#but as you can tell in my writing I'm sort of doing my own kinds of vampires

[livelaughloveluffy]

Hi! I really enjoy your works!

Is there any way I could request a modern Ace x platonic younger sister? I guess modern or not doesn't matter too much. But basically his usually sweet, anxious younger sister hasn't been doing great with depression/anxiety, and he's noticed a little bit, silently keeping an eye on it, but doesn't think it's TOO too serious. But he's wrong because late one night he finds her hitting rock bottom. What that looks like is up to you. He gets scared, but wordlessly just kind of hugs her, holds her tight, she automatically clings to him and apolologizes, and he lets her know how much he and Sabo and Luffy and Dadan love her.

Self projecting the need for a comforting older brother figure like Ace.

Please don't write this one if you don't feel comfortable or don't want to! Have a good day 🩷

we need you here - portgas d. ace

a/n: i'm so glad you enjoy my writing!! thank you so much for your request!! i absolutely adore ace as a big brother, hopefully this is sort of what you had in mind!!

a/n: i was listening to my yearning playlist to write this and literally a more perfect song to go with this fic started playing and now i have to share it with you guys too because it works way too well. here's the song

tw - depression/mentions of self-harm

there's some hurt and some comfort here...

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some days we're better than others.. but most of the time you could barely keep your head above water. the constant onslaught battle of depression is pretty crippling, and it takes everything in you to just get through the day. not that most would be able to notice.

it's not like you were born depressed, how you long for the days were the world felt lighter, when the breeze blowing through the leaves of a tree was a wonder to revel in, rather than being so caught up in your own head, you can barely hold a conversation. while this change had come to your realization like a freight train, your brothers hadn't really picked up on it.

it's not because they didn't love you, you know they did, it's just that they were busy training to leave goa kingdom and conquer the sea. so to them, over the years you had just gotten more reserved. sure you didn't smile as much as you used to, or the way you used to, but it was hard for them to tell considering that they weren't even home for dinner half the time anyways.

•♡•

ace hadn't really noticed how bad it was until dadan had approached him one day before he, sabo, and luffy were going to their hideout, resting her hand on his shoulder, leaning down to softly whisper in his ear "can you ask your sister if she wants to join you guys? i'm a bit worried about her.. she hasn't come out of her room for a couple of days... she could use some sunlight.."

the freckled boy turned to dadan with his typical wide smile "yeah! i'll go ask her!"

•♡•

the voices were getting bad again. they were so loud, constantly taunting and jeering, laughing at your existence, reminding you of all you failures, faults, ugly personality traits, everything you hate about your body. it was suffocating. tears began to well up in your eyes. your skin started to itch for pain.

then a quite knock sounds against your door, then you hear ace's voice, warm and gently asking "we're going to head to our hideout, wanna going us angel?"

you muster all your strength to reply above a whisper "maybe another day, ace. i'm pretty tired."

and with that, you can barely hear the sound of his footsteps retreating before the voices are back, stronger than before.

•♡•

you had no idea how long you had been crying now. your eyes were swollen and sore from all your tears, fingernails bloody from constantly digging and itching at your skin, scratching it raw in various spots on your arms.

the voices in your head felt as if they were never-ending. the brief flashes of pain eased them... for minutes maybe, but they would still come back. they always came back.

•♡•

ace had just walked into the front door to dadan's eyes on him. "where is she?"

it took him a minute to realize that dadan was asking about you, "oh, she said she was tired and she didn't want to go today." and as he watched dadan's face sink, instantly filled with dread and worry, he knew he had to do something to ease her worries. "did she come out for dinner yet?" dadan lowered her head, softly shaking it side to side. "i'll go eat dinner with her in her room, okay?"

dadan could only muster a soft sigh before slowly nodding. ace had a way of making everything better somehow, she just had to trust that he would know what to do.

•♡•

you couldn't stop the tears from flowing in the same way that you couldn't stop the voices you heard. and the utter frustration at your own helplessness just made you even more upset, driving you to sob even more. breathing was now a struggle, as the tears also took all the air from your lungs with them. your hands were buried into your hair, gripping it tightly, as if ripping it out would give you some sort of silence.

you didn't hear ace's knock this time. didn't hear his soft voice call your nickname "angel? can i come in?". didn't hear his footsteps as he crossed the space of your room at record speed. you didn't even notice his presence until his arms were wrapped tightly around your body. dinner plates for the two of you, forgotten on the floor in front of your opened door. you didn't even hear them shatter.

even with his strong warm arms around your body, you couldn't will yourself to stop crying. in fact, it almost made the sobs worse. your face was sticky with sweat, snot, and tears. hair sticking to your face. ace didn't seem to mind though. he pulled your face close into his bare chest, it is only then that you hear his voice whispering in your ear "i'm so sorry. i'm sorry i didn't notice. i'm sorry i haven't been home. i'm here now, angel. i'm not going anywhere without you. we need you here, angel."

the desperation in his voice finally allowed you to move your body, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. the tears still flowed, but they had slowed just a little, enough for you to choke out "ace.. i don't... i don't know what's wrong with me.. i don't want to be like this.. i hate this.."

his soft voice and the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears "i'm here for you, always. i'm not going anywhere. i love you no matter what, and we'll get through this together. i love you so much."

your eyes were heavy now that the crying had finally stopped, and you no longer had the energy to keep them open. the only thing you could hear as the sleep finally came to claim you was ace's voice in your ear, a constant stream of whispers of "i love you, i love you, i love you so much." on repeat.

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tags ♡: @3v37773 @irethepotato @dreamcastgirl99; want to join the taglist? click here!!

a/n: i lowkey had to hold back some tears writing this one 😭😭😭

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[discordantwords]

Thank you so much for the tag @therealsaintscully!

How many works do you have on ao3? 48! 30 for BBC Sherlock and 18 for The X-Files.

What’s your total word count? 924,659 (whoa, that's a lot of words)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? (Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea White Knight Incidents with Dogs, Curious and Otherwise Another Auld Lang Syne The Dead Detective

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I try to. I'm not always as on top of it as I intend to be. I find comments tremendously meaningful and I at times get emotional while reading them. They are important to me. I reread them often.

I often fear that I'm a poor conversationalist and overthink my responses, which can tend to freeze me up.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Most of my long fics have happy endings.

The Pillar upon Which England Rests is my ode to Mrs. Hudson. As she and John are grieving Sherlock's fall, she tells John all about how she and Sherlock first met. I don't think of it as a particularly sad story, but I suppose that ending counts as angsty, as Sherlock's eventual return is not addressed in the story.

I guess the shorter, more horrorish ones have angsty (or at least uneasy) endings.

Nothing Happened in Belarus has S4 Sherlock, in the throes of his breakdown, somehow briefly traveling through time and encountering S1 John, who cares for him. It's a brief reprieve for him in the midst of a personal hell, but there is no resolution. When he returns to his own time, he is still forced to face what's coming next.

At the end of Leaves, Sherlock and John have either successfully defeated the bloodthirsty plant that has invaded their flat, or they're being digested by it. I leave that decision up to the reader. :)

The Web has Sherlock returned from his time away and reunited with John, but there is a part of him that will always remain haunted and deeply paranoid.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Most of them, heh. I like to leave my characters in a good place after putting them through hell.

I guess I'd have to say White Knight? I still get a little giddy when I think about the way Sherlock proposes at the end of that one, and how happy and free they both are after the crushing weight of misunderstandings and grief has fallen away.

Whirlwind has a pretty joyful ending, too.

Do you write crossovers?

I haven't written a crossover, but I have done a few fusion fics. The Dead Detective is a fusion with Jumpin' Jack Flash. Whirlwind is a fusion with Twister. Out There is a fusion with The X-Files.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really. Most responses on AO3 have been warm and supportive. I have gotten a few unnecessarily vicious comments on some of my ficlets here on Tumblr, but I do my best to ignore those.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Most of my smut tends to be of the R-rated variety, because I'm frankly just not very good at writing it.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, sort of, but I don't believe it was done maliciously and I don't intend to call attention to it.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not. I'm open to the idea, but I honestly don't know if I'm cut out for it. I think my tendency to wing things and my utter lack of a consistent writing schedule would drive a potential writing partner mad.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

Mulder and Scully were my first true fandom love. I love Sherlock and John equally as much, if not more.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

There are quite a few WIPs on my hard drive that may never see the light of day. As far as posted fics, my Sherlock/Knight Rider fusion probably won't be finished.

What are your writing strengths?

I like to think that I'm pretty good at capturing character mannerisms, and writing from a perspective that lets the reader feel what the POV character is feeling.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not all that impressed with my smut writing abilities.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I steer clear of it. Although Google translate can be helpful, IMO there are too many opportunities to make embarrassing or inadvertently offensive mistakes.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The X-Files

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I really enjoy the character dynamics between Hannibal/Will in Hannibal and Lestat/Louis in Interview with the Vampire. I think I'd have a harder time getting into their heads than I do with Sherlock and John, so I'll probably just continue admiring them from afar for now.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

This is such a hard question! I'm probably proudest of the work that went into Out There, but I have a huge soft spot for The Pillar upon Which England Rests and (Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea.

If anyone out there would like to share your thoughts on some of the things you've written, please do! I'll also tag @thetimemoves @arwamachine @raina-at @vulpesmellifera @iheardyou @totallysilvergirl @khorazir

[deoidesign]

Hi, I kind of have a question, Adam said that can't walk in the sun when doesn't drink blood, but what exactly happens? Do vampires just burn immediately, begin to be more sensitive to sunburn or is it another kind of thing?

so, in time and time again I really wanted blood to be something of a medicinal need for vampires. it's not a 1:1 metaphor of course, please don't try to think of it that way, but it's how I conceptualize it.

He needs blood to go in the sun, to heal, to "be something of a human again" and it also grants him the ability to time travel, shapeshift, compel others...

Without blood, he can't do these things. So, to be honest, without blood vampires would just... die. They can't exist without it. being in the sun uses blood, its dangerous. it wears you down. it makes you weaker. it can kill you!

I realize this ends up making my vampires feel weak, but... it's a metaphor for chronic illness. They have limited energy and if they do not take the time and the 'medications' they need to recover, they'll become weak or die. They have to manage their limited energy.

there's extreme privilege for vampires who have steady access to blood, like Adam does. His access to blood lets him time travel, transform, go in the sun constantly, etc. Vampires without as much access have to become nocturnal, they get stuck in one place, they have to be careful because even a small cut can cost precious resources...

A desperate vampire might end up hurting someone for what they need. a vampire with people who are willing to help them can get by, or even thrive. a vampire with none of these will die.

I know it's not the most satisfying answer, but it is my answer! My experiences being chronically ill are very much at play here.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

How can you consider yourself any sort of leftist when you defend AI art bullshit? You literally simp for AI techbros and have the gall to pretend you're against big corporations?? Get fucked

I don't "defend" AI art. I think a particular old post of mine that a lot of people tend to read in bad faith must be making the rounds again lmao.

Took me a good while to reply to this because you know what? I decided to make something positive out of this and use this as an opportunity to outline what I ACTUALLY believe about AI art. If anyone seeing this decides to read it in good or bad faith... Welp, your choice I guess.

I have several criticisms of the way the proliferation of AI art generators and LLMs is making a lot of things worse. Some of these are things I have voiced in the past, some of these are things I haven't until now:

Most image and text AI generators are fine-tuned to produce nothing but the most agreeable, generically pretty content slop, pretty much immediately squandering their potential to be used as genuinely interesting artistic tools with anything to offer in terms of a unique aesthetic experience (AI video still manages to look bizarre and interesting but it's getting there too)

In the entertainment industry and a lot of other fields, AI image generation is getting incorporated into production pipelines in ways that lead to the immiseration of working artists, being used to justify either lower wages or straight-up layoffs, and this is something that needs to be fought against. That's why I unconditionally supported the SAG-AFTRA strikes last year and will unconditionally support any collective action to address AI art as a concrete labor issue

In most fields where it's being integrated, AI art is vastly inferior to human artists in any use case where you need anything other than to make a superficially pretty picture really fast. If you need to do anything like ask for revisions or minor corrections, give very specific descriptions of how objects and people are interacting with each other, or just like. generate several pictures of the same thing and have them stay consistent with each other, you NEED human artists and it's preposterous to think they can be replaced by AI.

There is a lot of art on the internet that consists of the most generically pretty, cookie-cutter anime waifu-adjacent slop that has zero artistic or emotional value to either the people seeing it or the person churning it out, and while this certainly was A Thing before the advent of AI art generators, generative AI has made it extremely easy to become the kind of person who churns it out and floods online art spaces with it.

Similarly, LLMs make it extremely easy to generate massive volumes of texts, pages, articles, listicles and what have you that are generic vapid SEO-friendly pap at best and bizzarre nonsense misinformation at worst, drowning useful information in a sea of vapid noise and rendering internet searches increasingly useless.

The way LLMs are being incorporated into customer service and similar services not only, again, encourages further immiseration of customer service workers, but it's also completely useless for most customers.

A very annoyingly vocal part the population of AI art enthusiasts, fanatics and promoters do tend to talk about it in a way that directly or indirectly demeans the merit and skill of human artists and implies that they think of anyone who sees anything worthwile in the process of creation itself rather than the end product as stupid or deluded.

So you can probably tell by now that I don't hold AI art or writing in very high regard. However (and here's the part that'll get me called an AI techbro, or get people telling me that I'm just jealous of REAL artists because I lack the drive to create art of my own, or whatever else) I do have some criticisms of the way people have been responding to it, and have voiced such criticisms in the past.

I think a lot of the opposition to AI art has critstallized around unexamined gut reactions, whipping up a moral panic, and pressure to outwardly display an acceptable level of disdain for it. And in particular I think this climate has made a lot of people very prone to either uncritically entertain and adopt regressive ideas about Intellectual Propety, OR reveal previously held regressive ideas about Intellectual Property that are now suddenly more socially acceptable to express:

(I wanna preface this section by stating that I'm a staunch intellectual property abolitionist for the same reason I'm a private property abolitionist. If you think the existence of intellectual property is a good thing, a lot of my ideas about a lot of stuff are gonna be unpalatable to you. Not much I can do about it.)

A lot of people are suddenly throwing their support behind any proposal that promises stricter copyright regulations to combat AI art, when a lot of these also have the potential to severely udnermine fair use laws and fuck over a lot of independent artist for the benefit of big companies.

It was very worrying to see a lot of fanfic authors in particular clap for the George R R Martin OpenAI lawsuit because well... a lot of them don't realize that fanfic is a hobby that's in a position that's VERY legally precarious at best, that legally speaking using someone else's characters in your fanfic is as much of a violation of copyright law as straight up stealing entire passages, and that any regulation that can be used against the latter can be extended against the former.

Similarly, a lot of artists were cheering for the lawsuit against AI art models trained to mimic the style of specific artists. Which I agree is an extremely scummy thing to do (just like a human artist making a living from ripping off someone else's work is also extremely scummy), but I don't think every scummy act necessarily needs to be punishable by law, and some of them would in fact leave people worse off if they were. All this to say: If you are an artist, and ESPECIALLY a fan artist, trust me. You DON'T wanna live in a world where there's precedent for people's artstyles to be considered intellectual property in any legally enforceable way. I know you wanna hurt AI art people but this is one avenue that's not worth it.

