#error! error! (got stumped)

[sentient-rift]

(To the Anon who sent a certain question to Torque: I couldn't display the question since I didn't know if I could consider it "Family Friendly." I will, however, show you Torque reaction to it.)

*Screaming internally.*

"Yeah, you're under arrest for disturbance of the peace..."

[kazekagevi]

Bonds Beyond Words: If Eywa Wills It

PART ONE PART TWO

Pairing: Aged-Up!Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 3.1k 

Tags: dark themes, indirect mention of r*pe, suicide attempt, eventual NSFW, aged-up! Neteyam, reader has PTSD, Neteyam dislikes humans (except for you), eventual jealous/possessive Neteyam, future Olo'eyktan! Neteyam, interspecies slow burn, angst, fluff, probably OOC, POV’s all over the place, forgive the inconsistencies. 

Summary: You, a competent researcher and writer, awoke from cryosleep a year ago, only to be imprisoned by the RDA—they intended to force you and many other women into a selective breeding program to kickstart human repopulation. However, you, the other prisoners, and allied wardens formed an escape plan; it was carried out, but you are the lone survivor. 

A/N and Disclaimer: This is my first x reader fic! This is also my first fic on Tumblr in years! I've been reading a lot of ATWOW fics and thought I would write my own. I am also challenging myself to write in present tense (I'm a past tense girly), so please forgive any grammatical errors. Hope you enjoy <3

This story contains explicit content and is only appropriate for audiences 18+. MDNI. Please do not repost my work. 

The tracking device beneath your skin feels like a ticking time bomb—although you’re certain it doesn’t have the power to detonate, should the RDA find your location before the prison sector’s power unit comes back online, it could still bring mass destruction to this region of the extrasolar moon. As if the RDA hasn't done enough of that already. 

As you walk barefoot through the unfamiliar forest of Pandora, you wonder if this is heaven. Surely, you must have died along the way—you survived the initial jailbreak, then the evasion at dawn, and managed to remain mostly unscathed from the chopper accident. On Earth, you’d feel compelled to buy a lottery ticket. The thought alone makes you chuckle, and your mask fogs in response. Your laughs, albeit quiet, turn maniacal. Maybe you hit your head hastily fleeing the first bunker, or got thwacked by metal shrapnel in the crash. 

If you live, the escape will count as a partial success. Living would make you a hero; but as darkness falls on this foreign planet, you silently wish you had become a martyr like the others instead. 

You’re completely defenseless. You have nothing more than your respirator mask that won’t stop fogging due to your panicked breaths, and the clothes on your back. You adorn an oversized jacket that you stole from the valiantly deceased helo pilot, and your prison uniform—it’s nothing more than a flimsy, green hospital gown. 

You should know more about this place. You were chosen among an elite class of writers to research alien life on Pandora. You loved traveling and writing about new cultures—studying language, customs, and history. It was your pride and joy, your life’s work. Yet, the nightmare started the day you woke from cryosleep and you were forced into a tiny cell with three other women. In your year of imprisonment, two of them had already been selected into the breeding program, while you and the other, Claudia, were awaiting that same fate. 

You almost slip on a patch of sludge and break your fall by grabbing a tree stump. 

You do know, however, that this hostile environment will kill you if you don’t find the tribe you’re searching for. Certainly, your luck will run out soon. 

So, you stop laughing, blink away the tears in your eyes, and regain your focus. You’d slap your own cheeks if you could, but your mask renders the act impossible. You have to survive, or else the girls’ and allied wardens’ deaths will be meaningless. 

As you continue on your path, the mud starts to dampen, coating the soles of your feet. You presume this is from a recent rainstorm, or perhaps you’re nearing a water source. You swallow hard—inevitably, you’re thirsty. But if breathing Pandora’s air will kill you, the water will likely do the same.

As you carefully wade through the soppy terrain, you repeat the same phrases under your breath like a prayer or mantra. Even if you suffered amnesia and lost all your memories like a slate wiped clean, you could suffice to lose it all, except a few words which you memorized in Na’vi. 

Using these phrases would determine if you lived or died, assuming you weren’t slain with an arrow on sight: after introducing yourself in the language, you must tell them you seek asylum with the Omatikaya clan at High Camp and Max knows you’re coming. Lastly, you needed to say there is a tracking device under my skin, please cut it out. 

You recite these phrases again, except this time you mess up the grammatical structure on the last part. You winge, correct yourself, and continue on your course.

The planet begins to dim as time passes. As you avoid tripping over tree roots and crushing delicate flowers, you notice Pandora’s subtle glow. The bioluminescent spots that dot the terrain look like freckles on skin. It’s the first time you’re seeing the real thing up close, instead of in a tiny photograph. You’re as enamored as you are terrified. 

Your feet hurt and your shins ache when night fully settles. You’ve been traveling by foot for hours. Imprisonment and preparation for forced motherhood meant there was little opportunity for exercise in the compound. Your body isn’t used to lifting heavy things or globetrotting long distances. 

As you use the last of your energy reserves to think—to consider stopping in a safe area for a break—a tremendous force stops you first. 

This is it, you think. You know you're going to die. 

The force is a Na’vi, whom you cannot see. From their position behind you, an arm wraps around your abdomen, lifting your smaller body off the ground like a doll. The Na’vi lodges their elbow into your stomach, knocking the wind out of you, all so they can wrap their large blue hand around your small, human neck. Despite the panic, you notice how controlled the Na’vi’s grip is—just enough to hold you still without choking you. It feels like a strange paralysis. Your oxygen mask fogs as you pant in distress. 

“Why I should not kill you?” The Na’vi asks in broken English. The timbre of the voice leads you to believe this one is male. 

Say the thing! your mind reels. You resist the urge to flail your limbs. The slightest movements make the Na’vi tighten his grip—at this very moment, you notice his other hand holds a dagger to your throat. The space between your skin and the blade is miniscule, as is your proximity to certain death. 

So you do it, you say the thing. Except, it comes out all wrong:

“My… My name is Asylum at High Camp,” you stammer in Pandora’s native language. 

The Na’vi makes a sound of confusion. You won’t know until later, but Neteyam thinks your pronunciation is mechanical, unpleasant, and downright horrible. 

Your chest heaves wildly and your heart thrums in your chest like a drum. The realization hits like a truck. “Wait… No, that’s not right,” you say in English. Your jagged breaths aren’t allowing oxygen to circulate in the mask properly—the same goes for your brain. 

The Na’vi growls against your ear. You’re running out of time. You gather the last of your composure. 

You tell him your name, properly this time, then continue with your monologue. “I-I seek asylum at High Camp, Max knows I’m coming,” you sputter like a dying engine. 

The Na’vi makes another sound of confusion, yet still seems dissatisfied. He gently presses the tip of the knife to your throat. 

“No! Please!” you beg. Your hands instinctively wrap around his glowing-freckled forearm, but you don’t tug. 

The Na’vi freezes. You can’t see it, but something is happening. 

Neteyam’s hairless brows furrow when a woodsprite lands on the edge of the blade he inherited from his maternal grandfather. The woodsprite lingers there, teetering on the edge. Then, it slots itself into the small space between your skin and his knife. You can’t help but cringe at the slight tickle of its tendrils against your collarbone. 

“Eywa,” Neteyam whispers to himself. His voice is so quiet that you cannot hear. 

The woodsprite travels over your clavicle and settles against the skin just below it. The woodsprite glows with vibrance. The light winks at Neteyam. He knows it's a sign. The tip of his knife drags gently against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. The woodsprite flutters away once his knife is over the spot where the tracker sits beneath the surface. His lips part—the area feels hard when he knows it shouldn’t be. 

Your eyes widen. You remember your lines, like an amateur actor taking the stage for the first time. 

“There’s a tracker!” you shout in English. Your shrill voice catches even Neteyam—the future Olo'eyktan—off guard. 

“A tracker?” Neteyam retorts, his voice laced with aggression and uncertainty. He doesn’t recognize that word, but your tone implies grave danger. 

You nod. “There is a tracking device under my skin,” you say in the Na’vi’s native tongue. “Please, cut it out!”

Fright flashes upon Neteyam’s face. Mentally, he’s reeling—were you sent here as bait from the sky demons? Is he falling into another one of their traps? Images of the tracker the Sky People lodged into the tulkun’s fin on the reefs of Awa'atlu flood his mind. His heart feels heavy when he thinks of Ro'a and her cub. 

Physically, however, Neteyam does as he’s told. He would never willingly take orders from Sky People, but he knows in this instance, it’s the only way to protect himself, his family, and his clan. He must abide by these orders for the greater good. 

Neteyam moves swiftly as he pins you against the nearest tree. He holds you there by your neck. Your eyes meet for a brief moment, then he zeros in on the neckline of your hospital gown. He uses his thumb to feel for the tracking device, raises his knife, and cuts. 

