#anyway. this is obviously a flattering problem to have and it's probably nothing but.. i get anxious about this sort of thing

[starflungwaddledee]

i just want to make a tiny mention of this, but i've noticed lately that even excluding asks i'm starting to struggle to stay on top of responding to everything. i'm not sure if there's been an uptick in interactions (i think so), or if it's just that my cfs is kicking my ass more (it's also this)

and i'm so so grateful and i read and love every comment and engagement, but i can't always think of things to say in response! i also get very nervous if i leave something a few days without responding because i then feel kind of embarrassed to respond to it so late 😭💦

i'll still continue to do my best to get back to everyone where i can, but if i don't respond it's nothing personal! i'm just a little swamped haha 😅

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for tabetharasa behind the cut; alpha Jazz, a dark alley, and a very pretty omega. ( + non-chrono link for mobile users )

Jazz has no idea why Red Hood thinks he smells anything but delicious, but there’s a very reckless and dubiously-ethical part of her that would be willing to prove it to him. Not that she would, obviously, because that would be, again, incredibly unethical and highly inappropriate and also a total dick move. 

She just could, that’s all. Just if it came up or whatever. 

“Well, it’s not,” she says, mildly put out by whatever’s going on here, and Red Hood growls. His scent blockers continue to be useless. Just–absolutely useless, yes. 

Ancients, he smells so good. What is she even supposed to do about how good this omega smells? 

Maybe offer to walk him home, or at least offer him her jacket so he has enough alpha scent on him that no one bothers him on his way back to his den. Although he’s a crime lord–or a vigilante? one or the other, whatever–who’s built like a truck, so that probably isn’t really a concern, she supposes. 

Then again, some people seriously do have no sense of decorum. 

Or survival instincts. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Red Hood snaps. Jazz frowns. That seems like a disproportionate amount of anger in his tone. Maybe he's sensitive about his pheromones. Well, if people have been telling him he smells like death . . . 

Though “death” doesn't necessarily smell bad, in Jazz's opinion. 

Admittedly, that's a liminal's opinion and besides the point anyway. But still. 

“Alright,” she says. “But can you get to your den safely? Or . . . somewhere you can den down, anyway, I don't know. I assume you have a headquarters or a safehouse or two, something like that. Or at least can afford a heat hotel or know a decent clinic.” 

Red Hood hisses at her. It crackles through his modulator, but the sound of it still makes her jeans a little . . . uncomfortable, she'll just say. Sue her, she likes omegas with a bite to them. Johnny 13 definitely didn't win her over by being the sweet and polite type; he won her over by being a blunt asshole in a leather jacket who'd convinced her that he was a sincere and straight-up person. 

She wonders how “sincere” the average Gotham crime boss really is, but it’s a little difficult to concentrate on that question with the scent of old books and burning cedar filling up her nose. And also that note of lilac. That note of lilac is a problem. 

A serious problem. 

“I realize heat drop is probably imminent and you must be uncomfortable, but it’s a valid concern on my part, given your condition,” she says, which normally she’d make sound politely disapproving but really can’t make sound any kind of disapproving right now. Again: the lilac. “So can you?” 

“Fuck makes you think I'd let you anywhere near my den?” Red Hood snarls. Jazz blinks; tilts her head. 

“Nothing,” she says. “What makes you think I was asking to go anywhere near it?” 

Red Hood–stalls, briefly. Jazz tries to be polite about how incredibly obvious a tell that statement was. 

Flattering, but incredibly obvious. 

“I mean, I'd be happy to escort you if you’d like,” she says. “Or lend you my scent, if you need it. But I'm not trying to presume anything.” 

“Fuck off,” Red Hood snarls. “Nobody escorts an omega like me.” 

“Do you think maybe you have some self-esteem issues?” Jazz asks. Heat is almost definitely making him a bit more volatile and emotional than normal, considering the kinds of things he’s been saying to her, but it still seems like a valid question. Being on their cycle doesn’t make people different people; just makes it a bit harder for them to censor and control themselves. 

Or a lot harder, sometimes. 

Judging by how strong Red Hood’s pheromones smell right now . . . 

Well, he might be having a harder time than he’s used to having, so far as “controlling himself” goes. 

Jazz certainly is, all inappropriate knotheaded puns aside. 

Do Poison Ivy’s pollens make cycles hit harder, actually? Or does the suddenness of the effect disorient or throw people off, maybe? 

Well, that’s a worrying thought, since Red Hood seems to be out here alone. 

“‘Self-esteem issues’?” Red Hood repeats incredulously, his pheromones briefly sparking with bewilderment. Jazz decides not to press it, since he might be feeling a little vulnerable right now. 

“Yes,” she says. “Is there someone you can call, if you don’t want an escort or to borrow my scent? I could wait with you until they show. No offense, just Park Row’s not a very nice neighborhood.” 

Red Hood laughs. 

“No fucking shit!” he says, spreading his arms. “It’s Crime Alley!” 

“I know, sorry, I just keep accidentally calling it ‘Park Row’ in my head. Still new in town,” Jazz apologizes. She assumes a crime lord would prefer his territory be correctly referred to, anyway. Seems like a thing. She knows standard humans don’t actually have haunts–even most liminal ones don’t, including her–but sometimes she does . . . well, not forget, exactly, but just . . . expect them to anyway, she supposes? 

She spent way too long in Amity, yes. 

Even without Crime Alley being Red Hood’s actual haunt, though, it’s still disrespectful to call it the wrong name. It’s still his territory either way, and she imagines someone on their cycle especially wouldn’t appreciate the mistake. 

“What is your damage?” Red Hood snarls, his voice modulator crackling threateningly as he visibly bristles, and Jazz catches notes of that electric and unexpected edge in his pheromones again. Still vaguely familiar, but still not quite what it seems like it should be. Just . . . 

Really, if she didn’t know better . . . well, she’d think he was liminal. But that seems like a very unlikely coincidence for her first week in Gotham, so . . . 

Then again, her life is her life. 

It’s not really the time to be asking Red Hood about his levels of ecto exposure, though, and she’s pretty sure they’ve both got more important priorities right now. 

“We don’t really have time to unpack all that, to be honest. You really do need to get home,” she says. “Or at least call someone to pick you up. If you go into heat drop alone in Crime Alley, I can’t imagine it’s going to end well.” 

Red Hood hisses. That might’ve sounded like a threat, Jazz realizes belatedly. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, apologetic again. “But it’s not safe, is it?” 

“If anyone I don’t want near my ass tries to touch me, I’ll put a bullet up theirs,” Red Hood growls, low and crackling. 

“That seems like a lot of trouble when you’re on your cycle, though,” Jazz says. He’d have a body to deal with, and maybe someone would call the cops–well, she supposes it is Crime Alley, so maybe not . . .? But it’d be self-defense anyway, and if he is a crime lord, maybe he has people for that. 

Hm. 

She really needs to get familiar with this area as soon as possible, yeah. And just Gotham in general, really. Every city has its own idiosyncrasies, but Gotham is its idiosyncrasies. 

Well, so is Amity Park, of course. 

“I think you belong in Arkham, lady,” Red Hood says. Jazz feels like a Gothamite should be more understanding of someone taking supervillain attack side effects and hostile heated-up crime lords in stride, but apparently not. 

“Technically, you’re not wrong,” she says with a wry smile. She’d offer him a handshake, but that’s not really appropriate for an alpha to offer to an omega in heat. Especially not an unmated alpha, which Jazz very definitely is. “I start Monday. Jazz Fenton, psychiatric intern. At your service.”

Red Hood manages to very clearly stare at her without actually taking off the helmet. It's actually an impressive amount of expressiveness to get across, under the circumstances. 

Or there could be a touch of liminal empathy happening, admittedly. That's possible too. Especially with another liminal involved. 

Jazz briefly considers what knotting a liminal omega might actually be like if an empathy loop got established somewhere in the process, which is a lie, because what she’s actually imagining is picking up this liminal omega and showing him exactly how delicious she thinks he smells. 

Definitely inappropriate. 

“They will literally eat you alive,” Red Hood says. 

“I mean, there’s a risk of it,” Jazz allows, because nothing is a perfect guarantee. It’s just not a very large risk. Comparatively, she means. 

“You applied to Arkham on purpose, lady?” Red Hood says disbelievingly. 

“Oh, no,” Jazz says, shaking her head. “They made me an offer. Somebody read my thesis and liked it, apparently.” 

Well . . . “thought we should interview you for either a position or to have your file established for whenever the convictions start rolling in”, whichever. The interviewing psychiatrists had a range of reactions during her interview, she supposes is the best way to put it. 

Jazz really doesn’t think it’s fair to classify her parents as actual supervillains, but an increasingly long list of professionals has, admittedly, not agreed with that assessment. 

She can’t imagine what they would’ve thought if she’d told them about Danny, considering. 

Well, it’s not her problem if someone else is going to be close-minded about things like that. 

“I’m sorry, I’m really not trying to be pushy here, but are you sure you don’t want to call anyone? Or want my scent. Or . . . literally anything,” she says, gesturing a little awkwardly with her shopping bags. “I do get told my pheromones are pretty discouraging to unwanted attention, if that helps?” 

“Sure they are,” Red Hood snorts. Jazz tries not to look disapproving, given his compromised state. That kind of thing can bother omegas in heat, she knows. 

“That’s what people tell me,” is all she says. Obviously it’s not just the default parts of her scent that make it a strong deterrent, but as for the force of the emotions and claim she can put into it . . . 

Well. She just hears it’s “discouraging” to other alphas pretty regularly, that’s all. And also some betas, depending on their sexuality. And, um . . . well, a little closer to “catnip”, for omegas, but . . . 

“I’ll believe it when I smell it, knothead,” Red Hood snorts again. “Prove it.” 

Jazz isn’t sure that’s a good idea, considering–again–his compromised state, but, well . . . he’s clearly a strong omega himself, and maybe she’s a little miffed by him just assuming she’s lying about something like that, that’s all. She knows plenty of alphas do lie about their pheromones or even lay on fake ones, but . . . well, it’s hard not to wonder if he just thinks she’s a lesser alpha because she’s female, or because of how she’s dressed or looks or speaks, or just because. 

Her inner alpha doesn’t love the experience of one of the most gorgeous-smelling omegas she’s ever scented sneering at her worth as an alpha without even giving her a shot to prove it, either way. 

“Are you sure?” she asks.

[mill3rrrd]

DEAR DIARY b hoover

“i need to get her out the picture, she’s really fucking up my frame, she’s not developed like we are..” – tyler, the creator

cw. slutshaming, rumours, hints at bertholdt’s bisexuality, sexism NOT PROOFREAD

wc. 3.5k

synopsis. bertholdt was jealous. of you. why did you get so much of reiner’s attention? honestly, he nearly hated you as much as reiner said he did.

chapter one. first impressions

dear diary,

i HATE my life.

you wasted no time bringing out your diary, filled with previous entries. a lot of them were vents about one person in particular, reiner braun. he made your life so miserable to the point you actually cared that he made it miserable. he’s always had it out for you, like picking on you for the thickness of your false lash clusters and mind you, they weren’t even that thick. honestly, it’s reiner’s problem for getting so bothered about them but then it came as a surprise to you when he was flirting.

exactly, flirting! it was a shitty technique though and that’s when he started spreading rumours about you. they were probably the most believably unbelievable rumours ever because boys thrive on making girls out to be sluts.

obviously, people believed that you sent him nudes and fucked him in the woods behind the school. why? because reiner’s the big bad popular boy that everyone loves and adores as a big brother. however, you would never be caught dead in that shady spot. and you’d put your comfort before your desperation any day. you’d need to wait until your mom got home to go through your day and debrief every part of it. you let out a sigh, scribbling your feelings down into your paged heart.

if i didn’t already have ONE boy plotting on my DOWNFALL, i have another plotting on ME. if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s reiner’s best friend, i’d feel flattered but considering that fact, it’s probably a plan to embarrass me. it’s weird how you never really acknowledged him though. if i remember hearing reiner correctly, he called him bertl.

i’ve never heard that name in my life. however, as i walked away i heard someone else call him bertholdt. probably porco, but again, never heard of him. which is SUPER weird because he’s soo tall, surely i would’ve atleast recognised him because i’m in my junior year. i can say for sure, though, i don’t like him. i don’t even know the guy and he’s giving me fake googleys and stammering. i can tell for sure he’s a really bad liar. ugh, i HATE reiner braun. honestly, that boy has no home training and the smallest dick ever and i don’t even need to see it to know. how embarrassing for him, i AM embarrassed for him and that’s probably the best feeling i’ll ever harbour for him.

i’ll probably ask historia to ask ymir about him since she’s somewhat friends with reiner, even if he’s weird. to be fair, they did grow up together so i can’t just ask her to tell him to piss off. and ymir usually fucks off with him to pull pranks on the janitor anyway so it’s not THAT much of a bother.

you closed your diary shut and sighed, slipping it into your bedside cabinet. your bed frame creaked as you got up and padded toward your desk, staring at yourself in the mirror. with a cringe, you leaned forward and examined your lip liner. it was smudged from the rain you walked home in and your lashes looked like they were one blink away from falling off. it was a wednesday, but you had a stressful day so your peeled the clusters off, bit by bit.

with nothing better to do, you began your skincare routine. the feeling of a cold, almost gel-ish like substance rubbing into your skin sent a shiver of satisfaction down your spine.

halfway through, your mom came home, your younger brother in tow. she had shouted up to announce she was home and your brother bounded up the stairs and burst into your room.

“n/n! hi!” he squealed, light shining in his eyes as he climbed into your lap and hugged you. you laughed, returning his hug, “hi jude, how was your day?” you asked softly, readjusting him in your lap so that he was curled into your left arm.

“it was so good, the teacher let us have indoor playtime because it was raining and we played twister and i won! i can backbend now, like you can,” jude giggled, smiling so brightly at you. you giggled, “we have a gymnast in our house, i bet you’ll be in the olympics one day and make us so, so proud.”

jude nodded, “some of the girls make fun of me though, they say gymnastics is a girl’s thing and i should play football..” you shook your head, “you just do what you’re good at, those girls are just jealous they can’t do what you can.”

again, your brother nodded enthusiastically, his smile returning to his face. lifting him up, you set him upright and brushed through his hair briefly, “go see if mom needs help, okay?” jude scurried off, his socked feet creating small thuds as he went back downstairs.

you finished your routine, leaving your lashes to then be applied. on your desk, your phone buzzed but you payed no mind to it, only putting dnd on and busying yourself with your task at hand. only when you were done, did you pick it up, seeing the ymir blow up your phone with your name.

ymir y/n u are still single right

you yea y?

ymir just wondering, bertholdt seemed pretty interested in you 🫢

you who even is that😭 i swr ive never seen that boy in my life

ymir doesnt surprise me, hes been reiners shadow since first grade, surely u would’ve atleast heard his name in class tho.

you no?? im telling you i never knew he existed

ymir y/n hes in gym, english and chemistry with us🤦‍♀️

you oh ..

read 05:32

that’s embarrassing, you thought as you did your blink test. your lashes weren’t too far or too close to your lash line so you smiled in triumph as you applied lip balm. it didn’t bother you too much, though, any best friend of reiner is not a best friend of yours.

not until later into the night did you give ‘bertholdt’ another thought. you layed awake, waiting for sleep to take your body and soul for another night. you figured you could atleast look out for him tomorrow, just to really look at him this time. last time, all you saw of bertholdt was his head peaking behind reiner. he seemed like the type to speak when spoken to, which wasn't necessarily a a bad thing. until you fell asleep, the conversation replayed in tour head.

“look at her, bertl, why would you go for her?” reiner tutted, an obnoxious tone edging his voice as he forced his hand onto your shoulder to keep you in place. ‘bertl’ went red in the face and began stammering excuses, “what gave you that impression, what are you getting at?!” you didn’t really pay attention to him, focusing on the hand bruising your shoulder.

“go away, reiner, i’m not interested in your bullshit today,” you shoved his hand away and strut off in search of pieck or historia. as you walked away, a boystrous laugh sounded over all the chatter, followed by a ‘i was only joking!’ and another ‘the one time you actually show interest in a girl, it’s the slut?’ and then a firm ‘i don’t, stop playing around.’

morning rolled around quickly, light streaking into your room. a thin ribbon of sunrise created a bridge across your nose, causing your face to crinkle into consciousness. you rubbed your eye carefully, grateful that your lashes on during the night. however, that gratefulness dissipated when you saw your uniform hanging individually on your wardrobe door. lifting your phone, the time read 06: 27 which meant you slept through your alarm.

with a groan, you slipped out of your bed, trudging into the bathroom but not forgetting the extra blanket from your bedding. it was nearing the end of winter, which meant morning chill and rain. amongst the sound of bristles mingling with your teeth, you could hear low chatter coming from your brother’s room. probably your mom waking him up. after spitting into the sink, you came back up with a yawn and slipped your toothbrush into the holster.

by the time you got changed and applied your usual makeup, you had enough time to eat breakfast. you settled for porridge oats with honey. the gooey warmth felt nice, striking up your body heat like an ember somewhere in your core had been blown on until it caught fire again. your brother came down with your mom, who gave you a look of adoration, “good morning, baby, how did you sleep?”

she caught you at a bad time, you had scarfed downh half your porridge all at once. with a big gulp, you smiled, “i slept well, maybe too well.. i slept through my alarm.”

your mom bent forward, wiping away stray porridge that had made its way to the side of your mouth, “what have i told you about stuffing your mouth, n/n?” she smiled as she teased you and you responded, “not to.. historia’s dad is supposed to be here soon.”

“is that so?” she murmured, tending to your brother’s meal. as if on queue, a horn beeped. you hopped out of your chair and grabbed your bag, “that’s her! bye mom, bye jude, love you lots!”

you kissed their cheeks before slipping your shoes on and heading out of the door. your friend’s car sat infront of your house, historia and her dad in the front, leaving you to get into the back with ymir.

“hey guys,” you beamed. they exchanged greetings with you and began conversation with you. the drive to school was much shorter than it would be if you walked, which you were grateful for, especially in this weather.

when historia’s dad dropped the three of you off, ymir immediately poked you. it was hard enough for you to feel it through your coat. “ymir, what the hell?” said girl laughed, looping her spare arm around your shoulders, her right already around historia. she brought you in close, “how about i properly introduce you to bertholdt, hm? that way you won’t be unfamiliar with him.”

“will reiner be there?” you asked, fiddling with the hood over your head. the cold was really getting to you. ymir shrugged, “probably.”

you hummed, feigning interest, “no.”

historia giggled, covering her mouth and peering up at ymir, “you know what reiner’s like.. i’m surprised you haven’t lashed out yet, y/n.” you shrugged, “he’s not worth that sort of energy.”

“ah,” historia let out, “fair enough.. oh, speak of the devil!”

in the distance, reiner stood in the centre of his group, irritatingly standing out. he was cracking a joke with marcel from the looks of it. his big group hogged the steps and the entrance, which was in perfect alliance with the fountain, your groups usual spot. you could see pieck and annie waiting for the three of you to arrive, the black haired girl waving at you all just ten steps away.

“oh yeah, guys,” you perked up as you spotted mr smith, your history teacher, walking through the car park of the school building, “i need to talk to mr smith about my history grade, he said he could give me tips to get it up since i’m falling behind..”

you groaned at your admitted failure on your midterm, “i’ll see you at first period, though.” the two girls bid you a brief farewell before you strolled towards the other side of the courtyard to meet with your teacher.

“ah, miss y/n,” mr smith smiled as a greeting, taking his hands out of his usual tie behind his back, “come for advice, i see?” you nodded, “yeah, i don’t think i’ve ever done so bad on a test.” he asked you to walk with him, so you followed him up the steps. it was a comfortable silence, he was always your favourite, not one to yell but that was what happened when respect was an automatic for you.

spotting a small rock, – small enough it couldn’t even be considered a pebble – you kicked it up, narrowly hitting the shell of reiner’s ear. you snickered, hiding your nasty grin behind your hand, as reiner glared at you. he then redirected his gaze to mr smith, a smirk appearing on his face. you turned away, facing ahead.

“i hope that wasn’t you that kicked that, miss y/n,” he wished, though the humour behind his voice told you he was using a facade of proffesionalism to hide his amusement. you gasped, “i could never, sir.”

mr smith was aware of the ongoing feud between you and reiner and, against your protests, reported it to his higher ups. however, all it got was an assembly on anti-bullying.

“i have to say, you have incredible aim,” mr smith praised as the door closed, giving you a curt nod which you returned and thanked him for as the two of you strolled into his classroom.

break rolled around after second period. annie met up with you in the halls, her class opposite yours. she said hello first and you happily greeted her back. all was peaceful until reiner blocked your path, marcel and jean in tow.

“where’d you run off to with mr smith earlier?” he interrogated, tease at the ready, “fucking him for a better grade, hm?” laughter erupted from him and his friends.

you peered up at him through your lashes, “do i look like your girlfriend?” that made reiner’s laughter stop, “what do you mean by that?”

“i mean to stop questioning me like a jealous boy,” you sneered, “the only reason you hate me is because i rejected you and maybe if you brought yourself out of your big ego for once, you would realise i might’ve said yes had you been a little nicer!”

annie whistled beside you, a proud smile on her face. that boy looked hurt. momentarily. then, his smirk reappeared, “you have a zit on your nose.” laughter again. what the hell was wrong with him and his friends. you rolled your eyes, a retort on the tip of your tongue.

“reiner, maybe you should stop..” that shy, almost lazy voice from yesterday.. had he always been there? your eyes drifted to the bertholdt character you’d only now just been aware of.

“aw, bertl it’s just a bit of fun,” reiner slapped his shoulder, crinkling the boy’s blazer near the arm. bertholdt looked at it and frowned, an almost sad and far off look remaining in his eye. the buffer boy of the two leaned in, barely any space between their noses, “don’t tell me you like her..”

the taller one sighed, “stop it, i’m just telling you not to waste your breath, she wasn’t wrong when she said you look like a jealous boyfriend..” and bertholdt was jealous of you. honestly, he wanted you out of the picture.

with a sigh, reiner backed off. his bicep bumped your shoulder, emphasising the height difference. marcel and jean scoffed at you and annie, following him. this time, you noticed bertholdt too.

“you struck a nerve,” annie giggled, letting you join arms with her. nodding, you prided yourself, “i know!”

later on in the day, reiner sat in the boy’s changing room, venting to bertholdt about earlier’s interaction. bertholdt, however, was more concerned with the lingering thought, does he still like her? exchanging his formal shirt for his gym shirt.

“hey reiner, do you still like her?” the boy asked, irises quaking with uncertainty. reiner’s face exploded into pink.

“i hate that bitch..” he grumbled, slipping into a pair of sweatpants, “i just love giving her a hard time.”

there was silence between the two, being the last ones out of the locker room. then, a sigh followed by a “is it that obvious?” ensued. bertholdt looked down, a non verbal i knew it going through his head, “yeah, it is..”

