#certainly more entertaining than average shifts

[orcelito]

I have finished 4 out of 8+ batches of boba

It is tiring, but rewarding work

[greensimp]

Gyutaro falling in love with a pregnant S/O - with no husband or whose husband left her - and adopting her child as his? 🥺

I love this idea! I'm already doing a fic where the child is biologically his, but it would definitely be more realistic for Gyutaro to acquire a child through adopting one. Whether he'd actually do that or not is irrelevant, anything can happen in fanfiction >:)

__________________________________________________

Cannon!Gyutaro x Pregnant!Reader

TW: implied/referenced sex work, foul language A/N: Headcannon-ish format, but more detailed than the average one. Reader is obviously AFAB.

___________________________________________________

You live in Rashamon. Like most girls in the entertainment district, you did what you could to survive. And, well, that meant doing a lot of unsavory things.

It was an inevitability that you’d end up pregnant, but unlike many women who do in your town of origin, you were determined to give your baby a good life.

You had no idea who the father was, but you had a feeling that he wouldn’t be much help anyway.

You decided to beg for a place in one of the many houses of Yoshiwara, but you were unsurprisingly shot down at the door once you mentioned you were with child. At least, until you arrived at the Kyogoku house.

Much to your surprise, you were given a place in the house in exchange for your services as a house maid. While you weren’t required to take clients, you were expected to work a lot. That included assisting the Oiran with her many dress changings throughout the day.

This is how you’d catch the attention of Gyutaro.

At first, he’d be indifferent to your existence, only occasionally listening in to your conversations with Daki from within her body. You aren’t the first poor girl to tend to his sister, and you most certainly wont be the last.

However, something you mentioned one day would cause him to shift a bit.

You were from Rashamon.

It was a simple response to a prompt from Daki, but the way you said it tugged at a long-forgotten part of his brain.

Soon, he’d ask you questions vicariously through his sister, much to her annoyance.

The more he learned about your situation, the more interested he would become.

Around the 6-month mark of your pregnancy, it was evident that you were becoming unfit to work like how you’ve been doing. So, you were allowed more bedrest.

You absence did not go unnoticed by Gyutaro, who at this point had been technically talking to you for about 3 months through his sister.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he was beginning to care about your progress.

It would frustrate him to no end. To the point where Daki would forcefully eject him for writhing around so much.

“You need to take out this crap somewhere else, brother! Or else I’ll just eat the bitch and say she ran off-“

Oh he didn’t like that.

One stone cold glare was enough to confirm Daki’s suspicions.

She couldn’t believe her brother was beginning to care about a human. How bothersome.

“Fine, go show yourself to her, then. I’m sure she’ll just jump all over you looking like that.”

He’d indignantly storm off to go and vent, but he wasn’t very careful about it because the second he stepped out of the door he bumped right into you.

You’d yelp in surprise and begin to fall, but he’d panic and catch you before you hit the ground.

You’d seen him.

This was bad.

You’d look up at him in surprise, instantly taking notice of the unnatural bodily proportions and eye color. However, you wouldn’t start screaming or try to run away. In fact, you’d stare.

Daki would immediately try to trap you in her belt, as now you’d know too much, but Gyutaro would squash it with his foot in anger and fear.

“Brother! She saw you! I can’t let her just walk away!”

He wouldn’t understand it, but he’d feel this overwhelming urge to protect you.

“Don’t you dare.”

Daki would be pissed. Pissed and betrayed that he’d choose the well-being of a random woman over his own sister. Had these past 100 years meant nothing?!

“What has gotten into you! She’s just a human!”

You’d just be standing awkwardly behind the strange demonic entity that was suddenly hellbent on protecting you from your Oiran, who was supposedly the sister of said demonic entity. You’d think this was some kind of weird fever dream.

“Wh-what’s going on?!”

Gyutaro would snap his gaze to you, the way his face softened sending a strange tingly feeling through your stomach.

Gyutaro, on the other hand, would be extremely conflicted. There’s this pregnant human woman he, for whatever reason, grew attached to, and his beloved sister. Would he be able to make some kind of dynamic work with you two? One where you can co-exist?

He’d pick you up in a panic and bolt down the hall, leaving Daki scrambling to catch him with her Obi. She was too slow, though.

Wouldn’t this be a funny story to tell years from now. Your child’s adoptive father kidnapping you from his own sister. Well, that actually is what happened, but we won’t talk about it very often for Daki’s sake (she’s very embarrassed).

Anyway, back to running away.

He’d run with you like a bat out of hell straight out of Yoshiwara.

You’d, of course, be stressed the hell out, so he’d have to make the supernatural speed part of the escape a short-lived venture.

He’d set you down before pacing around you and mumbling to himself, neurotically scratching at his skin until he bled.

Out of worry, you’d grab his arm to snap him out of it, telling him that it was bad for him. Of course, when he began to actively regenerate before your eyes, you shot your hand back and stared in awe.

“Y-you’re a demon, aren’t you?”

Shit shit shit shit he didn’t know what to do. Perplexingly enough, however, you wouldn’t act scared.

You felt as though this man had good intentions, and… well… he did look a lil’ pretty… okay very pretty.

“Does… does that not freak you out?”

You’d place your hands on your tummy in thought, the sight of which made an unexpected wave of butterflies shoot through his stomach.

“Well… maybe a little… I don’t really know much about them other than they eat people. Although, I feel like if you were going to eat me, you would have done it already…”

He didn’t know if he liked your blind trust in him or not. Of course, HE knew his intentions were not to hurt you, but how would YOU know that?

Turns out, you would just be really good at reading people. It saved your life a lot when you lived in Rashamon, that fact eventually dawning on Gyutaro in the future.

Gyutaro would finally get to genuinely talk to you on that night. And boy did you two talk.

He learned more than he probably should have for you having just met him hours before.

He would learn that you yearned for a little home in the mountains away from Yoshiwara so you could raise your child without the threat of the dangerous men that plagued your childhood. That was why you were working so hard even though you were supposed to be resting.

The more you indulged in his questions, the more he wanted to give you what you wanted. Your resolve to break your familial cycle of sex work and thievery for a life of peace for your baby only deepened his feelings for you. You weren’t pathetic. You weren’t selfish. You deserved more than this place. You deserved what he and his sister never received.

After convincing Daki to not kill you, he’d visit you in your room every night for hours at a time.

Eventually, he’d do it. He’d be unable to ignore that he’d actually fallen in love with you. He was physically unable to hurt you in any way. Intentionally at least. The mere thought of you bleeding or crying for help would send him into a panic attack. It would be quick, awkward even, but he’d grab you by the cheeks and kiss you.

And you’d kiss back. Why wouldn’t you? He’d become a rock in your life before you had even realized it. You were looking forward to his visits. He’d always bring you gifts and food, it was so obvious he was trying to court you.

After he’d confess, he would secretly set off into the night after you fall asleep to work on a special present for you.

What is this present?

Well, he wouldn’t be done with it until right before you were due to give birth, but he managed with a little help from Daki.

He’d blindfold you and gently carry you into the night, not allowing you to peek.

Once he’d arrive at his destination, he’d set you down and ask you to close your eyes, which you would do.

Then, when he’d tell you to open them, you’d burst into tears.

A little house…

It would overlook a beautiful clearing in the forest where a river full of fish would cut through it. It would never flood, because it was on a hill. You’d never go hungry, because the land was fertile. You’d never have to worry about muggers or assaults from creepy men ever again.

You would bawl into his chest and thank him a million times.

You were forever in his debt, but he’d never ask anything of you. Your love was enough for him.

The house was quaint, and you barely got through the little tour he gave you until you reached the nursery.

That’s where you swear you could have fainted.

“You thought about them?”

“Of course.”

“Does… does this mean you….”

You wouldn’t be able to finish before bursting into a fit of sobs again.

But he knew what you meant.

“If you’ll let me…”

He’d adopt the baby as his own.

[molluskwritesfic]

Galatea - Chapter One

Masterlist - Ao3

Summary: A cheap Arrakeen prostitute, chained to the city brothel by an unfair contract and desperate for freedom, is offered the chance of a lifetime.

A/N: Basically unedited. Not my best work. Tryna get out of a writing slump so you get what you get

Chapter Warnings: smut, a smidge of knife play, prostitution, mentions of rape, depression, anxiety

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY

This part, Galatea was all too familiar with.

The groundcar waiting for her outside the brothel was nondescript. Grey metal and dark windows. The man that opened the door for her wore a black work uniform stripped of insignia. She knew the type. Spine rimrod straight. Eyes front. Trying just a little too hard not to seem like he was ogling the beautiful woman scantily dressed in fine silk.

Galatea shot him a wink. He blushed.

From there, though, things got a bit more complicated.

She slid gracefully onto the fine leather seats, trying not to think about how desperately she wanted tonight to succeed.

Chances of everything happening the way they needed to were exceedingly slim. She knew better than to get her hopes up. She wasn’t a dreamer, but she had been, once. Despite all she’d been through, it was a habit that just wouldn’t die.

Arrakeen was a city of many pains. And many pleasures. The House of Priapos was the largest purveyor of both. Women—and men—for all social classes. The brothel itself took up a city block, with the Trulls crammed into tiny stalls at the bottom, separated from the street by only threadbare curtains; while the wealthy enjoyed High Courtesans tucked away in luxurious penthouses that made up the highest floors.

Galatea operated somewhere in the middle.

Trapped by an unfair contract that she had signed years ago when she had been young and desperate, she could be dressed up as a courtesan, or down as a street whore, and had no room to argue either way.

Tonight, though, was unprecedented.

Galatea was to entertain the Duke of Caladan and Arrakis.

Although her hourly rate was much higher than the average Arrakeen man could afford, compared to the usual girls enjoyed by Imperium Nobility, she was trashy, at best.

It was a fluke, really.

Zoie, a High Courtesan who happened to be Galatea’s close friend, had recently taken the Atreides Warmaster as a client. He had been pleased with her, and after a few sessions, mentioned that the Duke was in need of a new lover, and asked if she had any recommendations.

Zoie owed Galatea quite a lot, and a recommendation whispered in the right ear went a long way.

The Arrakeen Palace was massive. For all the years she’d lived in Arrakis, it had been a looming mountain above the city, little more than an extension of the Shield Wall’s craggy peaks.

Galatea had certainly never been inside, but she knew a few women that had. She shifted nervously in her seat as the groundcar passed though the first security checkpoint at the outer gate, wondering at how they’d never thought to mention that the outer walls were at least fifteen feet thick. Or that armed guards bristled at every corner.

The groundcar skirted the main entrance and rolled to a stop at a smaller door just off of the courtyard, where a female guard waited. After scanning her for concealed weapons, the guard led the way inside.

She was guided on a long, winding route. Down cavernous corridors and up quite a few stairs. They encountered no one. It was planned, certainly. They were hardly going to advertise when a whore was being brought in for the Duke to fuck.

The guard’s footsteps echoed smartly through the silence, while Galatea’s delicate sandals whispered in afterthought. For a few long moments, Galatea could almost believe that they were the only souls in the entire palace. The utilitarian minimalism of the place did nothing to lessen the effect—the sandstone walls were smooth and bare. Like some suspiciously clean tomb lost deep in the desert.

The illusion was shattered when they rounded a final corner and were faced by two more guards. After being checked for weapons a second time. Her escort led her past them and down a hall that looked a bit more lived in. Still spotless, but a few paintings adorned the walls and a long crimson rug ran the length of the floor.

The guard stopped at a fairly nondescript door and turned to face her.

“The groundcar will be waiting for you at dawn,” she explained, her voice as clipped and measured as her gait. “You will be escorted out of the building. Do not wander. If you need to leave early, tell the guards. They will call for the groundcar. Do you understand?”

Galatea saw it now—the disgust hidden behind the guard’s professional mask. It wasn’t the sort of thing that she usually let faze her. People were disgusted by whores until they wanted to use one. But she was already feeling a bit out of her depth, and the blatant distaste turned the whispers in the back of Galatea’s mind into wailing sirens.

There’s a reason they use highborn ladies for this, she thought bitterly as the guard left her alone in the hall. Cheap is cheap and trash is trash.

But then the logic of Zoie—who was decidedly not cheap—rose out of the mix, accompanied by the trademark shrug of her lovely shoulders.

Who the fuck cares? A cock is a cock. Milk him and move on.

Galatea couldn’t argue with that. She lifted her hand and knocked.

The answering voice was low and soft. “Come in.”

The door opened smoothly on well oiled hinges, and Galatea was treated to the view of the room beyond.

The Duke’s suite was large and spacious, framed on one side by shelves laden with books and strange trinkets from his homeworld, and by the thin slip of a very wide but short window that was a standard Arrakis style on the other. The bed was tucked away at the far side of the room—large and neatly made underneath a beautiful bronze mural of a curling sandworm. A few steps from the bed was a doorway—presumably a bathroom—and a short distance from that, the closet. The room also sported a small breakfast table, a chaise lounge with matching chairs, and a writing desk.

The Duke himself sat at the desk, hunched over a stack of papers with a pen in hand. Galatea’s breath hitched in her throat—half from admiration, half from nerves.

Duke Leto Atreides was an extremely handsome man. Olive skin turned golden by the Arrakis sun and heightened under the warm glow of the glowglobes. He had a sharp, angular face softened by curly black hair and a beard to match, both shot through with elegant streaks of silver. Thick, heavy eyebrows sat above the eyes of a poet, pulling his expression into one of constant brooding.

There was no point in trying to pretend that she didn’t find him attractive. Doing nothing to hide the way her eyes flitted appreciatively around his body, Galatea dipped into a polite curtsy and flashed him her most winning smile.

“My Lord.”

He gave her the barest glance, then went back to writing.

“I’ll be with you in a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”

The disinterest gave her pause.

Galatea was not the first woman that had been hired for this job. Although the Courtesans that had come before her had been sworn into silence, Zoie was persistent. Through her usual persuasion tactics and ability to root out gossip from the most stubborn sources, the beautiful Courtesan was able to garner that, out of six High Courtesans, the Duke had sent them all away.

And if they hadn’t been able to please the Duke, what hope did Galatea have?

Well, he hasn’t dismissed me yet.

She turned to one of the bookshelves. Galatea ran her fingers down a few of the leather bound spines and read the titles. Paper books were incredibly rare on Arrakis. There were no trees; wood and paper had to be imported. She had a digital tablet, though. Reading was one of the few hobbies she could afford. There wasn’t much else to do to fill the time between clients, anyhow.

The Duke heaved a sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, Galatea watched him set aside his papers and stare off into space. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Lost in thought.

The decision was made. He stood. Strode purposefully around the desk.

“Alright. Come here.”

The command in his tone made Galatea shiver with anticipation. As much as she hated the brothel, the contract, the lack of choice, her masters—this part, especially when she liked the look of the client, could be a lot of fun.

She met him in the middle. The Duke’s arms wrapped around her, dragged her body against his, left no room for argument. Then his mouth was on hers. Hard. Demanding. Tongues and teeth. No preamble. Absolutely filthy.

Fuck, he was a good kisser. Of course he was. A man as beautiful as he was didn’t skate through life without getting a lot of practice.

Galatea’s knees went weak, and she grabbed onto his shoulders to keep upright. The Duke didn’t seem to notice, and instead used her loss of balance to steer her towards the chaise lounge.

Once he had her underneath him, he wasted no time in pulling the straps of her dress down her shoulders, loosening the silk enough to free her breasts. Then that wonderful mouth was on her neck. She gasped as his beard scraped along her collarbone. Eager to match his intensity, Galatea slipped a hand between their bodies to rub his cock through his trousers. She could feel the outline of him through the thick fabric—still soft, but of pleasing size.

Galatea hummed appreciatively. The Duke paused, his breath ghosting past her ear. She threaded her free hand through his hair and pulled him back in for another kiss.

He reciprocated, but something had shifted.

The Duke tolerated a few more moments of her touch, then he heaved a sigh and pulled away. Galatea was left draped on the lounge, tits out and baffled as he returned to his desk.

“Thank you for coming here tonight,” he said, settling back down in his chair and shuffling papers as he returned to his work. “You may go.”

Shocked, Galatea sat up and fixed her clothes. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Cheap whore or not, she knew she was attractive. It was usually the lead up when a client lost interest—when the knowledge of her unfashionable price and breeding was at the forefront. But once a man got his hands on her, he always followed through.

“My Lord… forgive me, but … have I done something wrong?”

He didn’t look at her. “No. You will be paid in full.”

Galatea could have cried. It wasn’t about the money. She saw so little of the money she made for the brothel that it didn’t have much meaning for her anymore, beyond the fact that she was cheap—which her handlers reminded her of at every opportunity. But the Duke was in need of a lover. Leto the Just, they called him. A good and fair man, one that had the authority and money to pay off her contract with the brothel and set her free, if he liked her enough. If he liked her more than enough, he might even bring her into his House. He could make her a concubine. And finally, after so many years, she could have the quiet, stable life that she’d always wanted.

No more beatings. No more scrounging. No more pleasuring the questionable men that the courtesans above her didn’t want. No more falling asleep to moans and screams. No more knowing that there were women several floors below her getting raped and being able to do nothing about it.

She could be free.

It was a pipe dream. She knew that. But having the hope crushed before it could even fully take root was devastating.

From the despair came indignation, and from that came anger. Anger always made her reckless.

She returned to the bookshelf. Figuring that the Duke wouldn’t leave sensitive information just out on a shelf, Galatea decided it was safe to help herself to one that sounded interesting.

This was an opportunity. Good things never happened to Galatea. She had hours left until the brothel expected her back, so she might as well make the most of the Duke’s luxuries.

And if he really wanted her to leave, he could make her.

Galatea settled down on the chaise lounge with her book and began to read.

It was the Duke’s turn to be shocked. He stared at her, heavy eyebrows low with a frown. “What are you doing?”