Pupils blown wide, you study his face in the moment of reprieve before he slashes at your skin. His eyes are bright yellow, like tiny suns or egg yolks. His lips are full, and as he grimaces, he reveals a shiny set of white teeth. His ears point backwards: he’s agitated. His tail swishes from side to side. He wears his hair in braids. Around his neck, he adorns an ornamental choker necklace. 

You howl through your teeth. Your jaw is clenched. The pain is unbearable, but at the same time, it’s the best kind you’ve ever felt. Even if this Na’vi should kill you right after, at least in your last moments, you’ll feel free. 

Blood pools around his knife as he cuts through the first layer of skin. He tries to ignore your cries as he presses his long fingertips into the open wound. He pulls when he feels a small piece of plastic; with a bit of effort, he dislodges it from your body. 

You sigh in relief when the Na’vi removes it, but the pain lingers—it worsens when you press your fingertips against the wound to stop the bleeding. Your eyelids are heavy. You feel lightheaded. 

The Na’vi removes his grip from your neck, only so he can destroy the tracker. Neteyam notes that trackers he’s encountered in the past tend to beep, light up, or some combination of both—this one has neither of those attributes. The uncomfortable knots in Neteyam’s stomach begin to untie, but he cannot give up his resolve. His work is unfinished. 

He presses the tracker against the tree bark, grunts, and he hacks away with his weapon.

Even as you’re bleeding—potentially to death—you continue to study the Na’vi’s physique and stature. This one in particular is muscular and athletic, and presumably taller than average. The way his muscles move under his blue skin is enchanting, and the way his freckles glow, you might as well be looking up at the night sky. You’re certain this will be your last chance to witness life on Pandora, or life at all—might as well bask in it. 

The tracker is chopped and diced into small pieces, like how you used to cut vegetables back on Earth. The Na’vi looks pleased with his work. Then, his hairless brows furrow again, he spits into his hand, and throws the pieces as far as he can into the Pandoran wilderness. He hisses. You think it’s some kind of power move, but you’re not quite sure, and you definitely don’t have the gall to ask. 

Neteyam stands still for a moment, bloodied hands on his hips. He has yet to face the elephant in the room—or in this circumstance, the tawtute against the tree. 

That blood is only yours. Your eyes roll into the back of your head; you see stars upon realizing just how much you’ve lost. 

---

You wake to the sounds of beeps and whirrs.

All is quiet. You’re in a small room with white walls. The lights are dimmed. Your breaths are slow and relaxed—but as the cogs start to turn, you begin to question if you’re safe or not. 

Pain shoots through your shoulder like a strike of lightning as you sit up in the cot you’ve been sleeping in. You wince loudly, and the noise echoes. 

Your mind briefly recalls the events of the last twenty-four hours, leading up to the encounter with the Na’vi. Evidently, it wasn’t a dream or figment of your highly active imagination. 

Your clavicle has been wrapped in a thick bandage. When you pull back the thin blanket that covers the rest of you, you realize the dirt and grime that covered your feet and legs has been washed away. 

You sigh in relief. You think you’re safe, until you discover that your old hospital gown has been replaced with a brand new albeit identical one—one with the Resource Development Administration’s logo on the tag. 

Your heart feels heavy. 

The escape was unsuccessful. The mission failed.

It makes sense now, as your vision swims through the confined space. This must be it—this must be where they took Seraphina, and Leah, and Clover. This must be where the girls who get picked go. Where they are prepared. Where they are taken. 

You sit there for a few moments, then begin to hyperventilate. The Na’vi male must have left you there to die, and the RDA must have tracked you down anyway. Given that they lost all of their prisoners in the jailbreak, it made sense. They would do anything to get you back. 

You shatter like glass.

Tears prick your bloodshot eyes like thorns. You pluck each wire from your arm like guitar strings, separating yourself from any machines. They continue to beep, but at a different pace, like a sounding alarm. 

You search the room for an escape. You spot a pitcher and sponge on the counter adjacent to the bed. 

In the laboratory across from the infirmary room, Max looks up from his microscope when he hears a loud crash. He jumps up from his swivel chair and dashes across the hall, opening the infirmary door. 

Max has no choice but to undertake—you have a large shard of glass in your hand, and you use all the force in your tired body to resist. He grimaces as you continue to aim for a critical slice on your opposite wrist. His words fail to soothe. 

“Norm!” the unfamiliar man calls. “We’ve got a cutter!” 

Footsteps thump down the hall, then another man enters. “Holy shit,” he says. “What the hell is going on?!”

“I don’t know!” Max shouts back. 

Norm, in his human form, hops over the pile of broken glass, and crouches to meet your bleary, downcast eyes. “Hey… Hey! Stop! You’re safe here!”

You can’t stop the tears from coming. You shake your head and continue to thrash in Max’s arms. “To hell with you RDA fucks!” you spit at him. 

Norm’s eyes fall shut when a glob of saliva hits his left cheek. He counts to three before responding. “We’re not with them!” He grabs your wrists. “Calm down! You’re at High Camp!”

You freeze. You choke on a loud sob. “What?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m Norm,” the one crouching before you says. “That guy, behind you, he’s Max. We’re scientists allied with the Na’vi. This is the stronghold. You’re in our laboratory.” 

You sniffle. The room goes silent. “But this gown?” you croak, showing him the logo.

Norm sighs. “We loot supplies from RDA… That’s all.” 

“Take a deep breath,” says Max. You do as you're told, and your muscles relax. Max docks the glass shard from your hand and eases his grip. Norm nods in approval. “One more,” Max adds. Inhale. Exhale. “You’re alright now.” 

Inevitably, you start crying again. But this time, your tears are joyous. The tension breaks like ice—it’s melting. You’re awash in relief you thought would never come. It’s euphoric. It’s blissful. You’re free. 

A year of suffering and imprisonment is released in your loud sobs. Max catches you before you can fall to your knees on the remnants of the broken pitcher. Neither of them know what to say, so they say nothing. 

Norm, the one on the floor, wipes his cheek with the collar of his shirt. Then he reaches into one of the infirmary cabinets, procuring a dust pan and small sweeper. He does his best to clean the porcelain shards quickly and quietly. “Get her an Ativan,” he mumbles to Max on his way to the disposal bin. Max swallows his nerves. 

---

You’re moved into another room in the facility after your incident in the infirmary. When you come to, you feel slightly embarrassed. You didn’t even check to see if the door of that room was unlocked, which it was. 

“I’m sorry about your pitcher,” you tell Max as he returns from the linen closet with the blankets you asked for. 

Max chuckles. He wants to say he’s more than sorry about all that’s happened to you. He was aiding and abetting the lead warden—the one who came up with the masterplan. “Don’t worry about it. That pitcher meant nothing to me,” he assures. 

You crack a crooked, uneasy smile. The Ativan is starting to take its effect. Max smiles back.

You feel grateful. The scientists here have been nothing but kind and patient. 

You can’t help but also feel grateful to the Na’vi male who presumably saved your life. You don’t know where he is, how to find him, or if you’ll see him again, but you feel indebted. You want to ask Max how you can show your gratitude, but that will have to wait. 

“Thank you,” you say. “For everything.” 

Max nods with a crestfallen smile. “If you need anything else, I’ll be around in the lab all day. Norm will be spending some time as his Avatar, so he won’t be around until later,” he says. “You were out for two entire days, I’m sure you’re hungry. Feel free to have anything in the walk-in or pantry. We don’t always have meals together as a crew, but tonight we’ll have dinner together,” Max explains. 

You’re left alone once Max is sure you’re settled and calm, and won’t break the vase on the coffee table that he does care about. 

---

A/N: Feel free to leave any and all feedback on this chapter! Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciate. In part two, Norm and Max will discuss your arrival with our king, Jake Sully. <3

NEXT CHAPTER: PART TWO

[highladyandromeda]

The Stolen Pen

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel inadvertently steals a pen from Y/n, his crush. His covert operations to rectify the situation spirals into a comedy of errors…will Azriel be able to return the pen and admit his feelings, or will he forever be labeled as a thief? 

Warnings: None, just fluff with stupid decisions, a sprinkle of jealousy, silly mistakes, and perhaps too many details about pens. 

A/N: So I was supposed to be writing my other fic, but I was a bit stumped on where to take that…So I started this with the intention of it being a cute, short, one-shot or blurb…but here we are…7k words later….this is a fluffy mess. 

“Ohhh there come the lover boy”, Cassian whisper-yells, as Azriel silently slides into the chair next to Nesta in their shared criminal justice elective. His attempt at stealth, however, is foiled by that not-so-subtle announcement. With a scowl aimed at Cassian, Azriel attempts to shrink further into his chair, hoping that their professor remains engrossed in her lecture and oblivious to his tardiness.

“Shhhhhh” Nesta whispered, smacking the back of Cass’s head, giving Azriel some support before she smirked, “He’s not lover boy yet. Have you even been able to say something beyond hello and goodbye?

The question hits Azriel with the force of a freight train, his cheeks burning with a flush that he prays is hidden by the shadow of his hoodie. He's saved from having to voice his defeat by the TA, who chooses that moment to distribute study guides for their impending exam. Grateful for the distraction, Azriel takes out his pen, only to catch the curious—and amused—gazes of Nesta and Cassian directed not at him, but at his hand.