Especially worrying to me as an indie musician has been to see people mention the strict copyright laws of the music industry as a positive thing that they wanna emulate. "this would never happen in the music industry because they value their artists copyright" idk maybe this is a the grass is greener type of situation but I'm telling you, you DON'T wanna live in a world where copyright law in the visual arts world works the way it does in the music industry. It's not worth it.

I've seen at least one person compare AI art model training to music sampling and say "there's a reason why they cracked down on sampling" as if the death of sampling due to stricter copyright laws was a good thing and not literally one of the worst things to happen in the history of music which nearly destroyed several primarily black music genres. Of course this is anecdotal because it's just One Guy I Saw Once, but you can see what I mean about how uncritical support for copyright law as a tool against AI can lead people to adopt increasingly regressive ideas about copyright.

Similarly, I've seen at least one person go "you know what? Collages should be considered art theft too, fuck you" over an argument where someone else compared AI art to collages. Again, same point as above.

Similarly, I take issue with the way a lot of people seem EXTREMELY personally invested in proving AI art is Not Real Art. I not only find this discussion unproductive, but also similarly dangerously prone to validating very reactionary ideas about The Nature Of Art that shouldn't really be entertained. Also it's a discussion rife with intellectual dishonesty and unevenly applied definition and standards.

When a lot of people present the argument of AI art not being art because the definition of art is this and that, they try to pretend that this is the definition of art the've always operated under and believed in, even when a lot of the time it's blatantly obvious that they're constructing their definition on the spot and deliberately trying to do so in such a way that it doesn't include AI art.

They never succeed at it, btw. I've seen several dozen different "AI art isn't art because art is [definition]". I've seen exactly zero of those where trying to seriously apply that definition in any context outside of trying to prove AI art isn't art doesn't end up in it accidentally excluding one or more non-AI artforms, usually reflecting the author's blindspots with regard to the different forms of artistic expression.

(However, this is moot because, again, these are rarely definitions that these people actually believe in or adhere to outside of trying to win "Is AI art real art?" discussions.)

Especially worrying when the definition they construct is built around stuff like Effort or Skill or Dedication or The Divine Human Spirit. You would not be happy about the kinds of art that have traditionally been excluded from Real Art using similar definitions.

Seriously when everyone was celebrating that the Catholic Church came out to say AI art isn't real art and sharing it as if it was validating and not Extremely Worrying that the arguments they'd been using against AI art sounded nearly identical to things TradCaths believe I was like. Well alright :T You can make all the "I never thought I'd die fighting side by side with a catholic" legolas and gimli memes you want, but it won't change the fact that the argument being made by the catholic church was a profoundly conservative one and nearly identical to arguments used to dismiss the artistic merit of certain forms of "degenerate" art and everyone was just uncritically sharing it, completely unconcerned with what kind of worldview they were lending validity to by sharing it.

Remember when the discourse about the Gay Sex cats pic was going on? One of the things I remember the most from that time was when someone went "Tell me a definition of art that excludes this picture without also excluding Fountain by Duchamp" and how just. Literally no one was able to do it. A LOT of people tried to argue some variation of "Well, Fountain is art and this image isn't because what turns fountain into art is Intent. Duchamp's choice to show a urinal at an art gallery as if it was art confers it an element of artistic intent that this image lacks" when like. Didn't by that same logic OP's choice to post the image on tumblr as if it was art also confer it artistic intent in the same way? Didn't that argument actually kinda end up accidentally validating the artistic status of every piece of AI art ever posted on social media? That moment it clicked for me that a lot of these definitions require applying certain concepts extremely selectively in order to make sense for the people using them.

A lot of people also try to argue it isn't Real Art based on the fact that most AI art is vapid but like. If being vapid definitionally excludes something from being art you're going to have to exclude a whooole lot of stuff along with it. AI art is vapid. A lot of art is too, I don't think this argument works either.

Like, look, I'm not really invested in trying to argue in favor of The Artistic Merits of AI art but I also find it extremely hard to ignore how trying to categorically define AI art as Not Real Art not only is unproductive but also requires either a) applying certain parts of your definition of art extremely selectively, b) constructing a definition of art so convoluted and full of weird caveats as to be functionally useless, or c) validating extremely reactionary conservative ideas about what Real Art is.

Some stray thoughts that don't fit any of the above sections.

I've occassionally seen people respond to AI art being used for shitposts like "A lot of people have affordable commissions, you could have paid someone like $30 to draw this for you instead of using the plagiarism algorithm and exploiting the work of real artists" and sorry but if you consider paying an artist a rate that amounts to like $5 for several hours of work a LESS exploitative alternative I think you've got something fucked up going on with your priorities.

Also it's kinda funny when people comment on the aforementioned shitposts with some variation of "see, the usage of AI art robs it of all humor because the thing that makes shitposts funny is when you consider the fact that someone would spend so much time and effort in something so stupid" because like. Yeah that is part of the humor SOMETIMES but also people share and laugh at low effort shitposts all the time. Again you're constructing a definition that you don't actually believe in anywhere outside of this type of conversations. Just say you don't like that it's AI art because you think it's morally wrong and stop being disingenuous.

So yeah, this is pretty much everything I believe about the topic.

I don't "defend" AI art, but my opposition to it is firmly rooted in my principles, and that means I refuse to uncritically accept any anti-AI art argument that goes against those same principles.

If you think not accepting and parroting every Anti-AI art argument I encounter because some of them are ideologically rooted in things I disagree with makes me indistinguishable from "AI techbros" you're working under a fucked up dichotomy.

[haggishlyhagging]

In 1847 the stereotypes for male and female writers were very rigid. Critics expected from a male writer strength, passion, and intellect, and from a woman writer they expected tact, refinement, and piety. They depended on these stereotypes so much, in fact, that they really didn't know how to proceed, what to say, or what to look for in a book if they were unsure of the author's sex.

So Jane Eyre created a tremendous sensation, and it was a problem for the Brontës. The name Currer Bell could be that of either a man or a woman and the narrator of Jane Eyre is Jane herself. The book is told as an autobiography. These things suggested that the author might have been a woman. On the other hand, the novel was considered to be excellent, strong, intelligent and, most of all, passionate. And therefore, the critics reasoned, it could not be written by a woman, and if it turned out that it was written by a woman, she had to be unnatural and perverted.

The reason for this is that the Victorians believed that decent women had no sexual feelings whatsoever—that they had sexual anesthesia. Therefore, when Jane says about Rochester that his touch "made her veins run fire, and her heart beat faster than she could count its throbs," the critics assumed this was a man writing about his sexual fantasies. If a woman was the author, then presumably she was writing from her own experience, and that was disgusting. In this case we can clearly see how women were not permitted the authority of their own experience if it happened to contradict the cultural stereotype.

But even more shocking than this to the Victorians was Jane's reply to Rochester, a very famous passage in the novel. He has told her he is going to marry another woman, an heiress, but that she can stay on as a servant. Jane answers him thus:

"I tell you I must go," I retorted, roused to something like passion. "Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton, a machine without feeling and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I'm soulless and heartless? You think wrong. I have as much soul as you and full as much heart. And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should've made it as hard for you to leave me as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionality, nor even of mortal flesh. It is my spirit that addresses your spirit, just as if both had passed through the grave and we stood at God's feet equal—as we are."

This splendid assertion violated not only the standards of sexual submission, which were believed to be women's duty and their punishment for Eve's crime, but it also went against standards of class submission, and obviously against religion. And this sort of rebellion was not feminine at all.

The reviews of Jane Eyre in 1847 and 1848 show how confused the critics were. Some of them said Currer Bell was a man. Some of them, including Thackeray, said a woman. One man, an American critic named Edgar Percy Whipple, said the Bells were a team, that Currer Bell was a woman who did the dainty parts of the book and brother Acton the rough parts. All kinds of circumstantial evidence were adduced to solve this problem, such as the details of housekeeping. Harriet Martineau said the book had to be the work of a woman or an upholsterer. And Lady Eastlake, who was a reviewer for one of the most prestigious journals, said it couldn't be a woman because no woman would dress her heroines in such outlandish clothes.

Eventually Charlotte Brontë revealed her identity, and then these attacks which had been general became personal. People introduced her as the author of a naughty book; they gossiped that she was Thackeray's mistress. They speculated on the causes of what they called "her alien and sour perspective on women." She felt during her entire short life that she was judged always on the basis of what was becoming in femininity and not as an artist.

-Elaine Showalter, ‘Women Writers and the Female Experience’ in Radical Feminism, Koedt et al (eds.)

[pomefioredove]

having a crush on you

summary: how they would act having a crush on you type of post: headcanons characters: pomefiore (vil, rook, epel) additional info: reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, rook is rook, not proofread, hi I'm insane and I love pining, I NEED to write another fic but with rook. might write this same prompt with other dorms

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

don't take his calm and collected facade as apathy

he's slowly losing his mind about this

"pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself, falling asleep thinking about you" kind of losing his mind

it's my personal belief that Vil hasn't been in love before this

hasn't even really thought about it

so when you enter the picture it kinda throws him off balance

and with the exception of Rook, no one can even tell

he is an actor, after all, he can play the part of "totally platonic friends with room for Jesus"

(maybe a little too well)

but Vil isn't entirely emotionally repressed

he keeps things to himself, yes, but he's quite conscious of his own wants and needs

so when he realizes he's been craving your presence more than usual he does acknowledge it

in his head

and then does nothing about it for months

...what? he's busy

things like this can wait for him, and he doesn't want to put a rift between you two in case it might be a passing feeling

well... it doesn't pass

he becomes keenly aware of how much he wants you around him, how much he thinks about you, how much your very presence is enough to make him happier than he's ever... really felt

and you know what?

he is totally cool about it.

just kidding. he drives himself insane trying to think of the perfect way to confess, something that will impress you and meet his standards

he's dropping hints left and right and you don't seem to be picking any of them up

which again, just makes him crazy

(some days he really wants to ask you how oblivious one person can be, but he restrains himself)

I mean, how many times can he send you red tulips before you finally get the hint? he's practically spelling it out for you!

there is... a tiny, little part of him that worries you don't reciprocate

is he not your type? are you interested in someone else? perhaps he'd been too harsh on you, after all...

the fact that one little potato can make him so worried absolutely drives him mad

he is the vision of poise and grace and you are ruining him

and this sort of mood comes and goes in waves

just when he thinks he's pulled himself back together, you'll smile at him or say something cute and suddenly he's back to square one

(you're so adorable it's annoying -_-)

while he's sorting out a good way to express his feelings properly, he'll be spending all his free time with you

you need some new things? he'll be glad to take you shopping

you came over to see Epel? oh, well, he's not here, but you should stay for some tea, anyway!

your afternoon is free? he has some new lip gloss he's been dying to test out...

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

contrary to popular belief, I don't think Rook would be so open about it

he still compliments you, of course, and sings praises of your beauty and elegance, and has little regard for personal space, as always

but he's like that with a lot of people, so it's hard to really tell when he likes someone

the truth of the matter is that Rook Hunt can be just as reserved with his feelings as anyone else

when he really, really likes someone, he keeps it to himself

why?

he's hunting you he's learning more about you before making his true feelings known

he feels it's necessary to have an adequate amount of information on his target before making a move, after all

for reference: you catch his eye at orientation, and do not have a single conversation with him until after winter break

(of course, after that, you start mysteriously running into him everywhere)

is he kinda weird about it? uh. yeah.

this is Rook we're talking about

on the other hand, he's completely lovesick about you and it's almost cute

he's definitely the type to write your initials in a journal with a glitter pen while kicking his feet back and forth and giggling

seeing if you would sound better with his last name or he with yours...

definitely has a very weird photo collection of you somewhere in his room

along with stacks of poems, pressed flowers, and little gifts he intends to give you once he's won you over

(when, not if. Rook is nothing if not patient)

you may find a rose left outside Ramshackle every so often

or a few cans of tuna for Grim

all while acting like the same old eccentric Rook, no discernable difference

except when you can feel his eyes on you at random places in the middle of the day

Ace and Deuce call you paranoid but you can't shake the feeling

though, every once in a while he'll get a little grumpy

Rook is easily jealous, and while that sort of possessiveness never extended to untouchable idols like Vil and Neige, he's already decided that you're his prey

and he'd kindly ask everyone else to find their own, thank you

he hasn't exactly planned the confession yet, but just know it's probably going to be the sweetest and craziest you've ever heard

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

first of all he's going to fight you for making him like you so much

second of all he's going to beg for a chance

maybe not in that exact order

Epel is constantly at war with his own emotions and having romance thrown in the mix is. uh. not optimal

not only does it ruin the stoic, strong male persona he's been trying to build, but it's also making him feel all soft and gushy

suddenly he cares about looking nice

(much to Vil's approval)

and now he wants to do nice things for you?

he's gonna bite you

how dare you make him think about kissing and holding hands!

don't you know he's supposed to be above all this romantic stuff? what is he, Rook?!

then, after his initial temper tantrum, he starts coping. hard.

he might be able to stomach the idea of being an item if he gets to wear the pants in the relationship

...yeah, right? right.

if you let him be the man, if you let him protect you...

he might be okay with it!

obviously he starts trying to show off his manly strength (seriously) every time he sees you

starts making comments about how tough practice was on him

will literally never let anyone else carry anything for you ever again

he even provides for you (in payments of apple juice)

obviously this backfires 'cause the second you do something that gives him butterflies he's back to giggling

(you'll have to ease him into the idea of being soft and romantic together, but he'll get there)

but, to his credit, he'd be the first out of all the above to confess

super suddenly and out of nowhere (and he ends up shouting it cause he didn't want to sound chicken) but it's sweet in its own way

[luveline]

Same hotch sister reader anon here Jade!

I think I have sent this one before like recently only, idk whether you have seen it or not so I will request again

The reader gets injured (I'm a sucker for injury troop) and Aaron and Spencer worry and Spencer also has to lift the reader. Please write if it's not too much 🥺

Aaron tells you two or three times not to do it. “Just wait,” he says, standing behind you with his hands hovering over your back. “Seriously, I’ll ask Morgan.” 

“How can you host the party without glasses?” 

“I can assure you my guests aren’t going to miss a glass of wine for the first ten minutes. Don’t make me grab you.” 

“I can reach!” 

“I can reach, too, it’s not about height, it’s about–” He gasp loudly as your stool wobbles. “Sweetheart, get down. I’m not kidding.” 

You grab the stem of the last glass and pass it down to him. “Stop worrying! I told you I could do it and I did.” 

And you’re right, you passed him each of his glasses without smashing any, as promised. You are not expecting the top of the stool to feel so slippery as you try to get down, nor are you expecting to lean forward and pop your face on the cabinet glass. You whack your chin, lose your footing, and slam down on knee before Aaron can catch you. 

There’s a silence. Two hands on your shoulders. “Honey…” 

“Just say it,” you groan.

