop on and open on all the information about the virus – not a single coherent thought was in her head. 

All she knew was that the virus had two strains; the latent virus, and the trigger virus. 

But she was good at one thing other than art – maps.

Chris was seated on the ground of the aircraft and Leon was on his left, leaning down a little to view the laptop. The Han girl was in the middle, also leaning down with her hands pressed against her knees, using them as leverage.

“Wait…” So Ah muttered then she asked Chris, “Can you show me the map again?”

He gave her a small nod and did as told, and Leon looked over at her expectantly. 

“These are the attacks that happened, right?” She asked, pointing at all the marks Rebecca had pinned, “Look how they’re all concentrated around the lake, that’d explain why Arias has a drinking water company – to spread the latent virus.”

“Told you you’d be useful.” Chris chimed, earning a smack on the back of his head from her.

“If what Rebecca said is true, and this thing can lay dormant inside people…” Leon trailed away, obvious unease in his tone, “God knows how many are infected.”

“The trigger must be in some gas form,” So Ah added, recalling Rebecca and Chris filling the DSO agent in at the hotel, looking up at Leon who looked back at her.

“That’s right,” He agreed with her, “If the trigger’s airborne, it’s harder to control where it goes or who gets it.”

“Then Arias has to be using some kind of vaccine.” So Ah theorized.

“Uhuh,” Leon nodded, a grin twitching at the corner of his lips, “And that’s how he controls the spread of an outbreak.”

The girl snapped her fingers, almost smiling, “He vaccinates anyone he doesn’t want infected first –”

“Which makes for a more accurate weapon.” Leon ended.

Whilst they were rubbing their single brain cell together, their bodies moved subconsciously closer, reminiscing the time they had spent together. It slipped their mind that Chris was in the same room as them.

The BSAA operator watched both of them agree and converse with one another, their old lives before the seven months break seeping through. That shine in her eyes and the glint in his, with a subtle smile on both of their faces. 

“Could we keep the lovey-dovey moments till after we take Arias down?” Chris piped up, causing So Ah to jolt in surprise, and she straightened up.

Leon didn’t move much, just cleared his throat and looked away, “Nothing’s happening, Chris.”

“Sure, there isn’t, Romeo,” He joked, shaking his head when So Ah’s cheeks were obviously a deeper shade of red, then he changed topic for the sake of not getting another smack at the back of his head.

“You got that guy’s phone?”

“Yeah, hold on,” Leon blinked, reaching into his pocket to pull out the bloody phone, and he took the memory card out, “Arias must be planning something big – and Patricio knew way too much about it.”

Then his voice dropped a tone, showing him the card, “That’s why he was killed.”

He popped it into the laptop and a small window appeared, indicating it was reading and opening the files. 

Chris glanced over his shoulder, seeing the girl had trailed off to look out the window, and he looked back at Leon. He was already looking over at his wife.

“You should talk to her.” Chris advised, keeping his voice to a murmur, “You never know what she could tell you.”

“You got her back into this.” Leon snapped his eyes to him, “You knew where she’s been this whole time… Didn’t you?”

Chris shut his eyes for a moment to release a sigh then he reopened them, “Not really. I only just found her yesterday.”

“Where?”

“Leon–”

“Don’t keep things from me, Chris.” Leon growled, “Especially if it’s about my wife.”

Leon stilled at the word coming out of his mouth; my wife. Even after almost a year of radio silence, his mind was still wired to believe she was his wife. Sure, they didn’t divorce as her disappearance was sudden – but still, Leon didn’t think it was fair.

To still want her after leaving him.

Chris noticed his surprised look, ticking his head to the side with a faint grin on his lips.

“It’s not my place to speak for her.” Chris said quietly, picking up on the growing footsteps behind him.

So Ah stopped in between them, picking up on the strange silence, and she blinked, confused, “Is everything okay?”

“Just saving the world again,” Leon muttered sarcastically, straightening up when the files opened.

Chris’ eyes scanned it, lips parting in shock, “He’s gonna use the trigger virus on New York?”

“That’s what it looks like,” Leon added, grimly.

“He’s insane…” So Ah whispered; seriously, how do people like him sleep at night?

As if you’re any different.

Leon narrowed his eyes down a little, reading the last sentence out loud, “If the outbreak is deemed uncontrollable, the tanks labelled with a green A contain the vaccine and are ready to deploy… Location classified…”

“All we have to do is find that stuff and we can change everyone back,” Chris concluded.