Galatea shrugged. “You’ve paid for my time already. How we spend it is entirely up to you. And if what you want is something pretty to brighten the room while you work, then that’s fine by me.”

The Duke blinked at that for a few moments. Utterly perplexed. Galatea wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“… As you please.”

They stayed like that for a while. The silence was soothing, full of nothing more than the occasional shuffle of papers and soft breaths. The world within the Arrakeen Palace was so far from the one she knew in the city—too far above for the bustle and chatter of people, groundcars, and animals to reach. Isolated. Alone in a bubble. Close enough to see the lights but too far away to touch.

Galatea wondered if the Duke was lonely.

She wasn’t really sure of the details. Zoie tended to not make a ton of sense when she was excited. Galatea mulled over what had gathered from the younger woman’s babbling.

The Duke’s concubine—his partner of fifteen years and the mother of his only son—had left him. She, along with their son, had gone into the desert to join the Fremen. The rest was speculation, but there seemed to be a consensus that the son, at least, had gone with the Duke’s blessing. The Fremen had been the reason that House Atreides managed to survive those harrowing first few months of their hold on Arrakis.

Galatea shivered at the memory. She remembered the night well. The sounds of roaring engines and lasguns had made the city tremble. Fire had lit the sky as ships rained down over the Shield Wall. The attack had been massive. The kind that no one was meant to survive.

But the Fremen had come out of the desert—Galatea wouldn’t pretend to understand why—and when dawn came, House Atreides still stood.

Loaning his heir out to learn the ways of the Fremen seemed a small price to pay for an alliance.

But it didn’t explain why Lady Jessica had gone as well.

Eventually, Galatea felt the Duke’s eyes on her again. She thought that he was searching for something to say, so she read aloud:

“Discovery is dangerous…but so is life. A man unwilling to take risks is doomed never to learn, never to grow, never to live.”

The Duke nodded. “That’s Pardot Kynes, the former planetologist. Dr. Liet Kynes gifted me a copy of some of her father’s writings.”

“I’ve heard of him, I think. He was supposed to be a very brilliant man.”

“It seems that way, yes.” The Duke leaned back in his chair, a bitter smile twisting at his lips. “Though sometimes I wonder if his experience was incomplete.”

“How do you mean, my Lord?”

“Perhaps one type of danger helps a man to grow. The experience makes him more of a leader. While others do the opposite. Less of a leader… less of a man.”

She tilted her head. Considered him. The faraway look. The grim smile. Tension pulled at his shoulders and exhaustion at his spine. The way he’d clutched at her reminded her of a man taking medicine—the action of doing something despite not really wanting to because it would make him feel better.

Less of a leader… less of a man.

Ah.

That was something she could work with.

The realization gave her direction, and direction gave her confidence. Galatea stood and crossed over to the desk. The Duke tilted his chin to look up at her, holding her gaze as her knees brushed his when she hopped up to sit on the desk.

Galatea cocked her head to the side as she considered him. She’d had this conversation before. Great care was needed. Proud men had the tendency to lash out, and the Duke of Caladan and Arrakis was certainly a proud man.

But at the same time, this was a man that had committed to one woman for over fifteen years. That, especially among Landsraad nobility, was extremely rare. He hadn’t been able to marry his concubine, but had also refused to marry anyone else. Unheard of.

What sort of a man was Leto Atreides?

Galatea was good at reading people. Getting a snap impression of someone, and then being able to act on it, was one of the most important skills a whore could have. Besides sucking cocks, of course, but that was a given.

Fifteen years. A son. Now he was alone. Responsible for far too many things, all of which seemed to be within a hair's breadth of falling apart. Under a great deal of stress.

This was the sort of man that wanted someone else to take control. Be taken care of. Just for a while. Being bossed around for a bit would definitely do him good.

“Leto,” Galatea began, making careful use of his first name, “when’s the last time you slept?”

Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it. Leto huffed a laugh. “My duties don’t exactly lend to a regular sleep schedule.”

“So in other words, you’ve been living on anti-fatigue pills?”

He shrugged.

“Leto.” He hadn’t corrected her for using his name, and she took it as a signal that she was allowed to keep doing so. She rolled her eyes and gave a disappointed shake of her head.

The Duke watched her, somehow much more interested than he had been when he’d had his mouth on her tits. She couldn’t be offended, though. The intensity of his undivided attention was far too distracting.

Galatea slipped off her sandals and rested her bare feet on his thighs. Rested her elbows on her knees and her hand on one hand. The action forced him to lean back in his seat, his legs nudged apart by the weight of her.

Leto arched an eyebrow. The look on his face was one Galatea had seen many times—the one that said, I’m in complete control of this situation, and I’m letting you do this because I think it’s amusing.

Galatea tipped her head to indicate his crotch. “And you don’t suspect a connection between the two?”

To his credit, he handled the entirely unsubtle reference to his manhood with more dignity than most refined men Galatea knew. A slight widening of the eyes. The subtle reddening of the ears.

She suppressed a smile.

“I… uh…” He cleared his throat. “I was assured that anti-fatigue pills have no…er… side effects…”

“Oh, Leto honey.” Galatea pressed her hand to his cheek. “Beautiful boy. I’m a whore. You can speak plainly about your cock with me. God knows I handle enough of them.”

Turns out, the direct approach yielded delightful results. Leto sputtered and tried to cover it with a cough. He didn’t really want to look her in the eye, so he lowered his gaze. After a moment, it occurred to him that he was looking at her breasts. His eyes shot back up to her face, then drifted off to the side. His blush deepened, creeping down his neck.

Fuck, he was pretty.

“I…uh… wouldn’t want to burden you.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “That’s not exactly something you talk about with a potential lover.”

“On the contrary, who better to ask? These things happen—it’s normal—and most everyone tries to solve it the same way you did.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” He still wouldn’t look her in the eye, but the blush was fading. Galatea vowed to bring it back as soon as possible. “So it’s the pills?”

“Not exactly, but they certainly don’t help. How much sleep have you gotten in, say…the last two weeks?”

“I don’t know. Twelve? Maybe less.”

Galatea felt a wave of pity. No wonder the poor thing was having problems.

“Consider the mind and the body.” She held out both hands symbolically. “They work together, but they’re separate entities. The mind tells the body what to do, and the body does it. The heart needs to beat. Walk from your desk to the bookshelf. Move your hands to write a letter. But the body has opinions too. It tells the mind what it needs. I’m hungry. This hurts. I’m tired. I need to rest.”

She looked at him pointedly.

“I’m with you so far.”

“Good. So your body is telling the mind that it’s tired. You start yawning. Your brain gets fuzzy. You can’t keep your eyes open. But you’re a busy man. You have Duke things to do. So you take one of those helpful little pills, and you can keep going. But the pill isn’t making your body less tired, it’s just shutting up all the usual ways it lets you know that it needs a break. And that’s fine… for a while. But the longer you go without doing the things your body needs, the more desperate it gets. You aren’t listening to the usual signals, so it starts finding other ways to get your attention.”

Galatea gestured to his crotch again. “This is a very common one for men. Auditory hallucinations usually come next.”

Leto let out a breath. He wasn’t as shy now, which was a shame, but Galatea appreciated the glint of relief in his eyes. A small smile quirked at his lips.

“So what would you recommend, nurse?”

“It’s doctor, actually. Dr Whore. And for the long term, I prescribe sleep. No anti-fatigue pills for at least two weeks, unless absolutely necessary.”

He huffed, but was actually smiling now. “That’s a big ask, you know.”

“Make that three weeks, then. Also,” she took his chin between her index finger and thumb, “stop worrying about it. Your cock is fine. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. These things happen a lot more often than you think. And worrying makes it worse.”

“Alright, I get it.” He turned his face into her hand. His lips brushed her thumb. “And what about the short term, Dr Whore?”

“A massage, definitely,” was her immediate response. “While you were having a grope earlier, I felt your back. It’s all tied up in knots. A massage, and then a good night's sleep.” She paused, picked at a lock of his curly hair. It was still a little mussed from when she’d run her fingers through it, and now it was obvious how oily it was. “Scratch that. A bath. A nice warm bath. Massage. Then sleep. Lucky you, I’m good at all of those things. Bathroom’s through there, yeah?”

“A bath? On Arrakis? Isn’t that wasteful?” Leto protested as she slid off the desk and made her way towards the bathroom without waiting for an answer.

The bathroom, as the rest of Leto’s residence, was both spartan and beautiful. Decent sized, with a large tub taking up the center, a separate shower, toilet, and sink with a vanity all rounding the walls with accompanying shelves.

“How can it be wasteful?” Galatea countered, turning on the water. “You have a water reclamation system, right?”

Leto trailed into the room after her, looking a little lost. “Of course.”

“And filters in the cooling systems to collect the steam in the air?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But nothing. You’re the Duke. You deserve a nice bath from time to time. Call it a prerogative.” Satisfied with the water temperature, she straightened up and faced him, hands on her hips. “Now strip. I’m going to see if you have anything here we can actually use.”

With that, she started rummaging through his cabinets. Leto was a practical man, not prone to collecting frivolous things. But at his station, being well groomed was a necessity. Shampoo. Conditioner. Soap. Body wash. Beard oil. Lotion. All decent smelling. But next time… if there was a next time… she would bring some nicer things for him to use.

Galatea gathered up her finds and turned to see that Leto had done as she asked. He leaned over the edge of the tub, deliciously bare as he swished his hand through the water, brow furrowed in thought.

Heat pooled in her stomach. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for her to find clients attractive. But fuck, this just wasn’t fair.

Smooth golden skin stretched over an athletic build. Leto was sculpted as a statue—a beautiful amalgamation of well-toned muscles and soft flesh. A handful of scars smattered his upper body, and Galatea longed to trace them. Those, and the lovely curve of his arse.

Leto glanced up and saw her looking. His pensive expression turned smug.

Galatea laughed quietly and gave his face a light shove, telling him to hurry up and get in the bath. Leto did as he was told, a sigh of relief escaping him as he sank into the water.

“A Duke’s prerogative, you said?”

Galatea set down her things and stripped to the waist. “Prerogative. Absolutely.” She turned off the water and settled on her knees behind his head. “You work too hard. You deserve some things that make you feel good.”

Leto didn’t respond, just hummed absently as she added soap to the water and wet a fluffy washcloth. With it, she began to clean his chest and neck. His skin was hot under her hand, and she thought about what it would feel like to explore the same area with her mouth.

He sighed blissfully at her touch. Galatea imagined that it wouldn’t take much to make him moan.

Perhaps it was these thoughts that set the stage for her next one, or maybe she was riding the high of having made it farther than the other women that the brothel had sent before her. Either way, when she spotted the knife laying carelessly among Leto’s discarded clothing, Galatea got a very, very bad idea.

And GOD, it was such a bad idea. The kind where she wasn’t sure if it was so bad that it was good, or so good it was bad. The kind that, if it didn’t work, could absolutely get her killed. Hell, it might get her killed even if it did work. Fuck. No. It wasn’t worth the risk.

But as she continued to wash the Duke, her hands slowly dipping lower and lower down his abdomen, the idea niggled in the back of her mind.

Galatea knew that she had already set herself apart from the other whores the Duke had hired. No one else had made it past his dismissal. She should be satisfied with that. She should be thrilled by that.

But what about when the Duke’s problem passed? He wouldn’t need Galatea’s brusque attitude and world wisdom anymore. There were far more beautiful women for him to choose from that would be able to more than keep him satisfied.

The terrible idea took root.

Risk had gotten her this far. It seemed only fitting to let it take her all the way.

“Wet your hair for me, beautiful boy,” Galatea murmured in his ear.

Leto hummed acknowledgement and, while his head slipped down beneath the water, Galatea picked up the knife and tucked it safely in the waistband of her skirt.

Outwardly, Galatea calmly squirted shampoo into her hands. Inwardly, her heart hammered so wildly that she thought it might be trying to escape the rest of her body before it was too late.

Her fingers threaded through Leto’s hair. She worked the shampoo into a fine froth and used her nails to trace circles into his scalp. A head massage was one of the things that almost every man adored but never knew to ask for. She took her time with it. Although she was getting impatient, there was no need to rush.

Leto went boneless. His head lolled obediently with her touch. When she tilted his head back against her bare chest, he went willingly. One of her hands ghosted up his throat and scratched along his jaw, adding a little shampoo to his beard.

Galatea took her time rinsing him, too. She had him lean forward while she poured water from a pitcher over his head, careful not to get any into his eyes.

“Conditioner now,” Galatea told him. “Same idea.”

Leto leaned back against her and closed his eyes, so trusting and content.

Galatea reached down and, instead of the conditioner, picked up the knife. Before she could see reason and talk herself out of it, she had it against Leto’s throat.

The Duke inhaled sharply. His eyes snapped open, wide with shock. All of the relaxation she’d coaxed into him dissipated.

“What is this?” He demanded, his voice tight with anger. She thought of him as a coiled spring, ready to launch into motion. Ready to fight. But Galatea was in control. He was at her mercy. So he stayed perfectly still. Waiting for her to make a move.

Somehow, Galatea was able to hide how affected she was—practically trembling with arousal, fear, and adrenaline. Her free hand drifted down his body and wrapped around his pretty cock.

Leto gasped. This time, his body responded to her beautifully.

“Your body is trying to tell you something, Leto,” she whispered against his ear. “What’s it saying?”

She pumped him slowly. A low groan rumbled in his chest. His head pressed back against her sternum as he started to pant.

Galatea watched his face carefully. Checking for any sign of genuine distress. He was smart. By now, he understood what she was doing. The alarm was gone, but he remained guarded. His lovely poet eyes flickered from her face to where her hand worked between his legs.

He had to know by now that he wasn’t in any danger. What kind of assassin jerked off her victim first?

Leto shuddered against her as she increased her pace. With the blade still pressed tightly against his throat, he fought to keep still. The wariness gave way to pleasure. His eyes fluttered closed, and the quiet of the bathroom was filled with his quiet moans.

Desperate to hold something, but knowing better than to grab at her arms—as both hands were very busy—Leto clutched the edges of the tub so hard that his fingers turned white.

“My beautiful boy,” Galatea murmured, her lips touching his ear. “You needed this, didn’t you? You’re doing so well. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He didn’t last very long, but then, she hadn’t wanted him to. Leto’s body arched in the water. He gasped and cursed and shuddered. Galatea held him through it, whispering soft encouragement and praises until he slumped back against her, utterly spent.

Galatea lay the knife to the side, dizzy with relief and her own daring. She took Leto’s head in her hands, brushing his wet curls from his face and checking his neck.

To her horror, a single pearl of blood welled from a small cut across his throat. It was hardly more than a shaving cut, but it filled her with terror.

She had held a Duke at knifepoint. She’d made him bleed.

Galatea pressed her thumb against it, willing it to disappear. Leto winced slightly and opened one eye.

“I didn’t actually mean to cut you,” Galatea said weakly. “I’m sorry.”

Leto closed his eyes again and nuzzled against her arm.

“S’fine,” he mumbled. Adrenaline had given his system the kickstart that it needed, but it was fading fast. “Worth it.”

Relieved, Galatea kissed the top of his head. Then she went to work finishing his bath—applying and rinsing conditioner, washing his face, applying beard oil. She did it fairly quickly, knowing that the endorphins, combined with his exhaustion, were calling him to sleep. Galatea was stronger than she looked, but she couldn’t carry him to bed. Leaving him to sleep in the tub wasn’t exactly an option either.

When she guided him up to his feet, he went willingly. Leto stood while she dried him with a towel, meek and obedient as a child. By the time she grabbed the lotion she’d found and steered him out of the bathroom, Galatea thought he seemed half asleep already.

She pulled back the sheets of his bed. “Lay down on your stomach, beautiful boy. There you go.”

Leto all but sagged into bed. He buried his face into his pillow with a relieved sigh. Galatea joined him, kneeling by his hips and lathering her hands with lotion.

Within minutes, he was asleep. Galatea spent a good hour working out the knots in his back. She kneaded and pressed the tension in his tired muscles until they were jelly. Then she did the same to his legs, his feet, his buttocks.

He looked so good like this. If Galatea knew how to paint, she would have gladly spent the rest of the night capturing this image. Truely, it belonged with the ancient Renaissance artworks she’d seen in her holobooks. Exposed, vulnerable, beautiful.

When she was done, Galatea pulled the blankets over him. There was some time left before dawn, but she didn’t dare sleep. Instead, she fetched another book from the shelf and settled down on top of the covers beside the sleeping Duke.

She wiled away the hours, soothed by Leto’s soft snores and the silence of the Palace. She could get used to this. She begged every god in existence to let her get used to this.

Dawn came too soon. Galatea returned her books to their respective spots on the shelves. She had a few of the brothel’s business cards in her small clutch, one of which she retrieved along with her lipstick.

Galatea applied a fresh coat to her lips, then pressed them to the card. The shape of her kiss transferred perfectly just below the House of Priapos inscription. Below that, Galatea wrote her name in an elegant, looping hand.

She left the card on his desk and left, hoping that she would be seeing this place again very soon.

[batgirlcatgirltits]

Giant girl

You always felt so tiny next to her. A girl that was somewhere in the range of two stories tall and an average sized girl certainly made for an odd couple. You often had to fix dinner separately, and you needed help to get on the bed, and sex was rather creative given the massive size difference, but you loved each other nonetheless. You frequently sat on her lap so that you could sit close to her, rather than sitting on some ant-sized chair next to her. All of the furniture was huge. The couch, the tv, the bed, the lamp, the coffee table. You used extension cords everywhere, it was honestly a massive pain. Their were smaller amenities for you, a tiny bathroom for you, since you were almost sure you could fall down the drain in her shower (not that you wanted to test it), and you had a tv, couch, et cetera for use when she wasn't home. You even had a smaller door next to her massive two story tall door. Having built this home together, the two of you thought it would be funny if she could lift the ceiling off of the room you used when she wasn't home like a dollhouse, although sometimes she managed to scare the shit out of you by doing that.