“Well, I told you so.” 

The doorbell rings. “Ah, fuck,” you say, curling into yourself as everything throbs. 

“It’s okay, come here.”

“Go get the door.” 

“No, they can wait, just let me help you up.” 

“If you love me, you’ll leave me to die here.” 

The doorbell rings again. “Aaron!” Dave calls from the other side. “Shall we let ourselves in?” 

“It’s locked,” Aaron says to you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You wave him away. Honestly, you’re not okay, having fallen hard enough to knock the wind from yourself and hurt your knees and chin. But you’re happier to recover by yourself before his friends get here and spot you all crumpled. 

The problem arises when you can’t get your knee to listen to you. It tingles painfully. It did take all your weight as you fell, which likely stopped you from breaking your arms, but wasn’t kind to your joint, it seems. You push yourself onto your butt and sit there, unsatisfied, and, embarrassingly, waiting to be rescued. 

Aaron’s kind, thankfully. He takes Dave to the living room, and sends the second arrival your way. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, frowning at your strange position on the floor. 

You pout at him. “Spencer, I’ve fallen and my knee won’t work.” 

“You fell?” 

Any nonchalance falls away. Spencer scrambles onto his knees beside you to look you over, curls falling from behind his ear into his eyes as he encourages you back. “You fell?” he asks again, confused. 

“Off the stool.” 

“Off the– What were you doing?” 

“Just grabbing the glasses for tonight!”

“Morgan could’ve done that.” 

“Can you please help me up?” you ask, very much wanting to move on. 

Spencer is a slight man. Not without muscle, but also no weightlifter. To his credit, he doesn’t make helping you seem above his abilities as he wraps an arm behind you and tucks the other under your legs. He lifts you enough to get his hand at the small of your back, and you use your now one good leg to stand. 

Spencer manhandles you a little, which is new. Hosts you to the couch, and lets you down gently. He does need a big breath when he’s done, but besides that, he’s like a Prince Charming having rescued you from your own demise. “Okay?” he asks, both hands at your waist. 

“It hurt bad.” 

“Can I see it?” 

By picking you up, he has earned the right to get you undressed, and you tell him so, his cheeks turning pinky-red as he rolls up your jeans. 

“Swollen,” he says. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You grimace. “I’m so embarrassed I don’t really know what to say. Do you think we can postpone the party?”

Spencer smiles at you, the sort of smile you can only give somebody when you’ve seen almost every part of them, and found yourself still in love by the end of it. He smiles at you like you’re made of pure gold. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m gonna nurse you back to health.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course I am. I’m gonna fix it, but first I was thinking I could kiss your chin better? You have a dark spot coming.” 

You touch it, tender, surprised, “I do?” 

Spencer leans up to peck your chin, just shy of the coming bruise. “You do. I’ll get you some ice.” 

[solxamber]

do you think you could write about a white rabbit reader like how did with wild cat? as in the white rabbit from alice in wonderland— who’s more of a polite anxious mess trying to follow the queens strict rules but is kind of bad at it. possibly shy or on the quieter side like a rabbit beastman would probably be, considering most of the beastmens personalities align with their animal counterparts behavior. and for some reason most of the beastmen we see, or even the merpeople, are all predator animals so i would love to see their interactions with a prey animal. for the first time ever, leona would actually be scientifically correct in calling the reader an herbivore. they would also be the only beastman who’s not sorted into savanaclaw i imagine. in canonical alice in wonderland, or at least a majority of its interpretations, the white rabbit is considered a neutral, somewhat villain leaning character. he works for the queen but he’s never outright evil, if anything he’s kind of a coward as he is initially terrified of alice. so i can see reader being mostly benevolent and a little bit of a scaredy cat who’s still relatively friendly. thank you

White Rabbit! Reader x Everyone

Thank you for the request <3 I hope you like it

Character: All NRC + Staff + Rollo, Neige

Riddle Rosehearts:

You’re always on edge around Riddle, frantically trying to follow the Queen's rules and his. But you trip over your own feet so often that Riddle ends up scolding you almost every day.

"Rule 76: No running in the halls!" Riddle huffs as you scramble past him, dropping a handful of papers as you trip over your own shoes.

You fumble around, trying to gather the papers while stammering an apology, eyes wide and twitching like a startled rabbit. “S-sorry! I didn’t mean to—oh no! Rule 17: Never drop important documents...”

Riddle looks ready to blow up, but when you shoot him those big, panicked eyes, he exhales sharply through his nose, the lecture stuck in his throat. "Just… get it together!" he mutters, turning on his heel, clearly flustered. “How am I supposed to enforce rules when you look like you're going to faint every time I open my mouth?!”

In the back of your mind, you wonder if he’d be so strict if he knew you were working for the "Queen." But you don't have the nerve to tell him that, so you just nod and awkwardly salute.

Trey Clover:

You never quite relax around Trey, even though he's the calmest person in Heartslabyul. Every time you’re near him, you’re just waiting for the moment when he’ll ask you to do something scary, like taste one of his experimental dishes or—worse—eat cake in front of Riddle. The idea makes your ears droop.

"Hey, you okay?" Trey asks when he notices you standing stiffly by the kitchen door. He’s got flour on his apron and a knife in hand, chopping fruit with easy precision.

You jump at the sound of his voice and nearly knock over a stack of plates. "I-I’m fine!" you squeak, standing even straighter like you’re in the Queen’s court.

Trey chuckles softly. "You know, I’m not going to bite. Unless I’m making rabbit stew." He winks.

Your eyes widen in horror, ears trembling. "R-rabbit stew?!"

He laughs, holding up his hands. "I'm kidding! Kidding!" Trey seems to find your reactions endlessly amusing, always leaning in with a gentle smile. "But if you need help relaxing, just say the word. Maybe we can make some tea. No pressure."

But all you hear is "pressure," and you feel like you're about to combust.

Cater Diamond:

Cater thinks you're the cutest thing on two legs, especially when you're in a flustered state. Which, unfortunately for you, is almost all the time.

“Yo, lil’ bunny!” Cater calls out as he sidles up to you in the hall, phone in hand. You’re mid-panic about how you’re going to explain to Riddle why your shoes are untied, your tie is crooked, and you accidentally skipped breakfast because you were too nervous to eat.

You freeze, giving Cater a look like a deer in headlights—or rather, a rabbit in a snare. “D-don’t call me that,” you mumble, ears twitching furiously. “R-Riddle might hear…”

Cater just grins, pulling out his phone to snap a quick selfie of your panicked expression. “You’ve gotta chill! It’s like, the 5th time today you’ve looked like you're on trial.”

You flinch. On trial?! That’s even worse! “I-I can’t relax! W-what if I break a rule?!”

Cater just pats your head, ruffling your hair. "Well, I think you're doing just fine! Plus, it makes for great content. Smile, #bunnyfails!"

You want to disappear into the ground. But Cater just keeps snapping pics and laughing.

Ace Trappola:

Ace treats you like an adorable walking ball of stress that’s just begging to be messed with. And who is Ace if not a professional button-pusher?

"Hey! Rabbit!" Ace shouts across the Heartslabyul gardens one day, and you nearly jump out of your skin, spilling tea all over yourself.

“E-Excuse me?!” you sputter, face burning as you frantically blot at the stain on your uniform.

Ace saunters over with a grin on his face. "Oh, sorry. Did I startle you? You’re just so jumpy—like, literally! It’s hilarious!"

"I-I’m not jumpy!" you insist, but your trembling hands betray you as you fumble with your napkin, accidentally knocking the sugar bowl off the table.

Ace bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over. "Dude, you’re killing me! I swear, every time I’m around, it’s like watching a sitcom! *This* is quality entertainment!"

You huff, glaring at him, ears drooping. "I’m not entertainment."

Ace just gives you a thumbs-up. "Sure you are. And the best part is, you do it all for free!"

Deuce Spade:

Deuce wants to help. He really does. But every time he sees you looking like you’re two seconds from a meltdown, he panics even harder than you do.

"W-whoa! Are you okay?!" Deuce exclaims when he finds you frantically digging through your bag, trying to find the Queen’s latest decree—or was it Riddle’s study notes? You can't remember because you’re too stressed.

"I-I lost the thing! You know, the thing!" you gasp out, waving your arms wildly.

Deuce pales. "Oh no, that’s bad! I-I can help! What thing?!”

"I DON’T KNOW!" you cry, at the peak of panic now.

Deuce stares at you for a second, eyes wide. Then he also starts scrambling around. "Okay, okay! We can find it! Stay calm! Well—not calm, but calmer!"

You both end up running in circles until Trey finds you and asks, deadpan, “What exactly are you two looking for?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“Um…” Deuce rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “I... kind of forgot.”

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona knows exactly how to push your buttons—and he does so with as little effort as possible. For someone so calm and lazy, he seems to get a real kick out of watching you squirm.

“Oi, herbivore,” Leona drawls from his usual spot under the shade of a tree. You freeze, clutching your bag tighter as you glance nervously in his direction. “Why are you sneaking around like a prey animal? Oh, wait—you are one.”

You flinch and stammer, “I-I’m not sneaking, I’m just, um... minding my own business?”

Leona smirks, lazily cracking open one eye to look at you. “If you ‘mind your business’ any harder, you’re gonna trip over your own feet.”

You gulp, taking a step back, but he’s not done with you. “Maybe if you tried relaxing for once, you wouldn’t be so jittery.”

“I-I can’t help it!” you squeak, nearly tripping as you scuttle away, ears twitching furiously. “I have to follow the rules!”

Leona watches you run off, chuckling lowly to himself. “Rules, huh? Just don’t drop dead from the stress, or I’ll have to carry your sorry hide out of here.”

You spend the next week worrying that he’s going to jump out of nowhere and pounce on you—but of course, that’s way too much effort for Leona.

Ruggie Bucchi:

Ruggie sees you as someone who’s just begging to be teased, and he has no qualms about taking full advantage of your easily flustered nature.

One day, while you’re doing your best to stay out of trouble, Ruggie sneaks up behind you, flashing that mischievous grin of his. “Hey there, Bunny! Need some help with that?”

You yelp and nearly leap out of your skin, sending your stack of papers flying in every direction. “R-Ruggie! You startled me!”

Ruggie snickers as he helps you gather up the papers. “Aw, c’mon, I didn’t mean to. You’re just too easy, y’know? Makes me wanna mess with you a little.”

You pout, ears drooping. “W-well, it’s not very nice...”

He shrugs, still grinning. “What can I say? It’s in my nature. But I guess I’ll help you out, just this once.” He leans in closer and lowers his voice, adding, “Don’t expect it for free, though.”

Your face goes pale. “Wh-what do you want?”

Ruggie chuckles. “Relax, I’m just teasing! For now, anyway.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you clutching your papers and wondering if every beastman in Savanaclaw has it out for you.

Jack Howl:

Jack feels a sense of duty to protect you. Even though he thinks you’re a little too skittish for your own good, he respects how hard you try to follow the rules—even when you trip over them.

“Hey, wait up,” Jack calls after you one day as you’re hurrying across campus. You turn to see him jogging over, looking concerned.

“O-oh! Jack! I-I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” you ask nervously, already panicking that you might have broken some rule.

Jack frowns, crossing his arms. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Why do you always assume you did?”

You blink up at him, ears twitching. “I-I’m just worried I’ll mess up...”

Jack sighs, shaking his head. “You’re too hard on yourself. Look, if anyone tries to mess with you, I’ll step in. No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

Your eyes widen. “R-really? You’d do that?”

Jack nods firmly. “Of course. You’ve got a good heart, even if you’re a bit jumpy. Someone’s gotta look out for you.”

You smile up at him, feeling a little more reassured. But before you can thank him, you trip over your own feet and fall forward—right into Jack’s arms.

He catches you easily, looking down at you with a raised brow. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You blush furiously, scrambling to right yourself. “S-sorry! I-I didn’t mean to...”

Jack just chuckles softly. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back, Bunny.”

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul sees your anxiety as an untapped market. He’s confident he could help soothe your nerves—with a little contract, of course.

One day, while you’re quietly minding your own business in the Mostro Lounge, Azul slips into the seat across from you with his signature grin. “Ah, my dear friend. You seem rather... tense.”

You freeze in place, blinking rapidly. “O-oh! N-no, I’m just... trying to follow the rules.”

Azul’s eyes gleam behind his glasses. “Why don’t I offer you a deal? I can help alleviate some of that stress of yours. All it would take is a small favor in return...”

Your ears twitch nervously. “U-um... I-I’m not sure...”

Azul leans closer, lowering his voice to a silky whisper. “Imagine it—no more anxiety, no more worries about breaking the rules. All you’d have to do is sign here...”

You nearly pass out from the pressure, eyes darting around the lounge as if looking for an escape. “I-I think I’m fine! Really! Thank you!”

Azul chuckles darkly as you bolt from the lounge. He watches you go with a sigh. “Ah, such potential... But I suppose it’s not every day I encounter a rabbit so determined to resist.”

Jade Leech:

Jade finds your anxious behavior endlessly fascinating. He’s not one to outright tease—he prefers subtlety—but he enjoys watching you squirm in his presence.

One afternoon, you’re frantically trying to fix a mistake in your homework when Jade appears behind you without a sound. “Oh my, is everything alright?”

You yelp, almost knocking over your ink bottle. “J-Jade! You startled me!”

Jade smiles pleasantly, though you can see a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I apologize. I simply couldn’t help but notice how... flustered you seemed.”

You try to calm your racing heart. “I-I’m just trying to finish this assignment...”

Jade leans over your shoulder, examining your work. “Ah, I see. Perhaps I could offer some assistance? Though I must admit, it is rather... amusing to watch you at times.”

You flush, ears twitching in embarrassment. “A-amusing?”

Jade chuckles softly, standing upright again. “Indeed. You’re quite endearing in your own way.”

You’re not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but you nod meekly. “T-thank you... I think?”

Floyd Leech:

Floyd loves messing with you. It’s as simple as that. Your reactions are priceless, and he never misses an opportunity to make you jump out of your skin.

“Bunnyyyyy!” Floyd calls out, voice echoing through the hall as he chases after you. You speed up, desperately trying to get away, but Floyd is faster, his long legs catching up in no time.

He grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around with a grin. “Gotcha!”

You practically shriek. “F-Floyd! I-I wasn’t—”

Floyd cackles, bending down to look you in the eyes. “You’re always so jumpy, Bunny. It’s fun chasing you! Makes me wanna squeeze you even more.”

You tremble under his intense gaze, feeling like a mouse caught by a cat. “P-please don’t squeeze too hard...”

Floyd laughs again and ruffles your hair. “No promises! But you’re too funny to squish all at once. Guess I’ll just have to keep playing with you!”

You manage a weak smile, trying not to collapse from sheer anxiety. “G-great...”

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim is oblivious to your constant anxiety and thinks you’re just really shy. He goes out of his way to befriend you, always offering kind words and gifts to make you feel welcome.

One day, Kalim approaches you with a beaming smile, holding out a brightly wrapped gift. “Hey, I got this for you!”