Always self-conscious about his scars, he hunches further into his hoodie, but as he follows their stares back to his paper, Azriel's heart sinks. In his hand lies a distinctly feminine, pink pen adorned with a star or flower emblem at its tip, an object so glaringly out of place in his grip that it screams for attention. The realization hits him like a wave, leaving him momentarily speechless. Oh. Oh. 

“Please tell me that's whose I think it is," Nesta teases, barely containing her laughter as she observes Azriel's stunned silence.

At Azriel’s complete silence, Nesta waved a hand in front of his face, glancing at Cassian and mouthing did he stop functioning? To which she got a shoulder shrug in response.

Her attempts to elicit a response from him were futile; Azriel was lost in a haze of embarrassment, fixated on the damning piece of evidence in his hand. Nesta's playful pokes did nothing to snap him out of his daze, and in a moment of sheer mortification, Azriel let his forehead meet the desk with a thud loud enough to turn heads. If he thought he was invisible before, he's anything but now.

Azriel was mortified.

He was utterly and completely mortified. Azriel felt like he was living in a nightmare, one where embarrassment was the main theme, and there was no waking up. He wished for anything—a magic trapdoor beneath his feet, or maybe a sudden, convenient superpower to teleport himself out of this situation. But no, the reality was far less accommodating, especially since he was holding onto something that wasn't his. A pen. Not just any pen, but one that belonged to you, given in a moment of desperation.

Azriel let out a groan, which Cassian tried to cover with a cough that was more like a shout, and Nesta with the dramatic slam of her books. Their attempts were valiant but futile against the tidal wave of Azriel's mortification.

He thought back to earlier in the day, in the calculus class he shared with you, the one in which he always sat in the back corner and one day you came in late, and sat next to him. Somehow, since then, you kept coming back to that spot, and though he replied each time to your good mornings and goodbyes, he wanted to speak up. Maybe ask if you were new because he would've noticed you in the previous math classes. Or maybe inquire if you had transferred, under the guise of offering a tour of the campus. Yet, whenever he caught sight of your ebony hair and the spark in your eyes, words fled from him, leaving silence in their wake.

Just like today, where for once he was there after you…he had made it a bit of a habit to be early to that one class, mainly because it was a class that was important to his major. Of course, he couldn’t finish his computer science degree if he failed multivariable calculus, and the…added benefit of watching you walk into the building from the windows and then up the stairs, always giving him a smile before sitting down, was just that…a benefit. 

But yes, today he slept through his alarm, got trapped in a conversation with his elderly neighbor, the one he didn’t know how to escape without Cass or Rhys, was almost run over twice on his motorcycle, and arrived as a verifiable mess to class. After jumping into his seat, he patted himself down so rigorously and nearly up-ended his entire bag trying to find a pen, needing to copy down the partial derivatives he knew the professor would showcase on their next exam. 

His frantic search for a writing instrument ended when you noticed his plight and offered yours with a simple, "Do you need a pen?" Frozen, Azriel could only nod, accepting the lifeline you offered but cursing his inability to say anything more–Oh, caldron boil and fry me…

“You stole her pen?” 

“I–I didn’t steal her pen, Nesta”

“You stole her pen.”

“Her mount blank pen”, added Cassian, smiling cheekily behind his phone.

“Whose what–Cass, don’t smile at me with fries sticking out of your mouth.” Feyre joins them in their usual diner, sliding into the booth next to Az. 

“He stole his crush’s pen,” Cass continues, swallowing his food this time, after Nesta pinched his thigh.

“I didn’t steal her pen!”

“You stole someone’s pen?” Rhys joins, sliding next to Feyre and setting down a tray of milkshakes. 

Azriel's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, if that was even possible, under the relentless teasing of his friends. "I didn't steal it. She lent it to me," he mumbled, his voice barely rising over the din of the diner.

"Ah, but you've yet to return it," Rhys pointed out, a mischievous glint in his eye as he took a sip of his milkshake. "Sounds like a classic case of pen-napping to me."

"It's not like that," Azriel protested, but the laughter from his friends suggested they weren't buying his defense. He glanced down at the pen in question, its sleek design and the way it perfectly balanced in his hand making it all the more precious now that it was a symbol of his hapless affection.

Feyre, having quietly observed the exchange with a gentle smile, finally chimed in. "Maybe it's fate, Azriel. That pen could be your excuse to finally talk to her."

Azriel's heart skipped a beat at the thought. Talk to you. Use words this time instead of just nodding like a lovestruck fool. It sounded so simple when Feyre said it, but the mere idea sent his pulse racing.

His thoughts were interrupted by Feyre's voice again, pulling him back to the present. "Wait, Az, can I see it?" Her curiosity piqued, she leaned sideways, her gaze fixed on the pen he held so carefully.

With a hesitant motion, Azriel passed the pen to her, but before she could comment, Rhys's whistle sliced through the din of the diner.

"I take that back, this is definitely a case of pen thieving," he declared, an unusual seriousness lacing his tone that drew the eyes of the entire table.

Rhys sighed, muttering under his breath about uncultured friends, a comment cut short by Nesta's sharp look. "Azriel, that’s a Mont Blanc Pen."

"That’s what I said! A mount blank pen!" Cassian echoed, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and amusement.

Sitting up straight, a sense of urgency overtaking him, Azriel looked from one friend to another, their faces a blend of jest and genuine surprise. Rhys continued, "What that means is it’s quite an expensive pen, Az...I’m sure whoever you borrowed it from will want it back."

The words hit Azriel like a cold wave, his anxiety spiking anew. The fear that you might see him as a thief, as someone who took advantage of a moment of kindness, gnawed at him. 

Azriel's mind went back to this morning, the moment of leaving the classroom flashed vividly before his eyes—your parting words, something about the pen, but all he had managed in response was a series of nods, mesmerized by your smile. The possibility that you might have asked for it back, only for him to unwittingly refuse, twisted in his gut. Did your smile mask pity, or was it simply to avoid the brief intimacy of touch?

"Oh, cauldron, I am a thief. I did steal her pen," he muttered, the realization settling in with a weight that was hard to bear. The joke had turned into a confession, the humor of the situation evaporating as the reality of his inadvertent theft dawned on him. He had to make it right, to return the pen and clear the air, hoping beyond hope that you wouldn’t think less of him for this misunderstanding.

“Oh Az, I’m sure it’s not that bad” Feyre hands it back to him, trying to provide words of comfort. “It’ll be fine as long as you see her again.” 

This must have been the sixth stare Azriel received, as he shuffled in front of the large windows in the building’s hallway. He supposed he cut quite a figure, dressed entirely in black, complete with a mask and his hoodie covering his entire head. But he was here on a mission, no matter the next group of students he saw from the corner of his eye, whispering and pointing at him. He needed to keep watch and see when you would be walking up to the building. He could only think about your pen for the past 2 days, cursing whatever entity who’d assigned this calculus class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He needed to give it to you today because he wasn’t sure if he could handle the anxiety all weekend. 

At first, he just wanted to leave it on your regular seat and skip class today. Maybe leaving behind a cute note with the pen, asking to treat you to coffee in return for his unintentional theft. But, then he spiraled, what if you no longer went to the seat next to him, thinking of him as some ungrateful and lying douchebag. He couldn’t just leave it there for someone else to pick up, especially after Rhys mentioned its exclusivity. He didn’t want to accidentally lose your pen and ruin all chances of ever getting to talk to you. 

But as the minutes ticked by, the usual stream of students thinned…and the bell that marked the start of class echoed hollowly in the emptying hallway. You didn't appear. Confusion, then concern, wound its way through Azriel's thoughts. You didn’t appear. Confusion, then concern wound its way through Azriel’s thoughts. Had something happened? Or had you simply decided to skip class? The latter was a possibility that he simply hadn’t considered, having seen you in every class since the start of the semester last month. 

With a heavy heart, Azriel made his way to class, the pen still in his possession. The seat next to him, your seat, remained empty, a silent testament to the day's ruined intentions. As the lecture on derivatives and integrals droned on, Azriel couldn't help but feel the gap next to him acutely, an empty space filled with missed connections and unspoken words.

The clatter and chatter of the diner wrapped around Azriel like a familiar blanket as he sank further into the booth, an attempt to escape the scrutiny he knew was coming. The weekly Saturday breakfast with Rhys and Cassian was usually a highlight, a chance to decompress and share laughs over greasy food. Today, however, Azriel felt the weight of his unresolved dilemma like a lead apron around his chest.

Rhys slid into the booth, arching an eyebrow as he took in Azriel's disheveled appearance. "Looks like someone hasn't slept in days," he commented, his voice laced with concern and a hint of amusement.

Azriel could only groan in response, the word "sleep" feeling foreign and elusive. Cassian's next words did nothing to improve his mood. "He's still a thief," he joked, nudging Azriel with his elbow.