The door closed with a bang, and that was how you knew she was home. Everything she did was loud like that. Her foot steps shook the room when she walked as if there was an earthquake happening. You knew it'd take some time until she came to get you to hang out considering she had just gotten home from her job at a construction company. There wasn't any need for some of the heavy machinery with her around and they paid her super well for it. The footsteps moved across the house, and you kept watching tv on your laptop while you waited for her to change and come get you.

As the earthquake that was your wife came closer again, you figured it was about time she lifted the roof off of your dollhouse. Luckily you had just finished that episode of your show. You felt the whole room shake a little as she pulled the ceiling off. Putting your laptop down on the coffee table, you looked up to see her crouching down over you. "There's my little pet!" She said in that booming voice of hers, as she picked you up. "God you really are so little y'know that?"

"I'm well aware that I pale in comparison to you, love," you said as she placed you on her shoulder. To make sure you didn't fall off, you made sure to grab onto her hair.

Looking around, you noticed she wasn't bringing you to the couch like usual, "Are you bringing me to the bedroom?" You asked.

"Mhm! I'm in the mood right now, and I know that you're a little whore who wants to be good for her owner." Looking down, you realized that she was super hard. It showed through her jeans. It made you blush that she wanted you that bad. After placing you down onto her bedside table, she sat down in front of you. "Give me a little show, pet."

"A show?" You asked, hoping she'd be more specific.

"Whatever you like. I wanna watch you look all embarrassed in front of me." That certainly made your cheeks flushed, and you knew you were hard already too. "Aw is my pet already embarrassed? Before she's even taken anything off? Let me guess, you're already hard for mommy?"

You shifted your eyes away, avoiding eye contact. "Oh you are. You won't even look me in the eyes." You saw her lick her lips out of the corner of your eye. "Alright, come on cutie. Entertain me."

"Play something sexy for me, then." You said, giving yourself time to prepare some kind of strip routine.

"Oh all right, but first, lemme show you somethin." Saying that, she took her jeans off, and her panties too, displaying her rock hard cock that was easily as tall as you. She was even dripping. You wanted to taste that fountain of pre so bad.

"Hehe, seems you got excited too. Now, give me a show, pet," she commanded as the music started.

[christophercant]

Hey guys! Long time no speak!

I recently wrote this article for ChristopherCant.com and for my site SelfemployedArtist.com, and wanted to share it here. I hope you guys are ok, and this is useful in some way.

AI is coming: Future-Proofing your Art career

Header image generated with AI, in a terrible low-res - sorry!

I have been giving a lot of thought recently to the stability of my future as a digital painter - and by extension the futures of all digital artists, and even all creatives. 

If you’ve been paying attention to the conversations currently happening in digital artists circles, you’ll know that AI has recently taken over all discussion.

And for good reason - AI is slowly but surely going to cause a massive shake-up across multiple industries.

A lot of the conversations centre around claims that AI art lacks the soul and intrigue of human-made art; there are disputes over the legality of the way these models were trained and whether the outputs can be copyrighted, and a lot of concern over users deliberately imitating famous artists when generating images.  The conversation even stretches as far as debating human rights.

But these aren’t really the things I want to discuss today; other people are tackling these issues much better than I’m able. I hope their efforts slow it down enough to give us time to properly prepare, and grant us legal protections when it does arrive.

I want to talk about the impact it will have on our careers.  I want to figure out how the markets for digital art might change, and be prepared for it.  I want to find solutions.  

A massive shift is coming sooner or later, and I want us all to get through it fine.

What is this ‘AI art' stuff?

To many of you this will be obvious, but for those of you just learning about this: by AI I’m referring to image creation AI models such as Midjourney, Stable Diffusion, and Dall-E, that are able to generate images based on text prompts.

The outputs are unpredictable and almost always require some sort of human post-processing, but the rate at which these AI models are being improved is so fast that it is highly likely that they will soon overcome their shortcomings. Already they can occasionally generate incredible images, sometimes even on-par with world-class digital artists.

How will these AI’s impact digital artists?

I’d be surprised if the supply of all digital media didn’t increase massively over the next few years, as both companies and individuals use AI to create all sorts of things.

Companies will need less employees to produce the same products, many people will use AI to shorten their journey to becoming competitive in the creative markets, and even more people will just use AI to create media for their own personal consumption.

The supply of digital content is simply going to go way, way up, and I don’t think demand will go up at anywhere near the same rate; we are already spoiled for choice.�� I don’t think it's silly to expect that the average value of art and other creative pursuits like writing is simply going to fall as AI saturates the markets.

In order to generate an income, I think digital artists are going to be forced through something of a paradigm shift in how they approach their careers.

How can digital artists prepare for these events? 

In order to prepare myself for this, I’m trying to identify which markets will get stronger, and which will get weaker.  I’m certainly not announcing the death of digital art or anything like that; I'm just trying to read the room and make sure I don't set myself up to fail, as a digital painter.

For the last couple of decades digital artists have been in greater and greater demand by the entertainment industry, and I think that particular pendulum is finally slowing down.

Freelancing as a digital painter won't disappear, but I do think it might get less lucrative, and will inevitably become a smaller portion of my income as I find other ways to create an income.

I should acknowledge that perhaps some sort of legislation around AI will appear, enforcing stricter regulations that will stop it from flooding the creative markets.  Perhaps AI art will never be able to be copyrighted or will be found to infringe on the rights of all the artists it learned from, so companies will be too scared of the ramifications of using it.

But I really can’t see that happening - or, even if legislation does appear, it being successful - so I’m not willing to bet the future on it.

As far as I can see, there are a few different paths you could choose to go down.  I put most of this into words to help myself figure out what direction I should be taking my own career.  Bearing in mind that I could be completely incorrect about where the future of AI is going, these are the potential solutions I’ve thought out:

Solution 1: Utilise AI in your own art

This one is pretty obvious, and it’s undoubtedly what the entertainment industry will expect of its artists.

You stay a visual artist, but evolve your process as the technology evolves. Join with the AI, and use it in your workflow - feed it text descriptions, feed it your sketches, paint over its outputs, etc.  Just like some did with incorporating photos and painting over 3D models in their digital paintings, this is simply the next step in the same path toward efficient image creation.

This sort of path suits those that just want a great end result, and are not too fussed about the process they use.  I think the danger in this approach is that you risk becoming redundant if AI gets so good that it doesn't even need an artist to fix its mistakes anymore, but I’m not sure that’ll ever be a reality.

Either way, I expect these jobs to still be about as competitive as becoming an in-house artist in the entertainment industry is today; companies won't need as many artists on-staff when they can use AI for 90% of the workload, but there will also be 10 times as many companies popping up looking for an artist to work with their AI outputs.

Solution 2: Supplement your art with other AI mediums

AI is great at doing a single task very efficiently so, unfortunately, specialists are the ones who get automated - if you perform like a robot, you’ll get replaced by one - and digital painters are no different.

So perhaps instead of specialising in digital art, you use AI to diversify your creative mediums.  AI isn't only going to make digital art easier to make, it'll also make writing, music, video and code easier to make, among a bunch more things.

You could build much larger projects than just individual pieces of visual art, if you learn how to use AI to create supplementary media and learn how to polish it all into a finished product.  Animations, comic books, card games and illustrated novels all become much easier with AI assistants to help you.  Partnered with AI, individuals might even be able to create feature-length films and massive videogames completely independently.

With AI the manpower needed to make big entertainment products goes down, so small indie teams and maybe even solo creators will have as much creative potential as giant studios.

Solution 3: Broaden your skillset beyond the visual art market, and build your own niche.

If you don't particularly want to use AI to create, it isn't just AI that will be improving our potential as creatives - other software, digital tools and platforms are becoming much easier to use year-on-year, and will allow a single person to achieve much more by themselves than ever before.

If you can combine your digital art skills with other complementary skills, you may be able to create projects that make you stand out from the pack, without even having to utilise AI at all, and without having to compete with those that do.

Find a way to combine your digital art with other skills to produce something new, something that other people simply aren’t doing.

Nowadays, between YouTube and blogs, you can teach yourself nearly any skill for free.

You can learn to make a professional website for yourself really easily with something like Squarespace or Wix, whereas not long ago you would have needed a web developer to make anything that looked good and worked well. 

You can use social media tools to post on multiple platforms efficiently and analyse the performance of each post, when not long ago you would have needed a social media team for that level of automation and data.

Just for the art market, you can film, edit and sell video courses, schedule and host online mentoring, and sell merchandise via white-label print-on-demand companies, on a myriad of different platforms and services, all by yourself.  New tools show up weekly, and present opportunities to create unique businesses.

Many of these services are free to get started with, and have become so streamlined that each only takes a weekend to figure out.

For a couple of examples outside of the art market, you could combine your art with web design to create unique, bespoke websites for clients, or with writing to sell your own storybooks.

The options are quite broad and will only get broader; if you are prepared to widen up your skillset to learn some complementary skills, and combine your skill of digital painting with an unusual skillset to create a rare combination, you'll build yourself a niche where you barely have to compete with anyone, let alone AI.

Solution 4: Lean into your humanity, and traditional methods

One method to survive the coming technological disruption would be to deliberately do things with your art that an AI cannot do and, quite the opposite of embracing AI, choose to lean away from AI. 

AI will probably always struggle to imitate the true humanity beneath the surface of a piece of art, so deliberately accentuate and show plenty of evidence that your art is made by a real person.

People who value human-made art will seek digital artists whose hand shows through in their work, who show their process, who speak about their work and share their insights and motivations.  They may even want proof that your work wasn’t made by AI.

Video content will probably be the best way to achieve a lot of this, and I’m pretty sure that even more so than it is today, it'll be very, very important to artists who paint and draw all of their work. 

Record your painting process to accompany your finished pieces, and create YouTube videos to share your perspective as an artist.  Make sure that when someone finds your art online, they can easily tell it was painted by a person, not an algorithm.

I'm sure AI will eventually be able to imitate a painting process video, but until then it'll be a key way to differentiate human-made digital art from AI-made art.

You can also hand embellish all the prints that you sell, make a move towards painting in traditional media like acrylics over digital painting, and try selling your work face-to-facein local markets instead of global digital ones.  Importantly, build deeper, more personal relationships with the people that buy your art.

In my opinion, with this direction it would be best to focus on creating quality over quantity, as AI will be able to pump out quantity much easier than any human could.  Focus on creating the very best work you can, present it the most human way you can, and sell it in the most personal way you can.

Solution 5: Move toward teaching

Since AI will probably flood the commercial market with low cost art and a lot of newly entering artists utilising AI in their workflow, freelancing as a digital artist might become even less lucrative than it currently is today.  

But things like the iPad and Procreate are putting digital art tools in more people's hands year on year, so plenty of people will still want to learn how to paint for fun.

These people will need to learn how to paint from someone.

Many people will start to use AI to try to create their dream game, film or business, and instead of hiring an artist, will want to learn the basics of digital painting so they can fix up their AI outputs and make them more consistent and appealing.

These people will also need to learn to paint from someone.

And they won't just want to learn the basics of digital painting, but also of writing, coding, web design, UI design, social media - everything that someone running a one-person-business that is being scaled through AI might want to learn.

People won't want to hire a professional to do these tasks for them when they could just use an AI for much cheaper and faster results, but they might be prepared to pay someone for a few hours of education to help them improve upon their AI’s outputs.

As an artist, you might already have some experience with a bunch of these skills, and be in a decent position to teach them to the flood of AI-utilising creatives that are about to be appearing.

This is probably pretty safe as a direction to take a digital painting career in, as people will always need teachers and I expect demand to increase as the internet grows.  Teaching online can also be quite lucrative, and there are many platforms designed to help make the process easier.

What is my plan?

Perhaps hearing my personal plan will help some people make better sense of the above ideas.  I think most people will adopt a unique mix of all of the different solutions, and I am no different.

I love digital painting, and have resisted integrating photos and 3D models into my workflow simply because I find joy in the process of painting; knowing what I know about myself, I cannot really see myself changing for AI, so I doubt I’ll be integrating much AI into my art.

However, while I cant see myself using AI in my art, I'm not completely against using other AI tools to help build larger projects.

In early 2021 I was already messing about with AI tools for writing, and I’m in blogging groups in which some members have made websites and YouTube channels with 100% AI written content.  I don't think going 100% AI is quite my style, but I can see myself using it to help me create non-art content.

Diversifying my skillset outside of just art is luckily something I've already been working on, for similar reasons to AI.  A few years ago I could see that as more artists from the developing world join the global marketplace and work for lower rates than me, I would probably get priced out of the freelance market.  I began broadening my skillset, from just digital art into writing and web design.

My current strategy will be to combine my digital painting with my newer skills of writing and web design, to make unique websites that are hopefully educational, entertaining and inspiring.

This is the direction I have been heading, and plan to continue going in, broadening my skillset and trying to create a combination of skills that are very unique, allowing me to make things that other people just aren't making.

I’ll also show more of my humanity like solution 4 suggests, by displaying process videos alongside my artwork, writing more articles like this one, and making more video content to share my personality and opinions.

I’ve always known I should be putting out videos, and it was on my agenda to handle ‘someday’.  Now with AI appearing I’m going to have to make it a priority, and I think other digital artists would be smart to do something similar.

I’ll make sure the digital things I’m making today can also work in a physical format, like prints and books, to help create that human-to-human connection that some will seek.

Lastly, teaching is also something I've been exploring a little in the last couple of years, and I actively plan to make it a bigger proportion of my income going forward.  I'm even open to widening up what I teach past just digital painting, to some of the other skills that I'm learning.

Each of us is going to have to find their own way, but that doesn’t mean we can’t help each other

I originally wrote this article to give myself some clarity over what might be coming and how I could deal with it in my own life.  I decided to share it in the hope that it helps others out there that have been having similar thoughts, and perhaps jump-start those that might have been putting off thinking about these tricky subjects.

I’ll write more articles in the future with this theme of future-proofing your digital art career, as I think there is going to be a lot to learn going forward, and nearly as much to say.

Whatever happens, we are about to be living through historic times, and we should do our best to prepare our communities.

Images generated with Midjourney and Stable Diffusion

This article was originally published on ChristopherCant.com and SelfemployedArtist.com

[fakepriest]

@madamhatter​

"Father Kotomine, how should we address this fascinating instance?" The eluding summoner of Chaldea seems to have appeared from nowhere, her form casually stepping beside the priest and her tone candid. With both hands folded on the small of her back, she takes a small breath while enjoying the well-shaded area of the room. 

"Having variants of a Servant roaming the hallways is no new phenomenon. Your favorite Archer and Lancer are prime examples." She shifts weight from one foot to another. "But a case of the original body and a pseudo-servant cooperating and existing in the same plane is," she sighs, looking at the person in question, "a complication if I have ever seen one." 

Sophie glances at Kirei, observing, "Hopefully, this new presence will not disrupt or enable anything." 

The fact that the assistant compares the Father to the Alter Ego in a thoughtful way, as if to say, 'you aren't that bad; you could've done worse like him,' was troubling her. Especially if someone sees that statement now as an active opportunity to prove otherwise or, worse, make a competition of it. 

"Hm..." The woman blanks, wrinkling her nose in thought and losing that sharpness in her gaze. She murmurs, "How does Mister Rasputin manage to have fewer wrinkles than you..." to herself. 

The ruler servant is certainly accustomed to the most atypical events taking place in the facility; after all, things would be infinitely boring without the occasional... unpredictable debacle. Or perhaps some kind of disaster. He is not too particular when it comes to ways of entertaining himself.

The presence of the person standing before him and miss Hatter is not, however, a possibility he has ever considered. Which, quite frankly, seems a bit out of character for one so used to scheming and trying to predict all possible outcomes. And he does not need Sophie’s reminder of how average such an occurrence should be, when it comes to normal heroic spirits--there are enough versions of his previous servants to torment to his heart’s content.

Curse this place for making him (marginally) relax.

The priest meets her last remark from the girl with a raised brow, “Perhaps he has not yet been graced by the presence of so many of the lovely people that can be found around here, miss Hatter.”

The other man does seem to be slightly more... relaxed? Almost jovial, as much as one with his features could ever appear so, which certainly leaves Kirei with questions that can only be answered by someone who may or may not have lived through his same experiences--and if he has not, what could the real difference be, between the two of them?

In the meantime, the other servant does exactly what he would do: observe how things evolve, watching silently and with a most pleasant expression.

The initial frown slowly relaxes the more he contemplates the current situation: this might prove to be quite the interesting experience still--one should be open to all, even their own self staring back at them. “Hmm--interesting. I can finally lay eyes on the notorious Rasputin, for whom everyone in Chaldea has been mistaking me ever since I was summoned.”

The other man, finally being addressed in a more direct way, mirrors his own smile, mirth clearly present (to an experienced observer) in those dark eyes.

“Oh? I had no idea my presence, or lack thereof, could have caused such trouble. “ Let us not mention that Rasputin is long gone and all that is left is the vessel. Perhaps everyone shall figure it out in due time.

[globaloscillations]

Rediscovering New York

Quite a while back now we grabbed tickets to see John Oliver and Seth Meyers live in New York at the Beacon Theater. Back on March 9th we made that trip and it was our first time in New York City proper since 2015. 🤯 For this particular trip Kristen and I, because it had been so long, kind of wanted to rediscover things and get our bearings on our own terms. It's fair to say though that it won't take us almost another almost entire decade to make it back. Though it pains the 'Boston is better rivalry' part of my soul to fully admit it was a fun adventure and there's a lot to explore we left planning our next trip.