Your ears twitch in surprise. “F-for me? Why?”

Kalim laughs cheerfully. “Why not? You’re my friend! And you always look so nervous, I thought this might cheer you up!”

You blink down at the gift, overwhelmed by his kindness. “I-I don’t know what to say...”

Kalim grins wider. “No need to say anything! Just know that if you ever feel anxious, I’m here for you, okay?”

His sunny demeanor is so contagious that you can’t help but smile back. “Th-thank you, Kalim. That means a lot...”

Kalim claps you on the back with a laugh, nearly knocking you off your feet. “No worries! We’re friends, after all!”

Jamil Viper:

Jamil is mildly exasperated by your anxious nature. He already has his hands full with Kalim, so dealing with you on top of that feels like another babysitting job. Still, he does his best to help you out when Kalim inevitably ropes you into their social circle.

One day, you’re standing awkwardly at the edge of a party, trying to blend into the wallpaper when Jamil approaches you with a sigh. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

You glance at him nervously. “I-I don’t want to cause any trouble...”

Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re not causing trouble. Just... relax a little, okay? You don’t have to be so anxious all the time.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “I-I don’t know how...”

Jamil sighs again, crossing his arms. “Well, just... follow Kalim’s lead, I guess. He doesn’t worry about anything.”

You look over at Kalim, who’s dancing on a table and laughing without a care in the world. “Easier said than done...”

Jamil gives you a tired look. “Tell me about it.”

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil is very much like the Queen you serve—strict, elegant, and entirely intimidating. Which means every time you’re around him, you end up feeling like you’re going to pass out from sheer anxiety.

“Why are you slouching like that?” Vil snaps, noticing you trying to fade into the background during a Pomefiore meeting. He points a perfectly manicured finger at you, expression sharp. “Posture is important, darling.”

You immediately stand straighter, ears trembling slightly. “I-I’m sorry, Vil! I didn’t mean to—"

“Hmm,” Vil tilts his head, examining you with a critical eye. “I swear, being around you is like trying to train an anxious little bunny. How am I supposed to shape you into anything presentable if you’re always two seconds away from fainting?”

“I-I promise to do better!” you stammer, sweating bullets.

Vil sighs dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just… try not to look like prey when you’re in front of an audience, alright? We can’t have Pomefiore’s image ruined because someone mistook you for their lunch.”

You nod furiously, completely unsure how you’re supposed to accomplish that but determined to try.

Rook Hunt:

Rook finds you utterly fascinating, like a rare creature he’s determined to observe in its natural habitat. Which is to say, he’s always popping up out of nowhere and scaring the living daylights out of you.

“Mon lapin!” Rook exclaims from behind you, and you jump about three feet in the air, ears standing straight up.

“R-Rook! Please don’t do that!” you gasp, clutching your chest as you try to calm your racing heart.

Rook just smiles at you, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Ah, but I cannot help it! The way you react—so pure, so genuine, like a rabbit hearing a twig snap in the forest! It’s magnifique!”

You gulp, ears slowly drooping back down. “I-I don’t think being compared to prey is exactly a compliment…”

“But of course it is!” Rook insists, stepping closer and giving you a dazzling grin. “You are a creature of instinct, always alert, always prepared to flee! There is beauty in that, mon ami. And I, as your loyal huntsman, will ensure no harm befalls you.”

You smile nervously, unsure if that’s comforting or even scarier. “T-that’s… good to know?”

Rook’s eyes sparkle, as if he’s just found his next great challenge. “Ah, but one day, I hope to see you without fear, to see the calm, serene smile of a rabbit at rest. What a glorious sight that would be!”

You have no idea how to respond to that, so you just nod, deciding it’s better not to question Rook’s eccentricity.

Epel Felmier:

Epel thinks you’re kind of cool, actually. You’re nervous all the time, yeah, but you’re also from a strict background and work under pressure constantly. He respects that. Which means he’s decided that you’re his unofficial partner in surviving Vil’s tyranny.

“Hey, c’mon, you don’t need to be that scared of Vil,” Epel says one day, nudging your side as the two of you scrub cauldrons in the alchemy lab. “Sure, he’s scary, but if you just stand up to him once, he’ll back off… probably.”

You glance at Epel, eyes wide. “S-stand up to Vil?! Are you crazy?! I can’t do that! He’ll turn me into a newt or—o-or make me into some kind of fashionable accessory!”

Epel chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, he ain’t that bad. You just gotta show him you’ve got guts. Or at least, like, fake it.”

You swallow hard, ears drooping. “F-faking it sounds risky… What if he notices?”

Epel grins, giving you a thumbs-up. “Then we run. Fast. Like the prey animals we are.”

You blink at him, half-horrified, half-impressed. “You… consider yourself a prey animal?”

Epel shrugs. “Sometimes, yeah. I mean, what else am I gonna do against Vil? Might as well embrace it. Besides, you’re good at dodgin’ people, right? We can make it work.”

You stare at him, processing his words, then sigh in resignation. “I guess we’re in this together then…”

Epel pats your shoulder with a grin. “That’s the spirit! We’re gonna make it through this, bunny style.”

You still have no idea what “bunny style” entails, but you’re willing to trust Epel’s wild plans—for now.

Idia Shroud:

Idia has never related to anyone more in his life. You anxiety is like looking into a jittery, trembling mirror, and for once, Idia is the calm one—relatively speaking.

“W-wait, you have to deliver a message to the Queen?!” Idia whispers, his hair sparking nervously. “That’s like, a total nightmare scenario.”

You nod rapidly, wringing your hands. “Y-yes, but I’m already late, and if I don’t get there soon, it’s off with my head!”

Idia shivers. “No way. I’d rather stay in my room for a thousand years.” He pauses, then adds, “But, um, if you don’t wanna go, maybe… I dunno… we could… not go together?”

You blink at him, your ears twitching at the idea of hiding away instead. “R-really? We can do that?”

He gives you an awkward thumbs-up, his face flushed. “Yeah… like, what’s the worst that could happen? Besides decapitation… but it’s not like anyone would expect me to be brave, right?”

You both glance at Ortho, who’s floating nearby and giving you the biggest, most judgmental sigh he can muster.

“You two need more courage,” Ortho says, shaking his head. “But I’ll help. Let’s make a plan!”

And just like that, your anxiety spirals back into full-on panic.

Ortho Shroud:

Ortho thinks you’re adorable, but he also realizes that you’re a magnet for trouble. So, naturally, he has to make sure you’re safe at all times.

“Good morning!” Ortho beams, floating beside you as you fumble with your basket of letters. “Where are you off to today?”

You twitch slightly, looking over your shoulder. “Oh, um, just delivering some messages… It’s a bit urgent…”

Ortho smiles, activating his sensors. “No problem! I’ll track your location and help with navigation!”

You blink, unsure if you should be relieved or more nervous. “T-track my location?”

Ortho nods cheerfully, a holographic map popping up. “Yup! We can’t have you getting lost in the rose maze again. Remember last time? You were stuck for hours!”

Your ears droop, embarrassed. “I-it’s not my fault everything looks the same…”

“Not to worry!” Ortho reassures. “I’ll make sure you’re in and out in no time! Plus, if you faint from fear, I can carry you.”

The thought of Ortho hauling you over his shoulder while Riddle scolds you is somehow even scarier than getting lost.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus has never met someone so jittery around him—and that’s saying something. He finds it… oddly endearing.

“Good evening, Child of Man,(Hare(?))” Malleus greets, his deep voice echoing through the hallway.

You jump about a foot in the air, your ears standing straight up. “L-Lord Malleus! I-I didn’t see you there!”

Malleus tilts his head, clearly confused. “I was standing right in the middle of the hall.”

You gulp, trying not to show your terror. “S-sorry! I just, um, wasn’t expecting—um—dragons are very quiet, apparently!”

Malleus raises an eyebrow, then smiles, showing just a hint of fang. “I assure you, I have no intention of frightening you.”

You nod rapidly, ears still trembling. “O-of course, Your Highness! I mean, who’s scared? Not me! Totally fine! Super relaxed!”

Malleus chuckles, and the sound is somehow both amused and terrifying. “You truly are quite… peculiar.”

You have no idea if that’s a compliment or an insult, but you nod like it’s the greatest praise in the world. “T-thank you, Lord Malleus.”

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia finds you endlessly amusing. He likes to see just how much he can tease you before you pass out from fright.

“Hello, little rabbit,” Lilia says, appearing out of *nowhere* like he always does.

You squeak, nearly dropping your stack of paperwork. “A-ah! L-Lilia! P-please don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He grins, fangs peeking out. “Oh, but it’s so much fun. You jump every time, like a startled bunny.”

You frown, puffing your cheeks out indignantly, but it only makes you look cuter. “I-I can’t help it! I’m just… easily startled.”

Lilia nods sagely, pretending to consider your words. “Perhaps I should warn you next time? Though that might take away all the fun…”

You gulp, trying to decide if he’s joking or not. “P-please do…”

He laughs, patting your head affectionately. “I make no promises, little one. Just stay on your toes!”

Silver:

Silver finds your constant panic a little concerning, but mostly, it makes him tired just watching you.

You find Silver leaning against a tree, dozing off like usual. “Um, Silver? A-aren’t you supposed to be training?”

Silver blinks awake, giving you a sleepy smile. “Oh, hello. Training? Right, yes, I was. I… took a short rest.”

You fidget, eyes darting around nervously. “W-well, um, I don’t want to interrupt… but could you help me? I think I lost the Queen’s letter again.”

Silver nods slowly, rubbing his eyes. “Of course. But first, you need to breathe. You’re more jittery than the dormouse.”

You force a shaky breath in, nodding. “R-right. Breathe. I can do that.”

Silver gives you a thumbs-up. “Good. Just stay calm. We’ll find it together.”

And then he promptly falls asleep again.

You stare at him, exasperated. “S-Silver?!”

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek is flabbergasted by your lack of composure. It drives him nuts—but also, he thinks you’re kind of adorable, like a helpless bunny.

“YOU!” Sebek bellows, making you flinch so hard you almost trip over yourself. “HOW CAN YOU BE THIS INCOMPETENT?!”

You cringe, clutching your ears. “I-I’m sorry! I’m trying my best, I swear!”

Sebek huffs, crossing his arms. “YOUR BEST IS BARELY ADEQUATE! YOU MUST STRIVE FOR PERFECTION, LIKE LORD MALLEUS!”

You gulp, nodding frantically. “R-right! I’ll… I’ll try harder!”

Sebek looks at your terrified face and sighs, his tone softening just a bit. “FINE, FINE. JUST DON’T MESS UP AGAIN. HERE.”

He hands you the paper you dropped, his ears turning slightly pink. “AND STOP LOOKING SO SCARED. IT’S… DISTRACTING.”

You blink at him, surprised. “D-distracting?”

“YES!” he shouts, clearly flustered. “NOW GO! LORD MALLEUS EXPECTS PERFECTION!”

You scurry away, leaving Sebek to mutter to himself, face flushed. “Such a weak little rabbit…”

Rollo Flamme:

Rollo tries so hard not to be charmed by you, really. He doesn’t like distractions, and you’re the most distracting bunny he’s ever met.

“Are you lost again?” Rollo asks with a sigh, watching as you nervously peek around a corner.

You jump, ears twitching. “O-oh, Rollo! I was just, um… trying to find the courtyard…”

Rollo pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’ve passed it three times already.”

You fumble with your hands, embarrassment turning your face pink. “I-I was just… making sure it was the right one…”

Rollo looks at your big, earnest eyes and sighs again, softer this time. “You’re hopeless,” he mutters. Then, reluctantly, he reaches for your hand, leading you back the way you came. “Come on. I can’t leave you wandering around all day.”

You follow behind him, ears drooping. “S-sorry…”

Rollo shakes his head, not even looking back. “Just try not to get lost again.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “I-I’ll try.”

Neige LeBlanche:

Neige thinks you’re the cutest thing ever. He’s the kind of person who immediately wants to be friends with you, especially because you look so nervous all the time.

“Hello!” Neige waves, beaming at you from across the way.

You blink, startled. “O-oh, um… hello, Neige…”

Neige practically skips over to you, his smile never faltering. “Are you okay? You look a little lost.”

You nod rapidly, trying not to be intimidated by his energy. “Y-yes, I’m fine! Just a little… um…”

“Aw, don’t worry!” Neige says, giving you an encouraging pat on the back. “You’ve got this! I believe in you!”

You stare at him, completely baffled. “You… you do?”

Neige nods earnestly. “Of course! And if you need any help, just let me know, okay? I’ll be your bunny buddy!”

Your ears twitch at the nickname, and you manage a shaky smile. “O-okay… Thank you, Neige.”

Dire Crowley:

Crowley finds your constant worrying both exhausting and oddly entertaining. He’s never seen anyone so concerned about breaking every single rule.

“Ah, You!” Crowley calls out, catching you just as you’re about to dash off with a stack of paperwork. “Do you have the reports I asked for?”

You freeze, turning to him with wide eyes. “R-reports? Oh no, I—I thought I delivered those to Professor Trein!”

Crowley sighs dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead. “Of course, of course. Why must I be surrounded by such incompetent students?”

You fidget, looking down at your feet. “I-I’m sorry, Headmaster… I’ll go get them right away—”

Crowley waves a hand dismissively. “No, no, I suppose it can wait. You do look like you’re about to pass out from all the running.”

Your ears droop, and you mumble, “I-I’m not… I’m just… very busy…”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, do try not to collapse before lunch, won’t you? I can’t have students fainting in my halls.”

You nod, scurrying away. Crowley watches you go, muttering to himself, “Honestly, there's no one more magnanimous than me…”

Divus Crewel:

Crewel is exasperated by your anxious behavior. He wants you to be confident, but instead, you’re always shaking in your boots.

“[Name], if you can’t handle a simple potion assignment, how do you expect to survive in this world?” Crewel says, his tone sharp as he points at your cauldron.

You gulp, ears twitching. “I-I’m sorry, Professor… I just, um, thought I might have put too much wormroot…”

Crewel raises an eyebrow. “Too much? Or not enough? Make up your mind, pup.”

Your eyes widen, and you flinch. “R-right! I-I mean, um, not enough—no, wait…”

Crewel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is hopeless.” Then, with a softer tone, he adds, “Focus. You can do this, but not if you keep second-guessing every move.”

You take a deep breath, nodding. “Y-yes, Professor.”

Crewel watches as you go back to your work, and though he doesn’t say it, there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

Mozus Trein:

Trein is generally strict, but even he can’t bring himself to be too harsh with you. Your anxious nature reminds him of some of his more timid students in the past.

“You’re late to class again,” Trein says, giving you a stern look.

You flinch, clutching your bag close. “I-I’m so sorry, Professor… I got lost in the halls again…”

Trein sighs, shaking his head. “You’ve been here long enough to know the way, haven’t you?”

You nod, ears drooping. “Y-yes, sir… I just… it’s the Queen’s court day, and I was trying to avoid… um…”

Trein raises an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. “Avoid the Queen’s wrath, hm?” He nods, as if understanding completely. “Well, see that it doesn’t happen again. And try to relax. You won’t learn anything if you’re always in a state of panic.”