“honestly, i think you should drop it,” his jaw tensed, “your bully tactic isn’t working, it hasn’t worked.” reiner was quick to be at bertholdt’s side, “if i didn’t know any better, you are jealous.. what kind of friend are you?”

clearly not the loyal type, bertholdt thought, biting his cheek, “the friend that’s tired of seeing and hearing you pursue a girl that hates you.. calling her a slut isn’t getting you anywhere! no, i’m not jealous, i’m bored..”

“ah..” reiner let the noise slip and retreated to his claimed section if the locker room, “i.. i get your point, sorry bertl.” he was surprised. bertholdt had never been one to raise his voice.

with a sad glance in his direction, bertholdt said nothing and left to join the others on the track field. reiner knew he was jealous, just not aware of who he was jealous of. entering the field, everyone had already lined up and was ready to complete whatever task had been explained.

“hoover, you’re late!” mr shadis yelled, “where is braun?” all eyes were on him. he could recognise everyone’s faces, but he payed attention to yours. bertholdt could acknowledge a pretty girl, you were definitely in the higher ranks of his mental list. you were the bane of his life, the thing reiner focused on.

“i’m sorry, sir, we were in the nurses office,” bertholdt excused himself, “reiner is still changing.” shadis gave him a weary eye before tutting, “don’t let it happen again.”

“yes, sir.”

shadis asked your team, consisting of you, ymir, eren, and connie to demonstrate a relay race once reiner came out. the full track was 400 metres, meaning you would all run 100 each. the four of you got into your agreed order in the middle row: eren, ymir, connie, you. eren received a bright yellow baton and got into position before the siren went off. when it did, he sprinted towards your friend. as he gave her the baton, he tripped over himself and landed ass-up on the floor, receiving laughter from everyone.

before you knew it, you had your hand holding out for connie as you began to jog when he got within ten steps of you. you were on the school’s national team for relay. you prided yourself for that. that’s how you learned a particular technique to preserve energy.

you’d jog as you waited for the third person to pass on the baton and when you finally received it, you would begin longer, slower strides–almost like you were hopping–on your tiptoes before takung shorter, faster steps. not to forget to lean your body lower towards the ground to propel yourself forward. that always earned you top two in annual nationals.

so, you did just that. you crossed the finish line, chest barely heaving as ymir walked up to you. shadis had set up four individual stop watches and got three other students to control them everytime the baton had been passed.

“jaeger, 13.57 seconds,” shadis glowered at him, “shave off seven next time.”

putting down that stop watch, he examined the next two, “fritz and springer, you both landed on 11.8,” his lip twitched into a smirk that quickly left his face. shadis moved onto your one, “l/n, 9.7, keep that up and you’ll hold a world record.”

a smile erupted onto your face as ymir pat your back. historia, annie, and pieck surrounded you to congratulate you, which you brushed off as practice.

bertholdt observed you, he really wanted to know what was so special about you that made reiner so obsessed. he noticed how, unlike most people, you had dimples under your mouth instead of on your cheeks. they showed up when you smiled. your eyebrows were naturally full and you had great facial harmony. as you ran, bertholdt noticed that you had a body lots of girls wanted but that didn’t make you stand out to him.

ymir guided you over some point during his analysis, his face heating up when he realised ymir was talking to him amd not you.

“sorry, what were you saying?” bertholdt apologised, slouching to ease tension in his shoulders. ymir gestured to you, who had a bored, almost uninterested look on your face as you glanced up at him from your fingers, up to his face, and back to your fingers.

“i said, since you two don’t know each other well, i thought i’d introduce you two,” ymir repeated herself, irk edging her tone, “y/n, this is bertholdt. the boy you had never seen before until now.” you didn’t know who he was? his lips thinned in minor embarrassment. he probably looked like an idiot. reiner and ymir already accused him of liking you, and now he happened to be distracted and went all red while he was looking in your direction.

“hi,” you murmured, finally taking away your attention from your fingers. considering his low presence, he was big. he had wide shoulders and his arms strained against the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. he had to be 6’5 minimum! it impressed you, sure, but he was just another follower of reiner’s.

“oh, ymir, annie and pieck are running,” you pulled on her arm, dragging her away from the boy. that’s when bertholdt realised it. it wasn’t your beauty that had reiner hooked, nor was it your body shape and curves.

no, it was your unattainability.

[adasknife]

I have a legit question for everyone who wants to answer-

HOW DID ADA WONG FALL IN LOVE WITH LEON?

Ada was hired by wesker because he knew he could trust her. He knew that ada can do it, and ADA ALMOST FUCKING FAILS. ada is acting like this is her first mission, sure she is trying to avoid Leon, but Leon is like a piece of chewed up gum that doesn't stop being stuck on her heel. But she could've just... ignored him. Let him die with Mr X will cause no problem for her mission

When Annette attempts to shoot ada and leon pushes himself to protect and ada was flattered that he did that (?) HUH? she is a mercenary, she had probably had seen people do the same for her. She is a liar, Ada is not a good person because she accepted a mission from wesker. Leon getting shot for her would've meant nothing to her.

Then, ada (groans) is quickly trapped and now needs Leon's help. Then Leon gets sad because a stranger he just knew wasn't what he expected. And ada is just pouting, like she wished she was given a better option. Like if she is sad for hurting Leon. GIRL! YOU PROBABLY KILL PEOPLE WHY ARE YOU ACTING THIS IS YOUR FIRST MISSION.

When ada gives Leon the weapon to help him fight with Mr X, it makes sense in a way but the rest is just doing zoomies in my head.

Oh, and that bullshit thing where ada says that her scar belongs to Ada not her. Girl, don't you have more scars?

I just don't get it. People say she is too mean but she isn't really. I could probably figure out how they fell in love later, but for me it's still very iffy how it began. Then the infamous "red eyed leon" scene where ada MISUNDERSTOOD and almost KISSED HIM (?!?!) Ada, sweetie, you haven't see this man six years ago- how is that your first thought? and why does she keep helping him?

*sigh*

I am talking about re4. Like you barely know this man, ada.

"Ada is too mean!1!"

She is not mean enough.

As ada's lawyer, she isn't mean enough.

Anyways, maybe I missed a couple of lore from resident evil (probably did but it's not like re is written beautifully) but what's your opinion? I am obviously not the biggest fan of this ship, but this is just a friendly chat. Like why/how do you think ada fell for leon?

[ichinisankaku]

Backstage Translation - Immaculate Imitation ☆ Amethyst (Part 1)

TV: "Protecting True Love to the very end... Guardian Warrior, Amethyst!"

Itaru: It really does suit Hisoka~...

Taichi: What does?

Itaru: Amethyst-tan's costume. ...Hey Hisoka, could you try wearing...

Hisoka: ...

Citron: He even stopped snoring!

Itaru: I'll take that as a rejection.

Banri: You seriously wanted him to wear it...

Yuki: Weirdo.

Itaru: No no, obviously I'm joking? I don't have a costume anyway.

Hisoka: ...

Banri: Ah, he woke up.

Hisoka: ...If it's just saying the line, I can do it again. In exchange for marshmallows like last time*.

Itaru: Even just that would be great.

Yuki: So you WERE serious.

*door opens*

Izumi: I'm sure my reusable bag was around... here!

Banri: Going shopping, Director-chan?

Izumi: Yep. I'll just be out for a bit.

Hisoka: I'll go too then. There's somewhere I wanna go.

Citron: How strange for Hisoka to accompany someone shopping! Spear squid are going to fall from the sky!

Banri: It is pretty fishy...

Izumi: Let's go together, then.

Hisoka: Yeah.

Izumi: ...So, where is it you want to go?

Hisoka: A shop that specialises in marshmallows released something new, so I wanna go there.

Izumi: Ahaha, I had a feeling it was something to do with marshmallows.

Hisoka: I'll help carry the bags, so can we go there first?

Izumi: Of course, that's fine.

Hisoka: I actually wanted to go there as soon as it opened, but it was too cold to move...

So I even thought about having Alice go for me.

Izumi: But you feel like you can move now?

Hisoka: Since I'm with you, it'll definitely be enjoyable.

Izumi: Fufu, I'm flattered.

Izumi: Wow, there's so many kinds of marshmallows.

Hisoka: Marshmallow heaven...

Izumi: There's even earl grey, chocolate, and matcha flavours! They all look delicious...

Looking at them like this really reminds you how many types of marshmallows there are.

Hisoka: The marshmallow possibilities are endless...

Izumi: Ah, I wonder if this is the new release?

Hisoka: Creamy caramel marshmallows... this is definitely it.

Izumi: Even just the name sounds delicious!

Shopkeeper: This is our new type of marshmallow. Please, try a sample.

Izumi: Thank you!

Hisoka: Awmph... nom nom... delicious.

Izumi: It really is! I can feel it melting in my mouth.

But as you'd expect, the new item is low in supply compared to all the rest.

Hisoka: I think it'd be a problem if I bought too much and they ran out of stock... I'll buy three bags today, and eat them carefully.

Izumi: If it's popular, they'll probably order a bunch more next time.

Hisoka: ...Excuse me, I'd like this please.

Shopkeeper: Of course, thank you!

Izumi: I'm glad you got to buy some, even if it's not much.

Hisoka: Yeah. I actually wanted to buy a bit more, but...

Ah, I know.

Izumi: What is it?

Hisoka: ...No, it's nothing.

*Referring to Hisoka's "Iris Colored Scope" backstage story

Part 2 | Part 3

[velvetwastaken]

fic ask game! 3, 10, 23, 25, 37, 49 (i tried not to pick too many but it ended up being a lot anyway, sorry!)

Hi anon! You got nothing to apologize for! You could have listed them all and I would have been nothing but flattered lol

So I answered #s 3 and 10 here, but I can try to dig deeper if you want different answers 😂 just let me know lol

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

A mafia AU, or something along those lines. I actually do have an ayalumi wip that is kind of a mafia AU? It’s kamisato crime family flavoured anyway, lol. One day I’ll finish it 😬

Also scifi! Again, I have a wip, but I think I ran into some plot problems and so the whole thing foundered. I need to workshop it someday soon.

25. What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write?

I love the OneLook Thesaurus. It’s a godsend for writers I think.

I also just always have a regular dictionary and thesaurus handy. Gotta make sure those pesky words mean what I think (hope?) they mean 😂

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

hmm. There’s a couple I feel like I could pick here, but one for sure would just be me complaining, so I’ll go with that witches ganqing AU one shot, Post Tenebras Lux.

I guess the fic itself is nothing special, and it definitely comes across as incomplete, but I’m obsessed with the setting—the vibes, if you will. I think about it a lot, and I really want to expand on it one day. I like that Ganyu is this mysterious and dangerous being, and that Keqing is so selfless and earnest in a way that only Keqing can be. I think it could be the start of something great.

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Yeah, okay. Obviously it's ganqing because what else would it be, but I shan't give any more context than that, haha.

“Thank you,” says Ganyu, and without thinking, she leans in and presses a kiss to Keqing's forehead. As Keqing stiffens, she realizes that is probably pushing the limits of what Keqing is comfortable with right now. She's about to apologize, but she stops herself. She’s not sorry, not in the slightest; in fact she’s gotten rather used to being a little bit selfish lately.

[stardust-kenobi]

Let Me Help You

Obi Wan x Reader

Summary: Obi Wan isn’t very tech-savy, and he wants you to help him with his computer while you two sit in the Jedi Temple library. You offer your assistance, and decide to help him in other ways, too.

Warnings: smut, dub-con!!, male oral receiving, public oral sex

Word count: 2k

A/N: ⚠️please DO NOT read if you’re uncomfortable with dub-con. It’s not for everyone. (In this specific plot it’s used because Obi Wan is trying to be a good Jedi) Consent is slightly more clear right before the act.

This was requested by anon! Thanks lovely, hope you enjoy 💕

(my gif)

Obi Wan’s face became more frustrated by the second. You sat across from him in the Temple library. You’d joined your friend today because he wanted the company while he completed some tasks undoubtedly related to his Jedi duties. 

“You alright?” You inquired, attempting to withhold a giggle at the sight of a man who is so usually calm becoming annoyed at technology.

“This datapad is going to drive me mad” he huffed. His fingers furiously tapped away at his attempted tasks.

“Sounds like a user-error” you teased him while continuing to stare at him. He looked up at you, obviously trying not to smile back. “And it’s a desktop computer, so, not technically a data pad” you jokingly corrected him.

“Well, whatever it is, it doesn’t like me very much” he remarked and returned his attention to the illuminated screen.

“What exactly are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to navigate the archives here but it keeps telling me I’m typing in invalid coordinates” his voice grew more annoyed.

“Would you like my help?” You offered kindly

“No, that’s not necessary.” He politely declined.

You waited, not responding, knowing he’d change his mind after another failed attempt. His eyes shot upward at you across the table and quickly looked back down, but then hesitantly returned to your gaze.

“Maybe I could use your help, y/n” he finally admitted.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought” you rose from your seat and headed around the table. You observed the room, and no one was around. You hadn’t seen anyone in the library since you walked in. You could probably hear a pin drop in the vast silence. You came around behind his chair and leaned down next to him. Obi Wan’s eyes could not have been less discreet as they peered over to your chest that was now at his eye level. Your shirt was low cut, and perhaps a little too tight, but nothing you wouldn’t normally wear. You noticed but said nothing to Obi Wan, just flattered that he wanted to look.

“Let me try and enter the coordinates. What were they?” You inquired. He gave you the same numbers he had been typing in. You unfortunately found yourself having the same issue he was having. Obi Wan laughed, mocking you for thinking it was his fault.

“User-error, was it?” He teased you. You shook your head and giggled.

“Let me try something else” you said. You attempted other methods in order to make it work. 

“Why don’t you pull up a chair?” He suggested.

You looked around, there were no chairs close, except for your chair on the other side of the table.

“Oh no, that’s alright” you shrugged, but then an idea crept into your devious, sexually deprived head. You checked your surroundings again, no one was in the library. It was late, anyways, so it wasn’t unusual.

Obi Wan’s lap sat there, open and empty, legs spread open, as if it was waiting on you to fill the space. You slowly moved your hips downward and over onto his thighs. He didn’t say a word, protest, or even make a sound, until you were fully seated on his unprepared lap.

“Oh, um...alright then” he stuttered, unsure what to say, but didn’t reject you either.

“Sorry, I saw a perfectly good seat and took it. That okay?” You clearly played innocent.

He roughly cleared his throat and breathed out hard. His built up sexual tension was obvious, and you preyed on it guiltlessly.

“No problem at all” he chuckled, finally responding to you. Continuing to work at the computer in your new found seat, you rotated your hips side to side subtly, pressing more firm into him. Hardly any time had passed before you felt him grow aroused under your ass. You smirked, loving the effect you were having on him.

“Oh, there we go, it worked!” you announced suddenly. The screen displayed the archive location that he searched for, after tweaking with the settings for a bit.

“What worked?” He breathed out, clearly more flustered than the last time he spoke. It was as if he was snapped out of a trance. He was incredibly distracted and couldn’t even recall for the moment what you were even helping him with.

“The...computer?” You stated the obvious, turning around sharply to meet his eyes.

“Right!” He shyly remembered.

His erection was continuing to grow and he wondered if you could feel it against you.

“Something wrong, Obi Wan?” You asked him, Both of you were fully aware of what was happening, but the lack of direct communication refused to acknowledge it plainly.

“Oh, I’m fine” He replied, clearing his throat again.

“You sure? You seemed flustered” You pushed the conversation further.

“Y-yes I'm, uh, I’m sure” he stumbled over his words.

“Seems like you’re having a hard time with your words there, Master Kenobi” you purred, wasting no time dancing around the idea. “Well, something is hard” you smirked, getting close to his face while sitting sideways across his thighs.

His breath hitched in his throat when he heard your voice turn sensual. Obi Wan said nothing because he wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted you, that you could tell, but a man that lived so strictly by the Jedi code would be hard to crack. And in public? He’d be insane to let you seduce him.

“Y/n...” he groaned deeply. His body language communicating how hard it was to restrain himself.

“Yes?” You whispered while moving your lips to his bare neck. You placed your lips at his supple skin and pecked slowly and lightly.

“As lovely as this is, I can’t” he protested. “It’s forbidden for me to engage in this, y/n, you know that”

Regardless, your lips continued working at his neck. A hum, almost resembling a moan, crawled from his mouth.

“You’re telling me, that if I got on my knees, right now, right here in front of you, that you wouldn’t want me to suck your cock?” You purred so softly directly into his ear. You observed the chills that cascading down his body and you smiled against his skin.

“Stars, y/n, I’ve never heard you talk like this” He avoided the question, his breathing still tense. You felt his hips buck slightly up into your weight.

“I know how stressed you are, Obi Wan, let me help you” you offered. He looked into your eyes for a moment. Desperation was hidden deep in his gaze. He wanted a release, but had to make a decision of his morality and his loyalty to the Jedi Order.

“You want to do that to me...here?” He inquired the absurdity of your offered actions and especially there in public. His tone was so innocent and clueless to your attraction to him.

“Oh, Master Kenobi, it’d be my pleasure” you called him by his formal name yet again, even though you’d only ever called him Obi Wan. You assumed it might turn him on. You were right.

You softly press your lips onto his. He received your lips hesitantly, but then eagerly. You moved to straddle him, placing both legs on either side of his hips. You pushed your hips forward, curling them into his bulge. Becoming more comfortable with your touch, Obi Wan’s lips danced with yours passionately.

Butterflies fluttered in your belly as you finally acted on your eager built up desires for him.

“But, y/n, the Council -” he began again, breaking the kiss, and still worried for his long list of ethical restrictions on his life.

“I don’t see them here...do you? And we both know Anakin doesn’t follow the rules, does he?” You persisted.

“Well, no. I suppose you’re right” he whispered back, laughing quietly at your comment. He was nervous, but it was impossible for him to hide his new hunger for your lips around his cock.

“Allow yourself some fun, Master”

“Y/n, I want to, but I’ve never done anything like this before” He admitted casually.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you” you sweetly assured him.

“Okay, darling, but I do believe we must make this quick” he finally fully accepted the idea, but looked quickly around the very large room to confirm you were alone together.

“Oh it won’t take me long at all” you winked at him.

Removing yourself from his lap, his eyes never left you as he was unsure of your next step. You got on your knees in front of him, as you promised. His hands eagerly fumbled to pull his trousers down. You met his hands halfway and took over.

His cock begged to be let free from its restraints. Once the cloth passed his full length, it sprung out and met your eye level. He was so adorably nervous. You released a moan at the sight of him exposed to you.

You wrapped your hand around him and the contact made him twitch. He breathed out heavily as he’d never been touched like this by another person. Your eyes met his lustful gaze. You raised your eyebrows, non verbally asking If he was ready. He nodded his head, and you proceeded.

Your lips parted widely to bring him into your mouth. Your eyes locked as you lowered your mouth completely down his length, taking all of him into you. A feeling so unfamiliar to him caused Obi Wan to grip the arm rest of the chair. He breathed in sharply, and exhaled the sweetest moan. Using the moisture from your mouth, you glided yourself up and down slowly.

“Oh my stars, y/n” he whispered. You two knew you still needed to be quiet, in case someone was close.

Obi Wan was so sensitive and touch starved beyond belief. No matter how hard he tried to muffle himself, he was unsuccessful. Your ears were graced with the delicate sounds escaping his lips as you brought him more pleasure than he’d ever experienced before.

“Fuck” he cried, already so close to his climax from your skilled motions. Vulgarity flying from him was a new sound to you and it earned a warm sensation inside of you.

An aching formed between your legs, a feeling of pleasure that was all too familiar to you. You wanted him to take you right then and there, but you’d surely get caught. Another time, you thought.

Removing your mouth to rest your jaw, you pumped your hands around him. You looked up at him, his eyes had still not broken contact with you while you created a euphoric form of pleasure for him for the first time.

“Y/n...” he whimpered

“Yes, Master Kenobi?” You cooed and smiled at him. He formed a grin down at you that quickly turned back into his O-face as you pumped him faster.

“I’m...oh my” he started, his body couldn’t stay still.

“Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Oh, yes, y/n. I’m so close. I’m gonna cum” he whined.

You returned the moisture of your mouth back to his cock and sloppily, yet rhythmically, sucked him continuously, responding to the way his body moved and the sound of his moans. The veins in his length twitched and his hips shifted.

Obi Wan threw his head back in ecstasy and just then you felt your throat become coated in his hot cum. The suppression of the growls that formed from his climax was intense and deep, somehow loud and quiet simultaneously.

You swallowed him up and removed your mouth from his sensitive parts. Obi Wan’s head was still laid back, you watched as his chest rose and fell with the effort to catch his breath.

“Was that alright?” You asked, giggling, knowing the answer already.

“Well, I...darling that was...incredible” he finally expressed in between his deep breaths.

You helped him pull his trousers back up and plant a kiss on his cheek as you stood.

“Glad I could be of some assistance for you tonight” you winked.

He was blushing, still in disbelief that you two just engaged in such an act. He was so precious and shy about the whole thing, but enjoyed every single second of it.

“Perhaps maybe I can help you next time, hm?” He suggested. You bite your lip, already growing eager for the next time you’d be alone with him.

Kinda wanna make a part 2??

[ameliterature]

Writer's Block: AnderPerry One-Shot Fluff (Coffee Shop AU)

Todd was working on his newest novel in a secluded coffee shop just a few blocks away from the hustle and bustle of city. It was nearing 1am and he was the only one left in the shop.

He couldn't wrap his head around the plot he had trapped himself into and his main character needed to kiss someone but-- How could Todd possibly know how write a kiss, let alone kiss at all! He wished he hadn't promised the publishing office his next work would be romantic, he should've stayed with his Surrealist Non-romantic stories, but here he was, having writer's block in a lonely café with room temperature coffee he bought hours ago.

He wasn't even happy about how he wrote the meet cute for the character. How do meet cutes even work? He's never experienced that!

"Hi, uhm, excuse me-" He looked up from his notes to see one of the people who worked at the coffee shop standing beside his table. "We're actually closing in a bit, I'm gonna have to ask you to finish up what you're doing. Sorry."

"Oh- yeah, sorry, I lost track of time." Todd said, pretty embarrassed. Todd's never been told to pack up his stuff before, he must've been a nuisance this whole time.

"I also wanted to ask," Todd looked up again at the worker, noticing his brunette hair falling over his eyes as they meet Todd's. "What were you writing about?"

Todd, obviously shocked, scoffed at the question. "H-how did you know?"

"Well, I see you go here a lot, and I noticed you usually have manuscripts every other month-- I'm-- Okay, actually, I'm also a fan of your work-" The worker said. Todd swiftly let his eyes check his nametag, 'Neil'. "Whenever you and your editor discuss your latest book, I usually hear you guys say the title, that's how I first started reading your works. O-oh, my name's Neil Perry by the way." He brought his hand out to shake Todd's hand. "Todd Anderson-- but you probably already knew that--" They share a quiet chuckle together.