At least some of my mind-shift on New York is based on the fact that in a lot of the best ways it feels kind of like another country. We took the train there, there's a bustling transit network, a unique culture, lots of dining and pubs, world class cuisine (mmm bagels LOL), and a seemingly endless amount of entertainment, landmarks, museums, etc. to explore. Our trip started by hopping on the Amtrak Acela and heading down the Northeast Corridor for a quick 3 and a half hour trip, perhaps the most Europe equivalent train journey you can make in the United States. You'd be unlikely to drive it in that time with typical traffic and if you did you'd of course miss out on "train beers." 😉 As a transit nerd aside one nice thing about the BOS-NYC section of the Northeast Corridor is it has some of the fastest sections of track on the whole corridor (except you Connecticut come on get with the program!). We emerged into the new 'Moynihan Train Hall' Amtrak's primary station in New York City (more on that later) and made our way to the cab stand for a short ride to our hotel in Chelsea.

We had more extensive plans from Saturday evening but by the time we made it to our hotel room and got settled the rain had started teeming down and we didn't really have the appetite for traipsing across the city. So we made our way to the 'Barcade' located a few doors down from our hotel. Apparently these are a chain across at least the NYC are and they're a lot like what they sound like. Overall the beer selection was good with a bunch of craft beer options on draught and the selections of games was fairly solid as well. There were classics like Frogger, Galaga, Ms. Pacman to pretty wild things like Sega Time Travler, Tron DISCs, and a Trivial Pursuit in arcade cabinet form. For me the highlights were a version of Tapper with the proper Budweiser branding both on the cabinet and in game as well as the Asteroids & Lunar Lander with the proper vector displays. To me the most unique thing I saw was an Apollo 13 pinball game which was very well themed and instead of having the standard pull to shoot the ball it had a replica of the Apollo Command Module abort handle that you had to twist to launch the ball, very unique. Overall we had fun imbibing, vibing, enjoying some above average nachos, and alternating between our favorite games. All in all a pretty solid date night we'd have to work harder than walking a few doors down to achieve at home. I certainly forget at times the convenience of city level density, not that it doesn't come with its inconveniences to.

Sunday morning we headed uptown and stopped for what else? BAGELS! I got in the epic line to order and it took me a minute to figure out what I was looking at in the display cooler...cream cheese like I've never seen it. Mountains of it in flavors I wouldn't have dared to imagine. Pretty wild honestly. 🤯 I placed our order and took a seat at the table Kristen had found. After a few minutes a guy came over not sure if he was the owner, manager, or just MC it is apparently a thing most legit bagel places in Manhattan have someone out on the floor to kind of keep order, mingle with tourists like us, direct traffic, add some local flavor to the experience, etc. He asked where we were from and told us an amusing story about a family that had been down from Massachusetts not long ago and were very hesitant to reveal their origin. LOL. He was like "Hey own it!" Absolutely. Honestly I've never had a hostile reaction to being in NY and from the Boston area. Maybe some good natured ribbing but I'll be the first to admit there ain't much of a Sox/Yankees rivalry these days and that's in favor of the Yankees with the Red Sox lagging the last several seasons.

After some delicious bagels, no one does it better than NY, we headed over to the Museum of Art and Design for an exhibit they've been running on Taylor Swift's various concert attire, outfits, fashion, artifacts. The collection was donated and curated by Swift herself. It's always interesting to see the genuine article for stuff like that. After the museum we headed back downtown to our hotel and as Kristen had some work to finish up I went the next block over to Smithfield Hall which is a soccer pub in NY and often home to Manchester United fans in NY area. Sadly United weren't playing but I caught the tail end of the Liverpool/City game and had a beer so I could say I did.

By this point it was time to head to dinner. I'd picked a place I thought looked good and we hopped a cab. Unfortunately when we got there it was apparently trivia night and there were no tables. My suburban proclivities were caught of guard by the concept of a trivia night on a Sunday but hey who am I to judge the customs of another culture? Since the place happened to have a Cask Ale on I had one before we headed up the street to a different pub and were seated quickly without issue. I had a solid steak sandwich and ended up partaking in another unusual custom of this different culture something known as "happy hour?" Apparently the custom involves drinks being discounted, sometimes heavily, to draw in patrons at times when business might otherwise be slow. Truly this is a foreign custom! (Aside: I kid but for those not in the know Massachusetts has outlawed happy hour since the 1970s. There was an accident involving an attractive young woman being tragically killed in a drunk driving incident and people had had enough. It is not, as commonly thought, a Puritan thing but it does fit with that narrative. There have been some efforts to revive it but change around anything alcohol related takes time lots of time here in Massachusetts.)

Time for the main event, or at least rationale for this trip in the first place, some stand-up courtesy of John Oliver and Seth Meyers. I don’t think they need any introduction. John Oliver was up first and his set was more or less in the lane I would have expected. What I was most impressed by though is the absolute effortlessness and lightness he proceeded through his set with it. It was impressive and not unexpected but fun to see from a master practitioner of the art. Seth was up next and had a great set as well. His material was more centered on family and parenting vs. the well trodden path of ‘Closer-Look’ segments. Still a very funny set and fun to witness. Afterwards the two teamed up for a Q&A that was definitely worth staying for despite their insistence that all were free to leave and probably should (😂). Perhaps the best review/summation of the evening was Kristen who said as we were leaving “I’m pretty sure I just laughed for two hours straight.” I don’t disagree.

So here’s the thing reader... As travelers we aren’t great at the ‘last day’ of a trip. Monday morning we headed of for some bagels (obvi) and the made our way down to checkout some shopping in the area of the hotel. Sadly one of the places we were hoping to check-in on was the LEGO store and it wasn’t open. Also unfortunate the iconic Flat Iron building is currently covered in scaffolding. Which is a theme I thought about a few times over the course of the trip was how much work it is to maintain the iconic landmark buildings in and among all the new construction. Personally I’m glad the effort is made because there’s nothing I love more than some 1930s Art Deco architecture. The LEED certified glass monstrosities that Boston seems to throw up if it gets the chance just feel so uninspired in comparison. On our very wind walk back to the hotel we spied the Empire State Building poking out every so often and I thought about what it’d be like trying to dock a Zeppelin to the top in those winds! (Aside: the design of the Empire State Building was such that at Zeppelins might dock to the top of the building and man would that have been absolutely amazing to see!)

After making our way back to the hotel in the crazy wind we decided that we didn’t really have a strong plan for the rest of the day. With our train being at 5pm we could probably have made more use of the day but with the wind and lack of planning we didn’t have a strong sense of what we’d do. We ended up making our way over to Moynihan Train Hall and grabbing a couple of day passes to Amtrak’s “Metropolitan Lounge.” The passes are $50 bucks a day for the NYC lounge and you get a spacious private lounge that lover looks the train hall, a buffet of food and non-alcoholic drinks, private cash bar, and pre-boarding of your train. All in all it didn’t feel like that bad a deal especially when we got a private escort right on to the train platform a good 15 minutes before everyone else. This made an already pretty hassle free experience of boarding the train (vs. any commercial airline experience in the US) pretty much sublime.

We spend a fair bit of the day looking out over the relatively new (apparently it has been 3 years?!) Moynihan Train Hall the primary arrival in NYC for Amtrak trains traveling the Northeast Corridor. Honestly the facility is impressive and apparently at one point in time was the primary mail sorting facility for the USPS in New York. The impression the openness and architecture provides on first arrival in my opinion rivals most of what I’ve experienced in the UK or Europe. A realization that comes with a twinge of frustration because it takes so much to get big infrastructure projects over the finish line in this country but look at the result when we do! When they happen, all to rarely, they’re a reminder that we can achieve things worthy of the greatness we like to ascribe to the fragile experiment we call America. Then it was time for the rain ride home which was the same relatively three hour trip but no quite as fun. Did get to spend a minute looking out at the gridlock on I-95 from the bar car though.

It was a fun mini-trip and we hope to do it a fair bit more in the future explore some more and hopefully meet-up with friends in the are on subsequent trips!

“New York is not a city, it’s a world.” – Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1958)

[lexosaurus]

Character thing if you still want: Danny himself or Vlad? Whoever you think would be more fun

Fuck it, I'll do both.

👻Danny 👻

Fave Thing: I think he's a pretty relatable average plain teen, and that makes him a good protag. He certainly has his flaws, but overall he has a good head on his shoulders and is well-rounded enough to have him work in all different scenarios.

Least Fave Thing: This is a common complaint I have with characters in the show, but I hate how the lessons he learns in one ep don't carry over to the next. I just wish he was able to evolve and grow more as the show progressed.

Phanon Pet Peeve: Other than the father-daughter Danny-Dani trope I've already gone over, I think in phic writing people have a tendency to make Danny bend over backwards and be incredibly selfless and empathetic to everyone, which like is fine and there are times (like Shift by Captain Ozone) where this really truly works, but in general I have trouble reading stuff like that because yes while Danny does have a heroic streak, he's not always working in the interest of others. There's a lot of times where he says/does things in his own self-gain, or he ignores people who are hurting around him because he doesn't want to deal with it. He's not the therapist of the family, Jazz is. He mostly just wants to live his life.

👻Vlad 👻

Fave Thing: Vlad's a really great antagonist. His personal connection to Danny, the "you don't out me, I don't out you" deal they made, how petty and manipulative he is, etc. He's probably my favorite villain of any show (aside from maybe Azula). I think the fact that Danny and he share this massive secret and know each other on such a deeper level is really great.

Least Fave Thing: I think sometimes the show didn't really know their own character, and that caused Vlad to be very OOC at times (not even counting PP). He had clear motivations, but sometimes I feel like the show had him do certain things for the entertainment value alone rather than because they played into his motivations.

Phanon Pet Peeve: This isn't really a pet peeve, as there are times that I too like Badger Cereal, but the majority of the time I just don't think paternal Vlad really works. He's just not a cuddly, warm guy. He's incredibly selfish, manipulative, and has fallen way too deep in his ghostly obsessions. Again, I'm not criticizing people who do like writing him that way, I'm not criticizing Badger Cereal as a whole, I just personally don't vibe a lot of the time.

[phoneybeatlemania-bit-the-dust]

Though Paul's notion of spousal roles definitely had a more traditionalist bent, I do sometimes feel like it gets overplayed. Like, imo, the primary reason Jane's career was such an issue between them - more, possibly, even than possessiveness and ego, which were also significant factors - was because Paul wanted children and Jane didn't, yet. (Of course, with Jane, child-rearing could never have panned out the way it did with Linda, where the whole family could go out on tour as a unit, since Paul and Jane were engaged in totally separate activities. But I think the factor that Paul was Ready To Be A Dad Now loomed large in the breakup.) But with Linda, HM, and Nancy - not that he's flawless by any stretch, I'm sure; Linda contributed to some substantial attitude adjustments - he has been supportive of their individual endeavors/identities. Regardless of how passionate Paul is about animal rights, Linda always took the lead on that and was much more outspoken (and sometimes divisive) than he was. I think it took time and struggle to work out the balance between their interests and activities and doubtless caused rough patches in their marriage - as the Resident Superstar, Paul's needs certainly won out a lot - but there was a better equilibrium between Linda's own work and Paul's as they headed into the '90s. While I'm sure Paul's not, like, secretly pro-landmine, that wasn't a pet project until HM wanted him to put his weight behind it. As far as I'm aware, though he didn't push as hard as she wanted him to (for valid reasons, imo, not just because he wanted to keep her at home, subjugated to him), he did use his influence to get her gigs that she wanted to raise her own profile, like guest-hosting chat shows. Like the Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? appearance they did, I recall there being lots of talk at the time that she was getting him to do more "ordinary" celeb stuff that some folks considered "beneath" him. IDK how passionately Paul felt about Bloomberg in the 2020 Democratic primary - that may have been his top choice of candidate regardless - but I think his appearance at a fundraiser (as "entertainment", whereas Nancy was the host) had a lot more to do with Nancy having known Bloomberg from when she was on the MTA, etc. (I'm sure he'd have put his foot down if the candidate was total anathema to him, like Trump or sth, lol.) Rather like Paul at the Adopt-a-Minefield galas. He's assisting rather than instigating, in my view. Similarly, once he'd shifted gears out of bachelordom and his Highland breakdown, he's been very active in the ~domestic realm~: child care in particular, but also cooking/meal prep (especially post-Linda) and household chores. To maintain his "minimum personal staff" lifestyle, it certainly appears that he chips in, probably more than the average male celebrity, of his generation to boot. Dunno what exactly my point here is, or why I've chosen to vent it at you, so I apologize, lol. I guess these elements of Paul's marriages feel... under-discussed when compared to what a difficult spouse he must be. (And, between the constant stifling of negative emotions, domineering tendencies, unresolved issues of all sorts, desire for a mother figure, etc., I am absolutely not saying there's no truth to that. Just... other angles too?)

Love that you sent me this ask anon, cause i agree, and im glad someones pointed it out! I feel like, yeah, pauls notion of family dynamics and ideals can be backwards - but also, i dont think that they’re really anything out of the ordinary (at least not for a man born in the 40s), and in some ways i feel like he was far more progressive then a lot of other men of his generation. Im not saying we shouldn’t talk about pauls more “traditionalist” ideals, but i agree with anon here, in that its just as though people are prone to hyperbolising these things sometimes. And there is validity to the claims that pauls ideas about the family were/are sexist, but i dont know, theres more nuance to it then just purely “paul forced his partners to become housewives and baby-making machines”, which is sort of how i see him and his relationships being portrayed.

I feel like with paul, its not necessarily that he’s so much opposed to womens independence on a whole - but its more as though, he enjoys the idea of “the regular nuclear-family”. And so the type of partner he seeks is one prepared to stay home and raise the kids - and tbh if both partners actively want to conform to that type of traditional family dynamic, then i guess its just up to them, and i dont really have an issue with it, in and of itself. Im not saying that this is true for all of pauls relationships, or that jane, linda, whoever wanted to conform to that lifestyle - im just saying that for him to idealise this dream of the wife and kids i dont think is necessarily wrong (it just becomes wrong imo if he’s actively pressuring or forcing a partner who doesn’t want to participate in that type of lifestyle, into conforming to it (which in some ways he did pressure his gfs/wives into doing, so im not gonna say theres no accountability on his behalf here)). But overall, i feel like paul doesnt actually have as much of an issue with his partners working and having their own projects etc. its just more about their working getting in the way of his want for a family, and wanting to be “the man of the house” etc. So y’know, still sexist - but just not as sexist as ive seen him being made out to be at times.

Really, i think anon said this all better then i could, so im just gonna leave you all to read their message lol

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X READER - Waffle House Pt. 1

You're a server at the south's greatest and best-loved institution: Waffle House. The graveyard shift can be tough, but you can usually find ways to entertain yourself. Turns out tonight's entertainment is named Bo, and he wants to know if you're on the menu.

I wrote this especially for my friend Zin! This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2 is NSFW (and in Bo's POV!)

Soundtrack: Diner Ambience ; Rain ; Faint Hard Rock

Words: 3,269

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

***

READER POV

It was raining when he came in, a light rain that tapped on the windows and made you want to leave your shift at Waffle House early to crawl into your warm bed. He was just some guy—average, white, brown hair, blue eyes. And yet you felt compelled to watch him as he tapped his dripping boots against the door and shook out his hat.

Wow.

You were new to the overnight shift. It was mostly truckers coming up and down the interstate, guys who just wanted to tuck into a warm meal and leave. They tipped well, too, so you didn't mind. It wasn't like your sleep schedule wasn't fucked anyway. May as well make some money while you were up all night.

This was the first time you'd had a physical reaction to any guy who'd walked in. You completely forgot about the orange juice you were in the process of putting away. You could feel your heart race as he gazed around the restaurant, and when his eyes found yours and he flashed you that grin?

Wow.

He took a seat at the breakfast bar, right in front of you, like he could sense your pulse quickening. "Evenin'."

Right, you were supposed to greet him. "Hi, there. Can I getcha some coffee?"

"That'd be real welcome, [miss / sir]." His crow's feet wrinkled, and he set his hat aside on the counter. His twang sounded so good mixing with the classic rock pouring from the speakers that you had to bite your lip to keep from sighing. "Sure is comin' down out there."

"Yeah," you agreed with a breathless laugh. God, did you sound stupid? You turned quickly, retrieving a mug and the fresh pot you'd just finished brewing. "How do you like it?"

"If you bring me the fixin's, I'll do it up," he said easily. When you turned and handed him the mug, his eyes found your chest, staring at your name tag for an extended moment. Then, his gaze crawled to yours. "Y/N."

Your face was so hot you wondered if he could see you blushing. Rather than say anything stupid, you practically shoved ramekins of creams and sugars at him, then mumbled some excuse or another before disappearing into the kitchen.

Pressed against the wall, you took a few deep breaths. You saw a hundred men every shift, some of them quite handsome, and yet this guy was standing out to you. Why, you had no idea, but you had a table of college kids to wait on and three other people at the counter ... you couldn't be fixated on this one person.

The cook glanced up at you, then did a double take, frowning. "You okay? Look like you're about to pass out."

Worried your Average Man had heard him, you cleared your throat and announced, "I was just getting some straws," before grabbing a handful and exiting.

You shoved the straws in your apron, trying to avoid eye contact with the man ... but as you poured refills and took orders, you found it hard not to glance over at him. He was just sitting, enjoying his coffee, but every so often, you could feel him watching you from the corner of his eye.

You knew you couldn't put off talking to him for long. You had to take his order, after all, and he'd been patient. As you walked back to him, he looked up, smiling brightly. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." Why were you thanking him? Jesus Christ, you sounded like an idiot. "Ready to order?"

He laughed a little, carding a hand through his slightly damp curls. "Once you give me a menu, darlin', I reckon I won't be long."

"Oh, sh— shoot." You scrambled to grab him a menu, slapping it down in front of him. "Sorry. It's been a long night."

"No worries." As he flipped the menu open, he nodded to his coffee cup. "Can I get some more a that, sweetpea?"