You bow deeply, almost knocking over your desk in the process. “Y-yes, Professor Trein! Thank you!”

Trein sighs as you scurry to your seat, muttering to himself, “Poor child… so much anxiety…”

Ashton Vargas:

Vargas can’t help but laugh at your feeble attempts at physical activity. You’re about as coordinated as a baby deer—and just as panicked.

“Alright, everyone! Time for a run around the track!” Vargas shouts, blowing his whistle.

You gulp, your ears already drooping at the thought of running. “U-um, Professor Vargas, I’m not sure I’m… physically… capable…”

Vargas claps you on the back, nearly sending you sprawling. “Nonsense! Every beastman’s got it in them! Even you, little bunny!”

You try to protest, but he’s already started the timer. You stumble forward, your legs shaky, and you can hear Vargas laughing from behind.

“Look at that! The rabbit is really running for their life!” Vargas calls out, and the whole class turns to watch you struggle around the track.

You feel your face burn, but you keep running, heart pounding. It’s either run or face Vargas’s motivational speeches again, and honestly, you’re not sure which is worse.

Sam:

Sam loves seeing you in his shop, mostly because you’re so jumpy it’s easy to sneak up on you—unintentionally, of course. He finds your reactions amusing.

“Hello, hello!” Sam calls out as you walk into his shop, and you jump about a foot in the air.

“Ah—M-Mister Sam! I-I didn’t see you there!” you stammer, clutching your chest like your heart might leap out.

Sam laughs, leaning over the counter. “You’re always so jittery, little bunny. Relax! I’ve got just the thing to calm those nerves…” He pulls out a small vial of something labeled “Relaxation Remedy.”

You eye the bottle suspiciously. “Um… t-that’s not… gonna put me to sleep, is it?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not unless you drink the whole bottle, friend.” He winks. “I’m just lookin’ out for ya, y’know?”

You nod, still unsure but grateful. “T-thank you… I’ll, um… take one, I guess…”

Sam smiles, putting the vial in a bag for you. “No problem, little imp. Come back if you need more!”

You nod, scurrying out of the shop. Sam watches you leave, shaking his head with a grin. “That one’s gonna give themselves a heart attack one day…”

Grim:

Grim likes to think he’s the bravest in the group, but even he can see you’re worse off than him in the bravery department. He likes to boss you around, mostly to feel better about himself.

“Oi, bunny!” Grim shouts, jumping onto your desk. “You got my homework done yet?”

You squeak, nearly toppling out of your chair. “Y-your homework?! Grim, I—I can’t keep doing your work for you…”

Grim pouts, waving a paw at you. “Oh, come on! You’re already nervous all the time—what’s a little extra stress, huh?”

You huff, fidgeting with your pen. “G-Grim, I’m already at my limit! I-I’ve got the Queen’s orders, and Riddle’s rules, and now you want me to—”

Grim interrupts, hopping closer and giving you a smug grin. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, you’re a busy bunny. But you know, if you help me, I’ll… uh, protect you from any monsters! Yeah, how about that?”

You blink, considering it. “P-protect me? From monsters?”

Grim nods, puffing out his chest. “Yup! I’m the Great Grim, after all! I’m basically a professional monster hunter.”

You stare at him, unsure, your ears slowly drooping. “I-I guess… that would be helpful…”

Grim smirks, satisfied. “See? I knew you’d come around!” He jumps off your desk, tail flicking with glee. “Alright, I’ll be back later to pick up my homework. Make sure it’s perfect, okay?”

You sigh, watching him strut away. “H-how did I even get myself into this…?”

Grim doesn’t hear you, already daydreaming about what snack he’ll demand from you next. “It’s good to be the boss,” he mutters, chuckling to himself.

You slump in your seat, wondering if there would ever come a day when you’re not running around doing everyone’s bidding. But then again, you think, maybe that’s just the fate of a White Rabbit…

Masterlist

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: News Crashing

Poly!TaskForce 141 x Omega!Reader

The Omega Pack Plan Masterlist

Summary: A change in procedure around base causes you to spiral as your world comes crashing down. There's only one way out of this and it starts with telling the truth.

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anxiety, Existentialism, Misogyny, Dismissive Attitudes, Angst, Rage

Mentions of: Medication,

A/N: Honestly, I'd been inspired by a few series (Standard Emergency Protocol and Pantry Solutions) I've read those and it caused me to want to write my own ABO COD AU, so I started this as a sort of funny fic awhile ago. I'm haven't entirely plotted out the whole story, but I have some ideas for the first few chapters. I was finally inspired to finish and post it because @cringeycookies liked the snippet I posted in a wip tag game. So thanks to everyone who inspired me, and a special thank you to @penelopepine for helping me with the dialogue and Price's reaction as I try to begin writing for them.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," the nurse responds, "we're no longer authorized to refill suppressants of any kinds for any purpose." With a push of the empty orange pill bottle back across the counter in your direction, she offers you an ugly forced smile.

"Is there really nothing we can do?!" You complain incredulously, "Nothing at all? What am I supposed to do with this?!" Taking the emptied bottle into your hands, you stare at the nurse with widened eyes and a wild look.

"There is no 'we'..." she rolls her eyes in response, focus returning to the papers before her. "But if you insist, you can always bring it up with your CO, or the Base Commander." She scribbles something out on the page, but you can hardly focus when your world is virtually crumbling apart around you. "Now if you don't mind, some of us actually have work to do around here."

Still stunned, you can't help the way your breathing picks up as your heart begins to race. About a month ago now there was a base-wide meeting where they'd finally cracked down and implemented a new program the government is trying out: OPP. The Omega Pack Plan. While it's uncommon for Omegas to even be recruited into the military to begin with, such a thing does exist. Regardless, the Base Commander gathered everyone in the Auditorium for a presentation to talk about the new program and how the army would implement it into the troops. Luckily, considering you're on an elite Task Force, it doesn't apply to you. At least... it didn't.

"What the hell is this?!" You yell, tossing the orange bottle in his direction.

He'd heard the stomps all the way down the hall and smelled you coming, so he's neither surprised by your appearance, nor startled by the toss of the bottle. John swiftly catches it in his hand as he looks up at you. "What?" He inquires, finally glancing down to examine what he's caught. "A pill bottle?"

"Captain, it's empty! They won't refill it- I can-"

A groan tumbles past his lips as he drags a hand down his beard. "Look, Panther-" referring to you by your callsign, interesting move. "There's nothing I can do, it's over my head now. I wish I could do something, but I can't." Sitting back in his leather chair, Price places the bottle on the desk; a faint rap of the plastic hitting the wood is the only sound between you momentarily before you hurriedly shut the door.

Panic begins to flood your system as you're not sure how to handle this. It's your turn to freak out. You know how this goes, you know the story now; ever since they'd implemented and dispersed the Omegas into the troops, they'd started implementing them into the Task Forces, and now they have to do so with the One Four One. Fingers curling in and out of shapes as you try to process your next move, you speak before you can even begin to plan what you're going to tell him.

"I- I'm- I..." You're pacing his office now, the heavy gaze of your Captain upon you as you try to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. The thing is, you're usually good with pressure- really good. It's your job to be good. It's just... this is different. This is your life, your livelihood at stake, the livelihood of all your future generations to come.

A sigh resounds throughout the office before you hear the low timbre of his voice. "Dove," he calls out with a gentle tone, "I want you to take a deep breath for me. Alright?" With the calm and even sound of your Captain's voice and the assured look on his face, you comply. Exhaling the last of your breath, you close your eyes and focus in on the deep intake of air through your nose. With the parting of your lips you slowly release it before giving yourself a moment.

When you open your eyes he gestures to the seat before his desk, though you know he won't take offense if you decline. Hesitant, one hand finds its way to the other, wrapping around your arm as you listen to him speak. "Now, can you explain what has you in this state? I assure you that there's nothing that can't be dealt with." You want to trust him, you know him--John Price--your Captain. He's always had your back, always made sure you felt comfortable in the Taskforce, always made an effort to check on you after things got rough.

You nod. Licking your lips, you search his blue eyes as you tentatively take the seat across him.

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, alright? I can guarantee you that unless you're trying to tell me you're an Omega, nothing you say is going to shock me that warrants the amount of panic you're putting yourself through," Price chuckles. He's obviously joking, trying to break the tension with humor. Lips drawn upward into a small smile, the Captain stares at you expectantly.

"What if I am?" You whisper, eyes unable to tear from his visage as you try and gauge his reaction. Unexpectedly, silence fills the space between you and feels deafening in the small space. The growing comfort of his office these couple of months now feels like a cage you're forced to stay in, under watch, as you stare down your superior on the brink of a battle to the death. And that's what you do. His blue eyes bore into yours, skeptically shifting between your left and right as he seems to try and get a read on you.

All of the sudden you jump at the smack of his hands hitting the desk in front of him. He laughs at you.

He's laughing at you.

And you're sitting there with your guts spilled out, dread eating away at the pit in your stomach... and he's laughing. It feels like forever is passing you by as you stare at him in shock, this moment between the two of you frozen in time as nothing else persists.

"I understand what this was now," Price explains, still chuckling to himself as he shakes his head. There's a warm smile on his face that feels eerie considering the dire context of the situation at hand. "You got me! I fully believed you for a second there, too."

Eyebrows furrowing in dark realization, you can't help but stare at him wildly. "Wha-" You begin to question him and his line of thinking, but he cuts you off.

"This was all a prank, right? The bottle, the hysterics- you really outdid yourself, Sergeant." Leaning back in his chair, he props his ankle up on his other knee. "Because let me tell you, this was good. Better than anything Soap's cooked up in awhile. Did you come up with it yourself?" There's a cheeky grin on his lips. "Ah, I know you did."

Lips opening and closing like a fish out of water, you sit in the armchair across from him pale with a dazed look across your face. He doesn't actually think that this was...

"Well, with your little triumph in your pocket, I say we get back to work, yeah? I've got some new leads from MI6 that've just popped in." With that, the man stands from his desk and rounds it. "Garrick should be back around Tea. I'll see you in the Command Station then," he informs you. It's then that he passes by, a genial clap on your shoulder while he's at it.

Left stunned in silence, you can't help but grit your teeth, consequentially pronouncing your jaw as anger ebbs through your bloodstream. Breath getting heavier, you can't help but loathe the meeting tonight. Your Captain might be satisfied with the conversation, but all you feel is discouraged. He's abandoned you, left you alone in his office with a humiliating sense of betrayal and shattered trust. Almost like you hadn't just told him your biggest secret at all.

Punching the standard heavy punching bag hanging in front of you, you grunt, ignoring the pain that gnaws at your knuckles underneath the reusable hand wraps. Sweat builds on your brow as you continue to unleash your pent up anger on the gym’s equipment. How could he?! When had you ever pulled anything even similar to this? Never! And the fact that you’ve only been on the team for a handful of months only exacerbates the abandonment you’re feeling right now. He’s your Captain! Regardless of your feelings or the situation at hand, isn’t he supposed to be there for you? He’d promised from the get go to help you with whatever you need, and now the one time you go to him for aid it backfires in your face and leaves you without any sort of solution going forward aside from straight up telling the whole team the flat out truth, and God forbid! You can’t even begin to fathom how that’d go.

A pent up and frustrated yell almost akin to something of a growl emanates from you as you tear into another round of swift jabs and punches. Regardless of the situation at hand, you’ve been trying to build up your upper body’s strength and letting out the anger you’d accumulated over this morning’s events seemed like a perfect opportunity to let loose.

The stretches and treadmill routine didn’t take a lot out of you, but the weights, and now the punching bag definitely is starting to take its toll. Sweat beads at your forehead in rivulets that drip down the sides of your neck, down your scalp past your neck and between your shoulder blades. Tank top soaked in sweat, you breathe hard as your heart pumps rapidly in your chest. You would’ve wound up here at some point or another tonight, but the Captain’s discourteous response certainly led to an earlier workout time.

While others sparsely litter the gym’s floor, you pay them no mind and vice versa. It’s not uncommon for soldiers to be found blowing off steam or aiming to beat their highest reps on the weights. Yet, this gym is reserved for higher standing members of the Force, the gym on the far side of the base where there are less people, offices, and considering the regular army men train in the bigger gym closer to their quarters, it’s mostly other higher ranked officers in here.

“Captain’s lookin’ for ya,” Markowski, another Sergeant that you’d come to befriend on base announces from the doorway, having poked his head in after leaving a few minutes earlier. He belongs to a different Task Force.

A groan tumbles out of you as you realize it’s already that time. Just as the door clicks shut, your phone chimes loudly with the alarm you’d set earlier going off. A few quick swipes of your fingers, you turn the alarm off and unlock the device, seeing a number of messages flood your notifications.

Kyle: You hear they’ve bumped up the timeline? 😯

Johnny: “ https://Tiktok/Shattered.Rat567 ” Had me rollin’ 🤣👏🏻 Gotta check it, Bonnie

Simon: You coming to the meeting or not? 🤨

Johnny: Where r u? You’re usually first here 👀 Cap’s getting peeved, watch out

Not looking forward to the inevitable mess of a meeting before you, you don’t bother rushing to join the men. With a wash of your face in the women’s locker room, a speedy bathroom break, and a grab of the items you’d brought with you, you’re heading for the Command Station.

With the time Price set the meeting, you won't get to eat dinner till afterward. You'd be lying if you said you weren't annoyed by this entire situation, your agitation from neglecting your hunger earlier has certainly come to bite you in the backside.

While you don’t have time to respond to their texts, having set the alarm with only enough time to get back to your team’s Command ‘station’ albeit more like your headquarters before heading out. Speed-walking through the orderly halls with a haste perfectly common around here, you navigate with a well practiced knowledge. Though you’ve only been here coming up on six months soon, you’re well acquainted with this part of the base.

Rounding the corner, you’re in the hall, close. Yet, the worry of being late lingers in the back of your mind and adds another layer of annoyance on top of your residual anger buried deep down from this morning’s situation. You’d inevitably come up with your solution. It’s not one you like… but it’s the only logical option. Another turn and you’re striding into the big garage-like room.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Sergeant,” Price calls out to you. Lifting his eyes from the map laid out across your station's table, he glares in your direction.

“What took you so long?” Soap snaps, his brows slightly furrowed as he stares at you from the opposite side of the table, hands lazily wrapped around his vest’s straps.

A look at your watch tells you that you’re not even late, the meeting doesn’t officially start for another minute! But you are usually waiting on them. He’s got you there.

“Yeah, you’re usually the first one here. It’s not like you,” Gaz whispers under his breath as you sidle up alongside Ghost, Gaz standing diagonal to you right beside Price at the head of the table.

“Focus,” Ghost orders the men, his hands tucked in his hoodie’s pocket. You don’t fail to notice the way he subtly takes a step further away from you as soon as they start talking again. Price goes back to talking plans as Gaz is questioning the circumstances of the information the Captain had acquired earlier when he’d had to leave the office.