Todd wasn't sure if he should be flattered by the fact he met someone who was actually a fan of his obscure writing OR if he should be flustered because he finally realized who Neil was. He was that really handsome guy who Todd watches in those off-Broadway shows from time to time for inspiration. He didn't think he'd be working part-time as a Barista in a small coffee shop.

"Y-you... like my other works?" Todd said, still packing up his belongings.

"Are you kidding me?! Ever since I read your first novel: 'A sweaty-toothed Madman', I've been following your works ever since." Neil said giddily. "I just didn't wanna bother you all this time because I wanted you to focus on your work. Tonight- well I had to close the store, so I kinda had to talk to you..."

A smile creeped onto Todd's face and his ears appeared pinker. "T-thanks-- Oh, and to uh, answer your question... I was-- Well, I'm kind of out of my comfort zone."

"How come?" Neil said, taking a seat next to Todd.

"I... Well I have to write the main character with a romance plot-- and I'm supposed to know how to write a kiss scene pretty soon but..." Todd trails off, he didn't want to ramble about his problems to a fan.

"But...? But what?" Neil asks excitedly. His grin and eager expression made Todd nervous, maybe in a good way.

"I--" Todd looks away, "I've never been kissed before." he rolled his eyes, trying to play off his embarrassment.

"Oh," Neil responded.

"Yeah, pretty pathetic, right? A guy my age, had never kissed a girl in his entire life. I'd probably never know how to kiss."

"... Does it have to be a girl?" Neil asked, making Todd jerk his face towards him.

"W-what do you mean?"

"Does your kissing experience have to be from kissing a girl? I mean- a kiss is a kiss from anyone, right?"

"I mean... Yeah? But I don't see what-"

"I could kiss you." Neil said boldly. Todd's eyes widened as he froze on the spot. There was no way that he'd be able to kiss someone as handsome as a guy he'd just met, now of all times!

"I- You don't have to-" Todd said, not really refusing.

"Come on! You get research out of it and I get to kiss a really cute author I happen to admire! It's a win-win, really." Neil's smile was contagious as it made Todd smile back. He didn't mean to smile at that moment, but the situation seemed so bizarre, it might as well be in his novels.

"Well.. How are we gonna- I mean, you have to close soon,"

"I could kiss you now, no one's here, plus it's pretty late, no one's gonna pass by the store anyway." Neil scoots closer to Todd's chair.

Neil seemed oddly enthusiastic about kissing him, so much that Todd couldn't refuse him, especially when he's looking at him with such sultry eyes.

"O-okay fine, but... you're gonna have to lead." Todd gave in, how could he not? When those dark brown eyes were beckoning him to come closer.

Neil didn't say anything else. He slowly brought his hands up to Todd's jaw, rubbing it with his thumb gently. Todd looked up at him with nervous eyes, swallowing nothing as an anxious response.

Neil guided his face, expertly pulling Todd closer while turning their faces to fit like puzzle pieces. Todd thought, at first, how weird it was that the moment before he even got a kiss, his heart was already beating so rapidly, it felt like he could pass out, but by the time their lips met, it's like all the storms in his body had calmed, all the drought that surrounded his mind suddenly got replenished, and his eyes couldn't help but close to relish in the sensation.

It was all warm and wet, in a good way, because it feel like just a peck on the lips. Neil's lips were soft and warm, moving effortlessly with Todd's. Not that Todd even knew what to do next but Neil's mouth knew how to guide him between each kiss. Todd takes a mental note: kisses can be multiple kisses at a time. Neil also let's his other hand rest on Todd's neck, pulling him in slightly closer. Todd sighs into the kiss before trying to move his head along the same rhythm as Neil. Each smack of their lips, Todd could help but add more mental notes: Kissing actually feels really good, So this is why people like it, Neil's really good at this, can kisses last forever?, Could I kiss him forever?

Neil finally pulls apart, chuckling softly, wiping the corner of his mouth before wiping Todd's. "How was it?"

Todd, slowly opening his eyes, trying to un-daze himself.

"I- th-that was... It was, g-good- I," Todd pulls back a bit, "I think that's a good amount of field research, Thanks so much." Looked away, he could feel his entire face turning warm.

"Well," Neil stands up, fixing the chairs around them. "If you need more references, I don't mind being a source." He winks before going back to the register.

Safe to say, Todd Anderson was out of his writer's block.

Part 2

[gwaean]

The Rescuers  

Part One: “Old acquaintances meet again"

 Summary: You are a mandalorian rebel friends with Captain Rex so you are well aware of the entire "clone situation" going on. And of course you want to help as much as you can. You then go to Ryloth trying to help the Syndulla's and maybe find your old friend Cody. 

 Pairing: None. Yet. But will be a Crosshair x Reader.

 Gender: There'll be no mentions of gender or pronouns on this part yet. Though further in the story it might have she/they pronouns used.

 Word count: 1.6k

 Tags: Injury recover, post-clone wars story, rescuing clones/friends, a bit of melancholy?

 Warning: Brief description of injury.

 Notes: So, I literally dreamed most parts of this story (I know, crazy Star Wars obsession here). I filled up some parts as I was writing of course. And it turned out a bit like a beautiful sad tragic. I might even do a playlist for this fanfic actually. Hope u enjoy it :) 

 The war, the republic, the jedi all have ended. Literally on the same day. And what it seemed like a fresh start, finally a moment of peace in the chaos turned into nightmares. You weren’t there when it happened, you just heard the news of Obi-Wan saying the jedi order and the republic had fallen and you also heard the now Emperor Palpatine telling everyone that the clone wars has ended and the jedi were traitor, they’ve tried to assassinate him according to well… himself. And now he’s forming this new galactic empire, giving people numbers like the ones clones used to have and killing off any resistance against this new order. Everyone seemed to believe him, you gotta give him that he was a pretty damn’ good  liar indeed. But you knew better than that. You are mandalorian after all and were friends with no one less than Duchess Satine and Senator Padmé. You helped them countless times in their diplomatics and you even fought with the jedi and the clones at times. They were good people, yes, the order might have messed up at lot but traitors? Murders? They sure didn’t deserve to die like that and I guess… No one does.

  You quickly then joined the rebellion. There you found many of former politics like Senator Organa and even a clone… Captain Rex (or is it Commander now?). You’ve met him once before and he seemed like a good person and looks like he’s really a great man just like you thought. You soon became friends. But sadly, the other clones you knew before like Cody were still with the empire. Though both you and Rex were very determinate to help others like him. And also, obviously, protect your allies against the empire.

  Well, as expected trouble begins. There’s been rumors about what’s going in Ryloth with the Syndulla’s and the empire occupation. Worried about them and their people, you go there to help as you can. And if there’s need, you’d call more rebels to help too though you didn’t want to envolve more people yet because you’re afraid of the reaction it could cause ( and what that would cost for ryloth and its people). You also have a tiny tiny hope that maybe just maybe Cody could be there.

  Arriving in Ryloth, you discover the Syndulla family have indeed oppose agains the empire occupation and they’ve went into a lot of trouble because of that but apparently a group of mercenaries (?) have already rescued them from the prison they were sent to. One less problem for you to fix I guess. You were glad for them but you still want to spy a little on the empire and see what you could find out after all, the trip couldn’t be for nothing.

  You find your way and get to a particular high hill with a great view of one imperial base. You pick up your binoculars and the only person you see in a sort of balcony is a very depressive-looking Crosshair. You remember him from that one time clone force 99 saved your butt from the mess you’ve yourself in. He was… quite unfriendly, let’s say. But he did get the job done and made sure you were okay so you just ignored his behavior. Looking at him now it was looking at a shadow of him. 

   It made you remember what Rex told you once: 

“We clones were all created with this chip thing in our my minds. We were made for the war and the war only but apparently someone thought it would be great if they let us think we've got free will. That we could be anything we wanted to be after the war. So we made friends, some of us found a family with our jedi. They let we hope. Just so we have all of that taken away from us with order 66. The war had ended for everyone except for us. We had our will taken from us, our minds controlled by this chip and we had to follow orders. While we're still there conscious of what we were doing we had to kill the people we fought together the entire war. I remember her face... I'm so glad she didn't see my face. I couldn't bare.” 

 Thinking about what all the clones been through, you can’t just leave him like this. He did save you once and this was your chance to repay that. Rex keeps saying we can’t save everyone (more to himself than to you) but one person is better than nobody, right?  At the time you improvise a plan: neither the empire nor Cross can’t know yet that you’re a rebel. You haven’t done anything yet incriminating (at least not that they were aware of). So you can just jump in there where he was standing and talk to him. Worst case scenario he ignores you. However you sure knew how to annoy him enough that at least he would call you out and when that happens you act. Ok, that you still have to figure out exactly how you would act. Well, half of a plan is better than no plan.

  You just jump in behind his back and of course he points his gun at you as expected. But he apparently recognizes who it’s standing in front of him and put his riffle down. 

   “ Hello there.”  You say.

   “What do you think you’re doing?”  He replies.

   “Oh, please, don’t act like you aren’t happy to see me.” 

     He gives you a faint of a smile. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

     You smiled back. “But seriously, what you’re doing here all alone? And why- You finally noticed the burn mark on his now bald head. - are you like this? Doesn’t the empire takes care of its soldiers? Nor your squad? The bad batch, right? That’s what you called yourselves?” 

     His face closes again. “You have nothing to do with that. I’m-” 

     “By yourself?” You pause for a moment. “Alright, I get it. You’ve probably been through a lot. We all have. Not sure why you’re like this but it doesn’t matter right now. I just wonder… Don’t you want to get out of all of this?” 

     Cross pauses for a moment. It seems like he's considering the possibility. “I… I can’t.” 

     “But…”  You then think. You remind yourself of how protective he was that one time you were saved by them. Maybe this instinct was still there, you had to try. You saw a pointed rock close to where you were standing and decided that you would accidentally cut yourself. “Ouch!” 

    “What’s up?” 

    “Oh! Nothing! Just might have cut myself here.” You show your hand now with a bit bigger than you expected cut and some blood.

     He almost laughs at it. “What a little clumsy one you are, eh?” 

     His mocking at you, that’s something, right? “Yeah, I guess….” 

     “Well, let’s go?”  He points to the door.

     “Go where?” 

     “Don’t you wanna take care of that, sweetheart?” 

     “Right, medical bay then?” 

     “Obviously.”  Perfect. He would be right where you needed him to be.

  The both of you enter the facility and walk directly to the medical bay. The empire base is pretty much a bland dark and boring military base with some troopers walking around, some commanders (you think) yelling at the soldiers and some droids doing whatever they have to do. You knew only that they were “r - unities” but droids weren’t exactly your area of expertise. However you do notice that the troopers walking around still wear the same clone armor from back the war. And you feel guilty. Because as much as you’d like you won’t be able to help them all. They’ll stay there with their chips on being controlled by the empire…. By the force, that was a hole guilty trip you knew you shouldn’t take. It wasn’t your fault. No, no. They did this. Palpatine and his men were the monsters. Not you. And certainly not these poor clones. One day, yes, one day maybe you could come back and save them?

 “Hmmm…. You wanna me to do this?”  Cross says. You were so distracted in your thoughts you don’t even realized you were already in the medical bay.

 “Oh. You don’t have to.” 

 “It's fine. I’m used to do this anyway.” 

  “Ok. Be my guest then?” 

  “Wow, you’re so funny.” He jokes.

  “Whatever. Just do your thing.” 

  “Give me your hand.”  

 You give him your hand and he takes it. And to your surprise he’s very gentle while taking care of your wound. He applies some alcohol pads to clean the wound. And as he presses the wound to stop the bleeding you reach for your gun and keep looking at his face. His very concentrated. It’s almost like the rest of the galaxy doesn’t matter. He’s only there at the moment focused on helping you. And you’re trying to plan how you’re gonna knock him out to take his chip off.

 “Now I’m gonna get some stuff to make a bandage for ya, ok?” He says and turns his back. Now is you chance. You turn your blaster to stun only and shoots. He falls. 

 “I’m sorry. But there’s no other way.” You whisper as if he’s actually listening. 

 It takes some effort (seriously, Crosshair's heavier than he looks) but you manage to put him on one these surgical stretchers. You also have to learn super quick how to use the pad control to see where the chip’s in and take it off. But it’s done. And you wait and wait… For what it seemed like hours though it was only like 15 minutes.

And he wakes up very confused.

[wrenhyperfixates]

The Secret Admirer

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When he is too nervous to confess his love for you, Loki decides to take on the role of secret admirer. Can a perfect night out with you give him the confidence he needs? Warnings: it’s mainly fluff and some pining with a slightly steamy (but very quick) make-out session A/N: 1) Though I usually aim to write the reader as gender neutral, they are a female in this one. It’s nothing essential to the plot, but Loki does refer to them as a “woman” and “lady”. I apologize to all my readers out there who don’t identify as female, but maybe you could just skip those lines? I promise the next one will be gender neutral again. Thanks for reading :) 2) Thanks to @shypickleghostsuitcase​ for requesting. This was a lot of fun to write!

Loki watched from around the corner as you walked into the kitchen, ready for your post-workout snack. You frowned as you searched for your favorite fruits, which were nowhere to be found. That is until you spun around and saw a basket filled to the brim with them. Loki was glad to see a smile tugging at your lips as you picked up the little notecard attached by an emerald green ribbon. He sauntered in as you read it.

“Another gift from you secret admirer, I see,” he said, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah,” you replied with shining eyes. “It’s the third one this week.”

“Any clue as to who it might be?”

Loki, in reality, did not need to ask that question. After all, it was him who had been leaving you the presents around the Tower. However, he couldn’t resist an opportunity to see that adorable little blush creep its way onto your face.

“I might have a couple guesses,” came your carefree response.

“And who, might I ask, are they?”

“Well, you know Justin from accounting? I think he’s been dropping hints. Oh! And Chris from R&D has been pretty friendly recently. And he’s cute, too, don’t you think?”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” Loki answered, suddenly becoming very sour.

He’d known about this downside of his little plan, but he was too self-conscious to come right out and invite you on a date. Especially so after hearing you talk about others in this way. So, he resolved to make sure you fell completely for your admirer before coming forward. He made a gruff excuse as he left the room, and you stared on in confusion at his sudden mood swing.

Loki didn’t see you again until dinner, where the topic of conversation was him, not that any of his teammates knew it.

“Five bucks it’s that guy named Lawrence,” Tony speculated. “You know, that agent SHIELD keeps sending as a messenger.”

“Yeah, he does seem pretty fond of you,” Wanda added, playfully elbowing you.

“No way,” Nat argued. “It’s Matthew, that blonde from the labs.”

“Can we please talk about something else? Literally anything?” you pleaded.

“Indeed,” Loki came to your defense, and you shot him an appreciative smile that made his heart skip a beat. “Certainly someone has a different topic to conversate about.”

“Ok, ok,” Bucky conceded. “We’ll stop making guesses.”

“Thank you,” you said.

“So then, who do you want it to be?”

You just shook your head and got up from the table as the rest of the team erupted into a fit of giggles. They called you back as you stormed away with flushed cheeks, but you just flipped them off. When it became clear that no one was going after you, Loki took it upon himself to check on you. Once again fully immersed in their ridiculous guesses, no one noticed as he excused himself from the table.

He called your name as you were stepping into the elevator, and you held the door open for him so he could join you. You were still obviously pissed, and Loki wondered if he should have been like the rest of the team and let you blow off steam. When you fixed your gaze on him, though, your eyes were soft and appreciative. He wanted to get lost in them forever, to jump in and never come out. He certainly would have settled for being lost in a kiss, too, but he wouldn’t want to taint your sweet lips with his venomous ones.

It simultaneously pleased and annoyed him that no one had guessed he was your admirer. On the one hand, it meant that he was doing a good job keeping it a secret. On the other, it probably meant that no one thought you were a good match. Though, if they knew he was the one leaving you the gifts, that might change. After all, they fawned over the fact that you had a secret admirer. Sometimes they even tried to guess what he’d leave next.

“Hey,” you ventured, breaking the silence that had settled in between the two of you. “Thanks for backing me up in there.”

“I assure you it was no problem. The whole discussion was rather irksome, don’t you agree?”

You nodded your head in agreement as the elevator came to a stop. How Loki wished he could put an end to all those debates by just coming forward, but he was certain you wouldn’t feel the same. He was sparing both of you the guilt and embarrassment that would surely accompany his confession. Still, he couldn’t help but imagine holding your hand as you walked side by side, your head resting against him. It would show everyone that you were his. But you weren’t, not yet anyway.

“Um, Loki?” you asked after popping into your room for a second and coming back out with a jacket. “I was going to grab a bite to eat since I didn’t finish dinner and was wondering if you maybe wanted to come?”

Loki froze in his tracks. He knew how you meant it, but it almost sounded as if you were asking him out on a date. Never in his life had he been that lucky, though, so he was certain that wasn’t the case.

“Yes,” he said, masking the eagerness in his voice. “I would like that very much.”

The two of you made your way out onto the busy city streets, and Loki’s heart sped up as you took his hand to keep from getting separated. He knew that it was an innocent gesture, but to anyone else, it would seem as if you were something more than just friends. The very thought made the palpitations of his heart grow louder still.

Usually, Loki avoided going out into the world as much as possible. No one outside the Tower ever did seem to truly trust him and often sent him worried glances as if he might start another invasion right then and there. Being with you, however, seemed to ease everyone’s minds. People still sent him hurried looks that they thought he didn’t notice, but they were far fewer than when he ventured out by himself.

As the two of you stopped at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, he felt something cold and metallic brush against his wrist. He looked down and saw you wearing the charm bracelet he’d left you about a week ago. It pleased him to know that you liked the gifts, even if you were unaware that he was the one giving them to you. He averted his gaze before you could think anything of it, and a few minutes later, you were pulling him into a storefront, brightly decorated on the outside with red and yellow.

“McDonald’s is one of my favorites,” you explained as the door closed behind you, and you got on line to order. “Are you familiar with it?”

“I cannot say that I am.”

Loki, in fact, was not well acquainted with any of the Midgardian cuisines dubbed “fast food” and squinted at the menu, trying to figure out which of the undoubtedly greasy options was the best. However, he didn’t have to, as you insisted on ordering for him and sent him off to claim a table in the crowded restaurant. He found a small booth tucked in the corner, and you soon joined him, arms filled with the food you’d bought. Loki hesitantly eyed the burger that you had called a BigMac but bit into it after seeing your excited smile. He had to admit; it wasn’t half bad.

After you two had finished eating your burgers and shared some hot fries and chicken nuggets, Loki’s eyes flitted back down to the bracelet around your wrist. This time, you noticed before he could look away.

“It was a gift from my admirer,” you told him, unaware that he already knew this fact.

“Well, I must say, they have excellent taste. Both in jewelry and women.”

You blushed both from the compliment and the intense look in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, it’s very flattering, and I do appreciate it. I just kinda wish they’d confess already, you know?”

Loki frowned at that. He was certain that both of you would be disappointed if he came clean. Still, the idea was tempting. But then he’d remember just how many people seemed to be interested in you, and he was once again sure that no number of gifts could buy your affection. He knew that it was a great flaw in his plan, but he could find no better way. Besides, the gifts certainly made you happy, and that was worth it in and of itself.

“Actually,” you continued, “I’m not too sure I really mean that.”

“Why is that?” Loki said, somewhat shocked by your change of heart.

“Well, right now I can pretend that it’s the person I want it to be. But if the admirer comes forward and it’s not them, well, I guess I don’t know what I’d do. The gifts are thoughtful, so I suppose I’d give them a chance. Get to know them and see where it goes.”

“Unless it’s someone you already know and have absolutely no interest in, correct?”

“To be honest, I haven’t really thought much about what would happen if I felt that way. But, yeah, I guess not.”

Loki admired your features as you took on a pensive look, trying to sort through all these puzzling thoughts. He had a lot of thinking to do, too. Right now, it seemed as if his chances were decent. Even if he wasn’t who you’d been hoping for, he might be able to get at least one date with you. Though, he’d put a lot of thought into the possibility that you might have no interest in him, and actually believed it to be the most likely option. But that soft look on your face as you turned your attention back to him did change his mind a little. He made up his mind; he was going to tell you, and he’d do it tonight.

Before he could figure out the proper way to confess, you were dragging the raven haired god out of the restaurant, pursuing your next craving. He quirked an eyebrow at you as you came to a stop on a short line at an ice cream parlor. By now the sun was almost completely set, and a chill was settling into the air. He was worried about your frail mortal form becoming too cold after consuming the frozen treat. Voicing his concerns elicited, what he considered, an extremely cute scoff from you.

“I happen to like things that run on the cool side,” you said with a little shrug, stepping up to place your order.

Loki couldn’t help but wonder if there was some hidden meaning behind your words, especially considering a frost giant was your chosen companion for this evening. He didn’t have much time to ruminate on this, however, since he had to place his order. Surprisingly, before he could get the words out, you spoke for him. Not only that, you knew his favorite flavors: chocolate and strawberry. Realizing how much attention that meant you paid to him, he felt his cheeks flush. He wanted to say something, but you were very pointedly looking away from him. He supposed you might not have thought before speaking and were now embarrassed because of it.

You made your way out of the store after polishing off your ice cream, once again grabbing Loki’s hand as not to lose him in the crowded streets. He was enjoying the easy conversation that you shared when suddenly you squealed in delight and pulled him once again to chase your latest desire.

“Look, Loki!” you exclaimed, practically jumping up and down in excitement. “Carriage rides! I’ve always wanted to go on one.”

“Well, I see no reason to deny such a pretty lady her wish.”

Though he was a perfect picture of nonchalance and suave on the outside, his insides were a jumbled mess. As he paid the driver and helped you into the carriage, Loki thanked the Norns for this excellent opportunity to confess. For once, it seemed that the universe was actually on his side. As the horse trotted along the road, you began to shiver, and, giving you his best “I told you so” look, Loki conjured up a blanket for you. It wasn’t his intention to share it, but you insisted. Bundled up under the fleecy material, you took in the sights of the city. Loki, however, basked in the sight of you and all your radiant beauty, bursting forth from your bright smile and infectious energy.

“What is it?” you questioned, noticing how he was observing you. “Is there something in my teeth?”

Your hand flew up to cover your mouth, flustered at the possibility. Loki gently grabbed it and pulled it down, considering his next words carefully.

“No, my angel, there is not.” He took a steadying breath before continuing, “I do, however, have a confession to make.”

“Oh?” you remarked, the most adorable look of befuddlement adorning your face. “Ok, I’m listening.”

“Well, you see,” he began, second-guessing his decision to reveal himself, but the eager expression you wore egged him on. “I am the one who has been leaving you presents.”

“Wait, wait, wait. So you’re my secret admirer?”

Loki bit his lip, trying to assess the emotions hidden in your voice. It was something that, in any other circumstance, he was exceedingly good at. His own complex feelings, however, were preventing him from coming to an accurate conclusion at the moment.

“Yes. I am.” Before you could say anything else, he plowed on in an unusual mix of confidence and concern. “When we were speaking earlier, you admitted that, so long as you didn’t hate the person, you would go on a date with them. And I was hoping you would. Settle for me, that is.”