"Of course." Man, you were really fucking up this serving thing tonight.

By the time you'd grabbed the pot and refilled him, he'd set the menu down and was ready with two white packets between his fingers. He tore them both open in one motion, then looked at you, smirking. "Extra sugar. Don't tell."

Shit, you can have all the sugar you want. But your mouth was not half as dirty as your mind, and so you just smiled back, trying so hard to keep from giggling. "So, what'll it be?"

"I'll get the, uh ... Texas bacon patty melt with hashbrowns."

"Sure. How you want those hashbrowns?"

"Just plain. Actually, make 'em smothered. Oh, an' a side of biscuits 'n' gravy, please."

"You got it." You jotted the order down quickly and passed it through the kitchen window, readying yourself to move on to the next customer for your own sanity.

But it was the man's voice that drew you back to the counter: "Hey..."

You turned. He was about to ask you a question, you could tell from the tone of his voice. "What's up?"

"I'm not really from around here." His smile was friendly enough, but his shocking blue eyes seemed almost calculating. "S'pretty late, an' I don't feel like sleepin' in the truck again. You know any good motels 'round here?"

It didn't even occur to you in the moment that he could be flirting. "Well, there's a Motel 6 not far from here ... a Red Roof a few miles down the interstate. Those'll probably be your best options in terms of good quality."

His expression shifted a bit, but then his smile widened, crow's feet wrinkling again. "All right. Thanks, sugar."

Sugar. You weren't new to being called that—you lived in the south, after all—but something about the way he said it...

You tried to get him off your mind the rest of the night, but it was kind of difficult. Even after he'd finished his food, he lingered, draining coffees and flipping through a newspaper someone had left on the stool next to him. He got up to go to the restroom a couple times, but besides that, he stayed planted right in front of you, where it was impossible to ignore him.

It was an hour and thirty minutes later that your shift ended. You gathered your things, and as you headed toward the door, you weren't surprised to find him still there.

For some reason, only then did his lingering presence give you pause. Why was he hanging around a Waffle House at 3 a.m., anyway? He'd said he wasn't from around here ... had he gotten kicked out or something? Chosen a direction on the interstate and just started going?

Poor guy. You bit your lip, going back and forth with yourself for a few moments before your pity won out. "Hey, sir."

He looked over his shoulder, forehead wrinkling.

"Um, you take care. Lindsey'll ring you up whenever you're ready."

He cracked a smile and waved. "Take care, darlin'."

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at those words.

The sky was just beginning to turn the color of dusk, but it was still raining as you exited the restaurant and headed to your car. Your keys jingled as you wrestled them out of the pocket of your jacket. It took you a moment to find the keyhole in the driver's side door, squinting through the rain like you were.

The inside of the car was blissfully dry, and as you slammed the door and blocked out the pounding rain, you closed your eyes and pushed out a long breath. It was time to go home—have some dinner of your own, maybe some tea, then collapse in bed.

That thought finally moved you to put the key in the ignition and turn.

And turn.

...And turn.

Well, you were the only one turning, because the engine certainly fucking wasn't.

Dread crawled up your spine and gripped the back of your neck. What? How could something like this happen? You'd just paid through the nose for a ton of repairs and an inspection. How could your engine just...

Anxiety floated you as you climbed out of the car, braving the rain to look under the hood. But hell, you barely knew which one was the engine, let alone how to fix it if it was broken. Your hands shook as you fumbled for the hood prop, heat climbing your face and stinging your eyes. How were you gonna get this fixed? How would you even afford it? Below minimum wage and tips from truckers wasn't going to cut it.

You turned, leaning against the side of the car and taking your cellphone from your other pocket. The tears finally fell once you realized that you didn't have anyone to call. You slammed the hood of the car and covered your face.

"Hey."

The voice, raised over the downpour, made you jump. You'd been standing in the rain for a few minutes, sobbing your eyes out, and you were completely soaked through. The rain and the heat of your tears fogged your glasses so bad, you couldn't see who was there no matter how you squinted.

"Hey," he said again, much closer now. You recognized the twang.

Quickly, you grabbed your glasses off, wiping them against your shirt before replacing them. You could see the Average Man much more clearly now, watching you but keeping his distance.

"Hi," you managed, sniffling hard.

His face fell. In a few seconds, he was beside you, offering you a hanky from his back pocket. With a little mumble of thanks, you wiped your face and blew your nose. The hanky smelled like motor oil and musk. He was close enough for you to smell him, too, feel the heat coming off his body.

For some reason, that made you cry harder.

He clicked his tongue above you. "Why you cryin', darlin'? It's pourin' out; you're gonna get soaked."

"My ... my car," you managed, gesturing helplessly.

"Oh? Somethin' wrong with your car?"

"Yeah. And I don't know jack shit except the model and year." You vented your frustration in a hard exhale, wringing his hanky. "I just got it inspected, too."

The man paused for a moment. "Well, hey, I'm a mechanic. I could take a look if ya like."

You raised your head, wiping your glasses again. "I— no, it's fine. It's raining out, you don't have to..."

"I don't mind," he said dismissively, opening the hood with one hand and propping it up. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't cry like that."

Again, you found yourself staring at him. This man definitely gave off an ... energy, calling you pretty while fixing your car. For a stranger, he was certainly taking control of a situation he hadn't even been aware of a minute ago. You'd been well aware he was attractive and compelling, but this was a whole new level. You were so taken off guard you couldn't think of a response.

"Go ahead and climb in front," the man said, waving you that way. "Try 'n' start it when I knock on the window."

"Okay." You slid into the front seat again, waiting for his command. He knocked once, and you turned the key.

No luck. You hesitated before knocking back.

Another knock. No luck. After the third, he rapped on the driver's side window instead, and you opened the door for him.

He was soaked. His clothes were drenched to his skin, his hair curling wildly around his ears and forehead. "No luck, darlin'. Think your engine's shot."

You felt your face crumple, any hope you'd had now crushed. It was four-something in the morning. Where were you going to get a ride home let alone a tow truck? And then how were you going to pay for it all?

"You gonna be okay?"

His words shook you out of your reverie. Your chest felt cold and numb ... the beginnings of a panic attack starting to take hold. "I just ... I don't know what I'm gonna..." You clenched your hands, freezing and trembling, and inhaled shakily.

"Listen," he said after a few moments, glancing up at the sky. "It's real shitty out, if you'll pardon my French, an' I don't feel right leavin' you all alone out here..." He sighed, almost grimacing. "You want a ride? I can getcha home, you can rest an' make your phone calls in the mornin'."

Getting into a stranger's car ... it was the most stereotypical thing in the world, but you didn't see any way you could turn down the offer. He seemed nice enough, and if it came down to it, you could run if not defend yourself...

At this point, you'd risk anything to be somewhere warm and cozy instead of in this stupid, freezing parking lot.

"I don't want to ... inconvenience you," you said weakly.

"It's no bother." His smile tightened a bit. "I'd rather you say yes or no so I can get out of this downpour."

You slipped out of your car, shutting and locking it behind you. Hopefully it would be alright for the night. "As long as you don't mind, mister."

The man simply smirked in response, slamming your hood and heading for his truck. It was a beat-up Chevy in dire need of a paint job, but it was running, which was more than you could say for your own vehicle. He opened the passenger side door, then shut it behind you, hurrying himself out of the rain. The pickup's vintage interior smelled faintly of cigarettes as you slid into place, buckling in.

He swore softly as he climbed in beside you and started the truck. Heat blasted through the air vents, and you relaxed a little. It smelled musty and old in here, but the engine sounded good, and whatever problems there were were easily smoothed over by the handsome company and the rock droning from the radio.

"Name's Bo, by the way." He spared you a smile as he backed out of his parking space. "Only fair you know mine since I know yours." When you balked, he laughed. "Your name tag, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Duh."

The man—Bo—took it in stride. "You must be beat as hell, shift like that. Betcha can't wait to get home and curl up in bed."

"Yeah," you replied, giggling awkwardly.

Bo smiled. God, he was so pretty. "Don't blame ya. I'm dog tired myself. Do just about anything for a drink and a soft bed right now." A chuckle. "Guess I'll just have to settle for a beer and a motel mattress."

Again, you giggled awkwardly.

On the other hand, he wasn't awkward at all. In fact, he seemed perfectly comfortable carrying the conversation, as if he'd gotten the script before you and rehearsed his lines a thousand times. "So where'm I headed?"

"Oh, uh, take the next exit..."

You continued to navigate for him, but you were working from memory, your eyes barely on the road. You couldn't help but watch his hands as he maneuvered the truck. They looked strong and warm, with fine hairs near his wrist, and on his right hand, a signet ring glistened in the low light. When he stroked and squeezed the steering wheel, his muscles and skin shifted beautifully over his knuckles.

You kinda wished you were that steering wheel.

Eventually, the truck pulled up to your apartment building, engine purring as it idled. "This the one?"

"Yeah." You clutched your things closer and smiled over at Bo. "Thank you for this. Really, I don't know what..."

You'd been about to say I don't know what I can do to repay you, but the state he was in, it wasn't hard to guess what he needed. Not only was he drenched, but he looked half-dead with exhaustion despite that easy smile of his.

Even as you opened your mouth, you knew this was a crazy idea.

"Do you ... want to come in for a minute? I can at least get you a towel, um, and maybe some cash for taking you out of your way."

Bo paused. He had an expressive face—you could see him weighing his options. "What the hell," he sighed, giving a tight white-guy smile before cutting the engine. "Sure."

Your heart leapt. You had half expected him to turn you down out of politeness, but you supposed you had inconvenienced him. Excitement mixed with terror at the thought of having this man—a stranger—in your apartment. Alone with you.

But it was a little too late to back out now. You slipped out of the truck and led him quickly up the front steps, then the interior stairs to your apartment. As always, your building smelled like Second Floor's cats and First Floor's cheap weed. Bo only stood behind you, hat in his hand, nice and polite as he waited for you to unlock your door.

"Home sweet home," you said, laughing awkwardly as you stepped in.

Bo gave a cursory glance around the place but didn't seem to feel one way or the other about your decor, simply smiling at you. He sure did know how to make people feel at ease. This almost didn't feel like an insanely stupid idea.

"Make yourself at home. I'll go get a towel. Um, and I can get you a drink. What do you like?"

"I'm not fussy, but I'll take whiskey if you have it."

Your place was so small, you were able to carry on the conversation while you hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a fresh towel from the cabinet. "I think one of my friends left some behind the last time she was over. Wild Turkey? It's bourbon?"

"That'll do." When you brought him the towel, he gave you one of those dazzling grins in return. "Much obliged, darlin'."

God, you just wanted to stand there and take him in while he toweled himself off, but you forced yourself not to, instead going into the small kitchen and fetching the whiskey. You weren't much of a drinker yourself, but you'd seen your friends drink plenty, so you poured a couple fingers in a wide glass and brought it out. He had already made himself quite comfortable on your couch, leaned back, legs spread, arm across the back of it.

"I hope it's not irresponsible of me to give you a drink when you're gonna be driving," you said as you handed him the whiskey.

He chuckled. "Don't you worry about me. I've pro'lly driven worse off a thousand times." He threw it back in one go, and you watched his slightly stubbly throat bob as he swallowed smoothly. He practically moaned, "That's it," before wiping his mouth. Looking you up and down, "None for you, sugar?"

It took you a moment to find your voice. "I don't really drink much. Tastes like paint thinner to me."

That drew a laugh from him. "Sacrilege." Then a hum. "You don't have to stand there, y'know. It is your house."

Sitting next to him would mean his arm was practically wrapped around your shoulder. An edge of wariness was beginning to press against your thundering heart. This was such a terrible idea, for so many different reasons.

You approached slowly, lingering before him. The way he looked up at you through his lashes, body sunk into your couch, nearly made your mouth water. He lifted his glass slightly. "Think I'm good for one more ... if ya don't mind."

***

Part 2

Masterlist

[prof-peach]

Hello Professor Peach!

I've followed your account recently and I was wondering. What types of Pokemon would I need to run a sucessful greenhouse like yours?! I know that I would obviously need Grass Types and maybe Bug Types, but what others would I need?

Thanks in advance!

From a fellow Grass Type and Nature Lover!

We have several greenhouses on the island, as we specialise in grass Pokemon, so I’ll run though what each has and why.

Seedling house

Set up for young sprouts, both plant and Pokemon based, with some areas shaded with netting, others in full sun. This space needs to be easy to clean, and you’ll find yourself disinfecting between sowing, to reduce fatalities and get the most out of your seeds!

Bulbasaur (potato) a good boy, old as sin now, but his gentle lullaby helps young plants grow, and keeps the baby Pokemon calm and settled. You DO NOT want a whole greenhouse worth of baby Pokemon crying, trust me. He’s stern but patient, and this is why he works well in this space, as he will not tolerate bad behaviour, and raises the youngsters with a firm but kind vibe. His vines are delicate and intricate enough to handle young seedlings, and because he himself is partially plant, he understands the needs of actual plants very well. His age also helps, he’s quite good at delegating and can boss the other workers around, and hold their respect. He has a few underlings he is training to help while he’s away, a sunflora, a turtwig, and a nuzleaf, all of which enjoy the work too.

Lotad, we keep a lot of these, as they tend to come and go. Usually we have around 4-5 in the seedling house at any one time, their broad leaves make them good at carrying things, moving trays of babies, and genrally handling youngsters, and they can usually learn water gun with some training, thus making them excellent at keeping the place well watered (but not too much). Their plant nature means they’re quite respective of small species,and tend not to crush any small sprouts if they can avoid it. They do however hibernate if it gets too cold, so it may be worth employing the help of a more winter tolerant water Pokemon if need be. We swap the Lotad out for Wooper in winter, they are small, not often too hard to handle, easy to find in our area, and kind natured on average.

There’s a old Pangoro that hangs out in this house, often happy to help lifting tables to move and rearrange spaces for new species, or to help do the big spring cleaning jobs each year. His disposition is far mor W gentle than normal, so I’d advise finding a patient, gentle Pokemon, who can do some heavy lifting. It’s always worth having a powerful individual here, as lots of Pokemon look to seedlings as snacks. As a defence, this pangoro works well, and birds and bugs tend not to enter the zone without his watchful eye on them.

A rather old Espeon without a tail likes to sleep in there too, her psychic powers means she can handle threats without big brash movements, and she tends to quietly spend her days just keep guard, and genrally being a watchful eye should the Pangoro mosey off to eat or bathe outside the greenhouse. This is a good example of shift Pokemon. When one is gone, the other is more alert and active as a guard. Never have just one Pokemon to a job, as they too need time out, breaks, vacations and down time to enjoy and relax. It’s too much to expect one individual to do everything.

Youngsters often enjoy a nightlight, so we let the volbeat and illumise into the greenhouse at night, to dance and keep a gentle glow in the area. The young seedling Pokemon are often stuck in pots, unable to move about yet, so they enjoy entertainment, and some are not keen on the deep dark of night outside. This settles them, and these bug types don’t eat seedlings, so they’re often great company.

In winter, we move one of greys charizard in to heat the space and protect the babies from frost. We have around 6 charizard on the island, and they are sometimes well behaved. We have the most calm and maternal in this house, she is a gentle soul, and I’d often not advise others to use this species for this work. A better fit would be Torkoal, known for exuding gentle heat continuously with enough food, or perhaps a Darumaka, Numel, or carkol. They tend to have much calmer natures for fire types, and ambient lay heat spaces well. Frost is a killer for seedlings so this is very important. As a grower, you also end up with infected or sick plant matter (trimmings and such) and the only way to responsibly dispose of that is to burn it. This keeps the risk of spreading infections far lower, and you won’t end up putting sickly, potentially fungus filled material into your compost, and in turn spreading it around. Fire is very important in the garden, in a controlled and careful way of course.

Healing house

This space is half open space, half I solated zones, built for recovery and care. When a Pokemon or plant becomes sick, they need specialist care, and sometimes they can spread their illness to others, so having an area to quarentine them and cure any issues is very important. This space needs to be fuss free, able to be disinfected easily, ideally with drains in the floor (much like you’d see at a swimming pool or something) so you can slosh down some disinfectant and ready the spaces for the next patient. Think of a glass topped kennel, that’s what you’re going for here.

Meganium, (summer) a lovely lady who’s been with me a while now, she’s quite resistant to disease thanks to her variation, and so she’s ideal for working in these kinds of environments. Despite this I would not mix her with a Pokemon who’s seriously sick, she’s more the “nurse” figure of the greenhouse, who oversees everything while I’m away. Her roles require her to be caring, and very calm despite seeing many in alarming states. The Pokemon doing this job needs to have a will of steel, and a strong stomach. Some diseases are quite unnerving to see progress. Keeping a bright outlook is a key component to this work. She’s able to emit a soothing aura, filling a space with gentle scent that can calm, energise, or even put patients to sleep. Her vines make her dexterous enough to hold tools and perform general care tasks like sweeping and watering ect.

I have befriended some Marill, a small pod of about 12, who come and go to help water and keep the place cleaned up. Their jolly natures are great for patients who are isolated while healing, and as they aren’t grass types, many of the individuals inside this space can interact with them, and not risk spreading illness (most of the time). They’re a little more rough and ready than the seedling watering team, but this is ok, as we don’t often keep youngsters in this house. They like to be paid in snacks, but others prefer toys, stories, games, and even tv time. Negotiating a fair deal for everyone is very key here, a Pokemon taut feels cheated will do a bad job. If they’re happy, you’ll be happy, trust me.

Audino, not often a Pokemon I discuss much, and don’t even use in the main lab, as this particular Audino has been trained to deal with grass issues specifically. She flunked out with her old trainer at medical college, so I took her on and tried to focus her in on something a bit more practical. She’s not able to catch a lot of grass issues due to her normal nature, and is a handy healer to have around. She’s actually quite a lazy individual, and is often found asleep in the staff room when not working.