Rhys's surprise was evident. "You still haven't returned the pen?" He shook his head, disbelief and curiosity mingling in his expression.

Cassian leaned back, sipping his coffee. "He hasn’t been able to find her. She skipped class."

The conversation paused as a waiter delivered their usual array of milkshakes and waffles, a temporary distraction from the topic at hand. Rhys, ever the problem solver, wasted no time in offering a solution. "I can see if I can pull some strings, and find her contact information. Or at least her email."

Silence descended upon the table, thick and heavy. Both Cassian and Rhys turned to Azriel, expecting confirmation or at least a nod of approval. Instead, they were met with a profound silence that spoke volumes. The shock on their faces was almost comical.

Rhys was the first to break the silence, disbelief coloring his tone. "Don’t tell me…"

Cassian's eyes widened. "You don’t know her name??"

"Not even her first name???" Rhys added, his voice an octave higher in astonishment.

Azriel felt a flush creep up his neck, coloring his cheeks a deep shade of red. The truth of the matter, laid bare amidst the remnants of breakfast, felt absurd even to him. He had spent the week agonizing over a pen, over missed opportunities and unspoken words, without ever knowing your name.

“But you said she’s in your compsci class?” Rhys continued

Azriel shook his head, “No, we're in multivariable calculus together. But she’s definitely new.” 

At Cassian and Rhys's blank stares, Azriel elaborated, “It’s one the hardest math classes, I would have noticed her in the previous levels.”

“Wait Az, pull out the pen again.” Rhys reached his hand over. 

His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, flicking between Azriel and the pen before he floated an invitation his way. "Why don't you take and break and join Feyre and me tonight? We're catching up with my childhood friend—the one who introduced me to Feyre. Actually, Cass, join us and bring Nesta along. We’re meeting at Rita’s as usual so Mor will be there too. 

Azriel, however, wasn't so sure. "I don’t know…" he mumbled, lost in his whirlwind of thoughts, missing the significant glances Rhys shot towards Cassian.

As if on cue, Cassian's boisterous encouragement broke through his reverie. "Oh, come on, Az. It's not like the pen's going to grow legs and run off!"

 And with Rhys adding, "Give us some company, won't you, Azriel? My dear friend will feel left out among the couples." 

With a mix of encouragement and playful ribbing, Azriel found himself agreeing if only to escape the orbit of his own overthinking for a while.

Thus, Azriel found himself stepping into Rita's coffee shop, transformed at night into a cozy jazz club, clad in his finest casual attire. Gone was the hoodie, replaced by a crisp black shirt, his best jeans, and the leather jacket that felt like a second skin. The pen, its significance magnified beyond reason, was securely tucked inside his jacket, close to his heart.

Entering the cafe with Nesta and Cassian, who both looked effortlessly chic, Azriel couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement beneath his apprehension. Rita’s transformed at night from a quaint coffee shop into a vibrant jazz club, complete with dance floors and hidden alcoves, a favorite haunt for their group.

Curiosity about this mysterious friend of Rhys and Feyre nibbled at the edges of his thoughts. Described by Rhys as a "childhood companion" and by Feyre with glowing terms of talent and kindness, she seemed almost too good to be true. Feyre’s stories painted her as a guardian angel of the arts, guiding Feyre through her first year with museum visits and personal tutorials in art history, a beacon of support that enabled Feyre to pursue her dreams in Fine Arts.

Azriel couldn't deny the intrigue, a part of him eager to meet the person who had inadvertently brought both his brothers' such happiness and given him such close friends. 

Rita's was a place of warmth and music, where coffee aromas mingled with the sultry notes of jazz, and where the dance floor beckoned the brave. It was here, amidst the casual elegance of his friends, that Azriel hoped to find some semblance of peace.

His heart was already racing from the anticipation of the night, but nothing could have prepared him for the moment he stepped into the semi-circle of his friends and saw her.

The back of a girl, her black tweed jacket adorned with intertwining threads of red and gold, caught his immediate attention. It was a unique piece, one he recognized because it hung over the chair next to him just days ago in calculus. As if on cue, Cassian nudged him forward, breaking his trance and thrusting him into the moment he had been both dreading and longing for.

Time seemed to stretch and bend, each step toward the table feeling like a journey in itself. Then, as Rhys and Feyre stood, pulling the girl up with them, the world snapped back to its rightful pace, but not for Azriel. For him, everything continued in slow motion, the ambient noise fading into a distant buzz, drowned out by the sudden pounding of his heart.

"This is my childhood friend," Rhys began, his voice cutting through the fog in Azriel's mind.

"And my first college friend, Y/n," Feyre added, her smile bright and welcoming. “She just came back from a year abroad, so everyone welcome her well!”

Rhys continued with the introductions, but Azriel heard none of it. His gaze locked with Y/n's, and in that moment, everything else fell away. Her eyes, a captivating mix of curiosity and warmth, seemed to hold him in place, rendering him utterly speechless.

"Oh hi, Azriel!" Y/n's voice, clear and cheerful, attempted to bridge the gap between them. But Azriel remained frozen, caught in the storm of his own emotions, unable to muster even the simplest of greetings.

Then, the silence was shattered by Cassian's laughter. "Sorry about that, Azriel is just too shy, isn't that right?" he joked, clapping Azriel on the back hard enough to jostle him from his stupor. With a friendly push, Cassian maneuvered him into the booth next to Y/n before sliding in next to Rhys and Nesta.

As Feyre drew Y/n back into the conversation, wanting to connect her with Nesta over their love for books, Azriel couldn't shake the feeling of the pen in his pocket. It was as if the object, a simple tool for writing, had become a symbol of all his unspoken words, his hidden desires, and his fear of reaching out. It burned against his thigh, a constant reminder of the words he had yet to say.

As the night wore on, and their friends' laughter filled the air, Azriel found his eyes constantly drifting to Y/n’s, wanting to capture every smile, every glance, every subtle expression that danced across her features. The ambient light of the club, dim and forgiving, cast a warm glow on her face, highlighting the contours and the genuine joy that seemed to radiate from her. 

When the girls got up to join the dance floor, a tidal wave of reality crashed over Azriel. Rhys and Cassian's sudden attention, their probing questions about his unusual quietness, felt like spotlights on a stage he wasn't prepared to stand on. "I'm just tired," he managed to say, the words feeling like sandpaper against his throat. "And a bit worried, you know." But his attempt to deflect only invited more scrutiny.

Rhys immediately saw through the facade. "She's the girl, isn't she? That's why she said your name before I introduced you." At Azriel's silence, Rhys elaborated further, “She’s also the one I assumed was the owner of that pen, Y/n has an entire collection of Mont Blanc, and she fits into your description, being technically new as she just returned from abroad. 

Azriel’s flush, heavy and telling, confirmed his friends' suspicions without a single word spoken.

“Then this the perfect moment!” Cassian continued. “When she comes back, give the pen and ask to buy her a drink as an apology for the delay”

Rhys perked up as well, hitting Azriel on the shoulder, “Cass is right! I know Y/n, and she’s not one to hold a grudge, especially if you apologize. In fact, get her a tequila daisy, she loves those.”

At his friend’s encouragement, Azriel felt his spirits being lifted. He could do this, he thought, the Mother blessing him with such good luck that he found the girl he was looking today. He should take this as a sign, telling him that this was his time to have courage. As Cass and Rhys shooed him up, spotting the girls returning, Azriel shot back his drink and stood up. With a slightly steadier step, he decided to take a little detour back to their table, positioning himself so he'd see Y/n first. It was a small thing, but it gave him a moment to steel himself, to prepare for her smile, her presence. "Alright, let's do this," he thought, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

As Azriel navigated his way back to the table, a sudden wave of nervousness washed over him. The confidence he had just moments ago seemed to evaporate with each step he took. By the time he was close, he found himself unable to meet the gaze of his friends or even Y/n, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, a beacon of his newfound apprehension.

He made a beeline for the chair adorned with the distinctive tweed jacket, so caught up in his thoughts that he completely missed Cassian's worried glance. With a heart racing and a mind swirling with rehearsed apologies, Azriel reached out to tap the shoulder of the person he assumed was Y/n, all the while starting his practiced spiel. "Hey, I just wanted to give you this, I--uh--I'm so sorry couldn't before--let me buy you a drink to make it up—"

His words faltered, dying in his throat as he finally mustered the courage to look up, only to find Elain's familiar face smiling back at him. The confusion was immediate, his brain struggling to catch up with the reality in front of him as Elain, seizing the pen from his grasp, chimed, "Oh, Az, my birthday's still a week away...but thank you so much!" The affectionate kiss she planted on his cheek was meant to be a sweet gesture, yet it only served to heighten Azriel's horror as he watched her examine the pen.

“Oh, that’s so preetty Elain! Mor stumbled by, the alcohol clearly catching up to her by now. “But, why do you have a pen right now? Don’t work, come dance with us! She said laughing, grabbing Cassian on her way back. 