You blinked a few times, doing your best to process everything he just said. Loki waited with bated breath for your reply. As the seconds ticked on, he considered launching into another rambled explanation but thought better of it. It took all his energy to remain composed as you began shaking your head.

“I’m afraid that, no, Loki. I will not be settling for you, as you put it.”

“I understand,” he said, once again resigned to the fact that you would never love him. He couldn’t believe how foolish he’d been to think for even a second that you could.

“Actually, I don’t think that you do,” you continued as he quirked an eyebrow, doing his best to keep that glimmer of hope from invading his heart again. “You see, I won’t be settling because I was hoping that it would be you all along.”

For what was possibly the first time ever, the trickster god was at a loss for words. “I must admit, I am not quite sure what to say.”

“Then shut up and kiss me already.”

It was all the encouragement he needed before bringing his lips to meet yours. You grabbed his shirt and brought him even closer to you, deepening the kiss. Loki tried to memorize every detail of this moment, terrified that you’d suddenly change your mind. He was pretty sure that he could get drunk on the taste of your lips. Your fingers tangled in his raven locks as your tongue darted in his mouth and started exploring. Where he was afraid to go too fast and scare you off, you were sure of what you wanted and went for it. It encouraged him to move his hands down to your waist and slip them under your shirt.

All too soon, you had to break for air, but Loki wasn’t yet ready for his lips to still. He placed sloppy kisses along your neck as you panted, still trying to catch your breath from the passionate kiss. He managed to pull himself away as the carriage came to a stop, suddenly remembering where he was.

“So, about that date?” he ventured, now brimming with aplomb.

“Yes, Loki,” you laughed. “I would love to go on a date with you. Oh, and by the way, that kiss was the best gift yet.”

He looked shyly away as you snuggled up next to him under the blanket. After finishing the carriage ride, Loki walked arm in arm with you back home. You placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him before you walked in the doors.

“So, do you want to break it to the rest of the team that their guesses were wrong, or should I?” you playfully asked.

The two of you shared a laugh as you walked into the Tower, hearts full and lips red from kissing.

“Whatever you want, dearest,” Loki replied, placing a gentle, loving kiss to your head. “Whatever you want.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Imagine what would have happened if NHS realized the JGY was poisoning his brother long before NMJ died? What do you think he would do?

It was meant to be a surprise.

Nie Huaisang would be the last person to deny that he was a lazy, useless good-for-nothing, but he prided himself on having a good heart, and a generous one; even his brother couldn’t deny that Nie Huaisang’s ability to give gifts tailored to the recipient’s wishes were second to none. There was a reason he’d managed the Nie sect’s social affairs ever since the age of eight.

And, of course, the person he put the most effort into finding just the right gift for was his da-ge – and that was also the person he found the hardest to please.

Sure, Nie Mingjue would probably be overjoyed by the promise (and fulfilment) of a solid month of effort in saber practice, but that would only raise Nie Mingjue’s expectations while ruining Nie Huaisang’s life for a month, and anyway Nie Huaisang had already given his brother that the year he was thirteen and he hated repeating gifts. Since that option was off the table, if Nie Huaisang wanted to give his brother something that would make him happy, he had to think hard as to what that might be.

Especially since that present a few years ago, which had gone so terribly wrong.

(He’d thought his brother would be happy that he’d killed a Wen lieutenant for him, using his saber the way he so rarely did – and it hadn’t been easy, that’s for sure – but Nie Mingjue’s hands had actually shaken when he’d found out that Nie Huaisang had left the security of the Unclean Realm and Nie Huaisang didn’t want to see that gutted expression on his brother’s face ever again. Luckily, the war ended soon after, and it wasn’t an issue any more – except for the worried look on Nie Mingjue’s face every time his birthday came around.)

He’d played it low-key for a few years – finding exotic animals for a hunt, a new whetstone for Baxia, practical things like that – but this year was the end of a decade, and he was determined to do better.

The Song of Clarity seemed like the perfect solution.

After all, if Nie Huaisang learned to play it, his da-ge could hear the calming music every day, and he wouldn’t feel guilty about interrupting their lives for his needs; Lan Xichen was of course busy with his duties as Sect Leader, and Jin Guangyao, though always willing to visit, had a weak golden core that made the distant travel unpleasant.

Naturally, he couldn’t just ask to learn it. He liked his da-ge’s sworn brothers very much, had adopted them immediately as his own, but Nie Huaisang knew perfectly well that anything he told to them would swiftly reach his brother’s ears – he didn’t mind; after all, they were Nie Mingjue’s sworn brothers, not his. But it did make it tricky when he wanted to plan a surprise.

Luckily, the Unclean Realm was full of secrets, and the chamber near his brother’s receiving room – used by one of their more unscrupulous ancestors to spy on suspicious guests – was the perfect one to solve his problem. Nie Huaisang flattered himself to think he was pretty good at music; if he sat in the stone chamber that Nie Mingjue had forcefully erased from his mind years before, and which even Jin Guangyao with all his tricks had never known of, to listen to the tune being played over and over again, he should be able to figure out how the sounds came together.

He’d even get to benefit from the calming and mind-sharpening effects of the music itself, which would surely help him learn the tune even faster.

It was a great plan.

So great, in fact, that he found himself coughing up blood after only a few weeks.

Nie Huaisang didn’t suspect the music at the beginning. Since he didn’t share his brother’s dislike of submitting himself to medical experts, he went to their family doctor at once.

The man had the strangest expression on his face.

“Have you been practicing your saber too hard?” he asked, and if that wasn’t a suspicious question, Nie Huaisang didn’t know what was. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know anything about the saber spirits – his brother’s best attempts to keep him blissfully ignorant aside, it was pretty hard to learn their family’s history without knowing a little about how their sect became so powerful, and how their sect leaders tended to die – but it wasn’t usually very relevant to his life. He didn’t refuse to practice saber because he was afraid of the qi deviation that would probably kill him no matter how much or how little saber he practiced; he refused because he was lazy, and the family philosophy of ‘suppress evil wherever it appears’ seemed like an awful lot of work to put on his shoulders in exchange for, ugh, what, more exercise? No thanks.

“I have not,” he said.

“Nie-gongzi, if this is for your brother’s birthday –”

“It isn’t!” he protested at once, but that got him thinking: wasn’t he listening to the Song of Clarity every week, same as his brother? Even if Nie Huaisang did get it into his head to overdo things with his saber – not that that was likely to be possible at his age and cultivation level, his family’s lives were short only in comparison to other cultivators and even his brother, the prodigy, hadn’t had any signs of qi deviation so young – it shouldn’t have been able to affect him, not when his mind was being cleansed.

Not unless the Song of Clarity didn’t do what it was supposed to.

Nie Huaisang was alarmed by the thought. Not wanting to spoil a birthday surprise for his brother was one thing, but something that could harm his brother, however inadvertently? That was an emergency.

Obviously, the only thing to be done was to ask someone wiser for help.

After all, Nie Huaisang’s only a good-for-nothing; how could he deal with something of this magnitude? He made an excuse about needing to purchase something and went to Gusu at once.

After all, it had been Lan Xichen who suggested applying the song – if there was some fundamental clash between Lan and Gusu techniques, such that a technique meant to help in fact hurt, he would be the one to ask. Jin Guangyao might play it more often, but when in doubt, it was always better to go to the master.

“A clash?” Lan Xichen asked, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been listening to san-ge play it, every time he comes over,” Nie Huaisang explained. “I want to learn the chords.”

Lan Xichen smiled. “You could have asked –”

“It was supposed to be a surprise, and you would have told him. No, don’t shake your head, you would have; you’d have put down the flag and drums the second he looked the slightest bit worried about it. You’re hopeless, er-ge, just admit it. Anyway, that isn’t the point – I’ve been teaching myself the chords by listening to it –”

“You always had a talent for music,” Lan Xichen said, and Nie Huaisang beamed. “It must have come from your mother.”

Nie Huaisang giggled into his sleeve. “It’s not da-ge’s fault he’s halfway tone-deaf. Do you remember back when your uncle tried to teach him an instrument? Da-ge’s playing nearly made him start crying, and all the while da-ge kept insisting that what he was doing and what you were doing sounded exactly the same to him.”

Lan Xichen smiled outright at the memory.

“Anyway, I started coughing up blood the other day –”

“What?!” Lan Xichen exclaimed, smile disappearing from his face at once. “Huaisang! You should have started there!”

“I was getting to it. Don’t worry, I visited the family doctor and he said some extra time meditating would be enough to put me to rights –”

“You haven’t done it yet, have you.”

Ouch, Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered to make it a question; was Nie Huaisang so predictable?

Probably yes.

“But I shouldn’t have been able to have that problem,” Nie Huaisang continued stubbornly. “Not if I’m listening to the Song of Clarity all the time the way da-ge is – not unless the song isn’t working the way it’s supposed to. You know me, er-ge; I’m not as prone towards qi deviations as my brother is! If the song was working, I shouldn’t have had one in a hundred years.”

Lan Xichen’s usual smile had been replaced by a frown. “You’re right. That is strange. You think there’s some clash between Nie cultivation and our traditions, such that the song is ineffective? It seemed as though it was working at the beginning…”

“What else could it be?” Nie Huaisang asked practically. “Plenty of things are effective in small doses and poisonous in large, er-ge; and you said yourself just the other month that it seemed as though da-ge’s temperament was getting worse rather than better.”

Lan Xichen was pale. “You’re right. If it’s hurting him, we have to put a stop to it at once and start over from the beginning.”

“It’s still just a theory,” Nie Huaisang said. “But getting proof shouldn’t be hard – after all, I may not be much of a cultivator, but I’m still a Nie. Here, why don’t you sit down? I’ll play what I’ve learned for you while you examine what it’s doing to my qi; that way we’ll be able to see what sort of effect it’s having.”

[no-mercy-bby]

“Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!” For Johnny? 🥺

Ooh I like this one :)

angst coming up!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were angry.

No, that's a understatement.

You were fucking furious.

Seeing that group of girls all hanging around Johnny, obviously flirting with him, one of them had caressed his bicep another had laughed and shoved at his shoulder.

You and Johnny hadn't really put a label on what your relationship was but, you had made out a few times in his Firebird which was way more than others could say.

Still you had no right to be this angry, but you were. He could be with anyone he wants! It shouldn't matter this much to you, but it did, why did it bother you so much anyway?

Because you had a crush on him since you met him. Who wouldn't?!?

Sighing, you shut your locker and hurry to class, not bothering to see Johnny enjoying the company of the other girls.

The first half of the day it was easy to avoid Johnny, even though you did have science with Bobby as your lab partner and joked around with him during class, but it still wasn't Johnny.

Now it was lunch for your grade which means most likely he'll see you and try to talk to you. Its not like you could avoid him the rest of the day anyway, you had the rest of your classes together.

Shaking your head you try and shove the thick science book into your locker unsuccessfully before having it pulled from your hands and doing what you could not.

Instantly knowing who it was, you turn and start to walk away towards the lunch area. You hear your locker slam shut behind you and footsteps rapidly approaching to meet up with your pace.

"What's gotten into you?" Johnny asks, with a smile, nudging at your arm.

"Nothing." You say coldly, not sparing him a glance as you walk into the lunch room.

"It sure seems like something from the way your acting." He remarks, handing you a tray, wondering why you weren't happy to see him. Sure, not everyday you were over-joyed to see him, but usually you at least gave him that sweet smile of yours.

"So sorry if the way I'm acting is inconvenient for you." You retort, shoving away the tray he tried to hand to you and getting your own, before walking around him to be in front.

"What is your problem?" Johnny questions, shocked by you basically rejecting his help, usually you'd tell him what you want and he'd get it for you.

You let out a laugh, that had no amusement to it at all, and honestly it kinda scared Johnny.

"You wouldn't get it." You reply swiftly before going and sitting by Bobby.

That was the final straw, you always sat beside him, not across from him beside his best friend.

Tossing down his tray onto the table, you jump at the noise, before Johnny snatches your hand from the table. He tugs you up easily and starts pulling you away to the hallway, realizing that there was no point in fighting him, you follow silently as he holds your hand tight.

"Now, you're gonna tell me what's wrong and who's ass I have to beat." Johnny states firmly, looking expectantly at you.

You roll your eyes and look away from his pretty sapphire eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Talk to me or there is nothing I can do about it." He says softly, reaching out to touch your cheek, making you start to pull away fron him. Johnny's heart sinks at this and instantly recoils his hand.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Why?"

"So I can help."

"...you.."

"What?" Johnny asks, confused, he hadn't done anything. At least nothing that was worth fighting over.

"You." You state before starting to rant," You're what's wrong! I come into school today and practically see two other girls hanging off of you, flirting and smiling like they just found their new meal, and you acting like nothing is wrong with that! And I don't even have a real reason to be pissed about that because it's not like you're my boyfriend- because why would you ever date someone like me- when you could have any fucking girl you want and I-"

"Would you shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!" Johnny shouts over your rant, slamming his hands on the lockers behind you, caging you between him and the lockers.

You silently meet his eyes with your watery ones. Just great, now you were gonna cry in front of him too, you mentally scold yourself.

"As flattered as I am that you were jealous, you don't have to be, sweetheart. Those girls don't mean a single thing to me, I'm not talking to them out here, am I?"

You slowly shake your head.

"And about being your boyfriend, we could very easily fix that..." Johnny smirks, leaning closer to you.

"I'd like that a lot." You whisper before meeting his lips with your own, kissing your boyfriend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is probably one of my favorite things I've every written💕

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately - Epilogue: Borrowed Time

Life goes on, impossibly.

Read on Ao3

---

Martin shifted the bag of groceries in his arms as he climbed the stairs, still feeling a bit nervous.

The dinner had been Jon's idea – his O&M instructor was covering kitchen skills, and he'd thought it would be fun for the two of them to try making something together. The recipe had sounded a little elaborate to Martin, who'd protested that he didn't cook much, but Jon promised that it wasn't beyond them. He added that Martin was ‘perfectly capable' in the kitchen anyway, and said it with such prim, knowing confidence that Martin hadn't even bothered to ask. Before he knew it, he was writing down a list of ingredients to bring over.

He supposed that was just going to keep happening, Jon telling him things about himself. It was . . . strange. Sometimes it was endearing, sometimes just annoying. Occasionally it made him feel sentimental and a little bit sad in a way he couldn't put his finger on.

The door to the flat opened after a moment of knocking, and he smiled as Jon appeared.

"Hi Jon, it's Martin," he said. He'd read online it was polite to say your name, to not assume the other person will recognize your voice. "I've got the groceries."

"I know it's you, Martin." His tone was light and a little condescending, and Martin felt heat rise to his ears. "Come on inside. You know where the kitchen is."

Martin slipped past him and set down the bag, pulling things out and arranging them on the counter as Jon followed him to the kitchen.

"The store was out of chili paste," he mentioned.

Jon shrugged. "We'll improvise, then."

"If you say so."

Jon began taking out cookware, placing things down wherever he found counter space. "Do anything interesting today?" he asked, over the clatter of pans.

"Not especially. Filled out a few applications, then took a walk," he said. "Met a really friendly dog in the park."

"Flattered that you tore yourself away to come here."

"Wasn't by choice, her owner wouldn't let me keep her."

"How unreasonable."

It was weird, not having to worry so much about money. Not that Martin was complaining of course, but there was still a voice in his head telling him he was being too slow and selective in his job search, that it was lazy of him. And he felt anxious dipping into the new funds too much.

He'd just about gone into conniptions when Sasha told him what she'd done while she'd been fiddling with Elias's computer. Embezzlement might not have been an escalation when they were already committing arson, but they could still get caught, and wouldn't a financial windfall point a lot of suspicion towards them? But she kept assuring him that it was untraceable, some hidden fund Elias had, ready to be drawn on by anyone with the account information. The running theory was that he'd been keeping it for his next identity, which . . . yeah, the less Martin thought about that, the better.

Fear of discovery aside, he couldn't deny it was nice having a buffer like this. There was space he'd never had before to think about where he wanted to be, what he wanted to do with himself. And with the bills taken care of, Jon could focus his time on recovering. At the urging of his O&M teacher (and some amount of prodding on Martin's end) he'd even started talking to a counselor every few weeks. It was ostensibly just about handling the emotions that come up with sudden, traumatic vision loss, and he doubted Jon would be discussing the more exotic traumas he'd been through. Still. It was probably good he had something like that.

They went about the business of prepping ingredients, talking idly about food, things they'd done in the past few days, updates from Tim and Sasha. Martin's initial nerves already dissolving into the steady flow of conversation. There was something comfortable, he reflected, in being around someone who was so comfortable with him.

"Would you mind--" Jon frowned, fiddling with the hob on the stove. "I've got this, I'm fairly sure. Just . . . make sure I keep the pan centered?"

"Sure."

He came to stand behind Jon, watching over his shoulder as he set the carefully oiled pan on the stove and turned on the heat. Martin was a terribly distracted spotter, his attention frequently straying from the pan to look at Jon's face, pinched slightly in concentration. There was a single bead of sesame oil on his cheek, and it made his intensely serious expression that much more charming.

Despite his concerns, Jon had the pan well handled as he heated the oil and added in the aromatics. Martin only noticed him drifting once, the flames going high on one side of the pan.

"A little left," he advised.

In a moment of impulse and bravery, Martin curved an arm around him – placing a hand on his elbow, then running it down his arm to cover Jon's hand with his own, guiding the pan carefully into place. Jon leaned back, fitting the curve of his body into Martin's and sighing deeply.

"God, I've missed this," Jon exhaled. "Just . . . cooking dinner with you. All these little domestic things."

His voice was so unselfconsciously fond. It made Martin dizzy, just how easily affection poured out of him.

In hindsight, at least part of Jon's strange, awkward behavior around Martin had been a result of him holding back, wary of letting his feelings show. He never held anything back now -- his demeanor going from nonchalant or haughty to unbelievably soft and loving at the slightest prompting. It still took Martin by surprise, inspiring so much unreserved affection in someone. It wasn't anything he'd usually associate with himself. It was strange, and lovely, and at times made him feel almost frighteningly powerful.

He leaned forward, kissing the soft skin just beside Jon's ear. Jon smiled, holding his pose for a moment before gradually returning his attention to the pan, shaking it gently to move the vegetables around. Martin kept a hand on his, now fully for the sake of touch rather than any pretense of assistance, letting Jon's movements guide them both.

"Did we cook together in that cabin a lot?" he asked.

Jon nodded. "It was one of a handful of things we could do that felt . . . well, like a date, I suppose. We couldn't really go anywhere since we were lying low. I mean, we could walk around the area, isolated as it was, but trips to the village were all short and functional. So preparing something elaborate together made an evening feel special," he smirked. "You used to get defensive, too, just like today . . . saying you didn't really cook, like you were trying to lower my expectations."

"In my defense, I never said I didn't cook, just . . . ." Not since mum left , he thought. "Not for a while."

"To be honest, we were both at a disadvantage in that kitchen," Jon continued. "There weren't a lot of modern conveniences there. The power came from a generator, and the stove was an ancient, wood-burning thing that neither of us quite knew what to do with at first. Took a lot of trial and error before we really managed."

"Sounds cozy."

"Oh yes. So cozy we almost suffocated ourselves before we figured out how to adjust the vents."

Martin smiled, listening to Jon describe the little kitchen in that place. The cabin in Scotland had supposedly been a remote safehouse the two of them laid low in, but the way Jon talked about it sometimes it might as well have been a romantic holiday retreat. He made it sound so nice that Martin once idly suggested they go see it someday. Jon had gone tense and quiet at that, had shaken his head and said softly that they had to stay far, far away from that place. That there was nothing good that happened there now.

Jon was mostly open about the things he remembered. But sometimes "open" meant he'd easily speak at length about something, and other times "open" meant he'd answer your questions with short, one-sentence explanations, volunteering nothing unless pushed. And anything about the police officers he'd apparently worked with fell solidly into the second category.

Sometimes it seemed like they might have been friends, but Jon was always adamant that no one ever try to contact them. Daisy in particular seemed hard to talk about. Martin did know about the coffin. Jon had told him in a soft, emotional voice how another Martin had stepped from his cloud of isolation to set out tape recorders calling him home, how it had been one of very few things that let Jon believe he hadn't given up on him yet. And he knew something had been different about Daisy after the coffin, some sinister force like the one that had kept them at the Institute had loosened its hold on her.

He also knew that Jon was terrified of her, that he said again and again she was too dangerous to go near. That something about her made him sad -- and, Martin suspected, guilty, though he wasn't sure why. It was a topic he'd decided not to push . . . if Jon ever wanted to talk more about it, he would in his own time.

There were other things, things closer to home for Martin that Jon had hesitated over. Once while he was recounting the events of those years he'd paused mid-sentence. Stammered that it wasn't all supernatural in nature and some of it may still happen, and was he sure he wanted to know everything? Martin imagined Jon thought he was being subtle, but it wasn't a hard guess.

He told Jon not to give him the date. It was obviously going to be within the next couple of years, there was no spitting out that apple of knowledge. But he didn't want to be able to mark it on his calendar.

It shouldn't have felt like news, that his mum was going to die soon. Shouldn't have been the uncomfortable weight in his chest that it was. She was ill, of course it was coming, it had been coming for a while, hadn't it? But maybe that was the problem. It had been ‘any day now' for such a long time, ‘any day' had stopped feeling like a reality. And he still wasn't sure what to do with this information, if it really changed anything. Should he try to get some sort of closure? How did you make the most of the time you had left with a person who refuses to see you?

Martin hadn't asked Jon how much he knew about his mum, that just wasn't a conversation he was eager to have. But the careful, hesitant way Jon talked around the subject suggested . . . something, at least. Just like how the gentle, quiet tone he got when he talked about the Lonely told Martin more than he really wanted to have explained.

There was only one thing Jon flatly refused to tell him about, and that was whatever Elias had done to him on the day of the Unknowing. When pushed, Jon had gone quiet for a while, then said he didn't remember. It had been a lie, and a bad one, and both of them knew it. But it was clear there was no point in asking for more.

"You like pizzelles, don't you?"

Jon's voice snapped Martin to the present. With a last squeeze of Martin's hand, he turned off the flame, moved away from the stove and over to the pantry.

"Um, dunno?" Martin said, pulling his thoughts back together. "Never tried them."

"Really?" Jon frowned, pausing halfway to the cabinet door. Then he shrugged. "Well, no matter. You will."

Martin rolled his eyes. Jon spoke with so much more authority than anyone deserved to hold over another person's cookie preferences, and he couldn't help feeling contrary.

"No. You stepped on a butterfly last week and set off a chain of events that forever changed my feelings on pizzelles, I hate them now."

"That's all right," Jon said, popping open the plastic package and arranging the cookies on a plate. "If you don't want these, there's also canned peaches for dessert."

"Oh, don't you dare --"

Jon snickered, picking out a broken piece of one of the large, thin cookies and holding it out, just short of passing it into Martin's mouth. With an annoyed grunt, Martin leaned forward, taking a bite.