This space will also require a dedicated burner Pokemon, a fire type to remove infected and dangerous tissues taken from infected patients. I often use Valka (vulpix) for this job, as she’s usually with me, and this greenhouse is where I spend the majority of my time, and she’s very efficient.

I advise you not use grass Pokemon so much in this greenhouse, as sick grass Pokemon tend to be more infectious to other grass types. You’ll often find me using normal, ground, or rock types, with strong immune systems, or individuals with calm natures, as this space sees a lot of unnerving things, and needs level headed individuals.

Tropics house

Also known as the hot house, as when you enter it you break into a sweat. Humidity is high, temperature is high, ceilings are high. This is a 4 floor tall building, all glass, planted like a jungle, with varying canopy levels, sunken pond spaces, and dense lush greenery. I also keep my orchid collection here, and you’ll find many bug types are drawn to the colours and smells. This is the highest skill level greenhouse behind the healing house, and I’d advise you try to start with one of the more simple ones firstly, should you be new to this kind of work. Heating this space is done with hot water pipes, and the whole building is lined with sprinkler systems that runs on a timer. Every 15 minutes everything gets doused with a thick, cooling fine mist.

This is where the Queen of my Bellossom clutch hangs around, she’s quite something to see, far larger, with soft pink coloured petal skirt, and a real air of royalty about her. The whole greenhouse respects her as she’s proven her skill as a leader many times, resolving conflicts with reason and patience. She may not be the strongest, but she’s certainly smart, and can lead with an iron fist need be. She is good with visitors, as this greenhouse is public, and open to visitors, unlike the previous ones mentioned above. She is a good overseer, and saves me a lot of time and trouble, fixing squabbles and keeping everyone calm. She is at the top of the hierarchy, and can request help from just about everyone else within this space, and they’ll oblige.

There’s a substantial Tangrowth who chills out in this zone, usually sleeping in a sunny patch at the back, he’s usually left child minding, as many of the Pokemon within have young of their own, and need a good baby sitter. Something that’s sturdy, with a lot of arms to keep tabs in them all (he just ties a vine to them and lets them run riot while he dozes) he can be quite defensive of the young but this is good, as the public spaces are more likely to be stolen from, and as we handle a lot of variants, security is needed. People like to steal young Pokemon when they’re unusual or rare.

Tsareena, a power house, acts as a guard, and works with a couple of Lurantis, who all enjoy the heat and have high prey drives. Should someone try to nab a baby, wade into a dangerous area, or start a fight within the greenhouse, they’ll step in, crushing most things in their path without too much issue. The Lurantis is actually one of quite a few, and should they become overwhelmed, they’ll call the others in as backup. This lot keep the peace physically, and can stop fights (as you don’t want broken glass in this space).

The windows need to be cleaned to keep the light levels high, so we often employ flying or psychic Pokemon to get us up higher to handle this work. I use whatever is around at the time, but often a good ladder will do the trick if you have a shorter building than ours.

Watering is actually done mostly with hoses and irrigation in this greenhouse but we do have one water type who resides within, in a deep pond in the centre. A Dreadnaw, Tobi, who came back with me from Galar quite recently. He’s very docile for his type, so we figured he’d enjoy the calm jungle vibes of this zone. He occasionally wades out to wander around and water things, keeping a close eye on everyone. Their species is renown for biting and aggression but Tobi is rather chilled out, and has taken to being the biggest water type in the space quite well. He shares his pond with a couple of small relicanth, and the odd little water type who comes in out of curiosity, along with a small pod of Lotad. He keeps things very damp, even in the dry corners, and often will listen to grass Pokemon who need extra water, and come over to assist.

No fire type in this building as all damaged or trimmed material should be collected and removed from the area, to be either composted, burnt, or used as cutting material elsewhere.

We encourage bug types in this space for the most part, as they feed other Pokemon, and also pollinate. This space has fruit trees and flowers, so we leave the windows open for whatever may want to enter to look around (and for airflow). The general temperament of the greenhouse is pretty calm, tanks to the balance of staff Pokemon, so if an aggressive bug comes in, it’s soon chased out. causing trouble isn’t tolerated within this space.

This greenhouse is abll about emulating nature, so taking trips to more jungle locations may benefit you here. I’d suggest doing detailed research, and studying established locations before building this zone, as there’s a lot of foundation work to be concidered, like water, piping, irrigation, airration, and light levels.

Desert house

Hot in the day, cooler at night, dry, often sparser in style. Very bright! This is a common space for a lot of variations, and also cacti based Pokemon. We have an array of desert species hanging out here, but also a lot of rock types. This is a petty easy going space, not a lot of water needed, but certainly care none the less.

A heater! We use a Heatmore, who seems to enjoy the general ambience, and is stroppy enough that the cacti Pokemon can’t bully him or get into too much trouble. He keeps the space hot in the winter, and not too cold at night, he will occasionally drop his workload in the summer when the temperatures are high enough without him. We trade him out with a Slazzle from time to time, should he require time out.

Watering is sparse, we call in one Politode now and then to drench the space, then leave it to dry out quite a bit. There’s of course places for Pokemon to drink from, small water features and the odd trough to get a drink from, but the species here don’t require half as much as others, and will happily go two or more weeks without more than morning dew. We tend to keep an eye on things and use a hose when we catch the odd Pokemon or plant who needs a little extra.

Cacturn is the boss of this space, and works hard to maintain a firm level of control over the many little Pokemon who live in this house. He’s old now, with many arms, not just the initial two, standing at around 9ft tall, with very thick limbs. He’s not kind as such but only really shows his mean side if you mess with him or the ones he protects. This is a space that’s open to the public, so we have to employ his power to protect from theft.

This space contains a lot of young alpine Pokemon too, bulbasaur, oddish, and some fun variants of Crustle who have plants atop their backs. There’s a strong nod to those who can handle drought, and so it’s a great starting greenhouse for anyone who’s a little forgetful. We also keep quite a few Sudowoodo and their pre-evolutions here, as they dig the dry air. They also help in creating rockery areas with their attacks and strength, that suit the area and the Pokemon within.

Carnivorous house

Not easy to plan but simple enough to keep. They need boggy conditions, lots of open light areas, and genrally this space is quite wild looking, certainly not tended, and I’d advise you get some waders or wellies for the work done here. Water types and bog Pokemon will love this space, and it should be protected from the frost, for those who do not like the cold.

Carnivine, often found hanging from vines within the space, they have a very particular diet, and I tend to run the tours for visitors to this greenhouse, to make sure no one gets chewed on. There’s quite a few colours and shapes, but they don’t do,innate the space as much as others. Their ungodly shrieking can be wonderful alarms to danger, and I totally advise having a few around, even if only for their comedic value and friendship.

The champions of this space are Victreebell and it’s pre-evolutions. I’ve kept many, and variants are something I research, so you can imagine the amount collected here. They’re very handy in summer should you get large infestations of bug Pokemon anywhere else, as their diet is all about eating other living things, and they don’t like rich soil or plant feed at all. Herd them to the bugs that bother you and let them hunt, you’ll soon have things under control again.

There’s a lot of Mudkip, Stunkfish, Quagsire, you know, mud lovers, and their watery ways can mean you have a lot of Pokemon able to keep the water levels high. This space needs to almost be submerged in water at all times, dry roots can lead to unhealthy buddies.

One thing to note is windows. You need to have access for bugs in this space. The species within have specific diets that Pokemon food doesn’t quite do justice, so allowing them to lure bugs in with their scent, and eat healthy correct diets will lead to far better health for your carnivorous friends.

Extra notes:

Theres the obvious, a standard, sturdy, average grow house. The beautiful basics to all the areas I’ve discussed above. Without just a space to store, to care, to grow, and to keep, none of the beautiful public spaces would look half as good. We have overflow greenhouses for winter, for overcrowding, for if the torterra want to come in, or if we get a large herd of Tropius sent to us who hate the frost. Grass types come in a lot of shapes and sizes, but should a large set come your way, these spare zones come in handy. If you have the space, set a few up, even if they’re storage most of the time, they will come in handy eventually. There’s a lot that happens behind the scenes, so make room for this.

THERE IS NO RIGHT SET OF POKEMON. I mean this seriously, I picked who I knew would suit the work, it’s not right for everyone. Grass Pokemon may have a good understanding of what plants and other grass types need, but you need to find species who are caring and patient. I’ve seen a lot of grass Pokemon who are fighters, impatient, stroppy and even aggressive, and they’d not suit this kind of work at all. You need to pick your team based on their personality, not just their type or species. Take your time and don’t be afraid to switch out their work load, try new things, and test an unusual Pokemon in a job position if you see potential in them. It’s a myth that grass Pokemon will be best for other grass Pokemon. I find I use a lot of other types to handle them, and often bugs will chew and eat at your grass types, so you have to pick carefully. Be clever with your research on this all.

Don’t think this set of Pokemon will take the workload off of your shoulders. A greenhouse needs YOUR time too, you need to throw some tough gloves on and get stuck in, or your team mates won’t feel enthusiastic about the work. Lead by example, work hard with them, weed and sow seed, trim, care for, and be part of the process, and it will feel all the sweeter when plants and Pokemon bloom and grow into beautiful things.

I find if you get stuck, if a Pokemon or plant won’t grow right, or keeps getting sick, take a step back, reevaluate what your method is, and take a look at their home. We forget that every plant and Pokemon has an actual originating location, and if we can emulate those conditions, their survival chances go up drastically! It’s not always easy, so don’t be afraid to google stuff, whip your phone out and have a good scroll around. There’s no such thing as a stupid question, so ask anything and everything.

A cheeky helpful tip, some Pokemon learn sleep powder, and many think that this move doesn’t affect other grass types, which is a pain because this move is very handy when dealing with difficult Pokemon. It in fact does affect other grass types, but only those who cannot also learn the attack. So an oddish can put a Leafeon to sleep who cannot learn the move, but not a Morelull, who can also learn sleep powder.

This was a BIG ONE but we have a lot of greenhouse, all catered for differently, so here’s hoping this helps your endeavours.

[xmyshya]

Shoved it: chapter II - Ollie

summary: You don’t like skaters. They’re unruly, misbehaved and rude. But this one encounter just might change your view. genre: fluff warnings: tooth-rotting fluff (seriously, make a dentist appointment), slow burn, mutual pining betas: @vanille–kiss​ as always I’m eternally grateful to you, I love you lots a/n: Written for ANILYSIUM (former HQHQ) Server Collab with the prompt “Meet Ugly”. Check the event’s masterlist here! series navi: masterlist | previous | next wc: 1.5k

It’s a nightmare. Everything must be just a bad dream, and soon you’re going to wake up. No more invading your sleep. No more being watched and followed through the halls. No more running, no more hiding, no more irritation.

But here’s the thing - it’s reality. And the Prince Charming from your nightly illusions still has those half-lidded olive eyes; the same eyes that meet yours at school and observe your every move. He’s everywhere you go, behind every corner, on every floor. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was in your closet.

Obviously it’s an exaggeration. While it’s true that you notice him more often than not, he’s also much taller than other students. His little circle of friends consists of really handsome boys, causing a commotion and squealing of the girls surrounding them. But, much to your dismay, he notices you just as much.

@mikYou know people like him. You know boys like him. Misbehaved jerks, thinking the world revolves around them and rules are meant to be broken; convinced that one smile is enough to make any girl fall in love with them, only to break their heart. But you, you’re not a part of this world, you refuse to be, and you want nothing to do with him.

Unfortunately, the stalker (as you like to call him) not only dares to smile and wink at you, but tries to approach you. So far you’ve managed to avoid him, spotting his messy brown hair towering over swarming students. This time, however, you failed to notice until it was too late. Until he had you trapped between his arms, your back against the wall.

“What do you think you’re doing, punk?!” You spit in his face, earning a tsk from the boy.

“Do I look like a punk to you?”

You want to retort, you really do, but the intensity of his gaze makes you open and close your mouth, like a fish thrown out of the ocean.

“Suna.”

“What?”

“I figured you didn’t know my name. Suna Rintarou.”

“I didn’t ask.”

He doesn’t know why you seem to hate him so much and it drives him mad. At first, Suna only wanted to really apologise for the incident, his conscience still clawing at him. Somewhere along the way it shifted into something more mischievous; seeing you blush and making a run for it giving him a fair amount of entertainment.

Initially you manage to win this game of cat and mouse, your average height being your biggest ally in hiding in the crowd. It certainly doesn’t help that other students tend to concentrate around him, and you’re long gone before he even scrambles out of the group. But he never misses the heat blossoming on your cheeks when he sends a wink in your direction.

Today might be Rin’s lucky day though. Most of the other teenagers are already gone, the halls pleasantly quiet and empty. You’re walking in front of him alone, and he’s sure you aren’t aware of the boy behind you.

He’s never been so grateful for his silent footsteps, or maybe you’re just too spaced out, because he sneaks up on you and pins you to the wall. Once more you look up at him with those big shiny eyes that make his stomach feel tingly, and maybe this time you’ll let him get closer…

Again, all he’s offered is baseless hostility, even in exchange for his name. You’re slipping through his fingers, at one moment being trapped between his arms, between his body and the wall, and in the next walking away. Not bothering to introduce yourself. Not sparing him even a glance.

***

Suna has another problem and this one is more urgent - he’s failing a class. In a sense, it’s his own fault for being late or even completely missing it. In his defense, it was in the morning, it was boring and unnecessary in his life, and he had so much other stuff to do. He can’t let it hold him back, not when he’s so close to being free.

The teacher was kind enough to give him a piece of paper containing the name and available hours of his potential saviour. Such a drag, he thinks but still walks towards the classroom where his tutor should be. Two knocks on the doorframe, but the girl inside is still turned back.

“Excuse me, I’m here for tutoring?”

His heart is hammering in his chest when the person turns towards him and it’s… you.

The weather is nice, it’s not hot despite the sun shining brightly, the cloudless sky has the most beautiful shade of blue. Gentle breeze rustles the leaves, birds chirp a song only they know. You can only admire it all from the window, having agreed to rescuing those in educational need.

You don’t mind, not really, as long as they put in some effort. There are some who just come and demand, those who don’t listen and claim to not understand anything later. You hope your next case won’t be one of these.

A deep voice brings you back to reality, a voice so familiar that it gives you goosebumps. You turn to look at your new student and for a second you think that if a headache had a human form, it would be him.

***

“Why do you hate me so much?”

The boy in front of you still stares at the problem at hand, spinning a pen between his fingers. You sigh.

“This is not a subject of our meetings.”

Now his olive eyes are focused on you, awaiting an answer he isn’t going to receive. You have no intention of entertaining this attempt at whatever it is.

“I’m not as bad as you think.”

“Why do you even care what I think?”

Rin only shrugs.

“Okay, could you please help me with this? I’m stuck.”

***

Contrary to your idea, Suna isn’t a hopeless case. He understands things quickly, without the need of repeating the same explanations over and over again. What bothers you is the amount of material you have to go through, because of his absences. With test retakes approaching quickly, you meet for sessions twice a week.

There isn’t much off-topic chatter, the scribbling of pen on paper being the only sound filling the room in between his questions. It’s comfortable and effective, and soon you feel at ease in his company.

In the third week of project “Ace the test”, as you jokingly call it, Rintarou greets you with a range of differently flavoured jelly sticks.

“You can take all of them, or just the ones you like.” He explains seeing your confusion.

“Why?”

“Because you’re staying after hours for me, and I don’t know how to repay you.”

You blush as you mumble “simple thank you would have been enough”, but in the end reach for three that taste like your favourite fruits. Suna smiles and commits your choice to his memory.

After that the boy makes sure to bring something in one of those flavours to your meetings - yoghurts, juices, chocolate bars with fillings, everything he could find. It would be a lie if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture; it was sweet of him to bring you something as a compensation for your time and efforts.

It’s even cuter when on one particularly rough day after seeing your stressed frown, he dumps a whole bag on the desk. Upon opening you discover that it’s filled with your best-loved snacks; he must have been observing you closely and the realisation turns your cheeks into little furnaces.

There’s no way you can keep ignoring him now, and starting with the next day, you greet him with a small smile and a blush when you pass each other in the halls.

Rin is surprised at how easily the solutions come to his head after your little lectures. You have a way with words, your directions are simple and engaging, and he’s sure he wouldn’t have missed a single class if you were the teacher. He wonders if this is your plan for the future.

One of the discoveries he makes, partially by accident, is that you like silence; at least with a task like this at hand. Suna isn’t talkative which makes it easier, and the more he focuses on modules, the less tense you seem to be. Bingo.

Social interactions are usually tiring and Rintarou doesn’t bother with exhausting things. He prefers observing from the sidelines, watching the gestures and reactions they cause. Food, the boy realises, brings the most smiles. But since he doesn’t know your preferences at all, he’s going to start with what he’s familiar with.

Success has many faces. In this case, success has your blushing face as you grab jelly sticks he brought for you. Suna makes sure to remember which one you chose, and to always have something in one of those flavours. If this is how he wins you over, he doesn’t mind spending his precious energy. Especially not when you warm up enough to stop running away.

taglist: @kageyamas-love @mikasbloodbag

[giggleandtears]

Crimson Renegade, Part 3

What it feels like to match wits (With someone at your level) 

Summary: Danvers and Kirk enjoy winding McCoy up

Pairings: OC/Jim Kirk(Platonic), OC/Leonard McCoy(Eventual Romance)

A/N: If you haven't seen Star Trek Discovery season 2, Pike makes it well worth it. ;-)

Enjoy!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Guiding me to the closest patient area, McCoy offers his hand to assist me in sliding onto the bio-bed. Jim quirks a brow at the chivalrous gesture but McCoy has already turned away to gather a few supplies for the exam. When Jim saddles up beside him, my mind runs wild with comparing the two men. Though they are roughly the same height, the air that surrounds them couldn’t be more different.  