Azriel, now left alone with a blushing Elain, had no idea how this happened. One moment he thought he’d finally get to confess to Y/n and the next moment, he’s given perhaps her prized possession, which she lent him, to another girl. It turned out that he was incorrect before, it's clear that the Mother brought up the worst luck he could have.  

He needed to fix this. 

Now. 

And tell Elain that he did have something for her birthday…just not that. Yes, it had to break it to her now. 

“I know you said you’d be busy and couldn’t make it to my birthday, but you didn’t have to get me something, Az! This is just my color though…”

Azriel stood there, his mind racing with a mix of panic and disbelief. How had he managed to entangle himself in such an awkward situation? The irony of it all was that he had known about Elain's soft spot for him, a sentiment that had grown perhaps from the time he had escorted her back from class to keep her away from her troublesome ex. 

He had considered the possibility of returning her feelings, had even tried to envision something more between them, but his heart never quite made the leap. Elain was wonderful, truly, but the spark he was supposed to feel just wasn't there. And deep down, he knew she deserved someone who could put her at the center of their world, something Azriel couldn't do.

Before he could get a word out, the din of laughter and chatter signaled the return of Rhys and Feyre, their expressions shifting from amusement to confusion as they noticed Elain holding the pen.

Azriel's eyes pleaded for help, a silent, desperate appeal that Feyre caught instantly. She stepped in, her words a flurry of explanations aimed at untangling the misunderstanding. But the situation took another turn with the arrival of Y/n and Nesta, their approach cutting Feyre's explanations short. In a panic, Feyre grabbed Elain's arm, insisting it was late and they needed to leave, effectively dodging the impending awkwardness but leaving the air charged with unsaid words.

Y/n and Nesta returned to find the table enveloped in an unexpected gloom, Rhys and Azriel's expressions painted with unmistakable dismay. The contrast to their earlier mirth sparked immediate curiosity.

"Where did Feyre run off to?" Nesta inquired, her words slicing through the heavy air just as Y/n, with a mixture of concern and confusion, reached out to Rhys. Her fingers brushed his forehead gently, a silent question in her touch. "Are you sick, why do you look so pale?"

Azriel hated the jealousy that sprung up at her actions, especially after what he had done. He immediately chastised himself for the feeling, fully aware that the concern shown was purely platonic. Yet, he couldn't help but long for a similar connection, a moment of care directed towards him, especially from Y/n.

Nesta couldn't resist a teasing jab, her observation laced with humor yet not entirely devoid of truth. "Lovesick more like it," she scoffed, her comment hanging between them like a challenge, prompting a momentary flicker of amusement to dance across Rhys's otherwise somber features.

Nesta’s words, though teasing, unwittingly mirrored the turmoil swirling within Azriel, a turmoil stemming from his unvoiced feelings for Y/n.

Amid the group's subdued atmosphere, Y/n took the initiative, her concern for her friends sparking into action as she decided to fetch water and some food for the table. Once she was out of earshot, Rhys leaned in, his voice low, "Remember when I said she's very forgiving? Well, Y/n is a bit possessive over letting others use her things." Azriel paled considerably.

Upon returning, Y/n placed the food down with a gentle smile, announcing, "I'll find Mor to say goodbye before I have to leave."

Nesta's questioning gaze prompted Y/n to share a bit more about her plans, revealing her Sunday brunch with her father. It was a tradition, yet one that held mixed feelings for her. Rhys, catching the underlying sentiment, ventured cautiously, "First time since you're back...any welcome presents?"

Y/n's nod was accompanied by an eye roll, her voice tinged with a mix of amusement and resignation. "He'll probably gift me a pen, as always." Then, leaning closer to Rhys, she confided in a whisper, "He still thinks I don't know his assistant keeps buying them." Their shared laughter, though tinged with sadness, was a brief respite from the tension of the evening.

As Y/n waved goodbye and made her way through the diner, the weight of what had transpired settled heavily on Azriel's shoulders. Rhys’s earlier statement now mixed with what he had just heard father gets me a pen…hates sharing… 

The pen he had intended to return to Y/n, now in Elain's possession, wasn't just any pen; it was akin to a token of her father's affection…

He was so, so doomed. 

If Azriel thought he was mortified before, well, it couldn’t be compared to now. His current stakeout, crouched in the dense foliage outside Elain and Nesta’s apartment, felt like a scene straight out of a spy movie—only infinitely less glamorous and with higher stakes. 

After searching the entire night for the pen, he realized that you really were Rhys’s friend, the resell prices he found made him want to throw his computer out. But even if he could afford it or request Rhys for help, it seemed that the version you had was sold out. He didn’t even know they made limited-edition pens, let alone ones of this price, were they made of gold? he thought pulling up the product description….set with a pearl…Oh.

Well, that led to his current predicament, knee-deep in the bushes outside Elain and Nesta’s shared apartment. Given that he had borrowed Nesta’s key, which was carelessly strewn on the table of his and Cass’s apartment, he knew she wouldn’t be back for a while. The problem now was getting Elain and it seemed Feyre out…which was why he had texted Rhys an SOS. 

As he waited, hoping that no one noticed him acting like an absolute creep, he finally saw Feyre pulling Elain out, something about a project with Lucien? 

Whatever, that wasn’t important now. His phone buzzed in his pocket with an aggravated all-clear from Rhys. He knew he owed him and Feyre a lot…and technically Elain and Nesta too. The plan was simple: get in, find the pen, get out.

He had been to their apartment before, but always with the company of someone else, usually Cass when he went to pick up or drop off things for Nesta. It felt…eerie being here alone, and he tried to ignore how much of a creep he felt looking through their things. Yet, despite his efforts, the pen remained elusive, a realization that sent a wave of panic crashing over him.

Mother above, where would one keep a pen?? He checked the various surfaces in all the rooms, he checked Elain’s desk, her vanity, and even her bedside table….he looked at the bathroom counters and even scanned through Nesta’s room. As he debated how many more boundaries he’d cross by opening the drawers, his phone buzzed again, with a text from Rhys, feyre said it's with her *crying face emoji* *crying face emoji*...

It’s with her…it’s still with Elain?! The words echoed in his mind, a mantra of frustration and defeat.

Needing to escape the claustrophobia of his failure, Azriel abandoned his search, the apartment, and any pretense of dignity he had left. He found himself wandering aimlessly, feet leading him through the city's streets with no destination in mind. Hours passed, his thoughts a tangled mess, until the financial center's impersonal skyscrapers towered over him, indifferent to his turmoil.

It was there, amidst the steel and concrete, that a familiar voice pierced through his haze of self-reproach. "Azriel?" Y/n called out, her presence like a beacon in the dimming light. 

She emerged from a store, the elegance of her white lace blouse and black slacks contrasted sharply by the vivid red purse she carried. It was the bag she swung from behind, adorned with the same white flower symbol as the pen, that captured his attention, a silent testament to the reason for his current state.

Azriel was at a loss for words, his surprise at seeing her mirrored in the way she regarded him. “I’m surprised to see you here, what are you doing?”

Caught off guard and scrambling for an explanation, Azriel mumbled something about needing a walk, a half-hearted attempt to mask his real reasons for being there. 

Y/n's gaze held his, a hint of curiosity mixed with understanding flickering in her eyes. "A walk that led you all the way here?" she asked, her voice soft but pointed.

Azriel felt the inadequacy of his answer hang between them, an invisible barrier he wished he could dissolve. "Yeah, it's been one of those days," he admitted, his voice trailing off, the truth of his statement more profound than he cared to explore.

Y/n studied him for a moment, her intuitive eyes reading the layers of unsaid words. Then, breaking the tension with a smile that seemed to light up the dimming city around them, she said, "Well, in that case, I could use a bit of company. I was about to grab some coffee. Join me?"

Azriel hesitated, the weight of his earlier mission pressing down on him. Yet, there was something about Y/n's offer, an earnest simplicity, that cut through his reservations. "I...yeah, coffee sounds good," he finally said, not surprised at his own eagerness.

Seated in the cozy enclave of the coffee shop, with bookshelves brimming with tales and plants that whispered of care, Azriel found himself enveloped in a warmth that the stark lines of the financial district rarely offered. The glow of the setting sun, filtered through the tall windows, bathed Y/n in a soft light, casting her in an almost ethereal aura. Her laughter, light and easy, filled the space between them as she caught his look of pleasant surprise.

"This place isn't quite the corporate café you were expecting, is it?" Y/n teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Azriel chuckled, nodding. "I was expecting somewhere... more stiff. This is a nice surprise."

Leaning in, Y/n shared her secret with a whisper, "This café is my little escape. Not many know about it here. But trust me, the coffee’s unmatched, and you have to try the food."

As Azriel began to protest, not wanting her to treat him to even more, his stomach betrayed him with a timely growl. Y/n’s laughter rang out again, full and genuine, just as an older lady approached with their order. "Here you go, dear," she said to Y/n, then turned to Azriel with a warm smile. "First time I've seen her bring someone. You take good care of her, okay?"