“Which is exactly why-”

A heavy exhale on your behalf leaves the men frozen as their eyes drift back to you. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Panther?” The Captain questions. Jaw clenched, you tear your eyes from the map they’d settled on.

“We’ve got a big problem,” you announce, cutting off the Captain as you finally raise your gaze to meet Price’s slightly widened blue eyes.

“Well, if you see something that needs changin’ then let’s hear it,” he responds. A ‘hmph’ follows as he crosses his arms over his chest and sits his weight back onto his heels.

“It’s not about the op,” you correct him. Tilting your head side to side you attempt to crack the kinks in your neck while standing a little straighter to appear more engaged and serious.

“And it’s more important than this? What we’re doin’ right now?” Soap questions, his hands dropping to rest on the table as he looms over it, eyeing you with frustration obvious in his irises.

“What is it?” Gaz asks, a quirk of his eyebrow garnering your attention for a split-second. He’s genuinely asking, and there doesn’t seem to be a hostility in his scent as he turns his attention to you. Then there’s Ghost, who you don’t even need to look at to feel his heavy gaze on you, waiting expectantly.

“Actually, it is,” you argue with Soap, anger beginning to boil in your belly, the frustration and angst having been left to simmer all afternoon. “I can’t believe you didn’t take me seriously when I came to you earlier,” you turn your anger on Price. He looks taken aback by the outburst, something you’re not known for.

“Dove,” he calls calmly, hands out in an attempt to pacify.

“Don’t-” you bark, starting to raise your voice without realizing it. “I came to you in confidance! Trusting you when you said you’d be there to help me if I ever needed it! How could you?” Gritting your teeth, you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing as your chest heaves with anger.

“Woah, woah-” Gaz sputters, “What-” holding his hands out to try and diffuse the argument.

“I let myself be vulnerable-” You continue to shout.

“Isn’t this something that shoul-” Soap attempts to dissuade, backing down as he puts his hands out.

“-and tell you the truth, and-” you’re lunging for him across the table. You’re held back by a massive hand on your shoulder. “You laugh in my face?! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You're suddenly pulled back, off your feet, and shoved into a metal chair that'd been nearby. Your Lieutenant is hovering over you, his cold eyes now tinged with a spark of anger as they bore into you scrutinizingly. There's the sound of commotion behind him, multiple voices overlapping, yet you can't see anything with that utter giant in front of you!

“Does anyone wanna explain what the bloody hell is goin’ on here?” Ghost snaps. It's only then when the man steps aside that you can see where everyone is. With both of you in your respective corners, you simply glare at the Captain from over your crossed arms out in front of you.

“Are you bleedin’ kidding me, ya Scally?” Price grunts as he shrugs Gaz’ hand off his shoulder. “You’re still on about it! When w-"

"That doesn't explain what happened, Cap," Gaz interrupts, stopping him from going off and getting them nowhere.

He groans, running a hand over his face once more before composing himself. Everyone waits for an explanation—you too—he’d been the first to speak, and you’re curious to hear what he comes up with. “She came into my office, bloody cryin’, tossing me a pill bottle, muttering about, saying she’s a-”

You don’t dare let him finish, not wanting him to be the one to finally say it, exposing your truth to the team. "Omega. I’m an Omega, ” you finish his sentence. While you’re scared to meet their faces, you take a deep breath and force yourself to do so.

"Christ," Price curses, fingers coming up to pinch the skin between his brows as he hangs his head.

Ghost's stoicism is nothing unordinary, and in fact, is somewhat a comfort considering you'd expected nothing less from him.

Gaz looks stunned for a moment, eyes flitting about the other’s faces before the serious look on his face morphs. Lips slowly drawing upward, you shouldn’t be surprised when he starts laughing. "Yeah right," Garrick teases, "and I'm actually the Prime Minister."

Yet, it's not just him. The uproarious laughter from your right only adds fuel to the already burning flame as the two other Sergeants laugh like idiots. All as if it's some poor joke with no consequences to anyone's life, and yet... it's the truth. At the end of the day, it doesn't change anything. At the end of the day, your life is still in jeopardy and they're treating it like some joke. Unable to form any sort of retort, you simply blink; stuck in a stupor raw, stung, and with a dumb look on your face.

Soap, rounding the table slaps Gaz on the back, his face flushed red from laughing so hard. "Yer makin' my stomach hurt. God," he eggs the other on between his dying chuckles and attempting to catch his breath.

"You're really just gonna stand there and laugh?!" You finally burst. Anger surely must be coming off your scent in waves, but you don't care. Standing from the chair, you don't flinch as Ghost swipes his arm out in front of you in case you were going for the Captain again. There will be no physical altercation on his watch.

"She already pulled this on me earlier, mind you, and now what? You're trying to pull it over on the lads' too, eh?" Price goads you.

"And I was telling the truth! You're the one who said I was joking," you point out. The volume of your voice is lost on you, partially blinded by the fury bleeding out.

"I suppose you never did admit to it being a prank," Price reasons, fingers grazing his beard as he runs them over it repeatedly in thought. "But how do you expect us to believe that when you clearly smell of a Beta?"

"Even on the battlefield, after everything we've been through-" Gaz starts.

"After yer all sweaty from a workout, too. I think we'd notice, Pan," Johnny argues, illuminating a legitimate point of consideration.

"Oh please," you mutter quietly to yourself. Shaking your head, you can't believe they're really all being this daft right now. "Like you have heard of those Scent Spritzers.”

There are various perfumes on the market specifically designed to alter one’s scent. Most use it smell like an Alpha when they’re not, or an Omega when they’re wanting to seduce an Alpha when going out. But Omegas posing as Betas was rarely heard of. You’re more than sure it happens more frequently than people know of, they just haven’t been caught. And in your line of work? It’s scarce. People are thoroughly vetted, but… you’d been on suppressants for a long, long time. And a Beta perfume only perfected your hiding.

“Did you forget we’re Alphas, love? We’d be able to smell you across the room if you were,” Gaz taunts. There’s a puff of his chest that makes his cockiness even more annoying than usual.

"You really want to be an Omega? Dumb yourself down to some weak fragile thing?” Johnny jokes, nudging Gaz’ arm as he shakes his head.

“A doll who can get whoever she wants? Want to be nothing more than good for knockin' up and popping out pups?” Gaz adds on.

“Are you serious right now?” You test, seething under your skin as your hands ball up into fists. “How could you say that?!”

“It’s what people say,” Ghost comments.

“Nobody would want that and you’re out here lying about it,” Johnny pokes.

“We’re only trying to point out the flaws in your little rouse, Pan,” Gaz says, a smile lighting up his features as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"And what if I was lying, hm? Would that change anything you just said to me? How you feel about Omegas?" You scoff.

“This isn’t about your designation,” Price finally speaks. Fingers still weaved into his beard, his blue eyes lift to meet yours. “I see what this is about now, but there's nothin' to worry about, Dove.” Your Captain takes on a softer tone and all of the sudden you feel yourself start to get emotional as a twinge of sadness, of the hurt bleeding through upon understanding makes you feel seen.

“I know it's intimidating, the thought of having your first unmedicated heat, but we have medics here. It's natural. Heats, ruts, we all have them. And, hey... at least you're not an Omega, right?" Whatever relief you’d momentarily experienced sinks back down in your gut with the speed of a rollercoaster drop. It’s as silent as a stakeout, the only sound being people’s breathing. And the lack of yours.

It takes a moment to gather yourself, everyone’s eyes on you with the serious topic change. While sex and the downsides to a designation are something discussed with the boys, you’d often been left out. And to your comfort. "You know what? I can’t do this,” you retort. Backing from the group, you toss your hands up. “I guess you'll just have to wait and see," you bite back. With a whip of your hair over your shoulder, you head for the door.

The room is silent once more as everyone gawks. You’d never reacted in such a manner, had an outburst like that… this is… certainly different, and something they’re not at all used to.

“It’s because they took away her suppressants today,” Price explains. It might not have been something the group should be privileged to know. A private matter, really… but with the way you acted? He felt the men deserve an explanation, at least.

“That makes sense,” Gaz responds quietly, eyes still on the door you’d gone through.

“That’s no excuse,” Johnny counters, arms crossing over his chest with a scowl on his lips.

"Well... that went better than I thought,” Ghost comments with a shrug. “Back to the plan? We can fill her in later.”

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

[klausysworld]

Hi could you write some angst about a deeply insecure reader who hates her appearance and is sort of friends with Elena and everyone(pushed to the side kind of relationship)but when klaus comes around it’s clear that she has a crush but believes he’s out of her league then klaus uses it to his advantage by showing an interest in her for information and helps her with her self worth.klaus then starts to develop feelings for her but then it’s revealed that he was just manipulating her and reader is devastated and utterly humiliated and it sets her back to how she was before him.(sorry if that was a really long explanation,you can decide the ending)thanks I love your writing btw

Real

Growing up in Mystic Falls is a bizarre experience.

There were town events almost every month where you had to dress up and act better than everyone, parents basically had a competition over who had the prettiest daughters or the most handsome sons.

Not my parents.

They didn't think I was good enough to even pretend that I could compete. I was told my worth from a young age and became more aware of it with time. When your own parents don't think you're good enough it's sort of an eye-opener if you will.

It didn't help that everyone in this town seemed to be born into modelling.

Somehow I was lucky enough to wind up 'friends' with people like Elena, Caroline and Bonnie but I knew I didn't belong with them. Somehow they were gorgeous enough to get whatever they wanted.

Sometimes I wondered if everyone else at the age of 17 looked like them and I was behind or if somewhere, I was above average. I doubted it. A lot.

Occasionally I would look at a mirror and think that I wasn't even that bad to look at. There was nothing particularly ugly about me, there just wasn't anything special. I looked plain in a way, bland and forgettable.

I was very forgettable actually. My 'friends' made that abundantly clear throughout the years when they would go out without me or forget to ask if I also wanted something or liked something.

Somehow I was of no value to them. Perhaps I was simply there to amplify their beauty. Like a DUFF. I was definitely the DUFF.

Damon actually told me that I was once, after Tyler had made the joke and Damon asked what it meant. Even though I already knew it to be true, to be told it was much worse.

You could sort of tell everyone else was thinking it, especially when I was stood beside Caroline.

Stefan was the only one who was nice but I wasn't sure if it was out of pity or just because that was who he was. Then again, I'd rather just not know.

So I tried my best to keep in the background, avoid attention and stay out the way.

Even with all the vampire and werewolf drama that took course, I kept myself quiet and to the side. Strangely it was Katherine who was kind to me, whether she had an ulterior motif I'm not so sure anymore but she never hurt me in the time she was there. Neither did Elijah when he came to town, he was polite to everyone but it was obvious that my presence was irrelevant to him.

And then of course, Klaus arrived.

I didn't officially meet him until the senior prank night, he sort of just threw to the side and told me to keep my mouth closed and not to bother running because he'd just kill me. Part of me thought about running anyway so he would just end it but I didn't.

Klaus dragged me by my wrist into his car, told me to keep quiet while he drove Elena to the hospital. For whatever reason he brought me along and left me in the car as he went to drain her of blood for his hybrids. I did as told: sat silently and waited.

He came back out and spoke to Damon for a moment, I saw them glance over in my direction only for Damon to laugh and smirk. I sighed to myself and got out the car. It was clear that Klaus thought I could be a good pawn but was surly mistaken and Damon told him to do whatever he wanted to me. In response I walked home, neither noticed so it was fine.

A week or so later he came back, crashed homecoming or something? I dunno, I wasn't there but I was told about it the next day via a stroppy Caroline.

It was that same day that he came and sat beside me at the grill. I ignored him for the most part, confused by his attempt at what I could only guess was flirting? I wasn't really sure. I think he could tell.

"Not easily impressed are you love?" he questioned as he leant forward, uncomfortably close. I sort of just looked at him, still unsure to what he wanted. A smirk pulled at the end of his lips and his hand lifted, his fingers wrapping around a piece of my hair making frown and pull away abruptly. Without hesitation I stood up and spun on my heel, going to leave. His laugh followed me and a hand grabbed my waits, it was stange.

"Calm down love, It's not like I was going to rip it out, I just wondered what it felt like" he chuckled, pulling my back flush against his front making me tense and squirm.

"It feels like hair" I stated simply "Now get off" I grunted, shoving my elbow into his side to make him let go. I kept walking, keeping my eyes on the ground.

The next time I saw him he apologised for the previous encounter which again, i didn't understand but there was no point in questioning and arguing so I just accepted it and tried to leave but he asked if I'd stay for one drink, he asked so nicely and he smiled. I was stupid enough to think it was genuine and accepted.

Looking back it was pretty obvious that this was a game for him or a trap, whatever you want to label it but in the moment I ignored what was right in my face. Deep down I knew it was all a joke of sorts really.

But no boy, let alone a man had shown me this sort of attention and the soft fluttering it made me feel had me staying for far too long. I listened to his little stories and asked a range of questions as the drinks kept coming. He asked a couple about me but i gave relatively vague answers. There wasn't much I had to give him on me, I wasn't up for a pity party about friends and I didn't really fancy talking about my shitty parents either. I think Klaus picked up on the fact that I didn't really want to talk about me and eventually gave up with it.

It was late when I realised I needed to get home and he offered to take me which I admit made me wary. I didn't want him to kidnap me and think I'd be any good as leverage again, though I guess Damon made that pretty clear already. I decided to just walk home which he eventually accepted and got into his car.

Walking by myself probably wasn't my best option after drinking so much in one go but I made it home with minimal stumbling. My mother shook her head when she saw me and asked what was wrong with me. When she realised I had been drinking her mind jumped to two very different conclusions. The first being that I was being a slut which was ironic as in the past she'd made it clear that no guy would want to sleep with me, and the second being that I had taken pills to kill myself.

Listening to her drastic thinking made me wonder what kind of pills she was on but I didn't question it and waited for my father to come and take her to bed, telling her to just ignore me. Then I proceeded to make my way to the bathroom, getting changed and washing my face before going to my bed.

My phone dinged making me sigh, thinking it was Elena asking me to help her with something dumb and life threatening however much to my surprise it was Klaus. A smile involuntarily spread across my face and we messaged back and forth before he told me to rest.

The following few days he would just check in. Not too much but he also made it clear that he hadn't forgotten me which was all I had ever truly wanted from someone. To be acknowledged at the very least.

Of course I didn't tell the others that he had been talking to me, besides they didn't ask so I didn't see why I should. I guess I just wanted something for myself.

I wasn't completely stupid. I always had the feeling that he was using me, especially towards the start...but he was just so wonderful with his words and his ways.

When he began to make and buy sweet gifts and claim they were tokens of his affection, I couldn't help the blush on my face. When he would find a way to have his skin against mine, or how he would pick up my hand and gently tug my along. Somehow we always seemed to end up somewhere for food, and he would always refuse to let me pay.

Something about him was so enticing, addictive if you will.

He began to make me feel a certain way. He made me warm and happy. His touch was so soft, it made me feel like I was buzzing. i was stupid for thinking he could feel the same way about me.

I had been so scared to admit my feelings.

He had assured me that he would never push me to.