Jim’s flaxen hair, crystal blue eyes, and perfectly chiseled jawline, screams fairy tale prince more than captain. Unless you use Captain Pike, circa 2250, as a barometer. Jim’s the type to whisk you off for an idyllic weekend getaway in a cabin, nestled between snow-capped mountains. A roaring fire would await, champagne chilled and at the ready. I think Dr. McCoy would take a slightly different approach. The fire would remain, as would a refreshing beverage. But replace the champagne with bourbon laden hot chocolate. The cabin would stand resolute against the onslaught of swirling flurries, having been built with the strength of his bare hands. Jim and McCoy are two sides of the same coin but only one is commanding my full attention.

"Ok, what you playin' at?” McCoy whispers to Jim, like salt through a grinder. It’s not standard practice for the captain to escort an uninjured crew member to the Med-bay just for a friendly hello. Jim looks on in unabashed amusement and lets McCoy continue his tirade. “We almost got shot to tarnation and you’re here to introduce a woman? Good god man! Have you no shame?” He says in a huff, gathering and regathering the same tricorder and PADD. “Are those boots even regulation?”

“They are.” I chime in sweetly, like honey flowing fresh from the comb. The boys slowly turn at McCoy’s covert mutterings being so easily overheard. “But the tights sadly are not, yet.”

Walking over to me, McCoy places the PADD beside me and can’t stop his eyes from wandering down. Under further inspection, my boots are indeed regulation, stopping just above my calves. The tights, however, are of my own design. Dark mesh blends expertly with my boots before shifting into a less opaque hue, coming to a point over my knee. Tracing McCoy’s gaze downward, I completely understand why the higher hemline of my dress uniform and the illusion of knee-high boots leaves the doctor’s mouth a bit parched.  

Clearing his voice before he continues, McCoy begins to run the tricorder around my head, then on a steady path from my forehead to abdomen and back. “So, what brings you to our favorite tin can in the sky?”

“I'm working on a new shield prototype with Scotty. Can't steal your head engineer, so here I am.”

“At least he's not on that ice planet anymore.” Jim says, with a nearly imperceptible shiver.  

“You always say that, but I had fun on Hoth.”

Shaking his head, Jim snorts wryly. “You’re about the only one.”

McCoy raises his brow at the name, no doubt never hearing of that planet in any star system. Sadly, that also means his knowledge of historical fiction is sorely lacking. How it’s not a more beloved genre is beyond me. Jim mouths ‘You don’t want to know’ to McCoy and lets it drop.  

“Keenser’s hooch always kept me warm. And what else do you really need besides that and good company?” I say. “Besides, it never seemed to be as cold as everyone whined it was.”  

A small smile highlights McCoy’s handsome features as he continues my scan. Although the warmth of his smile is unmistakable, the delicate lines around his eyes seem to narrate a tale of inner weariness. Something tells me coffee, a nap, or even a stiff drink couldn’t lessen whatever’s weighting on his shoulders.  

Returning to the conversation at hand, McCoy’s asks about my position on the Enterprise. “If you're a commander, doesn’t that make you chief engineer?”

“A commander is usually the head of a department. If Scotty needs me, I’ll be there to lend a hand but the prototype is my first priority.”

McCoy hums lowly in understanding, although his gaze has been diverted. He's concentrating deeply on the tricorder in his hands. After each tap of the device, his expressive brows grow closer and closer together.

“Something wrong?”

“Yea.” McCoy begins in a huff. “This darn thing is on the fritz again. I tried a few tricks Scotty taught me but nothin’s workin’. I assumed you were human and bypassed the initial scan but that didn’t help. You are human right?”

“To my knowledge, I am. Is trans-species a thing?”

“You’d be surprised.” McCoy says wryly. “All I got was you’re alive, but a bucktooth gopher in a melon patch is less obvious than that.”

I fail at holding back a snort.  “I have absolutely no idea what that means but it was certainly entertaining.” Offering to take a look, I extend my hand. “Let me see.” The blueprint for each circuit board and screen readout, run through my brain with ease. Fiddling with the small piece of technology is as natural as breathing.  Feeling the heavy gaze of a man no more than 2 paces away from me, is not. Widening his stance, McCoy impatiently crosses his arms after I open the back of the tricorder. I don’t think my brooding companion takes kindly to anything impeding his work, especially a pesky piece of equipment. “The circuits and connectors are in perfect condition, not charred or corroded. So, it must be a programming issue.” Replacing the back of the tricorder, I widen a few scan parameters and disable a couple more, then hand it back to McCoy. “Here, try this.”

After restarting the scan, the familiar steady beeps resume.  

“Well how ‘bout that.” McCoy says, with quiet astonishment. “How’d you know to do that?”

Swinging my legs like a schoolgirl, “Engineers are more than contraband and a good time, Dr. McCoy.”  I say, with cock my head and a cheeky grin. “Or haven’t you heard?”

“I’ve heard a lot of things but that don’t make’em true.”

Leaning the tiniest bit forward, “Is that a challenge?”  

McCoy meets my eye with a sumptuous quirk of his brow. “Only if you can deliver.”

A smile slowly spreads across my face. His steady gaze is electric, sending waves of heat to tickle my skin. Neither of us is backing down. With each passing millisecond something becomes abundantly clear; I am in trouble. Jim clears his throat, breaking us of the spell neither of us intended to cast. Honestly, I forgot Jim was even here.

Leaning back, I straighten my spine and clasp my hands in my lap. Professional as always. “So, did your scan turn up anything interesting?”

“Yea. Are you always this hot?” McCoy asks innocently, without any trace of innuendo.  

This is just too easy.  

Before I can reply, McCoy corrects himself.  “Is your temperature always this high?”

He’s learning  

“Yes. My temperature is usually above average for most humans. 99.3 to 102.4 is normal for me.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

Smiling, “I thought doctors liked specificity.”  

I expected to hear a smart quip but it never comes. McCoy’s face has grown dark.

“There’s also a fair bit of pressure at your temples and occipital lobe.”

Jim stiffens, instantly on alert. A nervous stab blooms in my stomach. I just got here. I can’t be grounded already. McCoy places a calming hand on my shoulder but addresses Jim. Silently they spar, only using their expressive eyes to communicate. I can read Jim like a well-trained empath but McCoy is a completely different beast. The altercation only lasts a few seconds but the decision is final.  

Jim sighs and stuffs his hands roughly in his pockets. “I’ll be right over there, ok?” After nodding, he saunters up to nurse and starts a friendly conversation. Jim manages to only look back once, our concerned expressions mirroring each other.  

“If only he was as protective with himself as the rest of us.” McCoy says.

Smiling weakly, I hum in agreement. With an ever-increasing nervous energy, I pick at the jagged edge of my thumb nail. I’m willing the pressure in my head to subside before McCoy takes the tricorder to me again.  

As if I'm a doe in a wooden glen that’s easily spooked, McCoy speaks much softer than before. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is the pain?”

I rub my forehead. “5, maybe.” Even to my own ears, it sounds more like a question than an answer.  

McCoy stares at me disapprovingly. Maybe I don’t have as good a poker face as I thought. He asks how long I've been having headaches and if they make my duties more difficult. I have to think back but it's been over 6 months. I can handle the pain but the dizziness that sometimes accompany them is harder to shake off. I've been found in a dark supply closet more times than I care to count. McCoy bobs his head with each detail I recount, though his lips remain pursed. He picks up the tricorder once again but decides to hand it off to a passing nurse.  

“Do hypos help with the pain?” McCoy asks. Vigorously rubbing his hands together, he steps forward. Meticulously, he feels around my throat and neck.  

“Only for a few hours.” I answer honestly.  

“What did your last physician say about them?”

“Since I could still fulfill my duties, not to worry until that changed.”

McCoy’s hands still. Exhaling harshly, his nostrils flare. “What kinda bonehead, idiotic...” With a sigh, McCoy calms himself. Letting the matter drop, he continues his exam. McCoy softly eases my head to the side to rest in his large palm. His nimble fingers purposefully flutter up and down the tendons in my neck, even into my shoulder blade. When he tilts my head back, I can’t help but stare. McCoy is so, determined. It’s as if my pain and discomfort are the only thing important to him. For a moment he closes his eyes to concentrate more intently on what he feels beneath his fingers. Smiling to myself, I close my own eyes before I’m caught.  

A slight sting radiates at the base of my neck where McCoy was focusing his attention.  His deft fingers and what I suspect was a sly hypo start to alleviate the pressure that’s been building for hours. Releasing a heavenly sigh of relief, I slowly blink open my eyes. Having them closed for only a few short moments; my lids have become quite heavy.  

McCoy tips my head back with a knuckle under my chin. When my eyes catch the light, he inhales suddenly. “Well I’ll be-.” He whispers, astonished. He slowly moves forward as if an invisible string is pulling us together. I’m enveloped by his impressive stature. His warmth seems to seep into my every pore and somehow, I already know I’ll miss it when he moves away. A sly smirk creeps onto my lips when McCoy’s eyes round in amazement. Imaging myself through his eyes is intriguing. Warm brown eyes of amber with flecks of maroon. It’s a fairly typical combination in this day and age, except they weren’t always like this. The longer the light shines in my eyes, the red specs bend and shift until it nearly overtakes the brown. I found the change to be off-putting at first but I've grown to like it.

McCoy leans in closer and cocks his head to the side. “Retinal morphic photoplasia.” Taking a pen light out his pocket and sweeps it over my eyes. “With a nearly a 47% increase in your concentering rate. That’s mighty rare.”

I shrug nonchalantly.  “Yea. It’s just one of my many tricks.”

McCoy smirks until he realizes how close he is to me. His hand has inched up from my neck and is cradling my cheek in his palm.  Clearing his throat, he gently guides my head down and releases me. Dr. McCoy returns to his PADD, tapping harshly. His faced is etched in frustration as he mumbles to himself. I sigh inwardly. I miss the teasing back and forth, the banter. I’d even settle for Mr. Grumpy Pants.  

I speak as light and airy as possible. “So, am I dying Doc?”

“No!” McCoy says, jerking upright. “Why would you go and say somethin’ like that?”

“Because you're looking at my readings like I have the plague.”

“Now that would be a magic trick, since it's been cured for over 600 years.” Sighing, McCoy places the PADD down. “I’m just not too keen on mysteries in my Medbay.”

McCoy explains my scans are in normal ranges, though a little odd. The headaches could be stress related but he’s concerned about the duration. Since I can't think of any triggers and I couldn’t have come into contact with any alien contagions, McCoy decides to take a few samples and run some more extensive test.  After getting a nurse up to speed, McCoy gives me some very pointed instruction.  “Tell me immediately if the headaches get worse. It doesn’t matter if you can still do your duties.”

“Sure thing, Dr. McCoy.” His name rolls easily off my tongue. However, McCoy’s pinched expression looks like his mama forgot to sweeten his lemonade. “Did I say something wrong?”  

He shakes his head ‘no’ but doesn’t offer any further explanation for his sour expression. I’m starting to think maybe that’s just his face.  

Shaking it off, “So, am I good to go?”

“Yes ma’am. No palpations, fever, or hives to speak of.” McCoy drawls.  

Smiling, “Great!  Thanks Doc. I'll try to keep it that way.” Hopping off the bio-bed, I look around the Medbay.  “Now where did my escort get to?”

“Jim,” McCoy says, hollering over his shoulder. “Don’t you have a ship to run?”

Jim says a few last words to an utterly bewitched nurse and walks away. He leisurely walks over, smiling to himself. “So, what I miss?”  

“I don’t know. Home trainin’?” McCoy says, dismissively. I snort softly into my hand and McCoy rewards me with a small smile. But Jim’s piercing gaze is squarely on McCoy, waiting for my results.

McCoy answers simply, all joking aside. “The commander is cleared for duty-”

“Glad to hear it!” Jim says. His jovial-self returning.

“And she knows where to find me if that changes.” McCoy gives me another pointed look for good measure.  

Inwardly I chuckle to myself but stand straight at attention. I give the doctor an emphatic though comical two-finger salute. I know we haven’t had an active military in centuries and technically McCoy and I have equal rank. But he understands me nonetheless. Or I should say we understand each other. If my condition changes and I don’t tell him, he will hunt me down and there will be hell to pay. McCoy nods curtly, satisfied with my answer. After a beat, his eyes soften and the corner of his mouth lifts just a touch. Relaxing again, I smile in return.  

Jim sees our mostly silent exchange and shakes his head. He looks like the cat that caught the canary and I’m not sure I like where this is headed. “You know I always thought you two would get along.” Jim may be right but that doesn’t mean he has to point it out. “You never let me have any fun.” Oh, how I wish that was true. “Both of you can drink me under the table.” True. Jim pauses for good measure. “And you both hate people.”

And there it is.  

Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose.  

“For Christ's sake-” McCoy growls.  

“I do not hate people!" We say in perfect unison.  

Slowly, McCoy and I look at each other with the same horrified expression. Brows in our hairlines, eyes bugging out and mouth agape.  We even mirrored each other’s tilted head. Neither of us know how to address what just happened, so we quickly act like it didn’t. McCoy becomes intensely interested in his PADD and I kick myself at falling for Jim’s bait so easily. His smirk is already insufferable but I do address his previous assertion.  

“After an 8-hour shift, who wants to be around people that can't hold a conversation, let alone a drink?” I ask rhetorically.  

“Couldn’t agree more darlin'.” McCoy says, clearly on my side.  

Trying to bite the inside of my cheek does little to disguise my smile. “Thank you.” I’m not sure what garners my appreciation more, his immediate understanding or being called darlin'. I haven't been called that particular term of endearment since I was a child. Oddly, I’m not averse to it. Especially coming from the doctor’s lips.  

“Wait,” Jim interjects, “are you finally admitting there are people you don’t like Commander?”

“Yes, and you are quickly becoming one of them Captain.”

This is quickly ramping up into a tit for tat situation and McCoy is having none of it. “Jim, can you let my patient get a hot meal before you start up again?”

Snickering, I mouth ‘Thank you’ and head for the door. As the doors slide open, I stop and look behind me. Jim is slowly walking with his back towards the door, whispering something to McCoy. I don’t know what he’s saying but McCoy crossed his arms in a huff. “Jim, you coming?” Jim turns smoothly on his heel, not missing a beat. The moment Jim’s back is to McCoy something peculiar happens. His arms drop and he … chuckles. His broad shoulders gently shake until he sighs to himself. For a moment he stares into space. The makings of a smile start to form-

“Danny, you coming?”

Jumping slightly, I turn towards Jim’s voice. He’s mere inches from my ear. After scowling in his general direction, I try to get one more glance at McCoy but he’s already gone. We walk in companionable silence toward my quarters but Jim is determined to spoil it. He keeps smirking like he has a secret every time he catches my eye. Its driving me nuts.  

Exhaling slowly, I mourn my sanity. “I know you have something to say. Spit it out.”

Jim shrugs nonchalantly but smiles nonetheless. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just that you owe me a bottle of whiskey.”

[pocketramblr]

University AU for Corysn?

Rysn hated buisness majors generally- which sucked, because she was one herself. But international economics was the worst, because that class was full of people wanting to be the next billionaire CEO of Sunmaker Inc.

There was only one student in there she could stand- The Lopen, and she wasn't even sure why he was there, what was his major even?

But the point is, The Lopen was ok. And the only real choice she had when it came to picking a partner for a project.

The Lopen happily agreed to work with her, though stipulated that such projects were best done over a table of food. Rysn hadn't bothered to push that much, because The Lopen lived with a veritable army of cousins and other roommates, and would probably get did distracted by Chiri-chiri if they met at her place. (And who wouldn't? Chiri-chiri was such a good girl, Rysn didn't trust anyone who didn't like her.)

So, they landed at Stew-pid Good Eating, which Rysn was pleasantly surprised to see was far more wheelchair accessable than the average restaurant.

She was less surprised- and less pleasantly so- to find that The Lopen was going to doggedly flirt with their waitress, a girl their age named Cord, the entire time.

"Let her be, she's working!" Rysn hissed when The Lopen added a wink of thanks after she brought them drink refills. She pointed to his laptop. "And you should be too!"

"I am!" The Lopen grinned, "and don't worry about Cord, her Dad owns the place and she has no problemo tossing out bothers. Sides, she knows I know she only goes the other way."

Rysn choked on her drink, and had to take a few deep breaths to right herself.

"Right. Not the point, the point is we need to finish this before you have your night shift and I have to go take a math test. So, stop thinking about your solidarity buddy and lend a- help on the project."

The Lopen grinned wider at Rysn narrowly avoiding a pun that would certainly end with his prosthetic arm tossed across the table. "Course, course, Boss. But, mind you, if you want me to help with anything else... Cord's looking for a tutor to help her in Alethi. She needs it for her International Affairs minor."

"What's her major?" Rysn asked, before realizing her mistake. She'd revealed how eager she was for information, given up her edge in the exchange between her and The Lopen.

"Public Service. You'd make quite the pair."

"The Buisness Woman and The Politician? Oh I'm sure that'd be exactly what she wants people scrutinizing her policy for." Rysn snorted.

"I'm just saying, you could tutor her. Our classmates would love the money making opportunity and would jump at it if you really didn't want it."

The Lopen really was a deceptively good buisnessman when he didn't get too excited. Rysn would have to hide how entertaining she would find his inevitable takeover of the class from her Vsitm.

"Alright, alright, deal. I'll ask her, but don't you dare sick those jerks on her if it doesn't work out."

"Even if she'd appreciate the chance to work on her arms as she throws them out of here?"

"Who are you trying to get thrown out?" Cord suddenly appeared, and Rysn looked at the tray she was carrying. No, she didn't think Cord need to work on her arms at all, actually, they were just- very nice. "And why should it not be you, Lopen?"