Y/n’s protest that they were just friends, and really just classmates, did little to deter the lady's knowing look, leaving her a flustered shade of pink as the lady departed. Y/n then explained to a bewildered Azriel about the café's significance to her, a place discovered during times she'd rather forget waiting in her father's stark office, with the building being down the street. 

As they shared the meal—Y/n insisting Azriel try her favorite sandwich and a tart chosen especially for him—Azriel marveled at her attention to detail, at the fact that she'd noticed his fondness for blueberries. "How did you know?" he asked, his heart aflutter at the realization that she paid him such mind.

With a shy glance away and then back, Y/n admitted, "I noticed you always carrying around blueberry bars. It's the little things, you know?"

Azriel, moved by her attentiveness and kindness, found himself unworthy of her attention. How could he let her remain ignorant about his transgressions, and watch her smile and laugh with him? But he also couldn’t bear to let her go, not when she made him feel things he thought he’d never be able to. Azriel decided then and there that he would admit his faults and then he would beg, he would plead for her to forgive him, or at least continue to talk to him, after he returned the pen from Elain. And if she refused, then he would accept it, but he would grovel as much as she allowed, if only to not lose the smiles that she sent his way. 

"I... I don't deserve your kindness," he confessed, his voice a whisper of turmoil. "Because I'm a thief."

Y/n's eyes widened, confusion and concern mingling in her gaze, "A thief?" she echoed, her head tilting slightly, inviting him to explain.

Azriel's words tumbled out in a frantic cascade, a confession spilling forth about the pen, his failed attempts to return it, not knowing her name and the catastrophic mix-up at Rita's that saw Elain inadvertently receiving what he thought was Y/n's treasured possession. "I know it was a gift from your father... I'll get it back," he assured her, his heart sinking as he prepared for her to walk away, to maybe throw the coffee in his face, for the soft warmth of her smiles to vanish.

But instead of anger or disappointment, laughter bubbled up from Y/n, rich and unrestrained. Azriel lifted his gaze, bewildered, only to find her smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine amusement. It was a moment Azriel wished he could freeze and live in forever, were it not for the fear of her next words.

From that dreaded black bag, she produced a sleek box, emblazoned with Mont Blanc, and Azriel's heart sank. This was it, the moment of reckoning. He half-expected her to reveal a price tag that would make his eyes water, a reminder of his foolishness. Instead, Y/n unveiled a pen, its body a dance of blue and white lacquer, sparkling with what he could only guess were jewels.

Y/n shared a piece of her past with him then, her voice soft and nostalgic. She spoke of her younger self, who found more joy in the worlds of books and art than in the dry texts of study. 

"I used to collect colored pens, fancy ones that made writing notes less of a chore," she explained, gentle laughter threading through her words. She revealed how her love for calligraphy had blossomed from there, a passion she had hoped would catch her parents' attention.

The story took a turn Azriel hadn't expected. "For every achievement, every missed event, every return home, I got a pen. I thought it was my father remembering my words, but," she chuckled, shaking the elegant pen in her hand, "it turns out it was his assistant who remembered. My father doesn't even use fountain pens."

She waved the decorative pen with a flourish, proclaiming it beautiful but utterly impractical. "They're more for show than anything else, the nibs aren’t even correct for the type of stylized calligraphy I enjoy. I still keep them, just locked in a drawer at my apartment. But for everyday use, I stick to the rollerballs from Mont Blanc. They're just easier."

Y/n paused, eyeing him with a playful curiosity. "The pen was pink, wasn't it?" At Azriel's nod, she continued, "I swapped that one with a friend. Not really my color, but she wanted to exchange it for a white version that wasn’t available abroad.” 

Azriel nods, still caught in the whirlwind of his own confessions and fears. 

She shrugs lightly, her gaze drifting down to the black box, "Mont Blanc treats me too well and sends me many extras because I’m on their VIP list due to my father’s assistant. I don’t mind, though. It’s nice to know they’re going to someone who appreciates them."

Azriel's mind races as he tries to process this. The pen, the source of so much turmoil, was just one of many to Y/n, an item of little consequence. Yet, feeling a sense of responsibility, he insists, "I’ll get it back for you. It was yours, after all."

Y/n's response is a gentle wave of dismissal. "You don’t need to worry about it, Azriel. You didn’t steal it. I told you to return it whenever you wanted. I just...hoped it would make you think of me." Her voice fades, a note of melancholy creeping in as she turns her face away slightly, hiding the vulnerability in her eyes. "I guess you didn’t, though. Do I bother you, sitting next to you in class?"

The earnestness in her question, the raw hint of insecurity, pierces through Azriel's defenses. He reacts instinctively, his words tumbling out in a rush to bridge the gap his silence had created.

"Bother me? Y/n, you’ve been...I’ve been trying to find the words to talk to you since you first sat next to me. You don’t bother me; you distract me because...because I think you’re beautiful."

The confession hangs in the air between them, a fragile truth that sends a blush creeping up Y/n's cheeks. Azriel's heart pounds in his chest, his earnest declaration laying bare his feelings.

"So, friends?" Y/n ventures after a moment, her voice steady but her eyes searching his for an answer.

"Friends," Azriel agrees quickly, too quickly, perhaps, because what he really wants to say is so much more. "But, I'm hoping for more than that," he added under his breath, a vow to himself as much as to her.

Y/n's smile in response is shy but hopeful, a silent agreement to the unspoken question hanging between them. In the quiet of the café, amidst the scattered pens and the remnants of their past misunderstandings, they find a new beginning.

A/N: The pen Y/n received above! So, I have no idea where this story was meant to go. I just had the idea to write about Azriel doing something silly because he was so distracted by a crush, which became him unintentionally stealing a pen. After all, I have an obsession with pens due to the same reason Y/n said...And then this spiraled a little too much into my own uhh grievances with pens, calligraphy…and uhh parents. ANYWAYS, I hope this made you all laugh and fyi Mont Blanc does make great pens, I highly recommend their roller balls and fountain pens, though some are so extravagant I can’t imagine ever using them. 

[dilfscvm]

Fitzgerald Grant x Female! Reader

Hi! This is my own work, I wrote it and I much don't like to have it posted in other social media flatforms without my permission.

WARNINGS : This contains smut, if you don't like such content please skip it and don't read it. Vulgar words has been used also. Do excuse my grammatical errors and typos, correct me nicely or else I'll block block you. English is not my first language:)) Enjoy reading!<33

Special thanks to the owner of this gif<3

“I told you to stay away from him!” Fitz yells at you, he's in the pit of rage and you know you just crossed the line.

Making him jealous because you wanted to make him pay at what he did to you a week ago. He thought you got over it, but looks like his naughty wife has a better plan. And that is to make him angry. What's on his mind right now?

I'll get you bend over this dining table, fuck you and breed you.

That's what his brain tells him to do. You're his property, you're his and he doesn't like to share. And you absolutely knew it. That's why you make everything on planned.

"I'm sorry, but you really need to stop working." Fitz firmly stated, you're shocked at his sudden statement.

"W-what?" you scoffed.

"I said... I want you to stop working." he repeats as he slowly strode over you, like a lion ready to attack its prey. His eyes tells he craves. You stumped in front of him, face to face, nose almost touched. Eyes raged.

"I. Won't. Stop. Working." you said what is to be said, "I love my work, Fitz, I love working as a professor and you know how much I love my work and you can't just barge here in my office to tell me to resign and stay with you at the white house and fulfill my duty as a first lady. How did you get in here anyways?"

"You don't need to know how I get here, what you need to do is to get all your things and sign these resignation papers and let's go at the white House." his frown deepen, but you can see his eyes averting from your eyes to your lips, his breathing getting heavy as you argue with him.

"I won't resign just because you're jealous of my colleague who haven't done anything but to do his job." you continued. He scoff, he backs away a little shaking his head.

"Believe me, you will." and that's the last thing he said before he walks out your office. You stared at the door where he just walked out of, jaw drop, can't believe that your husband can do such things.

Well he's the president of the United States after all.

You're at his birthday party, talking with some guests. Not paying attention at your husband who's been such a attention seeker for you.

Since he made you sign those resignation letter you give him silent treatment that he deserves. He can't just manipulate you just because he's jealous.

“Dance with me?” you heard a voice from your back making you turn around. It's your colleague, the man Fitz don't ever want to see.

“Well why not.” you giggle and took his hand that been waiting for you to take.

You wanted him here. His name is Race, and he's a colleague, a married man but it's a private marriage. Fitz were a fool, he doesn't even let you explain it, and now, you will take advantage of it.

Race lead you to the dance floor where there's already some people who's dancing, including your husband who's with a old lady which you can recognise as the 40th president's wife.

Well watch me turn the tables around, darling.

“So, I bet he still doesn't know.” he smiled at you which you returned with a naughty smirk.

“This is a lesson, he has been fooling himself. You know that I would never cheat on him, I love him too much to break his heart.” you factly stated. He sighs as he slowly sway you, syncing with the music.

“I know that you cheeky minx.” he whisper that makes you both laugh together.