He told me that he liked me, that he didn't want me to be frightened of him or nervous around him. "Not unless it's the sort of nervous that puts butterflies in your stomach sweetheart" he had teased and my cheeks had glowed red.

Over the space of months his presence never lessoned. He always made time to see me, and speak with me. I found myself longing for his voice, his touch.

On days where he was too busy at home, he would urge me to come over. I would spend as long as I possibly could with him, a few times I even stayed over but he had slept on top of the duvet so that I would feel comfortable.

This had gone on for a small while until he actually said the words 'I love you'.

Perhaps I was just so happy to actually hear those words. Maybe I believed them to be true, real. Or I just saw what I wanted to see, heard what I wanted to hear and ignored the rest.

The time I gave myself to him used to make my smile and blush. Now it just makes me feel dirty, humiliated and embarrassed.

Knowing that he could and has had his hands all over my body, his lips and eyes. In the moment I felt like a goddess, probably because that’s what he told me I was. The memory of him inside me haunts me. I had thought it to be such a beautiful experience, romantic and personal.

I wish I could say that I had slept with him only once but as the months went by we would share intimacy often.

I had even told him that I loved him, so many times and I meant it for all of them.

So you should understand why it was so hard to accidentally hear him tell his sister that he had been compelling me for any information on the others.

It had felt as though my heart had stopped when the words hit my ears and tears already made my eyes burn. I heard a weak laugh and turned my head to see Damon, strung up by chains whilst bleeding all over, looking straight back at me.

“Y/n…” I heard Klaus’s voice, his tone one of panic or maybe it was just surprise. He probably didn’t want me to know of his routine. Damon only rolled his eyes and gave me look,

“You didn’t…think it was real, right?” He coughed, a cruel smile on his face.

His words just made me quieter. They made me think. Why did I think it was real?

My eyes slowly lifted to meet Klaus’s. I could see and feel Rebekah looking at me, everyone was silent. Even Damon shut up for a second. I think maybe he was expecting me to say something but I didn’t really have anything to tell him.

As awful as it all made me feel, and even with the amount of emotions swallowing me, I felt more disappointed in myself than I did him.

My right hand went to my left arm, pinching my skin through my jumper in some sort of hope that I’d wake up from some stupid nightmare but it didn’t work.

The first tear fell from my eye and I sniffed to keep the other ones from coming.

Klaus just looked at me, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, I didn’t want to know either. I could just guess anyway.

So without a word I just turned around and left, walking quickly back out the door before breaking into a sprint in the direction of my house. I could feel the mascara running down my face, ruining the foundation I had only recently started wearing, for Klaus’s benefit.

My hands wiped at the tears as I pushed my from door shut behind me and went upstairs, blocking out the annoyed voices of my parents and locking myself in my room.

It was only once I was in the shower that I was flooded with memories. That I remembered all the things I had done with him. By the time I stepped out of the bathroom my skin was scrubbed raw in an attempt to wash his touch away. Even the slightest touch made me feel as though my body was burning, stinging with pain but I would have rather felt that every day than have to realise Klaus had been using me for over a year now.

I was curled in my bed, hidden under the blankets and surrounded by the dark as I let every comment not matter how small or petty play back through my mind.

I wasn’t even sure who to be upset with. I chose myself.

Klaus must’ve known I was an easy target. Desperate. I wonder how much he’s had me tell him. To be fair I knew more than you’d expect about what was going on. I had gotten good at observing and overhearing so I still knew what was going on, even when spending so much time with Klaus himself.

I also wondered what else he had compelled me to do. I hoped he wouldn’t do anything other than ask questions but I couldn’t help that fear creep inside me. It made me sick to my stomach, and then I wondered if he would just wait to compel me again so that I could continue to be his information feeder.

The idea made my fingers dig into my arm, bruising the skin purple but I wouldn’t stop. I only did so that I could go get some vervain that I kept downstairs in one of the cupboards at the back. I was reaching for the little glass bottle when I heard a door close. I spun around quickly to see Klaus in the doorway of my kitchen. My hand clutched onto the vervain tightly and I noticed his eyes glance at it briefly. His hands went up as if to show no harm but there was no way I would believe that meant a thing.

“Sweetheart- listen to me..” he began and I let out a breathless laugh

“Get out” I whispered making him sigh and frown as though he had the audacity to be upset or annoyed.

“Y/n..”

“No Klaus. I’m fucking serious, get out.” I told him, my eyes watering again. I let out an involuntary whimper when he stepped forward making him stop and stand still.

“I never meant for you to know that” he whispered and I frowned, swiping a tear away.

“Sorry I ruined your plan” I mumble, exhausted.

“No- no I didn’t mean it like that- I meant that-“

“Klaus it’s fine” I murmur, avoiding his eye, “It’s fine, I get it. You needed to know what was happening, you got to be two steps ahead. I’d appreciate if you just found someone else now please”

I could feel his stare on me, it make my skin itch and I just needed him to go. I could feel my hand getting clammy as I held onto the bottle.

“I haven’t compelled you in such a long time” he muttered, as though maybe that made it better. “I used to, but I truly have fallen for you Y/n. I love-“

“Please get out” I cut him off, my spare hand resting on my forehead to cover my eyes.

“I love you”

“No you don’t” I cry, “you wouldn’t do this to someone you love. I know you don’t love me. You never have and you never could. You’re just pretending again so I’ll let you control me, I don’t like it” I whimper, tears streaming again. I could hear him getting closer but I was already against the counter and I couldn’t out run him. There was no point in trying.

“Sweetheart, I’ll never use you again-“ he tried to argue but I couldn’t listen to it.

“I really, really need you to leave. Please Klaus just get out, I can’t stand you” I tell him honestly and for a second as I look up at him, he looks almost sad but I have to assume it’s still apart of his act.

“You- you’re not going to do anything…anything harmful are you? To yourself, I mean.” He asked and I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me. I should never have told him that I’d had those thoughts or feelings once. I shouldn’t have ever said a word to him.

“No…now go away” I whisper, my hands trembling as I stared at the ground, listening to his footsteps eventually get further away.

I knew there was no way I could sleep, he was probably still outside my house. Waiting.

I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for but I could him there.

I had no idea what I was going to do.

[lady-ashfade]

Hi, I wanted to request something platonic with Percy, with him meeting his older half-sister after he finds out he's the son of Poseidon.

Sorry for my English, I'm using the translator to write, and sorry if you don't understand my request

Pictures On The Wall

Percy jackson x older!sister (platonic)

-£ this was the first thing that came to mind and it’s such a cute idea! thank you.

-£ words: 700

-£ warnings: short, nervous percy, cool reader, sassy and kinda grunge reader, siblings bonding, fluff.

the wall across from his bed was covered with many things. pictures of people he didn’t know along with a bed half made and clothes piled up. “that’s y/n’s” a name he never heard but yet was family. his half sister was somewhere on a quest and didn’t know that he was snooping round her things.

he looked at the pictures all the time, liking the smile you had. he knew that smile, a distinct memory in his mind but you wore it with pride. you looked so cool and by all the stories he heard you were one of the most awesome person at camp.

every cabin knew you, it was like he needed to fill some sort of shoe now that you walked in but he didn’t know the first thing.

“percy,” grover peaked into the cabin and looked around for his best friend, when he found him he looked nervous. “I think you should come.” percy jumped up at the sound of his voice that sounded like something horrible had happened.

percy walked along his friend while his heart raced, “what happened?” had another monster attacked the camp, what could have happened that he had to come.

“she’s back.” Grover muttered while sighing, “And we thought you should meet her.” oh,- oh gods. you were back so soon? he didn’t have a clue on what he would say or do. would you like him, would you hate him and somehow kick him out of the cabin? he’s never had a sibling before.

“she’s getting patched up and I’ll warn you,” Grover patted his shoulder with a kind smile, “she’s unpredictable at times.” Yeah, that makes me feel much better Percy thought.

as soon as the walked into the infirmary all they could hear was yelling and arguing making the young boys look at each other. they walked to the door and saw the girl on the bed glare at the other around her age.

he knew you. the picture he looked at every day you seemed to be exactly like that, but you didn’t look happy like all of them. the shirt you wore had rips in it and a bloody bandage wrapped around your arm. the redhead girl in front of you held a spoon up to your mouth but you kept fighter her off.

“I’m fine! It’s just a few scratches, I’m not a child!” it was ironic that you looked like a bratty child that wanted to stomp their feet. your lips pouted slightly. percy didn’t know what to think at the scene.

“take it. you’re just keeping yourself from leaving, so do it so I can leave!” the other girl seemed to knock some sense into you as you huffed and took the spoon in your mouth. if looks could kill then she would be on the ground by now, you looked so angry.

humming the redhead walked out of the door and looked at the boys before rolling her eyes and kept going down the hallway. you didn’t seemed to notice them as you started to take off the dirty bandages.

Grover was the first to speak, “excuse me,” you looked at him quickly but your eyes were now soft and no longer sharp. “Grover, come in!” you invited him over but your eyes soon fell on the boy next to him. and immediately the connection between the two of you went off in your head.

“you must be percy?”

he shifted closer and awkwardly not knowing want to do, “yeah. how do you know?”

“I received letters telling me of the idiot brother I seemed to have,” you chuckle and throw the dirty cloths in your hands on the bed. The cut was gone but dry blood still stayed on your skin, “you have dads eyes.” You pointed to your own.

“really?” he asked quietly as you hopped on the floor and stretched. “Oh yeah, less disappointment in them but I’ll give it time.”

you yawned and picked up the black jacket and your backpack, “I’m starving,” you stood between the two of them and then swung your arms around the two of them.

“Now, tell me what you did to Clarisse!” You smirk at the brother you just met, “my favorite sibling already.”

[acstation206]

I messed up. /j

Introducing...

THE AMAZING DIGITAL ARCADE PARTY!

Yeah, that's right, I caved in.

Basically the exact same show except its established lore and setting is more largely inspired by archive compilations of popular vintage arcade games of the 80s and 90s such as Pac-Man’s Arcade Party, as well as the different takes within the sci-fi / fantasy genre by the likes of Wreck-It Ralph, Tron: Legacy, and Infinity Train. 

==

= BACKGROUND (in a nutshell) 💿 =

In an attempt to save their dying business, C&A developed and manufactured the first hybrid arcade game of its own kind that combined other popular arcade games and home console games with virtual reality. However, just as the company’s luck was turning around, numerous lawsuits from game companies by the likes of Nintendo and families were filed against the company for their product, from apparently “ripping-off” Super Mario Bros. in its entirety to causing many children to either inexplicably fall unconscious or suffer from amnesia after the cabinet’s headset was put on. Just then, as C&A announced they’ll be temporarily recalling the product to fix its issues, a shocking discovery was already made by investigators that would soon bring the company to its demise: the game’s AI had gone rogue, and once a human mind dies from losing one of the games in any way, they are either permanently reincarnated as a personified cartoon character of themselves or just straight up die in real-life depending on the outcome.

==

= ART N’ STUFF 🎨 =

(might wanna make a separate masterpost for that in the future but oh well)

NES Ragatha

Pomni and Caine redesigns

==

= Q&As and BOUNDARIES (sort of) 🎙️ =

"Are there any plans to make a full webcomic out of this?" - Uhhhh, mayyybe? I'm not entirely sure, honestly. While there may be a few side comics and artwork from my head I want to get out sometime, I don't really have much plans for this AU that'll be worth telling a full story right now since I feel there is plenty of things that I've yet to figure out and develop in a matter of time, particularly the setting and characters (especially considering the OG show itself has only 2 episodes out as of writing and I only have mobile apps like ibisPaint X to make this all possible at the moment).

"Can I make fanfics and OCs for this AU?" - Of course! I've seen a lot of incredible things from the community, especially in regards to alternate universes, so you're absolutely more than welcome to share whatever's on your mind as long as your heart's in the right place. I can't really guarantee I'll see every bit of it since I do have some personal biz of mine to take care of at any moment, but I'll be happy to reblog them whenever I get the chance. Just tag me and we all good. :)

"Are there any canon ships in this AU?" - Yes. Yes, there are. Well, only BunnyDoll (Jax x Ragatha) to be specific. HOWEVER, you are free to ship whoever you want here! Showtime (Caine x Pomni), ButtonBlossom (Pomni x Ragatha), it's all okay. The choice is yours, a romantic buffet! (Plus, depending on the quality of my writing, I'm not even planning to dwell too much into it for now, aside from the side comics that will.)

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That's all for right now. Enjoy! :)

[zweiginator]

hey bestie could I request patrick and art taking turns eating the reader out (or at the same time)????? feel like that would be my dream fr. love your writing!!!

OH.

patrick and arts' confidence had been struggling. they had just lost their fourth doubles match. in a row. this was uncommon--no, it had never happened before. one loss happens. two is bad luck. three is shaken confidence. but four, four becomes a habit.

and you heard their coach yelling at them after their loss. you, expecting your best friends to win, had promised to take them out for wings at their favorite bar after their win. of course, they didn't win, but their dejected little puppy dog eyes made you feel so bad. so you took them out anyway.

you would never tell them this, but they look so cute in their matching outfits. snug black shorts that hug their muscular thighs. a t-shirt adorning their beloved tennis club. art wore his ball cap backwards; patrick's was worn the normal way.

and they were so sad. barely talking to you, sighing as they sucked and bit on their wings, pushing their fingers into their mouth. you kind of just watched them eat.

and the thing about your relationship with art and patrick was that it had teetered and almost bled over the line for the one and a half years you all had been friends. nothing about your relationship was traditional. on the road, you would all share a bed. and sometimes you wore art's shirt to bed and patrick's boxers. you commented on how handsome they look multiple times a week, and laughed at how flustered they would get. the boys ogled at your ass when you played your own matches, the wind pushing your tiny skirt up as a gift to them. but you had never, ever fully committed to pushing those boundaries. none of you had ever kissed, nor had you indulged in your sexual fantasies.

but that doesn't mean you didn't have them. and you knew art and patrick talked about them when you weren't there.

so you had an idea. it was stupid, and maybe you were feeling cocky at how pathetic they looked sitting across from you in a silence that was bordering on uncomfortable. but you gave them a deal.

"your guys' confidence is wavering." you tell them, pushing your finger into their basket of wings. you suck some of the sauce off. patrick and art are listening; it's the first thing anyone has said at this celebratory-dinner-turned -depressing-pity-party. "and hey, you're both incredibly good at tennis. so it makes sense that you're this upset."

they nod, and reach for the same fry. art pushes the basket towards patrick, and he happily shoves a handful in his mouth.

"but if you sit here and let it get you down, you're both gonna get in your head and keep losing."

"how do we avoid that? it may be too late." patrick takes a sip of his drink. art has his arms crossed over his chest.

"have something that drives you to want to win so bad, that you don't have a choice but to win." you lean forward. their eyes are big and confused.

"we always want to win." art shrugs.

"and if you do," you begin. "i will give you both a present of sorts."

"which is?" patrick's interest is piqued. but you can tell he's pissed at you insinuating they don't want to win enough.