Damn it. It was really, really good.

---

Jon sank into the couch, pleasantly full and a little bit tired. He leaned back and listened to the sound of running water coming from the next room.

Martin had insisted on doing the dishes, on the basis that Jon had done "all the real work" of cooking. He wasn't sure that was true, but didn't argue. Just asked that he leave everything in the drainboard when he was finished so Jon could put it away later. He knew he'd be frustrated for hours if the dishes weren't where he expected them to be.

There were so many frustrations in his life now. His O&M instructor had promised he'd learn new ways to move through the world, that in time the frustrations would be fewer and fewer, and he'd find himself capable of nearly everything he'd done before the loss of his sight. Jon believed her, but it didn't make the prospect of getting there any less daunting. Nor did it make the learning process any easier.

The worst were the things his instructor would never understand, that no resource or guidebook would mention. The dread that gripped him when he became disoriented and found a door where he wasn't expecting one. The phantom tickles on his body that prompted him to pat himself down for spiders again and again.

Still. He was alive. The others were freed from the institute, and he was there with them, to struggle and to mourn and to continue on.

A part of him would always fear it had been a mistake. That the Web, or the Eye, or some other power still had plans for him that would reach apotheosis someday. Maybe he saw the fear as vigilance, as though something was waiting for him to feel safe so that it could rip that security from him. And as long as he never allowed himself to be truly, entirely at ease, that day would never come.

Irrational, perhaps. But it was so hard to tell anymore which irrational fears were truly irrational, and which would one day manifest with teeth and claws.

Even if nothing ever came for him, they had only bought the world some time. One day, maybe soon, someone would figure it out and attempt a ritual again. Maybe there would be others out there who would catch it in time, postponing the end over and over, forever. Or maybe someone would do it next week, and Jon would be plunged along with everyone else into unspeakable suffering until Terminus claimed them all. He could follow Gertrude's path if he chose, devote his life to stopping rituals at the cost of everything he cared for. Even then one could slip past him, come from someplace he hadn't been watching, or had been made not to notice. At some point he was going to have to find a way to live with that knowledge.

He'd work on it. But for the moment . . . .

The sound of running water stopped. Jon smiled, scooting to make room on the couch, feeling the cushions sink and shift as they took the weight of another person. With a hmm that came out with more whine to it than he'd wanted, Jon found Martin's arm and tugged it towards him. With a quiet laugh, Martin obliged, leaning into him and resting his head against his chest.

"Better," Jon arranged their limbs more comfortably. Martin's hands were still cold, and he smelled faintly of dish soap.

"Glad to hear it."

Jon knew Martin found it amusing, how clingy he was. The first time he'd commented on it had been profoundly embarrassing. Part of it was just the way Jon was, but he also remembered the days after the Lonely. The skittish, uncertain moments of contact, the times when Martin stiffened at his touch but whimpered when he pulled away. The other days, when they could barely let go of one another, when Jon would plant himself beside Martin or wrap his arms over his shoulders, and he would relax into it, sighing with release. Both of them too grateful for the fragile miracle of each other's touch to consider breaking contact.

This Martin didn't remember those days, and if he ever sensed anything desperate or reverent in the way Jon clung, he didn't comment on it. Still, even if he found it funny, he didn't seem to mind how ardently Jon held on to him.

Jon moved a hand into the space between Martin's shoulder blades and scratched down his spine, the particular way he used to like. Jon felt him shiver with pleasure under the soothing contact, and a powerful warmth spread through him.

"God . . ." Martin whispered, "you really know everything about me, don't you?"

Jon snorted. "Hardly. In a very real way, we barely had time to get to know each other. And when we did, well . . . it was close by necessity. It was intimate, and intense. But there's still a great deal I've no idea about."

"You were never tempted to use those powers of omniscience to look inside my head?"

"Constantly," Jon said, with great seriousness. "But I never did. I promised."

Martin went quiet at that. Maybe Jon's reply had been a little intense, or maybe Martin hadn't actually realized that looking inside his head had been a possibility when he'd asked the question as a joke.

"Oh," he said eventually. "Um . . . good?"

"I have picked up a few things," Jon continued, speaking with quiet and fond admiration. "For example . . . I know you'd like a pet, but your landlord won't allow them so you keep plants instead. You can't say no to panhandlers. You have a favorite hoodie that you only wear when you're sad and need the comfort. You like old, careworn furniture, and rainy days, and sitcoms that were made before you were born. You're kind to people who aren't kind to you, but you never forget the unkindness."

"Wow. Okay," Martin made a soft noise, shifting in his arms, voice tight and quiet. "Okay. Y-You're, uh, probably going to kill me if you keep that up, you know."

"Trust me, you've survived worse."

He felt Martin move a little higher, slotting himself beside Jon and giving him a tight squeeze. Jon grinned as the breath was pushed out of him, all twenty-four of his ribs contracting at the assault.

That was another difference, one of dozens of subtle changes Jon couldn't keep his mind from analyzing. Martin wasn't ungentle, exactly. But he hugged Jon more tightly, shoved or poked him when he was annoyed, whereas the Martin in his memories had held back a little. Been more mindful of his strength, as if wary he might handle him too roughly. It had been subtle, a thing Jon hadn't even noticed until he had something to contrast it against.

It made sense, he supposed. The other Martin had seen Jon limp back to the institute with fresh wounds and new scars one too many times. This one didn't have to have those images in his head.

There were some things that were lost between them, Jon knew that. Memories too small and simple to explain, questions he couldn't ask anymore. Moments they would never share, both good and bad. But there was also so much they had gained. This Martin hadn't had an easy life, not by any measure. But he hadn't had to watch helplessly as the people around him died or disappeared or became monstrous. Hadn't been lost in grinning corridors, or attacked by Hopworth's hooligans, or made to feel the heat of the endless tenement fire. And for that, Jon was so, so grateful.

"You look thoughtful," Martin commented.

"Mmm," Jon sat quietly for a while sifting through his thoughts before speaking. "We should go to a movie sometime. When I'm up for going out out."

"That sounds less fun for you than me . . . ."

"Depends on the movie. I could listen, even without description. And I'd enjoy being with you," he said. "Or maybe a concert? Though I don't really know what sort of music you like . . . ."

"Really? There's actually a blank spot in your catalogue of Martin trivia?" he said sarcastically. "Surprised it never came up."

"You only ever used headphones at work," Jon bristled, feeling oddly defensive about it, "and we obviously couldn't bring our devices to the cabin. Too traceable."

"Hmm," there was a teasing smile in Martin's voice. "Don't know if I want to tell, now. Feels like I've got a secret."

"Oh, except . . . there was one song? I don't know the lyrics, but you used to hum it all the time in the cabin."

"What was it called?"

"I didn't actually ask. It sounded nice, though. Maybe we could listen to it together. . . "

"How'd it go, then?"

He hummed the tune from memory. It came easily to mind, connected as it was with images of Martin sipping tea or wiping down a countertop, a bright, easy smile on his face. After a moment, Martin burst out laughing.

"That's -- that's from a soap commercial!"

". . . What?"

"Floors and doors, walls and halls, Liquid Lather cleans them all," he spoke-sang along with the tune. "It was probably just stuck in my head."

Jon frowned, mildly disappointed. "Well. It sounded nice when you were humming it, anyway."

"God. If you want I can serenade you with an insurance advert sometime."

"No thank you."

"Or we could listen to your album from uni," he pushed, the satisfied smile in his voice growing.

"Thankfully we never recorded anything," Jon grinned ruefully, "so that's lost to time."

"Bet you could still sing some of it."

"Try me the next time I'm not expecting to live through the night."

Martin made a displeased sound at that, but said nothing.

"I'm sorry that you always have to come over here," Jon said. "I should probably be making more of an effort to get out of the flat. But it's so much still, even with a guide. I can do it if I have to, but I can't relax."

"C'mon . . . you know I don't mind, and even if I did it wouldn't be something to apologize for. You're going at your own pace."

"Suppose I'm just impatient with myself. It feels absurd, I've walked through a London warped by unfathomable terror, but now ordinary city life is overwhelming. I think I never understood how many people there are on every block until each one became another unpredictable factor to be aware of on my way to the damn corner store," he sighed. "It may be a while before I'm up for anything like a concert."

"It's alright," Martin gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm good at waiting."

For a moment Jon's mind went to a dark, creaking bedroom, air heavy with dust and thick with terror. It's all right. I'm good at waiting. The same phrasing, almost the same tone. Maybe it was to be expected, little parallels like this. Given a person's linguistic habits and enough time it was probably inevitable, but every time something like it happened it floored Jon in the most wonderful way. Some small but meaningful part of the man he loved reflecting and echoing back at him.

If the world didn't end, if he didn't dissolve into spiders or die at the hands of some unfathomable terror, Jon swore someday he'd find the words for how moments like that made him feel. And if he had any courage left in him, he'd tell Martin about it.

"Though, as long as we're talking about that," Martin said, "I've been thinking . . . ."

"In general?" Jon teased.

"Sort of. I've been reading some stuff about adjusting to vision loss? And I know this is fast – well, maybe not fast to you – but it seems to me like it's probably easier, especially at first, if you've got a sighted person staying with you . . ."

He felt himself breathe in sharply, and Martin's words came faster, his tone careful.

"Not - not to do everything for you, of course! I know you can do things yourself. Just to make little things easier, and – you know, that aspect aside it – it might just be nice –"

"Yes," Jon said decisively.

"Because it isn't really just the vision thing – I mean, it's alright if you do need help but it's also alright if you don't – but there's other reasons – "

"My answer is yes."

A faint laugh came out of Martin and he slapped Jon's chest lightly. "Stop agreeing and let me finish."

"Sorry."

"I'm not suggesting moving in. That would be too fast, at least for me," he said. "I'd want to keep my own place, and I'd probably still spend some time there."

"Of course," Jon nodded solemnly. "Perfectly reasonable to want some space of your own."

"Yeah. But if it works for you, I thought I might get a bag together, y'know, just sort of stay for a while? I – hell, I wouldn't, uh, mind the excuse to cook more dinners with you? And I slept better than I had in a while the night I stayed over here."

"So did I."

"I just think it might be nice. If you think so too, of course."

There was a pause as Jon waited, not sure if Martin had more to say. After the silence had dragged on for a while, he spoke up. "Am I allowed to say yes now?"

Martin laughed, nodding against Jon's chest.

"Then yes. I'd be very happy to have you stay here with me."

"Cool. Cool . . . " Martin exhaled. " . . . I love you."

"And I love you."

"More than I'll ever know?"

There was a teasing smile in Martin as he echoed the words Jon had said to him back in the tunnel. Jon was quiet for a moment.

He'd meant those words when he'd said them. It hadn't been a romantic turn of phrase. He'd confessed his feelings in that moment with the understanding that Martin would never be able to see how deep they ran. That he could tell Martin he loved him, but he'd never be able to show him that. He wouldn't have the chance. He found Martin's cheek with a hand, turned his face towards him, then bent down and kissed him, once.

"No," he said. "Not if I can help it."

[tamcitrus]

Senior year.

I had fun writing this. It’s my first time writing Ushijima and I like what I did.

A big thanks to @loneveenas​ for beta-reading my work and all the great advices she gave me 🥰 🥰 🥰 🥰

I wrote this for the HQ Writers’ Net  monthly prompt! My prompt is: New Beginnings.

pairing | Ushijima x f!reader

words | 4k (!!!)

warnings | curse, insult

work is under the cut ~

Who the hell changed school in their senior year? Probably only you. It's not like you had a ton of friends to left behind anyways. On top of that, the last person you dated turned out to be a shit, so maybe this family drama and moving to another city was good. More so when you got a recommendation to enter a great Academy, Shiratorizawa, your mom's contacts finally put to good use, or so she said.

You became friends with a guy in your class who saw you playing guitar after lunch and approached you.

"Do you play? That's cool," he said, casually, as if he didn't spot you from across the campus.

"Uhm yeah, thanks," you forced a smile.

"Semi-semi, is this the new girl in your class? Hi! I'm Tendou Satori, Semi's best friend," a redhead sang from behind this Semi guy.

"No you're not, ugh," Semi pushed the other boy off him and he smiled at you.

"Hi Satori, hi Semi. I'm [y/n][l/n], nice to meet you both."

                                                       -*-*-*-*-*-

Within a few months, a lot of talks and pranks and a ton of hours playing guitar together, you and Semi Eita became best friends. Your taste in music, your passion in pursuing dreams, your humor, it was like you were siblings.

With him, and Satori, you got to know the whole Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club, and of course their ace: Ushijima Wakatoshi.

You and Ushijima had encountered each other a few times. Well, a “few” to say the least. He had seen you multiple times hanging out with Eita-kun outside the gym, just killing time until he had to practice. Today was not an exception.

“Ushijima-san! Is it practice time already?” Semi stood up and dusted his pants.

“No, it’s not. I’m here early,” the tall guy said, serious as usual.

“I can set for you,” Eita offered.

“If you want…” he said and kept walking.

“Do you want to watch, [y/n]? You can stay until it’s really the time for practice” Semi said, offering you his hand to help you get up.

“Am I allowed to?” you said. “Your handsome captain kinda intimidates me,” you said, entering the gym behind Semi, and loud enough for Ushijima to hear you.

If he did he didn’t react, Semi set ball after ball for him to spike, and it was interesting to watch. You grabbed your sketchbook and pencil and started drawing a few lines here and there from both boys playing.

“Ooooh~ will you draw me too?” Satori appeared out of nowhere and was crouching by your side, looking at your sketches.

“Of course I will, if you play,” you answered. The boys in the court were looking at your interaction with the middle blocker.

“Are you drawing us?” Semi said, walking your way. “Let me see.”

Ushijima was intrigued, he’s not gonna lie to himself. All of you intrigued him and it was so confusing to him. He walked to the bench and drinked water while you showed his teammates your drawings.

“Wakatoshi! Yours is great, come to see it!” Satori pulled him from his shirt, and you held your notebook for him to watch. “This is great, you should be a mangaka,” Satori said.

“It’s just a hobby,” you laughed. You saw Washijo-sensei arrive to the gym. You got your belongings together quickly so the old sensei couldn't scold you for intruding his practice. “See you later guys!” you exited the building from the contrary door where the coach was standing.

Ushijima was flattered. No one before had drawn him and showed said draw to him. You really were intriguing.

                                                      -*-*-*-*-*-

The next day you get to the volleyball table, as people called it, looking for Semi. You were one of the few affortunates outside the team, if not the only one, to sit there from time to time.

“Can I help you?” Ushijima asked.

"I was looking for Eita," you said. Your eyes were red, as if you were crying.

"He's sick, he isn't coming today," Leon answered.

"Oh, that's why I couldn't reach him… Thanks and sorry for interrupting."

You turned around, leaving a table full of volleyball players confused. Satori took his food and followed you to another table.

"Are you ok?" He said, sitting in front of you and offering his food.

"Yep. All good," you forced a smile. "Just needed Eita."

"You're catching someone else's attention~" he said, gesturing with his head to his previous table. Ushijima was looking at you, no intentions of being subtle. Not that he cared about what anyone else thinks but he really wasn't trying. "I can get you his address if you want to check on him," Tendou offered.

"I'd like that, thanks Satori."

You ended at Semi's house after school, sitting at the end of his bed while he was just lying there recovering from a fever.

"I'm sorry to come and bother you when you're like this," you ended telling him your newest family drama. The fact that your father tried to convince you with material stuff, such as a car or money, so you went to live with him made you upset, it made you feel like he didn't love you, he just wanted to win something to your mom. You were almost crying again.

"It's ok, I told you I'd be there no matter what and I'm keeping my promise. I can't hug you right now so just hug my pillow instead."

"I'm definitely getting sick after this," you laughed.

"Ushijima texted me. He was worried about you," your friend said and waited for your reaction.

"Bullshit," you scoffed and Semi lent you his phone.

Eita-kun, [y/n] was looking for you and didn't look good. Is she ok? you had read the text a few times but still didn't believe it.

"I told him it was a family business and I'll keep him updated," he waited a minute for you to say something and took his phone back. "Oh my, you're speechless."

"This doesn't make any sense," you looked at Semi. "He doesn't even talk to me."

"He's just like that," he shrugged. "But obviously he has you in mind. Maybe you actually have a chance to get your crush."

"I don't have a crush on him," you lied.

You were observing him since you started the year at his same class. Besides his looks, he was handsome, his personality was intriguing. He was interesting. His stoic face, his direct manners, his apparent lack of interest in anything but volleyball, his persistence with practicing, all about him and the intensity he did anything with was outstanding for you.

"Yeah the ton of sketches you have of him don't say the same," your friend scoffed.

You thought Eita didn't notice it, but he did: how your gaze lasted a few seconds longer on him than on anyone else, the way you blush when he greets you every morning, the sudden shyness when he approached Semi and you when you were playing guitar on the breaks, the fact that you had an obvious fixation on drawing the ace of the team, and he could go on the whole day.

You left Semi's house that day finally admitting that maybe, just maybe you did have a crush on his captain.

                                                      -*-*-*-*-*-

A week later you were sick. It's your fault so come over here and bring me some snacks and any homework we get, you texted you friend. And of course his only brain cell found a way to try and help you become close to your crush.

"Ushijima-san, can I ask you a favor?" Eita took the captain away from everyone after class and when he nodded, Eita continued. "[Y/n] couldn't come today and she asked me to get her the homework from math class. I can't bring it to her today but she lives near your house, maybe you can drop it on your way home? Only if you want, I don't want to bother you," he didn't even have an excuse, but he hoped his teammate didn’t ask why. "I'm sorry, I don't really trust anyone else to do it," he bowed.

"I can do it, no problem," Wakatoshi said. He could be reliable, it was his duty as captain, right?

And there he was, knocking on your door. He would just drop Semi's notes and leave, maybe he'd have time to practice some more on his house.

"It's open!" you said from inside.

"[Y/n]-san? It's Ushijima Wakatoshi. May I come in?" he was standing at the entrance. He closed the door behind him and noticed that your house smelled like you. He heard you cough in surprise.

"Yes, come in!"

He saw you in the living room, on the couch and wrapped up in a blanket.

"Hi, Ushijima-kun. I'm so sorry to bother you. I don't know what happened to Semi, he's a douchebag. Thanks so much for coming," you stood up and got the notebook from his hand.

"You shouldn't have left your door unlocked" he commented. "Are your parents home?"

"Mom works late today, so, no," you stood up and started walking to the kitchen.

"And your father?"

"Not in the picture," you smiled but it didn't reach your eyes. You were mad and still avoiding him after the 'come live with me and you'll get a car' thing, it wasn't the best thing Ushijima could ask at the moment. "Can I offer you some tea? Or coffee?" You walked behind the kitchen counter.

"I’m sorry. Just a tea please," he sat at your table. He wasn't planning on staying but he made you uncomfortable by asking things about your family and he couldn't just leave now.

"It's nothing. He barely was around so now that I grow up it's not a big deal," you set a cup of tea in front of him and another in front of you. "Is your family waiting for you? I don't want to keep you."

"I let them know I was coming to a classmate's house, so it's ok."

He drank his tea in silence, your tv playing softly in the background. He felt something touch his leg and saw a big grey cat.

"Grape, leave him alone!" you scolded. "Sorry, he's excited to have visits. We don't receive much people besides Eita," you smiled. Ushijima thought this was the first genuine smile he saw on you, and he liked it. The cat made his way to your lap and purred.

"He's nice," he stated. What was it about you that he found so fascinating?

"Oh, I drawed something to make a flyer for the next tournament. Do you want to see it?" you offered and went to find it. You were back with a big drawing with him in the middle and the rest of the team from major to minor by his sides. "This was fun to do, and the fact that you're the tallest also made it easier."

"It looks good. Thanks for doing this, I’m sorry we can’t repay you," he felt kinda bad about it.

"I like to do it, so it's fine. Semi buys me snacks for this so he’s repaying," you giggled. You took his empty cup and yours and went to the kitchen to wash it.

Ushijima couldn't help himself and went through your drawings while he waited for your return. You were really good, Tendou was right.  He saw there were a lot of him: him in lunch, him looking absentmindedly at the window in class, him in the court and spiking, him and Semi talking. Each one was better than the last. This was how you looked at him? You made him look way cooler than he thought he was.

You took a little longer than usual to wash two empty cups but you needed a minute to recompose yourself, you felt nervous and flustered, the fever you had wasn't helping either. Then you turned around, ready to talk about nothing again, and Wakatoshi was looking through your sketchbook. He was looking at your drawings. To be more specific, he was looking at his drawings. Shit, he wasn't supposed to see those. You walked slowly back to the table.

"Oh I'm… really embarrassed, you shouldn't have seen that," you were now standing at the opposite side of the table, his eyes still fixated on your sketches. “I can discard them if it makes you uncomfortable,” you held your hand open for him to return your notebook. He looked up. You were blushing.

“I like them. I really like that you draw me,” he admitted and returned your sketches. “I have to go now. Thanks for the tea.”

“Thanks for coming,” you said and watched him leave. You exhaled a breath you didn't know you were holding as you saw his back fading at the distance.

That was fucking unreal. You felt overwhelmed and there was only a person to blame. No, not Ushijima, he was being nice, in his own way. I’ll fucking kill you tomorrow istg, you texted Semi. He felt triumphant and didn’t care about your death threat. Yeah you can thank me later, he responded.

                                                      -*-*-*-*-*-

The next day Eita received glares from you all morning, you refused to talk to him. He didn’t really care, he knew his little trick yesterday had been put into effect when Ushijima asked him that morning if you were coming to school today. You avoided your usual table and sat alone at lunch, away from the volleyball club table and away from your friend, maybe when he didn't find you he'd leave you alone for the day.

“Hey,” he said when he found you and he sat in front of you. “Come on, you can’t be mad forever [y/n], I’m your best friend,” he whined a little.

“Shut up, he saw all my fucking sketches. He might think I’m a stalker and it’s your fault,” you hissed. You felt Ushijima’s stare all morning and now you saw him looking at you and Semi when he stood up and followed the team to exit the cafeteria.

“He’s looking this way, isn’t he? He asked for you today, before you arrived. So, I won. You’re really on his mind!” he grinned.

"You're way too excited for this. He's probably thinking how to tell me that I throw all of the drawings I did of him!"

"I wouldn't ask you that. I like them."

Suddenly, a tall figure was behind you. You glared at Semi for not warning you and turned around to greet Ushijima. 

"Can I talk to you for a second?" he said in the same casual tone he used before.

"I'll leave you two alone. Find me later, ok?" Eita smiled at you and at his captain before leaving.

"Hi Wakatoshi-kun," you felt your cheeks turn red. "Thanks again for coming yesterday and keeping me company. I enjoyed it. I'm sorry that Eita bothered you."

"I'm… I had a good time too," how could he explain what he felt? It was all too confusing. "I was thinking if you would like to come and see me at our practice game tomorrow after class?" that couldn't fail. He saw his teammates asking their girlfriends to come and watch their games. Well- you weren't his girlfriend. Not yet. But this could be a good start.