Both of you continued to dance and talk about random things up until Fitz finally notice, well actually you've seen him, he got his eyes on you. Watching you dance with the man he despise right now, and all he wanted to do were to yank you off him and take you right in front of everybody, specially him. You're playing with fire.

“Ma'am if you'll excuse me.” he politely smiles at the woman who nods with a smile. As soon as he turns around, his face contorts into a deep frown, raging eyes glued at you.

He walks with power, greeting every person he walk pass with a smile then immediately turns back into a frown as soon as he looks at you.

“I think that would be great, I like it and I know-”

“Mind if I steal my wife for a while?” firm, and low husky voice. Fitz says as he folds his arms across his chest. His face shows it all. Anger, rage, jealousy... Lust.

Well you were about to say that you like race's idea to surprise his wife for her birthday.

“Why sure, Mr. President.” race politely agrees as he smiled at the man, not paying attention to fitz's face, looking like he's ready to punch him.

Fitz did not waste anymore time as he possessively pull you away from him by your waist. He then pressed his lips on yours, taking you by surprise. Race sealed his lips containing his evil grin. Success.

You on the other hand, didn't give what Fitz wants. You did not kiss him back making him pull inches away from your lips.

“You like him don't you?” Fitz slowly said. You stared at him, slowly, a smile formed in your lips, mocking him. You know it makes him more hungry for you, and you like every bit of it.

Knowing your husband, he loves you so much, he's a very territorial, possessive, and obsessive at you. Well because you're his wife, and he needs you to know it.

“I love you.” you smiled at him. He'll say it back. No matter how he's mad at you. You know he will.

“I...love you too.” he whisper, as he look down on your lips, almost looks ashamed. I know you too well.

“Dining room.” you whisper at him before pulling away to walk out of the room.

“What?” he asks confusedly. His brows knitted, his signature look. You smiled evily, seductively bit your lower lip as you said;

“I know you like it anywhere, baby.”

Fitz is a kinky man, you must declare.

A knowing smirk were now plastered on his face making you giggle.

“Meet you there, baby!” you turned around and walk off.

Did he waste more time? Of course he didn't. He quickly walk off the room full of guest and walk towards dining room, where you waited there. Wearing nothing but a pair of black lingerie and a black stocking.

“Y/N-” his breath caught above his lungs as the view in front of him completely astonished him. “What's all of these?” he asks, as his eyes continue to hungrily Starr at your body up and down.

You hop ontop of the table and crossed your legs. He slowly walk towards you.

“A lesson.” you simply said when he's already standing right in front of you and tries to open your legs.

“A lesson for what?” he looks confused. You smirk and parted your legs, you hooked him with your legs on his hips and forcely pull him using it.

You put a finger on his lips and it just parted for you, “You know what you've done, Fitz, and now I'll teach you.. A.. Lesson.” you lean closer to him, he thought you will kiss him, so he lean forward to reach your lips but you pull back. “Ah, ah, darling... You need to be taught and punished—”

“Screw you.” that's all he got to say before he slam his lips on you, you tried to pull away but you're too intoxicated at his taste and scent. He kissed you hungrily, both hands on either side of your cheeks. Both with heavy breathings, both were panting, and moaning in each others mouths, as their tounge collide, exploring the insides of it adding more heat down your womanhood.

Fitz grab ahold of your stockings and rip it apart making you gasp into his mouth. But keep on kissing him still anyways. He pushed your legs more apart and start to kiss your neck. His hands were now roaming you body, specially down your area.

“F-fuck, Fitz.” you moaned as his kiss went down your cleavage, to your stomach up until he reached where you wanted him to be. He place a kiss on your lingerie, as his eyes stilled on yours.

“You can't punish me. I will punish you... For being such a brat, for ignoring me, for teasing me, you think you'll get away with it? Think again...” he snarled. You scoff at him. He just smirked. That devil smirk he always does when you both on bed. It turns you on.

“Fuck you.” you smile and press your lips on his kissing him ever so roughly as your hand went to his belt and undo it. He slapped your hand away and grab a hold of your ass and yank you off the table and put you on your feet as he turn you around, panting as he retrieve his breath, as well as you. He continue to kiss on your neck as he unbuckle his belt and push his pants down.

“Fuck you, you mean.” he chuckles, he ripped your panties and thrown it on the floor leaving you gasping. There's nothing can make you more turned on than you are now.

He latched his lips again on your neck as you grab ahold of his head pushing him more to it, moaning as you did. Fitz let his mouth open while he teased your hole with the tip of his enormous cock. Confusedly you is when he put his hand tightly on your mouth, but it didn't take long when he rams his cock inside of you with a guttural groan, trying to contain his own sounds.

You swear if he hadn't covered your mouth, you would scream. You never got used to his cock, up until now.

“I will never get tired fucking this sweet, tight pussy of yours, Y/N.” he whisper erotically in your ear, while you left there moaning in his palm, grinding your hips with his as he thrust slow but you can feel the roughness.

“Now tell me, my sweet, does teasing me satisfy you?” he asks as he slowly fastening his thrust, breathing were getting more heavier. You shook your head. “Liar.” he grunts, he let's go of your lips and push you down the table, making you lay your front to it as he grab onto your hips and continue his bruising pace. He pause a little when you began to moan, as much as he wanted to hear it, you must minimise your moans so no guest will get traumatised, “Please do be quiet for me, sweetheart, there's people outside. I don't want them knowing I'm screwing my bratty wife while I have party to be at. Wouldn't want to look disrespectful yeah?” he whispers at your ears. You only nodded, panting. “Good.” he smirk before he bit your ear gently. He then suddenly pushed in roughly making you squeal and him shushing you.

Fitz won't let you dominate him, we'll at least not now. He doesn't have much time for you to tease and edge him. But he will let you do that later, when no one's in the house.

He spread your ass to watch his harden cock penetrate your wet cunt, he couldn't help but whimper looking at the beautiful view. He sure is won't ever get enough of you.

No one can ever make his cock this alive, only you, his wife. You always turn him on even in small things you do. Like the way you walk, you talk, your smell, he gets turned on easily, if it's you who'll make him.

“Fuck, Fitz, I'm close.” you quietly moan, Fitz was too lost in pleasure. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pull you against his chest as he thrust up to help you cum for him. He's nearing, as much as he doesn't want this to end, he has visitors to entertain.

“Darling, I'm gonna cum.” he whisper against your skin. His eyes closed, mouth open, eyebrows were knitted, pleasure takes over him. “I know you want to cum too. Cum hof me.” he place a kiss on your neck.

“Fitz..” you moan, almost out of breath. His hand went to your breast and squeeze it tightly as he left his other arm wrapped around your waist. “Ah! Fuck!” your walls clamped around his cock that enough to edge him, and leave him moaning as you cum.

“Oh God, you feel so good.” he groans through gritted teeth. He continues to thrust in you as he breed you, filling you with his cum—wait he breeds you?!

“Fitz!” you yell at him. He frowned at you.

“W-what?” he says panting.

“You finished in me!”

Not to be rude but you both talked about having another baby and he said it's not the right time yet to have another one, and you agreed with it.

“So?” he asks confusedly. He's still inside of you, still thrusting very slowly as he just reached his climax. “You're my wife, I have the rights to do so.” he said, he slowly pulls away making you bite your lip. You turn around to face him.

“Yeah, but I thought you don't want another baby yet?” you ask, he sighs and pull you closer to him as he wrap his arms around your hips.

“Jerry's not a baby anymore, he's four—well he'll still remain our baby but I miss having a small human in my arms,” he chuckles. He place a hand on your cheek, a finger in your lips and continues; “I want to have another baby, I know that you also want another but I choosed to deny you. I'm sorry.” he whisper, your eyes were glistening as he rub your cheeks.

“Thank you, and I love you.” you smiled at him, which he returns.

“I love you too.” he says back with a chuckle. You giggle and tiptoed his lips. Kissing him deeply and passionately.

It didn't last long when he lift you up again and sat you on the table before he push you on your back. He pulls away with a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Fitz!” you giggle when he pulls a chair and sat on it before he pulls you by your tighs to the edge of the table. He smirk at you making you part your lips.

“What? I'm hungry.” he teasingly said before burying his head between your tighs leaving you breathless as you throw your head at the back, moaning as you did.

[gragrace]

Unraveling Minds 

Summary: In this BAU investigation, Dr. Y/n Y/l/n, a forensic anthropologist, is called in to assist with a series of murders in a small town. The genius profiler, Dr. Spencer Reid, becomes fascinated by her intelligence and kindness. As they work together, solving the case and sharing banter in the forensic lab, a connection forms between them. Despite Gideon's suggestion of joining the FBI, Y/n prefers her expertise in bones. As the investigation progresses, Reid and Y/n's bond deepens, culminating in a moment of shared understanding and a longing for a continued connection, even beyond the confines of the case. 

Word Count: 1261 

AN: Rewatching Bones... defo was inspired! <33 also i wrote this on the bus so apologies for errors/ cringe, let a girl live!!