So Ah brought her hand up to the back of her neck, questioning, “But where would he keep it?”

“Someplace he can get to fast,” Chris looked at her, “Someplace secure.”

Leon released a faint scoff as if it just hit him, “His hideout in New York.”

Chris gave him a firm nod, “I bet we’ll find Rebecca there too.”

So Ah sighed softly, shoulders slouching. The chip was bugging her more than usual. The sharp shots were getting frequent, trying to reboot the tracker but something told her that the pathogen itself was hindering that. 

The virus was protecting its host, after all.

She moved up to the pilot’s room, leaving the two men behind, “DC, how long till we get to our destination?” 

“About four hours – more or less.” He replied.

“You got somewhere to be?” Leon asked, a hardened stare in his eyes.

Chris internally wanted to slap the back of his head. That wasn’t what he meant by you should talk to her.

So Ah grew nervous, looking back at him with a subtle shrug, “No. Just… Curious.”

Four hours on the same plane as him – how was she going to cope?

Damn Piers.

✠

The Silver Dagger team members were preparing themselves, along with Leon and So Ah.

Chris was making sure his rifle was ready and loaded, checking on the bullets. Nadia was by the intercoms, trying to gather more police to handle the situation or at least help them out. Damian had the laptop out, making sure he could locate where the trucks would be.

Leon was sitting on Nadia’s side of the bench, his gun in hand and the magazine in the other. He was leaning his arms down on his upper knees, silent. Through the fringes of his dark hair, he observed the girl right across from him.

So Ah still had the Matilda he had gifted her. It was a bit strange, knowing her speciality was behind a sniper rifle. Unless that fancy-looking one in the corner wasn't hers, she really adored the handgun for its simplicity and preferred it over her signature weapon.

Besides, using a sniper rifle in close combat with zombies wasn’t a smart idea.

Other than that, she was quiet, her eyes hidden behind her long bangs. For a minute, he thought she had fallen asleep but she twitched when Chris’ voice came.

“Everybody get a dose of Rebecca’s vaccine?” Chris asked his team, earning a nod from Leon and So Ah, and a thumbs up from the rest, “Good.”

Chris turned to Nadia, “What’s the status on the reinforcements?”

“BSAA and N.Y.P.D SWAT are on the ground in the thick of it.” Nadia informed apprehensively, “The state police won’t get there for another three hours!”

“So that means we have to nab Arias all by ourselves,” Leon mused, the gun letting out a click when he pushed the magazine into its slot, “Fantastic.”

“Yo, the signal’s getting worse!” Damian pipped in, looking over at his captain.

So Ah stayed in her seat, barely turning her heavy head to the others who gathered around the laptop. 

“They’re using tanker trucks to spray the virus.” Chris said, eyes on the screen.

“He’s not trying to turn a couple thousand,” Leon added, “He’s trying to turn them all.”

“We need to take out those tankers.”

Ugh. Just what she needed.

Her blood boiled but not out of anger – the pathogen in her was still attempting to get rid of the chip in some way. It sent hot flashes down her neck and made her head loll. Usually, she’d sleep it off and give the virus full control to deal with the defect. 

Similar to when she’d have to inject Midodrine – EN-0X – and faint, allowing the substance to take over.

Maybe falling asleep was only making it worse, but really, she’d give anything to stop feeling this way.

“Professor Chambers’ research says the virus can’t handle heat.” DC said through the intercom, “It’s got the same flash point as gasoline.” 

That made So Ah’s ears comically perk up like a dog – fire?

Finally, something to release some steam.

“Perfect, let’s light a match – watch it burn." Leon announced and then turned to the girl in the corner, remembering her strange obsession with fire, “Whaddya say, Han?”

So Ah gave him a clearly feebly smile and a thumbs up, “Right with you, Kennedy.”

Leon instantly noticed the hidden pained look on her face, his brows furrowing for a split second before Chris came in.

“I wish we could get to Rebecca first, but the priority is those tankers.” He voiced his concern but knew it was either one life or millions.

“Alright, so we got three things to do,” Leon started, his authoritative tone showing from years of being the leader of his units, “One, blow up the tankers. Two, get Rebecca. Three, grab the vaccine and deploy it on the city.”