"Oh… yeah I'd like that," you smiled.

Wait, did he just think about you being his girlfriend?

                                                      -*-*-*-*-*-

And there you were. Sitting on the floor by the door, sketching again while the guys did their warm up. Ushijima had seen you arriving and slightly bowed his head to say hi.

"Hey." Semi approached you. "I didn't tell you we were playing. What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry? Someone else invited me, you shitty friend," you smiled.

Eita knew that smile wasn't for him, you were still pretending to be mad at him. He turned around to follow your gaze and saw Ushijima looking back at you. It was almost imperceptible but he was smiling too. Wakatoshi was smiling at you.

"Oh, you so owe me one," Semi said and went back to the court.

You were going to insult him again but he was too far when you reacted. Well, maybe you did owe him, but you had something else in mind at the moment. When the game was over, and Shiratorizawa obviously won, Ushijima approached you.

“If you want to wait a bit I’ll walk you home, we’re having a meeting and then I’m done,” he explained.

“Of course, I’ll be sitting outside waiting for you,” you smiled. You were smiling a lot that day.

Ten or twenty minutes later, you didn’t really know, he was standing behind you and observing how you finished a drawing.

“Oh, Ushijima-kun! Sorry, didn’t hear you were here. Are you ready to go?” you closed your sketchbook and put it back on your backpack.

He nodded and offered his hand to help you stand. Remember Wakatoshi, ask her about how she feels and if she has someone in mind, like a crush or something, Tendou said before he left. No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t have a casual talk like that out of nowhere. But he could try.

“You played well today. I mean, you always do, but you were like even better today,” you said when you started walking out of school.

“I didn’t know you understand about volleyball,” he said. He felt in better shape today too, for some reason.

“Uh yeah, my… the last guy I dated played too. He was good and he explained it to me, so I have a pretty decent knowledge and I can tell when someone is good. You’re awesome.”

“You don’t… anymore? Date them, I mean,” well maybe he can do small talk.

“No!” that was too enthusiastic. “I mean, no, I don’t. That was one of the reasons I moved here, besides from my parents divorce. There’s this saying that goes like better be alone than in bad company. Well, my mom and I sticked to that,” you laughed. He liked that, your laugh and how you can laugh from the bad experiences.

“Am I a good company?” he was genuinely curious but it sounded like he was flirting, though he had no idea how to do it.

“Yes you are!” you said quickly, you didn't even need to think, of course he was. You stopped and looked at him. “I uhm… I like you, Ushijima-kun. Like romantically? I don’t know if that makes sense to you but…”

“I like you too, I think. I keep getting distracted when you’re around at school and today I wanted to impress you, so I tried to play at my %120,” he interrupted.

“Yeah, that sounds like you like me,” you giggled. He was so bold and sincere. “Can I kiss you?”

His mind went blank for a minute. Had he even kiss someone before? Yeah, at that dumb 'spin the bottle' game, on the party his teammates organized for the beginning of their senior year. Had he kissed someone he felt something for? No, definitely no. He wasn't even sure he liked someone before. His mind was put on volleyball the whole time.

He was staring at you. Your eyes were on his, expectant. He sighed and put his big hands on your waist, instinctively closing the distance between your bodies. You felt his warm through your shirt. You put your hands over his and made your way up his arms slowly. Even on your tiptoes you didn’t reach his mouth so when he finally nodded you pulled him down by the collar of his jacket.

It was a soft and chaste kiss, his chapped lips felt so good against your own. You caressed them with the tip of your tongue, hesitant. He mimicked your actions and your tongues explored each other's mouth shily. You retreated for a second to look him in the eyes. He smiled and kissed you again, this time with the same passion he did everything else on his life. It was more insistent, almost clingy. You tangled a hand on his hair, it was incredibly soft, and the other rested on his chest. When you separated looking for air, his hands were still holding firmly to your waist.

“Semi… Eita-kun told me you had a bad experience with your ex. I would never do such a thing. If you want, I can try and give you a new beginning, a new experience…”

“Ushijima, are you asking me to date you?” you interrupted, surprised. You also made a mental note to punch Semi. “Oh my, the Ushijima Wakatoshi is asking me out, for god’s sake” you didn’t want to tease him but you couldn’t help yourself.

He looked at you, unamused. This wasn’t a joke to him but he learned that your way of coping with things was through laughter, so he waited for you to pass the surprise and be serious again, the whole time holding you from your waist against his body.

“You’re not answering,” he said after a minute. You were just looking at him and blushing.

“I want to,” you said and caressed his face. “I’d like that, yeah. So… can I call you my boyfriend now?”

“Yes you can, you're my girlfriend now,” he simply said. He let you go and started walking again as if nothing happened.

“Can I hold your hand?” when he hummed in response, you kept talking. “And can I kiss you tomorrow at lunch? Oh everyone’s gonna be so surprised!” you looked at your hands held together.

He laughed at your silly questions and comments about how your classmates were going to react when they saw you together. You arrived at your home and he walked you to the door.

“For real, can I kiss you in front of everyone tomorrow? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you were just joking before but now you really wanted him to voice his thoughts.

“Yes, just not in class,” he answered. “Sadly, I have to go now so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Text me when you get home,” you said and he kissed you one more time before leaving.

                                                      -*-*-*-*-*-

"Maybe, just maybe, I owe you a big one," you said the next morning after greeting Semi.

"Yeah, how's that?" your friend asked with a satisfied smile.

"I confessed yesterday. And it went even better than I thought."

"Yeah, I know. Tendou told me. I can't believe you didn't call me yesterday after it happened," he whispered, he was offended. "Maybe the whole school knows by now."

You laughed out loud. Ushijima told you he mentioned the situation to Satori, he was his best friend and the one who advised him to confess his feelings, so you texted him too to thank him.

"I wanted to surprise you, I didn't expect the rumor to spread throughout the school like fire!"

And in fact, by lunchtime the whole school was talking about you and how could it be that the new girl conquered Ushijima’s heart in a few months? If the girls didn't like you before, now some of them definitely hated you. It didn't really matter, you would make it work. After almost a year of bad experiences, you were happy again.

                                                      -*-*-*-*-*-

Your relationship with Ushijima was easier than you expected, somehow your opposite personalities balanced each other. Your routine didn’t change that much, but now you walked home in your boyfriend’s company everyday. Your mom loved him, of course she did, he was a gentleman, he even bought her a present the day you asked him to come dinner to meet her.

Your senior year was coming to an end, and you were more than happy with all the new things that came with it.

"Would you come to prom with me?" Ushijima asked at the end of the day.

You were chilling on your couch after his practice, watching a volleyball game of a team he liked. Your legs were tangled together, your back resting on his chest and his head resting on top of your head.

"Of course, Toshi! I wouldn't want to go with anyone else," you took his hand and kissed it, both of you still focused on the game.

He didn't think you'd say no, but he had to make sure, just in case.

Almost five months have passed since the day he asked you to date him and he was sure of two things about his future: he wanted to be a professional player and he wanted to spend as many time as he could with you, maybe not necessarily in that order.

Neither of you believed in 'happily ever after', not with your respective parents' divorce, but you did believe in spending many years together, making each other happy.

[rae-gar-targaryen]

oneirataxia, but make it comedy | marcus pike x reader

A/N: Part of the Sleepover Weekend.  Oh, shit, did I ever get carried away. “Write a blurb,” they said, “it’ll be fun,” they said. “You won’t write 3.3k words of a fake-dating Marcus Pike fic. Surely not. Surely the fuck I will. Buckle up, babe. I hope this is what you were looking for!

Pairing: Marcus Pike (The Mentalist) x fem!Reader

Warnings: Romance is its own warning. 

Word Count: 3.2k of fake dating tropes, bad jokes, Marcus getting a lil sassy (he gets it from his mom, apparently), and coffee abuse.

Summary: Marcus invites you home for the holidays; but there’s a bit of a string attached to the invite. Based on the prompt: “Your mum hates me.” “She doesn’t hate you…she just doesn’t like you.” 

NOT MY GIF

--

You were absolutely going to kill Marcus Pike.

Okay, not kill. Maybe maim?

As you met his mother’s eyeline over the rim of her tea mug you could have sworn she sneered at you a little.

So, no. Most definitely kill. Marcus was number one on the list. And his mom? Number two.

Let’s back up a little here--

You and Marcus were both agents at the Bureau together. You were part of the Art Squad, and have partnered with Marcus on missions a time or two. Honestly, you thought he was kinda cute. He had a sweet vibe to round out his killer intensity when he was in the field. And once you started talking to him, he had a kind of puppydog energy you found so darn endearing.  But in your sporadic interactions with Marcus, it never felt like he was being his fullest, true self. Like he was holding back a bit.

Still, you didn’t press. Pike’s business was Pike’s business.

Beyond him bringing you coffees a few times at team meetings, your interactions were limited. And he brought coffee for other people sometimes, too, so you tried not to read much into it and to damper your little crush.

It wasn’t until the two of you were partnered to go undercover together at a gala that you think Marcus really, truly saw you. You two had made an excellent team-- posing as a husband and wife undercover to sniff out some art thieves.

Marcus, in his pressed suit, had looked every inch of just dashing. You tried not to let yourself get too carried away in your daydream. Your dress was uncomfortable, and rode up a bit, if you were honest. You hoped Marcus didn’t notice.

But he told you you looked nice, ever the gentleman. And you were so busy looking for your mark that you didn’t notice how often Marcus was really looking at you.

After the gala, Marcus approached you more.

The idle, “Hey, how was your weekend” became, “Have you heard the new Black Keys album?”

You started to feel like he really understood you-- and the agency must’ve thought so, too, because they partnered you more and more.

Sure, Marcus knew you. So it was honestly fucking baffling to you why he’d even ask this of you--

“You want me to what?” you asked Marcus, your tone taking a slightly interrogatory edge.

“Uh, come to my family’s house for the holiday? I know you were going to spend it alone anyway, so really, you don’t have to--” Marcus sputtered a bit, his invitation seemingly sweet on its surface. But you were no dummy, you knew what you’d heard.

“No, Pike. Don’t act like you’re doing me some huge favor. I fucking heard you--” you started.

“Then why’d you ask me to repeat myself?” God, he could be so smug at times. That sinful little smirk around his full lips making you want to smack said smirk right off of his handsome face.

“Pike, I’m not going to pretend to be your little girlfriend at some family holiday shindig just so you can convince your mommy you’re not a perpetual bachelor, or whatever asinine reason you have for this request,” you chided.

The nerve of this guy! And to think, you’d had an Alicia Sliverstone-sized crush on this sweet, good-looking Paul Rudd wannabe!

“Come on, it’s not like that,” he protested, trying to win you over to his (obviously terrible) idea.

“Then what’s it like?” You demanded.

“It’s, uh.. It’s complicated. I was just hoping you’d do this for me? Please? Partner?” He implored. You almost gave in. Those damn puppydog eyes slightly too endearing for their own good-- but, no, you have always been a stick-to-your-guns kinda girl. Marcus Pike’s failed, mid-2000s rom-com of an oddball request wasn’t gonna change anything. But still… you were curious.

“Nope. No way, Pike. If you can’t be honest with me, then why would I do something so obviously-insane for you? Don’t act like I’d be doing you the favor when it’s obvious it’s a favor to you… especially if you won’t even tell me why. We’re partners, we’re supposed to trust each other.” You were resolute.

Marcus looked like he was going to tell you. In that moment, maybe he would have… He opened his mouth slightly as if to speak, before shaking his head slightly and closing his mouth again. As if he’d thought better about trusting you. Fuckin’ insulting.

“Sorry, Ace. I can’t tell you that.”

And with that, you left the room. Screw Pike! Screw him screwing with your feelings. A favor. Honestly!

Two days later, Pike walked into your office with your coffee of choice in one hand, and an apologetic look on his face.

“Look, I’m sorry about the other day. You’re right, it was crazy… it was crazy,” the second time sounded more to himself than to you.

“Bring me caffeine, babe, and all is forgiven,” you chirped, trying to lighten the mood. But it was clear Pike was thinking about something deeply, churning it over in his mind, his ochre eyes swimming with the sea of his own indecision.

“Pike, don’t think too hard. It’s not good for you. I can smell the smoke coming from your ears,” you teased gently.

“Teresa,” he said softly.

“Excuse me?”

“Her name was Teresa. She was my fiance… briefly. It… ended badly. Embarrassingly. I’m not-- I haven’t really been the same since. But I fucked up,” Marcus rambled. You nodded, trying not to interrupt him so he could continue. “I dove in too fast, proposed too soon. She didn’t really want me.”

Your heart panged at his confession. You’d had no idea. Honestly, your status as newbie agent didn’t really afford you to the inner workings of Marcus Pike, and you didn’t want to incite gossip by asking around too much. Being an inquisitive agent because it’s our job isn’t much of a guise if your crush becomes too obvious. Poor Marcus.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Marcus. I really am,” you placed a hand on his shoulder. “No one deserves that. But, um, what does this have to do with you asking me to spend the holidays with you?”

Marcus sighed.

“I told my mom about Teresa. When we were together, anyway. She knows it ended badly. I couldn’t take her smothering. Her pitying glances. Her everything. So, when she asked me about coming home for Christmas, I said I couldn’t because I was spending it with my girlfriend. I panicked. She then insisted I bring said girlfriend to Christmas at their place,” Marcus rushed out. “The problem being, of course, said girlfriend is fictional. Imaginary. Just like some bogus forgerd painting,” he chuckled a bit at his own attempt at humor.

Of course, of everything Marcus had just said, you were most surprised to hear that he was, in fact, single. File that one away for later.

“And your first thought was to ask me to be your fake girlfriend? Pike, that’s a little Hollywood. And not in a good way,” you chided.

“I know,” he moaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “And now she won’t let it go. So please, please, kid. Have pity on me? Come be my girlfriend for a week at Christmas?” He gazed at you pleadingly. “And you were an obvious first choice. You’re a stunner in the field, and smart. I thought you could handle it.”

Damn those eyes. Damn that face. Damn Marcus Pike.

If you hadn’t been caffeinated and in a better mood than the other day, you probably would have said no. Regardless of your caffeinated status, you definitely SHOULD have said no. And yet, here you were, drinking your coffee like it’s your dumb bitch juice.

But still, you couldn’t resist teasing a little.

“Don’t try to flatter me, Pike, it won’t work. I know I’m a good agent. But here, now, I’m just imagining you whining to your mom.” You put on your best, piteous John Mulaney impression, “Can my giiiiirlfriend come?” you mocked.

Pike rolled his eyes at you.

“Fine,” he said, popping himself up from the edge of your desk where he’d been irresistibly leaning since entering your office. “Enjoy your Christmas alone with your cats. I’m sure the ugly sweater looks great with cat hair stuck to it.” He started to walk out the door.

What possessed you to do what you were about to do?

“Pike,” you hollered, stopping him in the doorway. He turned.

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll do it.”

You couldn’t put your finger on it. Maybe it was because you really did feel for him. Which you did. Maybe it’s because you didn’t want to be alone. Which you didn’t. But maybe it’s because you were still carrying a torch for Marcus Pike, and the idea of spending Christmas with him was too good to pass up. Even if his whole family was there. Oh, shit. You are so screwed.

He jumped up, wrapping his arms around you quickly.

“Great!” He intoned. “Because I already told my mom it was you.”

“I’m gonna let that one go for now, Pike,” although you were secretly imploding. “Because we need to set some ground rules.”

“Fine.”

So, here you find yourself, days later, standing in the threshold of the Pike family home, where Marcus’s mother had been smothering her son with kisses and coos, waxing poetic about how glad she was that her “baby is finally home!”

And then, like a demonic switch has been turned, she turns to you and greets you (if you want to call it that) nothing short of ice-fucking-cold and a chirp of, “So this is the tart you work with!” before turning on her heel and walking to the kitchen, hollering for Marcus to put his bags down and follow.

The rest of the week passed like that, Marcus’s mother flipping moods so fast it made your head spin like the little girl from “The Exorcist.” Ironic, really, since it was Marcus’s mother who was the damn demon.

“So, Jennifer, where is your family from again?” She’d been calling you “Jennifer” for the entire time. She knew damn well that wasn’t your name. You grinned and bore it, for the sake of her beautiful, idiot son sitting at the table at your side.

You mumbled your name, trying to politely correct her.

“Is that not what I said?”

Honestly. This woman was a piece of work.

“You know, Mrs. Pike, we could get to know each other a lot better if you started with the right name.” You were just trying to lighten the mood a little, but not able to resist a slight jab at this old goat of a woman.

“I’m sure I’ll learn your name, dear, if you stick around long enough for it to be important to remember,” she replied primly, sipping her tea. You wanted to knock the china cup out of her little rat hands.  

UNBELIEVABLE, you thought. Here, you were suffering this horrid woman because at the behest of the ghost of Teresa Lisbon, the recipient of a punishment for a crime you’d done nothing to incite. Guilty by association was still guilty, though, apparently according to Marcus’s mother. If another woman had broken her son’s heart, she obviously felt entitled to regard you with suspicion and disdain.

Marcus was nothing short of apologetic in the peace and quiet of his bedroom, expressing profuse regret from his spot on the floor where he slept. Because of course he would be a perfect gentleman to you and allow you to sleep in his bed during this whole whatever-it-was. And if he was trying to be a gentleman, he was failing. That tight white t-shirt stretched across his fine, firm chest was just fucking rude.

“Marcus, it’s fine,” you insisted. “You have no control over her or her opinions. And I’ve seen and dealt with worse. Federal agent remember?”

As the week pressed on, you were able to temper the rudeness of Marcus’s mother with the intensity of your ever-growing feelings for Marcus. Seeing him at home, in his element, in relaxed clothing was doing something to you. And you weren’t quite ready to admit it. You spent quite a bit of time together, reading in front of the crackling fire in his family’s cozy living room. You played boardgames against his younger brother and his sister-in-law, teaming up to destroy the competition at Codenames.

You’d thought maybe, just maybe, Marcus was developing feelings for you, too, his touch lingering on your waist as he shuffles past you in the kitchen, sending you soft smiles over the pages of his books as you two read. But the more you thought about it, the more you were convinced that Marcus was just being nice and putting on a show for his family.

Until that old goat opened her mouth.

The family dinners were the worst. Marcus’s mother always seemed to sit across from you just so she could glare into you with that unyielding gaze of hers.

“Jennifer, a word?” She asked, as you got up to help clear the table.

Yeah. Where were we? Oh yeah, you were DEFINITELY gonna kill Marcus for talking you into this.

Marcus put the dishes he was carrying down, and squeezed your hand gently.

“It’ll be fine,” he whispers to you, before pressing a soft kiss to your temple, your brain instantly going dumb and numb at the contact, like you were listening to the people in the room from underwater. Nevertheless, you followed her into the kitchen, where you stood, alone, a marble-topped island counter the Switzerland between the two of you.

“Yes, Mrs. Pike?”

“I’m going to be frank with you, dear, I don’t like you,” she stated.

You’d had enough. The wrong name, the cold shoulder, the glares, the hmphs of disdain whenever you talked about the cool cases you were working on. You’d just had enough.

“No shit, Mrs. Pike? I just assumed you’d greeted all of your guests this way, and that’s why there were so many of them here. Because of your warm hospitality,” you snipped.

“Don’t get cute with me. I’m not about to applaud a relationship with my son if it’s just going to end badly.”

Now that gave you pause.

“That Teresa girl really did a number on him. So excuse me if I’m not going to sanction any old relationship. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. Not if you’re just going to break his heart. You’re just his co-worker and it should stay that way. Unless you’re serious, especially with the way he looks at you,” she stated firmly.

And you could honestly forgive her in that moment. Almost, anyway. “The way he looks at you” ringing in your ears. You had to say something-- and snark was getting you nowhere. So, you spoke from the heart-- before you could think about it too hard.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pike. I wasn’t around for any of that. I don’t know much. Only the little Marcus has told me. And I'm not keen on making him relive any of that, or cause him heartbreak,” you paused. “But I wouldn’t do that to him. Because I care about him. Deeply. I really do,” and you just kept going... “I know I’m probably not what you envisioned-- I’m too dedicated to my job, it’s not glamorous, I’m not some subservient little housewife. I’m brash, I’m annoying. All of these things are true. But the biggest truth? Your son means everything to me. And that I won’t apologize for.”

And with that, you left. To go find Marcus and give him a piece of your mind.

You marched upstairs to Marcus’s bedroom, where he was perched on the bed with a book in his lap. You fist your hand into his sweater before yanking him up and planting a firm kiss on  his mouth. Marcus stilled in shock, before reciprocating, kissing you back, cupping his hands to your cheeks. You pulled away, heat pooled in you cheeks, blazing in embarrassment at what you’d just done.

Honestly, what the hell did you just do??

Marcus regards your silence by raising an eyebrow.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what the hell was that?” Marcus asked.

You rushed the words out, knowing you’d retract and redact them from your brain if you waited too long.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m so sorry. Your mom just really got to me… she thinks I’m another… her,” you spared reference to Teresa’s name, mindful of Marcus’s melancholy that followed when she was mentioned. “But I’m not her. I love working with you, Marcus. And I’ve always had a thing for you, if I’m honest. Which I am. But it wasn’t until she really started pushing me that I realized… I care about you, Marcus. I want you, I really do. All of you, even the parts that hurt. I want you,” you professed.

Marcus stood there, shock etching his features, eyes widening and mouth starting to gape.

You bowed your head, blinking back furious tears as you stared hatefully at your shoes. Why would you do that? You thought. You’ve ruined everything, all because that old grackle dug at you too much. And now Marcus hates you.

Marcus’s hands were suddenly in your downcast eyesight, palms resting on your cheeks and urging your face and eyes upward to meet his gloriously shimmering midnight ones.

“I want you, too. God, you drive me crazy, you’re such a punk at work. But, fuck if I can’t stop thinking about you. You make me crazy. And I thought I was the only one. I’d go back to my apartment at the end of the day sad, because I knew you wouldn’t be there. My love is not really the overwhelming kind. Jesus, I just go home and drink rosé and watch ‘Remains of the Day,’” he implores. “But I mean it when I say I want you, too.”

And with that, he slides one hand from its resting place on your cheek to the back of your neck, scooping your face upward for a soft, slanting, warm kiss.

Needless to say, you were fine with Marcus relinquishing the spot on the floor in favor of lying next to you in bed for the remainder of the week.

Now, you held hands while going for brisk, winter-air walks around his neighborhood, despite his mother’s withering gaze. You were always touching, never far from the other’s hand or mind. Marcus’s brother teasing you good-naturedly about your interlocked fingers being “PDA.”

You head back to your lives and back to reality, but still on cloud nine. Sharing kisses before separating to one another’s respective offices at work. Spending weekends at one another’s apartments, making out against any and every surface you can find, your thigh slotting between his as you press together during every conceivable moment you can.

One of these nights finds you laughing about the inception of your relationship, when, inevitably, Marcus’s mother comes up in the conversation. You had spared him the gory details of your kitchen scene in favor of a simpler retelling.