"Why, Miss Cord, I'd never! I'm fact, I'm rather helpful! I have just found you a bonafide Alethi expert to help tutor you- and she's fluent in Vedan, too."

Cord looked Rysn up and down as The Lopen guestured to her, then smiled widely.

"If he's being more honest than his usual boasts," She said in Vedan, "I would be interested in something. I can't pay much for tutoring, but I can cook."

Something Rysn certainly couldn't.

"That sounds like a good deal, I can leave you my number." She said, keeping her voice from giving away her excitement as she scribbled it down and handed it over. Hopefully, Cord's hands fumbling slightly on hers and the red on her cheeks to match her hair were a good sign as well.

"Thank you, Rysn, I'll call soon."

She walked away to continue taking the tray to whatever table had ordered it, and The Lopen grinned.

"That went well, then? Couldn't actually understand you, but I assume..."

"And you know what they say about assumptions." Rysn turned back to her laptop. "Ok, so graphs, we need three..."

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Lucifer/Reader commission for the very lovely, very creative @pyrokittyowo​, with just a couple hints of Yandere!Diavolo. I really do love writing for him, if only because he’s got all the time and resources in the world to make everyone’s life a living *hell*, and nothing better to do than put his heart into it. What else could you ask for in a man?

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: (Minor) Physical Violence, Manipulation, Abusive Relationships, and Dehumanization.

Diavolo couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy feeling superior.

It was an odd sensation. He was a demon, for all intents and purposes, but it was hard to feel like one, regardless of how often he tried to do so. It was the disorientation that came from being the strongest of your kind but still living so far below the next step, more powerful than those that surrounded you but unable to reach another level, one where he’d certainly be eclipsed by monsters who didn’t carry the same regard demons did for other living, breathing creatures. Diavolo didn’t think of himself as above the average creature, but the idea would arise in his subconscious from time to time, nagging and irritating and refusing to drown until it was acknowledged, even if dismissal always followed his admission. He was strong, and he was powerful and he was capable, but he never let it affect his ego, not when doing so would only push him further away from his subjects, as it had with his father and every ruler before him. Still, he knew the limits of his control, and he was keenly aware of all the many beasts and brutes went about their never-ending lives within those limits.

With this in mind, Diavolo’s annoyance upon seeing one of his most obedient pets start to walk along the edge of that boundary was understandable.

Diavolo had always prided himself on not having to keep Lucifer on a tight leash. The man was loyal to a fault, the reason behind his dedication long-since having become more of an excuse than a binding contract. Lucifer didn’t have to be given orders, anymore, there wasn’t a need for threats of discipline or the poorly veiled warnings that’d dominated the early stages of their relationship, not when he seemed to think of paperwork and politics as a hobby to be enjoyed rather than a responsibility to be dreaded. He was useful, hell, he was one of the few people Diavolo might call an equal, but this wasn’t the time to get sentimental. Not when Lucifer’s attention seemed to wander more and more with each passing day.

Even now, he seemed distracted, his eyes only ever occasionally meeting Diavolo’s. Instead, they darted around the ballroom anxiously, first to the flute of champagne in his hand, then to the tiled floor then a nearby staircase then anything, as long as he didn’t have to linger on it for more than a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be uncomfortable during Diavolo’s parties, his guests and all their many fangs and talons caused more than enough unease for the average visitor, but it was unheard of for Lucifer to fall into a similar discontent. His feathers were beginning to ruffle unconsciously, his secondary wings already curling towards his chest, and his posture was no better, too rigid to mean anything good. If it’d been anyone else, Diavolo might’ve shrugged it off and suffered through a one-sided conversation, but it was Lucifer, his confidante, his willing servant, his friend. If something was bothering him, Diavolo was sure he wanted to know.

So, he glanced in the general direction of Lucifer’s temporary focus, clicked his tongue, and frowned knowingly. “You’d tell me if Mammon got his hands on the key to my vault again, wouldn’t you?” He asked, flatly, aiming to keep his tone as serious as possible. “I’d hate to have to find another of my treasures ‘relocated’ to the House of Lamentation, especially after the fuss it caused.”

Lucifer jumped to alertness, shoulders squaring defensively and his gaze sharpening to a glare as he stuttered out something incomprehensible, stopping to compose himself before giving a coherent response. “We had a talk about that, last time,” Lucifer assured, his fingers flexing around his glass’ neck. “He won’t try anything, this time, I’ve made sure of it. As long as he values having the same number of limbs he had this morning, I mean.”

“And I’m sure your methods were effective, as always.” Diavolo gave Lucifer a minute to flush and fluster, but he pulled his companion out of his stupor with a hearty laugh, Diavolo nudging him gently with his elbow as Lucifer took to sulking. “But something is bothering you,” He confirmed, only pausing for a brief moment to allow Lucifer the courtesy of a nod. “Might as well tell me, Luci’. You know I’m not going to let it go until you do.”

Lucifer let out a long, labored sigh, but didn’t struggle before giving in. Silently, his concentration shifted, turning towards the ballroom’s center, where assorted couples were dancing and talking and doing whatever couples chose to do when music and drinks were in abundance. It took him a second or two to settle, his eyes eventually landing on you, already in the arms of one of Lucifer’s brothers, completely unaware of the agony you were causing him.

Diavolo couldn’t say he saw Lucifer’s reasoning. If he was a pet, you were a bug, something insignificant and defenseless in the grand scheme of things. With all the trouble you got yourself into, you should’ve been caught under someone’s heel and crushed months ago, but Diavolo was never one to refuse entertainment. And yet, if he was to trust the fury suddenly smeared across Lucifer’s expression, he would’ve thought you were the most unignorable pest across the three realms. “The exchange student?” He asked, absentmindedly. “You’re not going to tell me you let a human drive you into such a state, are you?”

“It’s an… unfortunate affliction.” As Lucifer’s eyes followed you, he only seemed to grow more agitated. He twitched when you smiled, flinched when you laughed, and when you pulled away from your partner, curtsying with an unsteady grace, Lucifer’s hold on his glass grew tighter, tighter, tighter, the flute eventually cracking and splintering, shards digging into Lucifer’s gloved hand and the translucent fluid beginning to leak out. If he noticed, though, he didn’t intend to show it, only gritting his teeth and giving an explanation. “It’s… It’s annoying, when she insists on lowering herself to their standards. I love my brothers, I do, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head and scoffing, as if he was still trying to dismiss whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind. “Am I supposed to watch this? It’s disgusting, it’s infuriating, it makes me want to do something unpleasant, My Lord.”

Although Diavolo doubted the sincerity of Lucifer’s declaration, he recognized that tone, that foolish, irrational anger. The awareness of power and the willingness to put it on display, the desire to use it on something smaller and weaker than himself. Diavolo felt his grin broaden, a solution to more than one of his problems arising. He could only chuckle, resting his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder as his open wounds began to drip and bleed.

“I know exactly how you feel, my friend.”

~

“He’s been acting strange, lately. I was just wondering if you’d noticed.”

You were no more impressive in person. When Diavolo approached you, your reactions had been so pitifully predictable, your demeanor vulnerable and unsuspecting, prey in every sense of the word. You’d been assigned to clean your homeroom after hours, a fortunate coincidence on Diavolo’s part, and he’d sent Lucifer off on some trivial, time-consuming task he wouldn’t be done with any time soon. When he finally addressed his concerns, you were all wide-eyes and parted lips, curling around the broom in your hands whenever he mentioned your companion’s name. But, if you considered Diavolo a threat, you were smart enough not to say it. A wise decision, really. He wanted this to go as smoothly as you did.

“No stranger than usual,” You said, tossing the wooden handle from hand to hand. You didn’t try to hide your anxiety. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. He’s never been normal, to me.”

Diavolo knew what you were talking about. He’d bandaged Lucifer’s hand the night before while being thoroughly educated on just how not normal the relationship between you and Lucifer happened to be. He simply pursed his lips, letting his gaze bore into you as he replied. “What do you mean? You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders dropping in some personal show of complacency. “I know how close you two are, but he scares me,” You admitted, your reluctance only momentary. “He loses control of himself, sometimes, I get it, but it’s not just when he’s in a rage. Ever since we made our pact, he’s been touching me more often, and saying these... these things. I can’t really explain it, but whenever he looks at me-” You stopped without warning, cutting yourself off. As if the only words you were capable of using were those you’d already convinced yourself not to speak aloud. “He’s controlling. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like he gets off on backing me into a corner and making me beg to be left alone.”

You looked towards him when you finished, searching for any traces of sympathy you could get, and Diavolo did his best to indulge you. He was still trying to figure out how he felt about your… dynamic, with Lucifer. He understood the temptation. Even now, alone and standing in front of a man you didn’t trust, you made no effort to protect yourself, exposed to any demonic being that wandered in and helpless, despite how adamantly you insisted you weren’t. With someone as stifling as Lucifer, such negligence must’ve been intolerable. But, he wasn’t Lucifer, and for now, you were more of a distraction than a pastime. Something that needed to be dealt with promptly and played with later on.

“I can take care of that. He goes through a rebellious phase, every now and then, but it’s nothing he can’t be snapped out of.” He smiled, delicately, putting on a grin not unlike the one he’d used with your counterpart.

“But, it’ll be much easier for both of us if you lend me a hand.”

~

Diavolo was the only one speaking.

The conversation was tense, at first, but existent. In the cramped walls of his office, both you and Lucifer had done your best to give suitable (albeit bland) responses whenever they were called for, more Lucifer than yourself. Your voice had been smothered by Lucifer’s gaze, intense and burning into you until you were rendered quiet, and his own words becoming less and less as more of his focus was dedicated to drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair and biting at his bottom lip and growing more impatient. You’d lied to him, to get here, promised that you were going back to the House of Lamentation and insisted that you’d never think of trying to run around behind his back, which was, evidently, untrue. You weren’t sure which he found more maddening, the violation of his control or your willingness to break out of it. You weren’t sure which he’d you punish you for more violently.

It didn’t matter, honestly.

You’d have scars for both, tomorrow morning.

So consumed by your own demise, you didn’t notice when Diavolo’s voice went quiet, too, leaving the room in a tense, frigid silence, as purposeful as it was terrible. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but it might as well’ve been years with the anxiety suddenly racking over your nerves. Luckily, Diavolo didn’t let it go on for very long, breaking the stillness with a crisp, defined knock to his desk, a familiar grin stretching across his lips. You rose, right on cue, suddenly more uncomfortable in your own skin than you’d ever been before. It didn’t feel any better to take your place on his side, separated from Lucifer by a mahogany desk and a small mountain of paperwork, but you were glad to be standing. It was part of a plan, and plans meant security. They meant you knew what was going to happen next.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised when that security was ripped away, as fast and as carelessly as any time before.

Diavolo was supposed to confront Lucifer about his treatment of a valued exchange student. He was supposed to be professional, and strict, and move you into an empty dorm in Purgatory Hall, just to show that he could distance you from Lucifer, if he deemed it necessary. Lucifer was supposed to pout and argue and agree, and that was supposed to be it, that’s all that was supposed to happen. Still, your shock was muted as a strong arm looped around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into Diavolo’s lap, holding you there when the reflex to push yourself away and struggle took over. You threw your elbow into his chest, taking hold of his bicep and attempting to drag yourself away, but your efforts were made in vain, Diavolo only laughing and bringing his free hand up, letting it come to rest on your shoulder. A nail, a talon, really, sharp and pointed and blood-thirsty, tapped twice against your jugular, and you froze, not wanting to find out how easy it would be for him to drive them through your flesh.

Lucifer’s reaction was instantaneous. His mouth opened, something hushed and vile slipping out, and he clambered out of his chair with a shameless desperation, but haulted as soon as he was on his feet. A mix of instinct and common sense fueled him, his anger, his self-restraint. The overwhelming desire to stop someone else from putting their hands on something he so obviously considered his, but the prevailing knowledge that trying to take you back by force would only lead to hands too broken to do so. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d been through this, with Diavolo. He certainly seemed experienced, when it came to holding himself back.

“Why?” He spat, the question blunt, but dripping with something venomous. He took a step forward, slowly, moving to edge around the obscuring desk. Diavolo didn’t stop him, his grin only turning towards a smirk as he watched Lucifer make his cautious approach. “I’m not going to let your hurt--”

“I won’t have to hurt her.” Your breath hitched in your lungs as the hand on your shoulder slipped downwards, trailing over the shape of your collarbone before trailing its way to your neck, rubbing an apologetic circle into the edge of your jaw before taking your throat in a vice-grip, not choking but ready to. You were suddenly made aware of just how small you were, compared to both men, Diavolo’s palm pressing against the length of your throat and his fingers struggling to fit without forcing your head back. You didn’t doubt a thoughtless movement or jerk too sudden would be enough to crush anything vital. “I don’t want to hurt her, but you’re not giving me a choice.” He paused, pouting, tilting his head to the side and drawing attention to just how badly you’d started to shake. “It’d be a shame if I had to do something drastic to some poor human because of your actions.”

Lucifer locked his jaw into place, his fists clenching at his sides. “I haven’t taken action, yet. If I’ve done something to offend you, I apologize, but my feelings for (Y/n) aren’t…” He bit his own tongue, running a hand through his hair, searching for a distraction that refused to make itself apparent. “She doesn’t have anything to do with us. You understand that, don’t you? (Y/n)  doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.”

“I’d like to believe you.” He let out a ragged exhale, as if the thought had been weighing on him. He wasn’t the one with claws pressed against his skin, though, a thin, red line slowly forming along the side of your neck as Diavolo dragged his thumb lazily over your skin, leaving a muted, stinging pain in its wake. “I worry about you, sometimes, Lucifer. You’re so helpful, and I’d hate to lose you to some uncontrolled obsession. But, I fear you’d come to resent me if I deprived you of your vices completely.” Another squeeze, this one testing, teasing. As if you and him were in on a joke, some parody of a bastardized friendly scheme. “That’s why (Y/n) is going to fall under my protection, from now on. When I’m confident in your loyalty, you can carry on with your little courting ritual. I’ll even give you two a room in my estate, somewhere more private. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Privacy?”

Lucifer only glowered. “And if I don’t agree?”

At this, Diavolo chuckled. He chuckled, then he laughed, then he took you by the throat, lifting you off his lap and letting you sputter and cough and suffocate as he held you in place, ignoring your attempts to loosen his grip. Lucifer moved to lunge forward, to tear you away and take solace in whatever survived, but Diavolo just shook his head, something in your neck cracking as he clenched down. “I don’t take kindly to defiance. You should know that better than anyone, and you should know how little I care for being challenged. Either you get down on your knees and bow, or-” He dropped you, abruptly, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you’d gotten a decent breath in, fingers were entangled in your hair, jerking you upward and forcing a meek, pathetic whimper through your lips. You couldn’t tell whether Lucifer was concerned for your wellbeing, or jealous that he hadn’t been the one to elicit such a pitiful sound. “Or, I break your favorite toy and no one gets to play. It’d be a shame to give something so disobedient an easy way out, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, if it means you step into line.”

He released you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look, to move, to do anything but catch your breath and hide, your face soon buried in his coat. You heard rustling, the thud of something solid hitting the wooden floor, but those noises were distant, drowned out by something dark and dominant, as overpowering as it was oppressing.

You wondered if you’d ever be able to hear something other than Diavolo’s laughter again.

[kaxenart]

Hi! Me again with silly questions about Handsome Hussars! 😂

Anyway, you mentioned that healing magic doesn’t exist in this universe to avoid cop out deaths. Then, what magic does exist?

What is the magic system at play? Are there types of magic? Who is capable of doing magic? How is it use? Is there training for magicians?

Magical power is something only some people are born with, but it is poorly understood what sets it off.

There have been a handful of theories and attempts to increase magical prowess, but children who are precociously good at magic can be extremely dangerous. A kid who is able to cause fires without kindling having a tantrum goes about as well as you can imagine... Needing to recite spells is a safeguard in some ways.

The average magically gifted person with no training can move small objects with their mind. Occasionally someone good at sleight of hand gives a false positive for magical powers.

The leading theory on how magic works is that something about wizards allows them to affect phlogiston and the general vapor of the universe.

Most wizards during the Ancien Régime were from the upper end of the social ladder due to needing access to study materials, expensive magical crystals, and most training is done with small groups of apprentices rather than large schools. Training the lower classes was uncommon.

During and after the Revolution, training is at least slightly more democratized with larger training groups and more books being printed. Partly because revolutionary ideals, and partly out of necessity to improve numbers in the army. There is sometimes petty bullshit going on between wizards who trained up during the Revolution and wizards who trained up under the Ancien Régime.

Magic is often used for fighting because it is less exhausting if spells don't persist for a long time and it doesn't matter if the magic fire lasts only 1 minute if you've burnt a guy to a crisp in that time.

While wizards can create water, it is typically not a good idea to depend on a wizard to be the source of potable water for troops because unless the wizard is focused on making sure the water stays water from the time the soldiers drink it to the time they piss it out, you will end up with soldiers with stomachs full of air.

There is no strict elemental system where wizards can only learn one, but wizard artillery have a tendency to prefer one or two types of spells for the sake of focusing on a stronger spell together and to avoid stuff like one guy casting fire and one guy casting water and cancelling each other out.

Civilian wizards tend to be a bit more varied. Some go into entertainment since it's much less dangerous to be involved in stagecraft or to perform spells. Wizard firemen are expensive, but they are very effective. There is interest in using magic for industrial purposes to power machinery (it's not glamorous, but it is certainly useful) and research into getting spells to persist longer, but this is not quite so developed yet at the present day of the story.

Any magic that messes with biology is considered too hard and too risky, in addition to the persistence issues. So healing magic, necromancy, gluing animals together to make a horrible chimera, mind-reading, etc, are off the table.

You do not want a guy who believes in phrenology to shift around your brain matter.