“And grab Arias.” Chris added, “Four things.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Chris ordered, “DC, Nadia, you guys work from the Osprey, we’ll handle the rest.” 

“Roger that, C.”

After a while, So Ah could recognize the buildings outside the window. It was only a matter of time before they’d land and would have to jump into action. It was a little funny; Leon gets picked out of his vacations while she gets picked up from her murder spree.

Having a vacation didn’t sound too bad, right now.

Pushing a hair strand behind her ear, she chose to check her bullets one last time.

Leon couldn’t help but admire her. The more he gazes at her, the stronger the urge to do something incredibly stupid gets. It wasn’t necessarily a bad urge – more like, not the right time. His eyes trailed down to her hands, noticing the black gloves. 

He didn’t know if she was still wearing the ring. The sleeves of her knitted jacket covered half of her hands, including her knuckles. Leon knew he was wearing his, though.

So Ah didn’t feel his stare, her mind clouded with everything as she took out her phone. Leaning down onto her knee with her hand going to the back of her neck, she held her phone in the other, having received a text from none other than Piers Nivans.

God, she hated when he’d be right. If she much even shows that she agrees with him, he wouldn’t let her live it down for weeks. 

Annoyed, So Ah put her phone back into her pocket and leaned against her seat with a sigh.

Leon observed his gun for a second, having looked away the moment she locked her phone. He spared her a look and that was when she finally noticed his eyes. He nodded his head at her, gesturing to when she had the phone.

“Worried folks?” Leon asked.

So Ah huffed a little, “In a sense, yeah. I haven’t visited them in a while.”

“Sure,” He nodded, “With the BSAA’s keeping tabs on you, you’ll barely have room to breathe.”

“Yeah…” She trailed away, tapping her finger lightly on her gun, “The DSO is still the same I see.”

Leon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side, “Are you saying I look horrible?”

“What? No, no, you just…” She blinked, shaking her head, worry laced with her voice, “You look tired.”

“Well,” He let out a heavy exhale, “I was on a vacation.”

Sympathy was evident in her eyes when she spoke, shifting in her seat a bit, “I’m sorry… About your mission in DC.”

Leon crossed his arms with a slight nod, leaning back whilst looking at her tiredly, “It’s no surprise. Just gotta put on a strong face and move forward, right?”

She frowned deeply at that, looking down at her hands. She should’ve been there for him. He was suffering for the longest time and whenever he has no one to turn to, alcohol was the way. Her guilt settled like a rock in the bottom of her heart.

Leon was well aware of her reminders to lessen his excessive drinking habit. Things were finally looking up when she was actively helping him with it, finding alternatives to do like drinking a regular beverage or something as simple as talking it out. It was harder after a mission when he’d lose civilians. 

That was when she’d find him by the kitchen counter, a bottle in hand and a glass cup in the other. It never bothered her, going up to him to have him lean into her embrace, slurring his frustrations away. 

So Ah knew what she was getting into when she first knew about this habit – just like he was aware of her constant tendency to never fucking talk.

“Your… Your headaches,” Her voice came out soft, returning her eyes to his, “Is it… Do you still get them?”

Leon’s brows twitched in the middle a bit, clearly indicating the pounding in his head. His hands tightened on his arms briefly, giving her a single nod, “Mhm.”

“You said you’d stop…” She reminded in a quiet tone and the gentleness in his blueblue eyes disappeared.

His lips parted, incredulous as he scoffed in disbelief, “You’re unbelievable and so goddamn clueless, aren’t you?”

Her eyes widened lightly, not expecting that, “What… What does that mean?”

Something nagged her in the back of her head; she had been gone for nearly a year, and one of the first things she did was lecture him. She was stepping out of line.

“What’s the point of explaining it – you said it yourself,” Leon said as if nonchalant – which hurt even more – and turned his head to the side, “After this shitshow is settled, you go back to your life and I go back to mine.” 

Then he gave her a dry side look, “Don’t worry about the papers, I’ll have them sent to wherever you are.”

Her heart was ripped apart, the boulder of guilt settling heavily in her stomach. It made her want to vomit her last night’s lunch. She wasn’t going to argue with him and tell him how he should react to her returning – he had every right to cut her off even.

She only deeply hoped he’d listen. Even so, she’d prefer him safe and away rather than in danger and close. Her heart squeezed painfully into itself and she found it hard to swallow.

No.

She won’t cry now.

She had no right to cry.