“Honestly, Marcus, your mom hates me,” you implored. “She told me so.”

“She doesn’t hate you…,” Marcus trailed off, “She just doesn’t like you. I’m pretty sure that’s what she told you, if the grapevine was correct,” he smirked.

You slapped him on his chest. The nerve of this guy!

“But that’s okay. Because I like you enough for the both of us,” He said, smiling as he presses his lips to yours for a sugary sweet kiss.

[deathisanartmetzli]

Two for One || Bex & Metzli

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @inbextween @deathisanartmetzli​

SUMMARY: Metzli gets more than just a donation from Bex, and they really don’t like it.

CONTAINS: TW- Mentions of Child Death, Mentions of Parental Death, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Mentions of Homophobia and Transphobia, Vampire Compelling-

It wasn’t technically nerves that coursed through Bex as the uber pulled up to the art gallery, but there was a sense of excitement tingeing her cheeks. On Bex, it could have easily been mistaken for anxiety or nerves, as she stared wide-eyed up at the sign above the doors. There were so many things she didn’t know about White Crest and it’s people, and she found herself almost desperate to know them. Desperate to know the world she was always supposed to be part of. Anyone who offered even a morsel of that was on her list of people to talk to, to befriend, to know. Metzli was at the top of the list, if only because they hadn’t beat around the bush with anything, and Bex appreciated the candor. As well as the shmoozing. It wasn’t necessary, she’d write them a check for whatever amount they wanted, but it was still...flattering. She was still letting herself get used to being okay with being openly out, and it felt nice, she supposed, to be seen in that way. Not that she needed it! Mina was more than enough, and Bex wasn’t that daft (though she still was holding out hope that maybe Metzli was just being nice, maybe they were just trying to butter her up and just wanted to be her friend), but as she always did, she wanted to give them a chance, first. She couldn’t help it, it was as much a flaw as it was a strength. She supposed it was only a matter of time before it bit her in the ass, but she was really hoping that wouldn’t be the case here.

Pushing the front door open, Bex glanced up as the bell chimed to announce her arrival. It was quiet inside, no one else was really around, and she was grateful for that-- she still had a hard time in crowds, fearing the magic that pulsed beneath her fingers, and what harm it could do to people. But Metzli was a vampire, and her magic was mostly harmless against the undead. Which, again, both good and bad. Sai hadn’t taught her any barrier spells yet, so she really had no way to defend herself, other than the can of mace she always carried in her purse. It was a last resort only, though.

Bex perked up when she heard footsteps approaching and grinned, smoothing down the fringes of her dress. “Hi! It’s-- you’re Metzli, right? It’s me. Bex. But you probably already figured that out. Sorry. I’m much better at talking online.” Held her hand out. “It’s nice to finally meet you for, like, real!”

The prospect of meeting Bex in person was one that Metzli looked forward to greatly. Not only was she going to donate to the gallery, but she was a possible fun friend to get…close to. Needless to say, when Bex walked through the door, the vampire was excited, no, tantalizingly thrilled. “Yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bex.” They took Bex’s hand, their hand firm and extremely cold. Acting on their dated customs, they bowed and laid a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. Their smile was one that could win the hearts of most, and could melt even the coldest of them.

Metzli always wore suits to the gallery, but chose the best ones this week in anticipation of this meeting. Today they sported a blue suit with a plaid pattern, a black tie, and black dress shoes to complete the ensemble. Trying to “put their best foot forward,” if you will. “You’re certainly an energetic one. I like that.” Their smile grew wider, not too wide as to cause alarm, but enough to make the warmth grow. “Welcome to my gallery,” Arms extended as they gestured to the open building. “Would you like anything to drink before I give you the tour? Water, wine?” They asked, adjusting the cuffs of their shirt.

“I keep an assortment of reds, but I have some sparkling whites if you prefer,” Metzli continued, trying to be the best host possible. Though Bex did say she would donate regardless, the vampire had to put on a show.

Bex had eyes, good eye sight at that, and they stuck on Metzli’s form as they approached, on the rather suave suit they were wearing, and she felt her inside begin to vibrate. Maybe this was a bad idea. This could go bad very quickly. Really, all she had to do to solve her problem was tell Metzli she had a girlfriend, but how was she supposed to insert that into casual conversation? And why was it that the words still stuck in her throat? She glanced around the gallery again and found it still empty and wondered how long it would take her mind-- and her body-- to stop sending alarms to run away when confronted publicly with her queerness. But it was just...looking. Nothing would happen. She could look. And so she looked.

“Oh, well, don’t get too excited. Sometimes my energy can be a lot. I don’t shut up half the time and then most of the time I don’t even realize I’m not shutting up or talking too much. It’s really kind of a drag. Blessing and a curse? It’s-- see? I’m kind of already doing it.” She took Metzli’s hand to shut herself up and felt a chill run up her arm, into her spine. They felt like Morgan’s hands, cool, soft, but where Morgan’s grip was always gentle, Metzli’s was firm. The swift kiss to the back of her hand just as cold, despite the warmth now in her cheeks. “I-I’m okay right now! Why don’t we just save the drinking for later?”

Her dress-- a nice dress, but certainly not her nicest-- was a blue number, with a floral pattern and frilly, short sleeves. She liked to dress up nice-- an old habit she didn’t really know how to break-- but now she was wondering if, maybe, a more casual outfit would’ve been a better idea. “So how long have you been doing art? Did you own a gallery before this? Where did you live before this?”

Metzli could always tell when they were being checked out, which was often. Confidence emanated from them as they ogled back, a little more subtly. The way Bex stuttered only made them feel empowered, like they had her right where they wanted her. It was something they enjoyed a lot, maybe too much. “As you wish, cariña.” They replied flirtatiously and motioned for her to follow them.

“Please, follow me. I’ll answer your questions along the way as I lead you through the current showings, and maybe if you want, I can show you…the secret gallery. But that’ll have to wait until the end.” Metzli guided Bex down a hallway that led to a large, open room filled with sculptures and paintings. “In this section, I have a collection of works by local artists. Several of which were donated, and many others purchased right from the artists themselves. And if you look in the back corner, you’ll see my most recent painting.” A large painting of a decaying crow was on display. So far it had received much praise and was one of their favorites as of yet.

“As for your current questions, I’ve been practicing art, painting in particular, for about 90 years. After roaming for a bit once I left my clan, I decided to open my first gallery, this very one. I traveled all the way from Jalisco, Mexico. I resided there until I heard of White Crest. It took a while, but I finally made it here. Word travels far when it comes to special places.”

It was just Metzli being nice, Bex told herself. Obviously that’s all it was. They were just being nice because people could just be nice without any ulterior motive. Bex truly believed that. She really wanted to believe that right now. She could convince herself of that. Why would anyone want to flirt with her anyway? Especially a vampire who owned their own art gallery and had probably seen so much in the world. Someone like Bex wasn’t worth that time or effort. They were just being nice because Bex was donating to their gallery, that was all. Surely that was all.

She followed behind Metzli and stepped into the large room that displayed, as they explained it, the local works. Her gaze traced across all the different pieces on display, mouth slightly agape. She hadn’t known there were so many talented people right here in White Crest, but, really, what did she know about White Crest? Not much. It had been stolen from her. She was drawn towards a sculpture in the middle, of some sort of nightmarish, amorphous creature. Her eyes skated over the piece and she longed to reach out and touch it, but held herself back, looking up again when Metzli pointed out their own work.

“Oh, you painted that one!?” She moved quickly towards it, drawn in by the glowing red eye of the crow. It looked half dead, perhaps decaying, encompassing the canvas, and Bex stared at it in wonder. She’d always wished her hands were disciplined enough to put down onto paper what was in her mind, her dreams. Drawing maps of made-up worlds hardly counted. She glanced back over at Metzli, realizing how close she’d gotten to the painting and stepped away. “It’s beautiful.”

Bex had almost forgotten Metzli’s undead-ness, and balked for only a moment when they announced they’d been at this for ninety years. Her grandmother wasn’t even that old. Hands skated over the ridges of the painting, only touching the air in front of it as if she were a ghost. “What did you do before, then?” Looked back over at Metzli, eyes wide with wonder. “Ninety years is a long time. I can’t even imagine being alive for that long, let alone practicing something for all that time…”

Metzli watched as Bex marveled at their painting. Their skill always did a number on women. It was one of the many benefits of honing it. “Before? Oh, well…I didn’t do much of anything besides what my master commanded. Going into those details is not something I will do, though.” Their arms rested behind their back as they spoke, and their voice took on a more serious tone. Memories of that time flooded their mind, making them squeeze their eyes shut to push them away.

Once their eyes opened again, they slapped a smile on their face and turned to face the other pieces in the gallery. “Thank you for your praise. It’s always a pleasure to see my art taken so well.” Metzli continued walking away, motioning Bex once again to follow them. “Next I’ll show you the works I’ve collected nationwide, and even internationally. The collection is smaller, but still striking.”

They felt a little off. The flashes of memories long past made their facade wane slightly and they used the short walk to collect themselves. Showing the gallery to Bex was supposed to be an easy way to get money and possibly a fun time for the night. It was not supposed to make them feel any sort of way. Especially not sad. Lucky for Metzli, the moment of sorrow quickly passed and they moved on. “Do you have any further questions?”

Bex drew her brows in concern, worried she might’ve said something that upset Metzli. She had never been any good at telling people’s emotions from their faces, but the one thing she could recognize aside from anger-- perhaps even more so than-- was sorrow. It passed briefly over Metzli’s face and Bex turned her gaze away, pretending to have not seen it at all. Sorrow was something felt in solitude. It didn’t need to be looked at the way art was. She shifted her gaze back up when Metzli spoke up again, and Bex moved away from the painting and towards them. “It’s incredible,” she said again, stealing one more glance at it before they exited the room. “You’re incredible.”

As they walked, Bex wondered. She couldn’t help it. Her mind raced away with thoughts all the time, and Metzli’s words were making trails through her mind like a flood. Their master, whatever that meant, had made them do things. Probably things they hadn’t wanted to do, from the sound of it. Bex could understand that. Maybe too closely. Her parents had controlled everything about her life, so much to the point that the freedom she now enjoyed felt wrong. She didn’t know what to do with it. She blinked from her thoughts when Metzli spoke up again and found herself in a new room. “Oh, um-- you mentioned that you do, like, community stuff. Art classes. What kind of classes are they? And how often? Do you do them here? If you need a bigger space, I could probably give you the money for that. And supplies. Really, just, whatever you might need. I think a place like this is worth investing in.” She smiled, gently, sweetly. Her father would’ve called this a waste and her mother would have scolded her, but they weren’t around anymore, and even if Bex didn’t know how to feel about her new found freedom, she wasn't going to waste it.

Bex’s comment didn’t go unheard, but with their ego, they were just going to gloss over it so they wouldn’t blow their cover. “Oh, the art classes are held in these two rooms.” Metzli trotted over to two doors next to each other. “Currently only one is being used for now. I’m setting up the other for sculpture classes. Everything has been purchased out of my own pocket, so it’s taking longer than I’d like. But, the painting classes are held every Tuesday and Thursday. Rookies on Tuesday’s and Novices on Thursday’s. With your donation I’ll be able to hire a sculpting teacher and continue to purchase the supplies necessary.”

The excitement in Metzli’s voice surprised them. Crest Works Art was their pride and joy. It was their dream to use art to heal, only themselves and maybe a few others inadvertently, but that was something for them to know, not anyone else. “I was honestly only expecting a donation of five grand, which is more than enough.” The truth of the matter was that they were lowballing in hopes of getting more. The money would help the gallery but the leftovers would go to them. But the more they discussed the matter, the more they wanted it for the gallery. What the hell was going on?

“Whatever you see best though, is just fine. It would be an honor to take a donation from Miss Not-So-Fragile.” Metzli referenced an earlier message the two shared, clearly turning on their charm again. It was an attempt to get back in the zone, get back to what they were supposed to be doing. Which was not getting lost in pointless emotions.

“Out of your own pocket? Wow, you must really love this place,” Bex sighed, a bit of a dreamy tone to her voice as she did. She reached out and slid her fingers along the cool wall, between two of the paintings. Sometimes, she liked to believe she could feel the energy in the world, she was supposed to be able to, as a spellcaster. When she was outside, she could swear she could hear the thrum of the earth, as energy flowed through it, like invisible rivers. It was in everything. She wished she could feel that all the time, like the moonlight with Sai, and the warmth with Mina. “White Crest is lucky to have you here,” she said again, smiling.

“Oh, only five-thousand?” Bex didn’t really know how much was a good donation amount, but in the end, she’d decided she didn’t really care. If it meant keeping a place like this open and running, she’d give whatever. If she could be the person helping someone achieve their dream, then of course she would help them. She turned away from the wall and headed towards Metzli again, in the middle of the room. She chuckled, hiding her face behind her hand for a moment. “You know you don’t have to keep buttering me up,” she stated, pulling her wallet out, “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t like you or didn’t want to do this.” Because she had the ability to choose to do that now. No one to tell her how to live her life. “How’s 50k?”

“It’s not buttering up if I’m enjoying it.” The way Bex just didn’t see how Metzli was laying it on super thick with the flirting was astounding. Completely baffled, they chuckled and were going to continue to flirt when Bex gave her offer. 50k? 50k? They were expecting a higher amount than five thousand, but that? “Holy shit,” was all that was muttered in that moment. “A-are you sure?!”

Metzli didn’t mean to be so loud, but the plan had gone well, too well in fact. Sure they were confident, but it never got them something of this magnitude. “Sorry, sorry. Just wasn’t expecting that.” They chuckled out of pure disbelief. Fooling Bex had obviously paid off, but it was much more than that now. Having a donation of that amount meant they could do more than just the few things they mentioned. This could be the breakthrough the gallery needed to be as successful as they had dreamed. Their master, just like Bex’s parents had no hold on her, had no hold on them. Not anymore.

For a moment, the facade fell again, and actual gratitude showed on Metzli’s face. Bowing like before, they took Bex’s hand and pressed another kiss to the back of her hand. This time though, their hold was gentle, maybe even hinging on being soft. “Thank you, Bex.”

That look right there was what Bex cared about the most. Through the astonishment, it was the look of hope that made Bex’s heart soar. She wanted to give people hope. Hope that they could finally have something good. It was like she’d told Bly-- hope was never bad, it couldn’t be, by nature. Bex wanted to truly believe that. She did. It was nice, too, to watch Metzli trip over their words and stutter, instead of her. She was usually so bad at talking, but something about this place had rendered Bex relatively quiet as she observed the space around her. The paintings, the sculptures, the pictures. They were worth investing in, they were worth giving back to. “I’m sure,” she answered, smiling. She scribbled on the check, before tearing one out and handing it to Metzli. “I really hate saying this, but that’s barely even a dent in the wallet. Like I told you, no one needs this much money. I’d give you more if I didn’t think you’d pass out, or the government wouldn’t try and take it all for taxes.”

Bex wasn’t expecting another bow, and she stayed frozen a moment as Metzli leaned down to kiss the back of her hand again. It felt somehow gentler this time. She felt her face flush and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, chuckling nervously. “Y-you don’t have to thank me! Honest. I’m not doing this for the thanks. I just want to give back to the community and the town and-- and people. People who deserve it.” This was just what people did, right? This was just being nice. People had different customs, was all. “I-- I do expect special treatment when I show up to the beginner painting classes, though.”

And just like that, Metzli knew they had done it again. Another successful event that flustered the naive woman. That was what they were trying to twist it into at least. Gratitude filled their cold heart, but they were determined to believe this was all according to their plan to seduce a millionaire. “Special treatment for you? You’ll get that any time, anywhere, cariña.” A flair of their accent came through and they cleared their throat to breeze past it.

Taking the check, they eyed it with amazement before pocketing it into the inside of their suit jacket. “Maybe we can leave the secret gallery for another time. After such a gracious donation, I believe I’d like to celebrate with a drink. What do you say? The Bloody Stake is calling to us.” Metzli’s charm was subtle and had an air about it that made people want to listen, want to do what they said. Or was that just their compelling? No, that wasn’t it, not now. That was for very special occasions. This was just their natural personality.

Metzli just hoped their luck continued into the night. Having a woman like Bex at their disposal would prove to be beneficial. They’d have to monitor how they approached everything. A one night stand may not be in the cards if Bex was as sweet as she appeared to be. Not to mention that could ruin any chance of them reaping the benefits of having Bex on their side.

Bex stared for a long moment, pretending that the word was just a common thing people from Mexico said. It was just like when people called her sweetheart or darling. That was all. The heat in her cheeks was just from her anxiety, she was always anxious, Morgan said she needed medication for her anxiety. So, clearly, it was just that. She heard the tint of Metzli’s accent and wondered why they tried to cover it up, but didn’t want to ask.

“You know, I’m only a little worried about what might be in this secret gallery,” she finally said, clearing her throat, “more so curious, though. But-- you know, drinks sound nice, too. I could do drinks.” Metzli was smooth, Bex had to admit it, but she was still clinging to the idea that this was just two people getting drinks and nothing more. Like they said, they just wanted to celebrate. Bex could get on board with that, and the idea of drowning the stupid thoughts in her head about her mother for just one night was the most compelling part of it all. But there was also just something...compelling about Metzli, that made Bex want to just say yes and follow them and ignore the alarms going off in her head. They were stupid alarms and she wanted to stop listening to them. She was free now, she could do what she wanted.

After a moment, once the check was tucked safely away, Bex curtsied slightly as she motioned towards the door. “Shall we? Is it close enough to walk?”

The crimson on Bex’s cheeks was noticeable on visual alone, but Metzli heard the rush of blood after her heartbeat picked up. With a bright smile, they walked over to a light switch, and turned it off. Upon this action, a blue light was activated, subtly revealing a door. Due to the light from the windows and other fixtures, it was a little hard to see. “The secret gallery is right behind this door. There’s nothing to worry about, though. Many protective measures have been taken so that the cursed works stay put. Maybe after drinks, we can come here and I can show you.”

As instantly as the door appeared, it disappeared just the same with another flick of the switch. “The bar isn’t walking distance, but I have a car that I can drive us in, if you’re comfortable enough. It’s the black Mercedes out front.” Metzli said, using a tone as smooth and sweet as saccharine. Clasping their arms behind their back, they guided Bex back to the front so they could get to their office. “Give me a moment so I can dress down a little.”

Metzli faded into their office for a moment, removing their tie and suit jacket, and unbuttoning their shirt to their sternum. It revealed a portion of their clan tattoo, a custom ankh with three strikes through it. A tattoo they were ashamed of, but figured there was no use hiding it. With a shrug, all the lights were shut off and they exited their office. “Have you decided whether or not you’ll ride with me, Miss Not-So-Fragile?”

Bex felt that insatiable tug of curiosity again when the lights flickered out. Her heartbeat quickened even more as she looked at the door, now illuminated in blue light-- even took a step towards it-- before the lights were turned back on and Metzli was ushering her back towards the front. “Cursed!?” she asked, brows raising. She wanted to see those, she definitely wanted to see those. She wanted to know if they felt like magic, if she could sense the magic infused in them. She wondered what kind of curses they were. She wondered who put them on them. There was so much she wanted to know.

Instead, she stood and waited patiently while Metzli changed, her eyes flicking back and forth between the office door they’d disappeared behind, and the hallway that led to the room with the secret door. She perked back up when Metzli returned and beamed a smile. “Well, considering I didn’t drive here, I think that might be the best idea.” She didn’t need to mention that she couldn’t drive, and a small part of her worried how she might be getting home later, but a bigger part of her just didn’t care. Maybe the walk would be nice. She headed towards the door, motioning towards Metzli, hands clasped together as she leaned back against the door, hearing the little bell chime once again when it opened slightly. She glanced one more time towards where the secret door was. “Ready?”

“Ready indeed,” Metzli said, following Bex out the door, and promptly locking it. The alarm was set and they were good to go. As per usual, they opened the passenger door for Bex. It was another dated custom, but it always did well with the female population. “Your chariot awaits,” They joked, and went on to the driver’s side once Bex was set up.

Metzli never bothered with a seatbelt, there was no point. The only thing that could hurt them right now was that damn sun, but they would be rid of that monstrosity in a matter of minutes. Turning over the engine, they shifted the car into drive, and began the commute to the bar. “We’re not too far by car, so we’ll be there soon.” A smile spread over their lips as they moved their hand towards Bex’s thigh, no, the gear shift actually. With a flick of their wrist, the gears changed and the car sped closer to their destination.

Just like they said, the two arrived quickly and Metzli winced at the exposure to the sun again. “Let’s get in quickly. The sun…stings.” Thanks to the time of day, which was 5pm, the toxic sphere would linger for a few hours more. But soon they’d be greeted with a dark room and the perfect drinks, with a woman they had just taken 50k from. Happily, they gently pressed their hand to the small of Bex’s back and guided her towards the door.

It was just polite, really, for someone to open the door for her, right? Bex slid into the car, just as suave and nice as she thought someone like Metzli might own, and folded her hands into her lap, adjusting the edge of her dress to rest over her thigh. She swallowed. This was fine, it was just someone taking her for a drink, it didn’t have to be anything more than that. She kept telling herself that. She would never do anything to be unfaithful to Mina, she loved Mina, this wasn’t anything like that. After all, all Bex wanted was a friend.

She kept her eyes on the road, barely noticed Metzli’s hand moving towards her, as she tried to keep her mind calm. It kept going back to that secret room, or to the way Metzli looked at her, or to Mina back home, still frightened over the warden. Or to her mom. They were all things she wanted to forget about for tonight. She just wanted one night where she didn’t have to think about anything stressful, anything painful, anything hard. Finally, the car pulled up and Bex felt her body loosen, not even realizing how tense she’d become.

She slipped from the car and adjusted herself again, feeling a shiver run up her back when Metzli’s hand came to rest on it. She shuffled slightly, but didn’t move away, instead moving quickly towards the door and slipping inside. Metzli’s chivalry was a little old-fashioned, but that was what Bex had grown up with. The inside of the bar was dark, and red-- a lot of red. Bex glanced around, as eyes turned on her. They could smell her, she realized, her humanness. Could they smell her magic, too? She looked back at Metzli. “Where uh-- where should we sit?”

The effect Metzli was having on Bex was obvious in every flutter of her heart, and every hitch of breath. She didn’t need to utter a word of her attraction, they already had it confirmed. With eyes on the two, they bent down at the waist to whisper on Bex’s ear. “No one will touch you so long as I’m around. You don’t have to worry, okay?” They attempted to reassure her, knowing she was probably a little nervous. No. It was to show their dominance in the bar. It was an attractive trait. That’s all. “We can sit in a booth in the back corner. I see that it’s free right now, but let’s get drinks first.”

With their hand still in place, they guided Bex to the bar and requested a special red wine for themselves, and then motioned to Bex. “And you? What would you like, cariña?” An elbow propped them up as they leaned on the bar, removing their hand from her back finally. The bartender made Metzli’s drink as they waited for Bex’s request.