"if you win your doubles on thursday, i'll let you do whatever you want to me." you whisper it, and hear them gulp.

your promise alluded to a conversation you had overheard six months prior. you weren't even supposed to be at their apartment, but you had had a bad day and wanted to watch a movie with them. they were talking loud in the living room, and you quickly realized it was about you.

"i wouldn't purposely ruin our friendship, is what i'm saying." art said. "but if she let us fuck her--i would do it immediately."

patrick interjected. "i would do disgusting things to her. and i would let her do them right back to me. seriously, anything."

the word anything was the kicker here. because ever since that conversation, you wondered what anything would be for them. how they would fuck you. what their fantasies were.

patrick wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans forward. "both of us together? or we separately can do anything we want?"

you shrug. "whatever you both want. that's the promise. i don't have any stipulations on how it's done."

"holy fuck." art is flustered, maybe because he realizes you know he is just as perverted as his best friend.

you all shook on it, like it was a stupid bet. it kind of was.

and by thursday, you were nervous. they were playing some of the top-ranked players in the nation. of course, art and patrick had good rankings, respectively, but they had been steadily dropping down the ranks since their losing streak began.

everyone at the match was rooting for art and patrick, but they didn't expect them to win. and you didn't know what it meant for your friendship with the boys that you were on the edge of your seat with your fingers crossed, praying they would win. for you.

they came out strong, waving to the crowd, but especially to you. and when the match began, you had never seen their reflexes so fast, their hits so precise. the other boys were gaining on them, but the deep grunts coming from art and patrick, the sweat running down their necks, it all showed they wanted this so fucking bad.

they won like it was easy. of course, they had actually tried incredibly hard--but they made it look nonchalant. and they looked at you as they hugged each other, celebrating a win that signified much more than fans saw on the surface.

they decided to cash in their prize that same night. that's what they said when they came up to you, beaming. their chests heaved, but their smiles were big. and nobody around knew exactly what they meant.

so you lay on patrick's bed, in your little skirt and a tank top, resting up on your elbows so you can watch them. you notice how they are both there; they didn't decide to go separately.

neither of them really say a word at first. patrick slips one of your shoes off and art the other. they look at each other as their hands run up your bare leg, until they reach the waistband of your skirt.

"do you wanna do the honors, artie?" patrick asks.

art quickly pulls your skirt down your legs. they admire the pink lacy panties you're wearing.

"take off your shirt." art tells you.

you do, quickly. you aren't wearing a bra. their breath hitches.

"fuck me." patrick lunges forward and sucks your nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing against the sensitive bud. art goes for your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down to your collarbones. his strong hands feel your breast. you're trying not to moan, not to give them the satisfaction that this is for anyone but them. but you do.

art returns the favor by turning your face to his. he kisses you desperately, moaning into your mouth, his spit wet on your chin. patrick feels left out. he moves up your body by kissing your jaw on the other side, before he forcefully kisses your mouth. he is hungry. at a quick glance, you see how hard they are. but they don't pull out their cocks. they don't pull your hand to feel their erections. and they don't tell you to suck them off.

ininstead,stead their mouths travel downward, each of them pulling one of your legs apart. they press sloppy kisses down your chest, licking down your stomach, until they are laying on their own stomachs, looking up at you. patrick kisses your inner thigh. he pulls your panties down your legs.

"her pussy is so pretty." art admires. they're talking like you're not even there.

"look how fucking wet she is."

your legs shake as you bite your lip.

"should we take turns, or should we share?" art asks.

patrick is greedy, and he hooks both of his arms around your legs, his hands on your ass. he presses wet, hot kisses to your cunt and licks at your clit. your hips buck, and art pushes them down, cooing in your ear. you can tell he's jealous, that he wants to help too.

"good girl." art praises. his breath feels good against your ear, and you move to kiss him, your hands tangled in his pretty blond hair.

patrick's fingers move inside you. they're fat and soaked and his tongue feels good as it moves in circles over your swollen clit.

art pulls away from your mouth and patrick pulls the hem of art's shirt.

"come taste her."

your mouth hangs open as patrick pulls his fingers from you and offers them to art. and the moan you let out as art sucks them into his mouth is fucking pornographic.

and then art's mouth is on your cunt. his fingers press into your thighs and it hurts in the best way. art is louder than you expected, and louder than patrick. he spits on your cunt and spreads it open to admire your hole, soaked and pretty for them. he hums and moans and groans into your pussy, and patrick can't take it.

so they share you. their tongues touch and their spit mixes as they eat your pussy, their hips bucking into the bed.

"tastes so fucking good." patrick moans, his thumb pushing into you.

art looks up at you, at how fucked out you look. you cum on their tongues--both of them. and you watch as they continue to lap at your sensitive clit, begging you to cum just one more time for them.

they don't want this to be over. and you think about how this was what they wanted, this is what they decided on when you gave them that choice. this was their anything.

[mistiell]

Hello!! Since your requests are open and I absolutely love the way you write him (despite there only being one—), may I request some sort of angst to fluff for Astarion with a reader that accepts his advances but doesn’t seek him out because they know that he’s only doing so for protection/convenience?

Like; yes, the reader does care deeply for him. They could even say that they love him. But they don’t want him to do anything just because he feels as if he’ll be denied kindness and sustenance if he doesn’t. So they’re very reserved and keep to themselves, treating him very kindly when he propositions them, but doesn’t do anything more than what he asks.

Omg, thank you so much!! I worried I might have portrayed him in a way that was ooc but I'm glad to see people like the way I write him!! lol WC: 1.6k

---

Astarion has manipulated and romanced countless people over the centuries. He knows what he’s doing. The routine differs depending on the person, of course, but he has it down to a science.

You shouldn’t be any different.

Since the first time you let him feed on you, it’s become a sort of routine he regrettably relies on to stay satiated. It’s been nearly a month and a half of sneaking to and from your bedroll every few nights, and he’s begun to worry that you’ll tire of it – that you’ll get sick of the fatigue and the lingering ache in your shoulder that clings to you well into the morning after.

This particular morning, he sees it in your sluggish movements and absentmindedness. Karlach has to call your name thrice before you finally turn to her with a small, “Hm?”

“Gods, has the tadpole migrated and blocked your ears?” The tiefling chuckles, cuffing you on the shoulder on the same side Astarion had fed from the night before. With a pained grunt, you wince, brow scrunching in discomfort as you roll it out a little.

Karlach gasps, “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s alright.” You smile, but when Karlach leaves, it falls as you rub at the juncture between your neck and trap muscle. If he doesn’t find a way to keep you on the hook, there’s no chance you’ll let your late night meetings continue.

So, when the two of you are sitting by the fire after setting up camp for the night, he decides to offer up the only thing he can think of to keep you interested.

“Ugh, Gods. There is nothing to do around here.” He huffs, prodding for an opening.

You snort, taking a sip out of your water skin, “You can say that again.”

There it is.

“You know,” He leans just far enough into your space to make you fluster, smirking, “We could always make our own entertainment?”

Eyes darting away from him, your throat bobs, “What do you mean?”

He leans in a little more, making sure to glance at your lips as he purrs, “I think you know what I mean, darling.”

“I think—,” Your voice cracks up an octave and you clear your throat, embarrassed. It’s rather cute, “I think I do...?”

“You think so, hm? Tell me what I mean, then.” Your mouth opens and closes a few times, and he can hear your heart beating fast against your ribs. He chuckles coyly through his nose and leans forward to brush the tip of it along the apex of your cheekbone, lowering his voice to a seductive whisper, “Might it have something to do with,” His fingertips find the top of your hand where it rests on your knee, ghosting up under your sleeve and over your wrist as he breaths, “Touching, maybe?”

A shudder runs through you as you swallow hard, “May— Maybe...,” He’s not expecting it when you pull back and look at him apprehensively, “But... I mean, are you sure?”

The question takes him aback; throws him off balance. No one’s ever bothered to ask before. It makes him wonder if he’s off his game, if perhaps his act isn’t as convincing as it normally is.

He shakes it off, grinning at you coquettishly, “Of course, my dear. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.” It’s not the first white lie he’s told you, and it certainly won’t be the last.

You wet your lips, searching his expression for any sort of hesitance. He’s careful to make sure there’s none to find. When you’re satisfied, you smile shyly, “I’d like that” “That’s what I like to hear.” He hums, standing before offering his hands, “Shall we?”

You take them, and as he leads you somewhere more secluded, he counts it as a victory.

Weeks pass, and he’s sure to propose a little fun between feedings to keep in your good graces. One thing that he’s noticed is that you never really ask him to do anything more than what he’s suggested. He expected you to come to him every once in awhile after the first time he’d bedded you, maybe ask for a piece of him when you’re bored or in need of some stress relief, but... you haven’t.

He also expected you to have at least some demands, but aside from voicing your preferences in the heat of the moment, you haven’t asked him for a damn thing. For a moment, he wonders if he’s losing his touch, but he shakes the thought off as quick as it comes. The implications of it make his stomach churn.

If not his body, what else does he have to offer?

“Astarion?” You call as you approach him where he stands near his tent.

He startles, then clears his throat to play it off. “Yes, darling?”

You smile apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, my dear.” He doesn’t understand why you’d apologize for something so small, or why it makes his undead heart twist uncomfortably in his chest, “Did you need something?”

“Come with me?” You ask, offering a hand, “I have something I’d like to show you.”

This is it. You’ve finally come to offer yourself up instead of it being the other way around.

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.” He hums, taking your hand and allowing you to lead him into the forest. A rather odd location to lay, but he’s definitely worked with stranger.

Weaving through trees, you lead him to a small clearing with a blanket spread out over the grass in the center. You only let go of his hand when you reach the edge of it, toeing off your boots before carefully plopping yourself down on top of it.

“So this is what you had in mind, hm?” He grins, following suit after you pat the spot next to you, “A romantic romp under the stars?”

“Oh! Uhm, no.” You titter, and he frowns.

“Then what did you have in mind, pet?” He asks, watching you twiddle your fingers.

“I-.” You huff, rubbing at your mouth and glancing away, “There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, and I thought we could watch it together.” You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, “It’s stupid. You don’t have to stay, obviously, but... I thought it could be nice.”

What the fuck.

“You... brought me all the way out here, just to watch the stars?” He asks, sounding bewildered even to his own ears.

You look back at him nervously, nodding, “I did.”

What the fuck.

He should say something, but for the first time in a long while, he’s completely lost for words. His brows draw together in confusion, and when he speaks, his voice comes out wrong; too soft, too shaky. “Why?”

You stare at him, worrying your lip for a moment before starting carefully, “You don’t need to sleep with me to buy my kindness, you know. I enjoy our nights together, of course, but I’d like you just as much without them.”

Now he’s really at a loss. His stomach lurches with the anxiety and embarrassment of being seen without meaning to be. He feels vulnerable; exposed.

“Of course I know that.” He scoffs, attempts a smug grin. His voice shakes as he says it, “What’s not to like?”

You huff a small, singular puff of laughter, “Right.”

Something flashes above, drawing both your attentions. Stars shoot across the blackened sky, streaking it with white and blue and purple. You gasp, eyes so wide, he could watch the whole spectacle through the reflection dancing over them.

You lay back, using your forearm as a pillow as you watch the sky intently. He follows soon after, a strange silence falling over the two of you.

He tries to focus on the sight above him, but your words have a hold on his mind like a vice grip. It’s been so long since anyone has shown him kindness without some sort of transaction involved. So long that he can’t even recall it ever happening.

He stares hard up at the sky, mouth twisting down in apprehension. He swallows thickly before murmuring, “Would you really?”

He sees you turn your head to look at him out of his peripherals, brows drawn together in confusion, “Would I really what?”

Embarrassment flares and writhes in his gut; his nose wrinkles at the feeling. He feels utterly ridiculous as he replies, “Still like me if I didn’t...”

He can’t find a word that sounds right. You understand anyway.

Some strange, melancholic sort of horror flashes over your face before you will it away, nodding resolutely.

“Absolutely.” You flip your hand so it lies palm up on the blanket. An invitation, not a demand, “You mean more to me than sex, Astarion. I don’t care what we do or don’t do, as long as I get to be with you. Whatever that entails.”

A lump forms in his throat and his eyes burn. He knows if he looks at you, he’s not going to be able to keep the tears at bay. He looks at your hand instead, staring for a moment before slotting his fingers between yours. Squeezing, he hopes you’ll take it as what it is, “Thank you. I don’t think I deserve this. I don’t know how to navigate this. I think I want to try.”

You squeeze back. He takes it as, “I’ll wait for you.”

[irisintheafterglow]

hello! i hope you had/are having a great day hehe i love your writing!! i don't really have anything specific in mind for this request but i have just been spacing out thinking about fluffy moments with satoru and then randomly biting his shoulder (affectionately)- just... chomp on his bicep. chomp chomp chomp

HELP THIS IS SO FUNNY anon you're a genius

"don't even think about it," he mutters without taking his eyes away from the tv screen.

"what?"

"you're thinking about it, so i'm telling you not to do it."

"not to do what?" you shift lower onto the couch and deeper into his side, pressing your cheek against his chest. he's warm, always warm, but you still lay the blanket more evenly across the both of you. your repositioning throws him off the trail temporarily, but you knew how easy it would be to enact your plan. it was right there, after all. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"you think i don't see you eyeing my bicep?"

"i'm doing nothing of the sort," you argue, hoping he doesn't feel the way your face heats through his shirt. he scoffs, not believing you for a second, and you poke his side with your pointer finger. "you're making up lies about me." he shrugs, his fingers tracing mindless swirls on your arm.

"i'm just saying that i've noticed a pattern over the past few weeks."

"what kind of pattern?"

"the kind where you bite my bicep at any given moment," he says matter-of-factly, glancing at you from the corner of a bright blue eye. "don't think i haven't noticed."

it was true, of course, that you'd started affectionately sinking your teeth into the meat of his arm whenever you had the chance. you were getting ready for bed, the first time, when he came into the room to show you that one of his tee shirts had shrunk in the dryer. sure, the tighter fit was doing wonders for his abs, but what had you blinking yourself back into reality was how the fabric hugged his arms. you were practically drooling and, since then, you fell into the habit of gently biting instead of kissing him.

today would be no different, it seemed, even though he was fully aware that you were plotting to bite. his infinity was off like it usually was when you two were together, which made it a little too easy to just turn your head and open your mouth. it's exactly what you did, pretending to adjust your position again and then-

chomp.

"are you kidding me?" he barely even flinches and instead chuckles under his breath. "even when you knew that i knew?"

"it made it more enticing," you reason innocently, moving to do it again when you feel the tiniest amount of pressure on the lobe of your ear. you freeze, every neuron in your brain suddenly keenly aware of satoru's teeth barely biting down on your ear. it's electric and any thoughts of chomping his bicep again leave your brain. he hums lowly in amusement right on your skin and you can feel your body short-circuit.

"what, cat got your teeth?"

"i'm the one who's supposed to bite, not the other way around."

"what if i turned the tables a little, then?" his lips press on the skin behind your ear. "give you a taste of your own medicine?"

"don't even think about it," you murmur, settling back against his chest and plotting to chomp his pec next.

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