It was comforting to know and Bex felt herself relaxing a bit more. She wondered if it was the check in Metzli’s pocket that was providing her sanctuary here, or something else. Not that Bex was scared-- it wasn’t fear of someone trying to hurt her, she’d been attacked by a vampire before, but that woman had been cruel, perhaps feral, and she wasn’t going to let one incident color her views on vampires-- but the attention drawn to her made her anxiety rocket. She wasn’t used to being perceived like this, it made her stomach churn a little. She wished she wasn’t always so self-conscious. Did they know? Could they see? Could they tell?

She shuffled closer to Metzli subconsciously and looked across the bartop towards the bartender. “Uh, vodka cranberry,” she ordered, leaning against the bar. Drummed her fingers on the bartop. This is where Kyle had worked. In fact, the alley behind it was where he’d attacked her, causing the scarring that was probably visible on her chest. She tried not to think about that. “So you come here a lot? I can see why. Totally has that vampy vibe. Do they serve actual blood here?��� she asked, curious.

“Yes, they do. That’s what makes my wine special, actually. Makes partying much more fun when the drinks taste divine.” Metzli replied, sipping on their wine. Instantly, their eyes turned red and fangs extended from their canines. “Hope this doesn’t put you off. It feels like taking off a mask when I can do this freely.” They smiled and requested a special shot and a tequila shot for Bex. Gathering the shots and their wine, they pointed with their head and walked towards the booth they mentioned when the two first entered.

Metzli sat across from Bex and carefully placed all the drinks down. “Okay, I got these for us. Don’t drink this one though. You’ll hate it,” A small chuckle escaped their lips as they scooted their shot closer to them. “To art and to new friendship,” They raised their shot, which prompted Bex to clink hers with Metzli’s. Today had been fantastic so far, and they hoped it would only get better. Much better.

“You did say you wanted to get too wasted, right?” Another chuckle escaped right before taking their bloody concoction of inebriation.

“Can you taste normal food? I know a zombie and they say they can’t taste like, normal human food anymore. Is it like that for you?” Bex was blurting the questions before she could help herself, staring perhaps a little too excitedly as fangs formed in their mouth and eyes shimmered red. She remembered how the other woman’s face had looked when Bex had seen her outside the library, eyes glinting through the dark at her before teeth sunk into her neck. She blinked and looked away. “Oh, no! You’re totally fine! I don’t mind at all. I think it’s actually pretty cool,” she said, smiling. If she could trust Milo, she could trust Metzli. She was trying to get over all that, anyway. If she could trust Kyle, she could trust others. And she did, trust Kyle. “Is it, like, painful? To hold it in?”

She already felt more questions bubbling in her throat, but held them back for now, following Metzli back to the booth they’d pointed out earlier. Her eyes fell from Metzli’s face to the drinks and the shot that was handed to her. She had said that, hadn’t she? “To art and friendship.”Lifted her shot glass and clinked it to Metzli’s before downing it in one gulp, wincing only a little. “Tequila always burns more than I remember,” she admitted, chuckling slightly as she bit down into the lime that had come with it.

“Do different blood types taste different?” she asked, watching Metzli partake in their special wine, eyes wide, once again, with curiosity.

“You sure have a lot of questions, don’t you?” Metzli teased with a smile, and continued on to answer everything once the shots were taken. Bex’s face at the shot made them laugh right as they answered. “Can’t really taste normal food. Haven’t been able to since I was…I guess 20? I don’t remember. I really do miss conchas and coffee though. They were my favorite.” Memories of the late night sweet bread and coffee made them smile to themselves. Some memories were just too sweet to not smile at. “As for different blood types, yeah they do taste different. Blood from slayers tastes especially euphoric.”

Even more memories raced through their head, until a particular memory made their face fall. The one and only slayer they had killed themselves wasn’t even a slayer yet. Their master convinced them it was for the betterment of the clan, that it would save countless of vampiric lives. “But I’ve only ever had a few tastes,” Metzli attempted to shake free of the sorrowful hold the memory had on them. It frustrated them that they kept behaving this way.

“Um…are you going to finally tell me what you are? It’s only fair since you know what I am.” Their signature smile wasn’t as strong, but the attempt was there. They just wanted to move on.

“Oh, s-sorry! I can totally stop if it’s making you uncomfortable, I just kinda always do this,” Bex stumbled through the explanation, “I ask a lot of questions. I don’t mean to! I just get-- excited?” She gave a sheepish grin. “I like learning about new things and people and, well, I mean, you’re just such a fascinating person! I’ve met a lot of people here that I think are interesting or amazing, but none like you. I do even know another vampire, but they’re kinda new to it.” She paused, stopped herself from rambling more by picking up her drink and hovering it by her lips as she took a large gulp. That felt better. She needed to stop being so annoying. Fingers wrung together for a moment. “Sorry. I ramble a lot.”

The mention of slayers made Bex stiffen. She didn’t really think about how vampires-- and zombies, in turn-- could hurt hunters in the way the hunters themselves tried to keep them from doing. She swallowed. She wanted to ask more, but that distantly sad look was on Metzli’s face again, so she clenched her jaw shut instead.

When the subject turned on her, she welcomed it, even if it made her heart beat a little faster again. “What? You haven’t guessed yet?” she teased, smiling, hoping to lighten the mood after her slip up. “Obviously I’m some sort of human. A special kind.” A kind she was still learning to love, but her magic didn’t have to be a terrible thing-- that was the lesson she’d finally learned. Her magic could be special, if she let it.

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. You know what?” Metzli groaned, feeling like they were behaving like a vampire with a stupid soul. What they did was nothing. It was in their nature, so what did it matter in the long run? “Rambling is good. At least what you have on your mind will get out. Better that way.” Before continuing, they motioned for the bartender for refills and two more shots. Drinks would help, they were sure of it. “You did nothing wrong. It’s just—and you know, we’re gonna get back to what you are, but—“ They cut themselves off with a sip of their wine.

“Look, I don’t have a soul. And I did that by killing a slayer. But the kid wasn’t a slayer yet. Actually, they weren’t a slayer at all. My master said they were though. Greater good for my clan and all that. My master wanted me to believe that, so I did. I’m not supposed to feel bad, and for a stupid second, I did. What’s a stupid kid’s life matter anyway?” Metzli practically spat the last few words out, sounding like they were trying to convince themselves more than anyone else.

As they always did when they were frustrated, they combed their hand through their hair, making it fluff up a tiny bit more. Metzli was feeling. They were actually feeling. This wasn’t right. “Now I’m rambling. Puta madre.” The drinks came at just the right time and they downed the wine in their hand before reaching for the shot and taking it. “You can leave now if you want. Nice vampire facade over.” For once, they had actually given up and didn’t care about an easy lay or even about the benefits they could reap. What the hell is going on.

Bex was quiet was Metzli explained. She didn’t really know or understand what it meant to not have a soul, or that vampires could get rid of them. Could zombies? Could fae? Could humans? What was a soul, anyway? Was Bex just a soul whenever she left her body? What did a soul give a person, or make a person? She ruffled her brow, tapped her fingers on the side of her glass in thought. “I don’t want to leave,” she finally said, and, really, there’d never been any point in Metzli’s explanation that had made her want to. Maybe that was the wrong response, but like Bex had said several times before, she wanted to give people chances. As many as they needed. And Metzli had done nothing to Bex to indicate that they wanted to hurt her or anything like that. So what reason did Bex have to leave? “None of what you said makes me want to leave.”

She smiled gently, licking her lips as she took another sip. “I don’t, I mean-- that’s a lot. That you just-- told me. And, really, it feels nice to know you trusted me enough to tell me that. And I don’t think any of it makes you, like, a bad person? If-- if someone made you do it, it’s not your fault, you know.” They were words she’d said to MIna, as well. It didn’t matter how many people her father had led her to help kill, that blood wasn’t on Mina’s hands. She had been manipulated by someone who she thought she loved, and she had been a child. None of that was her fault. None of that sounded like Metzli’s fault. “It’s not bad for...believing in something someone you trusted told you to do. If it was, then I guess I’m bad, too, because I spent pretty much my entire life doing whatever my mom wanted me to do, only to find out that she wasn’t even my real mom.”

And then, in a relatively bold and perhaps stupid gesture, Bex leaned forward and reached across the table, putting her hands over Metzli’s on their glass. “People are just people,” she shrugged, “nice and good and bad are circumstantial things.”

Bex’s little speech made Metzli want to rip off their ears and end their misery. It was a load of bullshit. They couldn’t do that though, and so they continued to suffer. Having no soul made them have no empathy and not feel much of anything really. But somehow, someway, Bex made something snap. “You’re crazy, you know that? Having no soul means I have no remorse. I have no empathy. Everything I do is self serving.” They tried to get that point across, more so to see what she would do. The curiosity won over any want to keep her around for the benefits.

“Even knowing that, you don’t wanna run?” It baffled them, but it also amused them. Bex was so naive and innocent. Her touch only further proved that, and fed into the want to do more with her. “Frankly, it does make me a bad person. I do bad things with no remorse. Hypothetically, I could kill you now and it wouldn’t bother me. I’d feel nothing.” Knowing this might incite fear, Metzli rose from their seat and got into her booth. “Does that not scare you, even a little?” Their brow arched in curiosity and their arm swung around the top of the seat, letting a hand rest on Bex’s shoulder.

“Sometimes people aren’t just people. Sometimes, they’re cold monsters.” This was the most honest Metzli had been all night, but were fairly positive it would fly over Bex’s head.

“Empathy is a learned skill,” Bex said, tracing her finger along the rim of her glass. Everything Metzli was describing just sounded like the kind of person her mother was, but her mother had chosen to be that way, even with a soul. She didn’t know what it meant, that Metzli seemed better even without one, but it crinkled her brow and made the anger that was always in the pit of her stomach taste sour. She took another long sip of her drink, ready to feel the buzz. “Even if you can’t feel it, you can still know it and understand it. I think you...want people to think you’re a bad person.” But Bex didn’t believe bad and good were so simple, so easy. Maybe society told Metzli they were bad, but, really, what made them bad? She drummed her fingers on her glass again. The more she drank, the less anxious she got. The more bold. She licked her lips.

“If that’s how you want to live your life, then that’s fine. I don’t really have any room to judge. It doesn’t matter to me, anyway. Not really. So, no,” she stated firmly, her eyes watching as Metzli stood up from the booth, “I don’t want to run.” Even if her legs began to tingle and her heart pounded as Metzli slid into the booth next to her. She turned her face away and took another drink. “If you really wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it right after I handed you that check.” She pointed towards Metzli’s breast pocket, knowing it was in the suit jacket they’d left back in the gallery.

“I don’t think you’d kill me,” she said, “I’m not afraid of you.” She turned to look at Metzli, meeting their eyes. “People choose to be monsters. With or without a soul, it’s still a choice.”

Brows furrowed at Bex’s speech. Not out of annoyance or even anger, but actual understanding. How much Bex had gone through was unknown to Metzli, but it was becoming abundantly clear that the two were more similar than they had initially thought. They didn’t like this. They didn’t like how her words were having an actual effect on them. “Some choices come easier to others. The harder choices. The ones no one wants to make. The—” Words got stuck in their throat. Metzli felt incredibly flustered even with the agitation building. Bex was being the firm and confident one. She had successfully flipped the script right in front of them.

Lost for words, and lost in thought, Metzli’s free hand fell to their sternum lightly grazing their tattoo. “What are you anyway? Besides all this confidence in knowing my character, you’ve got to have some form of power that makes you feel safe, right? You’ve asked all the questions, it’s my turn.” They hoped the attempt to get back on track would work. It felt so off to feel. How on earth was she doing this? Might as well ask.

Metzli waved for another round that was brought swiftly to their booth and they took their shot, scooting the two untaken ones to Bex. “You’ve missed out on two,” they tapped on the drinks, feeling better now that it seemed the conversation was being swayed another direction.

“Sure, yeah,” Bex nodded, “but that’s just life, right? Some of us have to make harder choices. I guess what I believe is...what choice we make is who we are.” And while she’d made the wrong choices at first, she was making the right ones now. She was choosing to fight for herself and her own life, and she was free now. She would always be free. She even felt relatively satisfied when Metzli was lost for words, and she grinned over the rim of her cup. Her eyes followed their hand as it traced along the tattoo on their chest, and after only a moment of staring, Bex realized herself and turned her gaze back to the table and the drinks on it.

“I’m a spellcaster,” she finally answered, reaching out to take one of the two shots that were still calling her name. It warmed her stomach and she licked the lime off her lips. “I sort of just found out recently, but I’m getting better at it. And, to be clear, it’s not that I have magic that I’m not afraid. I just...don’t think of the world in the way other people do, I guess. I’m not afraid to die, if it’s for the sake of learning. My mom used to always say my curiosity was insatiable and that it would ruin me one day,” she breathed in and picked up the last shot. “Probably the only thing she was right about.” She downed the shot and felt her fingers begin to tingle and her head became lighter. She smiled.

“Better?” she asked, scooting the two empty shot glasses toward Metzli.

Bex definitely had a way with words despite how naive she first appeared to be. Hell, she’d somehow moved Metzli a little, and completely baffled them. “You’re not afraid to die? I guess you and I have that in common. Most of the time I just think existence is pointless. Some parts are fun, but most are so mundane or…painful,” The last word came out a little strained, like it hurt to say it. Quickly though, they glossed over it and teased Bex. “You staring at my chest? Perv.” It was a lousy effort, and she could probably see right through it. But probably not too. Metzli wasn’t sure anymore and it could honestly go either way at this point.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” With widened eyes, they watched as she took her shots and caressed her shoulder with the hand that draped over the top of the booth. “Spellcaster, huh? That’s impressive. Sucks that most magic is useless against me though. But you did say you’re not scared, right?” More teasing. But now, they wanted to prod more. See if she felt anything other than compassion for the vampire.

With their compelling in full effect, they locked eyes with Bex and continued to speak. “Tell me though, are you as gay as you give off? ‘Cause my gaydar has been going off from the moment we spoke online.” They figured they might as well see if she’s even interested before they move on to more interesting questions.

“Not really, no. I-- don’t want to die, of course. I have people who would mourn and be hurt if I died, but I don’t think I’m afraid to. It’s just a part of life, right?” Bex explained, still unsure herself what it truly meant or why she felt that way. There were so many other things to worry and wonder about in life, death didn’t seem like something she needed to fear. Maybe that was the problem with it all, but she couldn’t bring herself to. If she died right here, right now, then that was simply it for her. There was probably nothing after. She’d probably never know. It wouldn’t hurt her. She didn’t fear her own death, she feared other people’s death. She feared loss. She swallowed, barely aware of the hand on her shoulder through the haze of alcohol now in her stomach. Cheeks tinged and she shook her head. “No! No, I-- I was just-- your hand--” she stuttered out, hiding the blush behind her cup again, subconsciously leaning over the table.

She opened her mouth to say something more about her magic, but those weren’t the words that came out. Instead, she said, “I’m gay. Very gay. I just sort of recently came out, it wasn’t safe before, but it is now. Sort of. Mostly. I think? It’s-- complicated. Because I’m also trans and not everyone is, um-- okay with that, even in the queer community.” She swallowed back the rest of the words. Why had she said all that? She did seem to have looser lips the more she drank. Still, she took another drink. “Do I really give off that much gay vibes?”

Metzli could relate to that, too much even. Their master frowned upon their sexuality, and even forced them to keep their hair long. Finding their identity didn’t come until after they left their clan. That was a freedom that only they could attain by escaping. “Well, you’re very much safe now. And you’re a beautiful woman. Anyone in the queer community that isn’t okay with that is not truly a part of the community.” Every word was honest, and even had hints of sympathy to them. Being who you are can come with a cost, and it looked like Bex had paid that in more ways than one.

“Your gay vibes are off the charts, but that isn’t a bad thing. Not to me at least.” A charming smile was strewn on their face and they gently laid their hand atop hers. If it was out of actual sympathy to comfort or to continue to flirt, they weren’t sure. Not anymore. They wanted to believe it was the latter, so that’s how they approached it, still compelling. “Tell me though, is it just me, or have you actually wanted me to be this close all night? To maybe even kiss you? And if so, just do what you’ve wanted to.” Metzli continued, thinking out loud this time. “I find you attractive, very much so, and you find me attractive too, so why hold it off?” It was rather bold, but now was as good a time as any. Especially with the buzz they had going now.

Bex felt her cheeks growing more flushed at the compliment. She couldn’t ignore it anymore-- Metzli was coming onto her. Suddenly, her heartbeat picked up and her fingers tingled and the alcohol mixed in with her nerves and she felt exposed, in this corner, in this booth. The idea that people could look at her and know, sense it, that she was queer, frightened her. It shouldn’t have. She wanted to be brave. She’d told Mina she could be brave, that she wanted people to know. But not like this, not like this. Still, something compelled her to stay seated as she looked over at Metzli. “I-- I’m glad it’s not a bad thing. Not that I thought you would think that! But, y-you know. It’s-- a lot. Being visible. Knowing that people know.” Especially when she’d tried so hard to hide it. She didn’t have to hide it anymore. She was free. She let out a long breath.

Her body stiffened again at the words. A hand over top hers on the table. Her mind raced, every thought landing on Mina. Still, she said, “I have. You’re very attractive and maybe I did want you to, a l-little.” The words tumbled from her mouth and she felt sick saying them. She didn’t know what to do anymore. “I have a girlfriend!” she squeaked finally. “So I shouldn’t want any of that and I don’t know why I said that and I-- I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing, but she was. She pulled her hand away and clasped them together. How could she have been so stupid? Of course Metzli wouldn’t simply like her for her. Why would anyone?

Bex rambled some more, and it overwhelmed Metzli this time. The feeling of victory didn’t last long as they saw how all of their actions had actually affected Bex. Fuck. What in the fuck was happening. Did that actually care? No. Yes. No. They saw themselves in her. That’s why they cared. “Girlfriend?” The next few words were important. Especially if they wanted to keep her around. Why did they want to? “Should’ve known a woman like you would be taken. Sorry for the advances.” Moving back to the other side of the booth, they gave Bex space.

“You’re a good person. One of the only truly good people.” Their words were trembled and unsteady. Was this disappointment from feeling like they lost, or because they actually began to genuinely like her? There were way too many questions. None of which had answers. Not answers that came easy, or that Metzli would like. “I should go, shouldn’t I? Don’t mistake this for anything but…but embarrassment, okay? I’m not being nice here. I have no soul, I feel no remorse. Got it?”

“I-- no, it-- it’s okay.” Bex wasn’t sure if that was true, but the disappointment was palpable. She bit her lip and held on tight to her drink, wondering if it might shatter under her grip. She knew how to make it shatter if she wanted to, she was getting good at that. She looked across the table at Metzli. “You didn’t-- you didn’t know. I should’ve just said something earlier. I’m sorry, I just--” but she stopped talking, because she didn’t actually know why she hadn’t said anything earlier. Fear? Anxiety? Or something else? Maybe she’d like it, the attention. She shouldn’t have. She really shouldn’t have. But she had and it tinged her cheeks and she looked down at her lap. “I’m trying to be better, but I’m not really comfortable being so out yet.”

Then Metzli said that thing that so many other people had said to her-- that she was good, maybe too good, truly good-- and Bex let out a long huff of air. “I’m not,” she mumbled, and this was proof, wasn’t it? Because she didn’t want Metzli to leave. She liked them. She wished they’d liked her, too, in a ‘let’s just get drinks’ way. Why did it always have to end this way? Bex wasn’t used to this happening with people who weren’t guys. But Metzli was like her, they understood a side of the world that most people couldn’t. Not even Mina. She met their eyes as they began to stand from the booth.

“I don’t believe that,” she said to them, but it was quiet, and she wasn’t looking at them anymore. “But I can pretend to if that’s what you want.” She swallowed. “And this doesn’t-- change anything. Not for me.” She downed the rest of her drink and pulled out her phone. “Do something good with that money, okay? I like your gallery, I think you deserve the chance.”

The disappointment in Bex’s voice was evident, and again, somehow she tugged at whatever humanity was left in them. “How do you do that?!” Their tone was frustrated but not inherently angry. Usually once Metzli had gotten such sensitive information, they could use it to their advantage. But this information was sensitive in a way that meant something to them too. Both of them were two different results of the same tragedy. And even though tragedy came in different ways, it hurt the same.

“Stop being so…fucking similar! I—I keep seeing the similarities and I just want to actually…whatever!” Metzli wasn’t yelling, but they were whispering loudly in frustration. Sitting back down, they locked eyes with Bex and sighed. “I’m…I’m sorry.” It was a sincere apology. If anyone deserved one, it was Bex. “I think I’m still gonna go, but I want to make it clear that I guess—I guess I want to be friends. No more flirting either.”

Bex was surprised by the sudden outburst, and while it wasn’t loud or angry, she still startled, sitting up straighter. Metzli was grumbling things at her, about her, something about being similar, but Bex had a hard time concentrating through the haze in her head. The shots were hitting her quickly. She needed to be careful about this, or she’d say something she regretted. Like, ‘Don’t go!’ or ‘I don’t mind the flirting’. Because she did and she should, but alcohol made things like that seem okay. Seem better. She blinked, nodded. “Sorry,” she said again, the word a bit slurred. “I do really like you. I want you to be my friend, too.”

There was a genuine surprise at the apology, though, and Bex couldn’t help but smile. It seemed like she was right. Metzli could blab all day about how they had no soul and didn’t feel remorse or guilt, but here they were, apologizing for making advances on her, for possibly ruining something. Not that it would have. “We can be friends,” she agreed. That was what she wanted most, anyway. “You can go, if you want, though. I’ll be okay.” She tapped her fingers on the table, little sparks of magic dancing on her fingertips. The other vampires in here didn’t scare her. The tequila shots had emboldened her, drawing a lazy smile on her face. “No one touches me anymore unless I want them to.”

If Metzli had a heart, it would probably jump a little, but luckily they didn’t. “Ah, fuck. Look, I’ll take you home. You’re drunk, and I—I guess I would feel a little…a little bad if anything even remotely happened. Lurking in the dark is my job. But this doesn’t mean I feel shit. Okay?” They extended their hand, hoping she’d take their offer. There would be no funny business either. She’d get home safely and that would be the end of it.

“You can also visit another time for the secret gallery. Promise.”

Bex took Metzli’s hand. She trusted them, and maybe that would bite her in the ass, but Bex truly believed that they were a good person, at least by her definition. Maybe other people thought they weren’t, but Bex didn’t care about that. As she was becoming a part of this world, she was figuring out for herself what everything meant to her. There were too many different things about, human morality, human values could be applied to much of it. And even if Bex was human, she wanted to understand. She wanted to know. She would let her curiosity guide her to her death. She took Metzli’s hand and stood up, wobbly.

“Well, you did make me take 3 tequila shots in rapid succession,” she slurred, smiling. She prodded Metzli’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that promise,” was all she said, before she headed for the exit. No one else had to know about this, she decided. This could just be hers.