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆ 

The BAU team had been called to a small town in Pennsylvania to investigate a series of gruesome murders that seemed to have stumped the local authorities. Dr. Y/n Y/l/n, a renowned forensic anthropologist, had been summoned to assist the team in understanding the ritualistic nature of the killings. 

As she entered the BAU headquarters, Y/n was met with curious glances from the team. Dr. Spencer Reid, the genius profiler with an eidetic memory, couldn't help but be fascinated by her presence. She exuded intelligence, and her reputation preceded her. 

"Dr. Y/l/n, welcome," Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner greeted her with a firm handshake. "We appreciate your expertise on this case." 

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner. I'm eager to help in any way I can," Y/n replied with a warm smile. 

Dr. Jason Gideon, the seasoned profiler, approached her with admiration in his eyes. "I've read your work. Impressive stuff. Ever thought about joining the FBI?" 

Y/n chuckled modestly. "I appreciate the offer, but I find my passion lies in analyzing bones and solving puzzles in a different way." 

Gideon nodded, seemingly understanding. Meanwhile, Spencer Reid observed the exchange, his curiosity growing with each passing moment. 

As the investigation progressed, Y/n worked closely with the BAU team, examining the crime scenes and providing invaluable insights into the killer's methodology. Her ability to piece together the puzzle of the victims' bones left the team in awe. 

One evening, in the BAU conference room, Y/n presented her findings to the team. Hotchner, Gideon, Reid, and the others listened intently as she explained the ritualistic significance behind the arrangement of the victims' bones. 

"You've got a brilliant mind, Dr. Y/l/n. Your observations have been invaluable to us," Gideon praised. 

Y/n's cheeks flushed slightly. "Thank you, Dr. Gideon. It's been a pleasure working with all of you." 

After the meeting, Reid found himself lingering behind as the others dispersed. He couldn't shake the fascination he felt for Y/n, not just for her intellect but also for the kindness that radiated from her. 

"Dr. Y/l/n, your work is truly remarkable," Reid complimented, his words stumbling over each other in his eagerness. 

Y/n smiled, appreciating the genuine admiration in Reid's eyes. "Thank you, Dr. Reid. Coming from someone with your intelligence, that means a lot." 

As the days passed, the team grew closer to solving the case. Y/n and Reid spent more time together, discussing their respective fields and finding common ground in their shared passion for solving puzzles. The air between them was charged with unspoken tension, and it wasn't just Reid who felt it. 

One day, as they gathered in the bullpen, Gideon couldn't help but voice what everyone seemed to sense. "Y/n, have you ever considered joining the FBI? You're a natural at this." 

Y/n looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, "I'm honored, Dr. Gideon, but my expertise lies in the bones. I'll leave profiling to the experts like Dr. Reid and the rest of the BAU team." 

Gideon nodded, accepting her decision. However, Reid couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have Y/n as a permanent member of their team. 

Late one evening, after a productive day of unraveling the case details, Spencer Reid and Y/n Y/l/n found themselves in the forensic lab once again. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lights as they continued to work side by side, surrounded by the skeletal remains of the victims. 

Reid, unable to resist sharing some trivia, looked up from his notes and said, "Did you know that the first dinosaur fossils were discovered in the early 19th century? George Washington never knew about dinosaurs." 

Y/n chuckled at the unexpected historical twist. "Yes, I'm aware. Dinosaurs and George Washington didn't exactly coexist. It's fascinating how our understanding of the world has evolved over time." 

Reid smiled, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "Exactly! The field of forensic anthropology has its own set of intriguing statistics. Like, did you know the average time it takes for a body to decompose in a temperate climate is about four months? Factors like temperature, humidity, and soil composition play a significant role." 

Y/n couldn't help but be charmed by Reid's passion for knowledge. "Well, Dr. Reid, your fun facts never fail to amaze me. It's like you have a whole library of fascinating information stored in that brilliant mind of yours." 

Reid blushed slightly at the compliment. "I try my best. Knowledge is a powerful tool, and sharing it with someone as brilliant as you makes it even more enjoyable." 

As they continued to exchange lighthearted banter and delve into their respective fields, the lab echoed with the sound of their laughter. The air between them felt comfortable, a blend of camaraderie and something deeper. The cases they worked on together were more than just investigations; they were a shared journey, a dance of intellect and connection. 

In the midst of their conversation, Reid couldn't help but sneak a glance at Y/n. "You know, Y/n, working with you has been one of the highlights of my career. Your brilliance, your kindness—it's truly inspiring." 

Y/n met his gaze, her heart fluttering at his words. "Spencer, the feeling is mutual. I never expected to find someone who not only appreciates the intricacies of forensic anthropology but also understands the complexities of the human mind." 

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the lab seemed to fade away. The unsaid words lingered in the air, creating a silent understanding between them. It wasn't just about bones and statistics; it was about the connection they had forged, a bond that transcended the confines of their professional lives. 

As they continued their work side by side, the unspoken tension between Reid and Y/n deepened. The lab, filled with the echoes of their laughter and shared knowledge, became a space where two brilliant minds discovered something even more extraordinary—the undeniable chemistry that existed between them. 

"Spencer," Y/n began, her voice soft but filled with sincerity, "working with you and the team has been an incredible experience." 

Reid looked into her eyes, his own filled with a mix of admiration and something more profound. "Y/n, I... I find myself drawn to you, not just for your intelligence but for who you are. Your kindness, your passion—it's captivating." 

Y/n's heart skipped a beat. "Spencer, I feel the same way." 

Reid glanced at Y/n, a hopeful spark in his eyes. The future was uncertain, but as they stood together, surrounded by their colleagues, it was clear that their connection had the potential to unravel into something more profound—a partnership that extended beyond the confines of a single case. 

In the quiet moments that followed, Y/n and Reid found themselves alone in the dimly lit lab. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a longing that lingered in the air. 

"I don't know what the future holds," Reid admitted, his gaze never leaving Y/n's. "But I hope we can continue working together, even if it's not on a case." 

Y/n nodded, her heart echoing the sentiment. "I'd like that, Spencer." 

As they left the lab together, their shoulders brushed in a subtle yet intimate gesture. The connection they had forged wasn't just about solving crimes—it was about finding someone who understood the intricacies of their minds and hearts. The BAU may have solved the case, but for Reid and Y/n, the puzzle of their own emotions was just beginning. 

"Who knows, Spencer? Maybe we'll see Dr. Y/l/n again on another case," Gideon remarked with a knowing smile. 

[mimpinightmare]

"I Got You, Brother"

A 'Supa Strikas, Shakes and Skarra Edit'

Worked hard on it. Hope you like it!

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When I heard "Brother By Kodaline", they pop up in my mind. I HAD to make a dedicated edit of these, messy, Deadly Duo. I personally think, when I started making this edit, they can go either way, romantically or platonically (you decide what you see in them, really). But, we can all agree, regardless what you see in them, THEY'RE ONE OF THE MOST MESSISEST RELATIONSHIPS IN THE SHOW! Started out as friends, then unfortunately had a falling out. And little by little, years has pasted, have developed resentment over each other, but deep down somewhere, they still care and love each other, despite the other feels and the other has gone through.

MAN, THEY"RE RELATIONSHIP IS INTERSTING!!!

(SO Sorry, if the edit seems abit rushed (because it was), especially the second verse... My original plan to make this edit was include the entire song, except the second verse. But I did have ideas for the second verse, just not all of it- Literally all I did mostly for the second verse is throwing something at the wall, and see if it sticks- Also, I'm in collage, and some of my creative process for the edit was stumped because I was worried about the upcoming assignments, while making this... But I told myself to finish this first, so I can do my assignments later on, and take a break from editing until assignments are all finished. I will still be abit active here, just focusing on college more! 👍)

THIS WAS A LONG POST- Like I said, Hope you like it!!

[EDIT: Saw some errors in the edit at the end, so decided to fix them. Here a (little) better version of it.]

[sketchingstars03]

Protection VS Destruction

A furiously protective father vs the killer of anomalies

Anomalies like… little Splatter?

Wait… is her soul… human?? But… she’s a monster…?

This truly is a central conflict for a story

Ink is by Comyet

Error is by loverofpiggies Aka Crayon Queen

and we all know who created Splatter by now I think ;3

Some further rambles under the cut 👀

Alrighty, so! As stated about this art shows one of if not The main conflict of Splattertale, with the reveal of our main antagonist, Error!

Because ofc no Ink-Centric story is complete without Error as an antagonistic force of SOME kind.

I kid, there are obviously options where he’s not lol.

But yeah. Also he’s not really a villain here he’s just, opposed to the protagonists. Which makes him an antagonist! Because he… wants to kill Ink’s kid for being a glitch… Okay maybe that’s a BIT villainous, but he’s just doing his job! It’s nothing personal… right Ink? Right… ?

Also I know Ink looks SUPER pissed off and protective here but I wanna make it clear he DOESN’T hate Error in this story. Has some.. complicated feelings about him (None of them romantic, Sorry-not-sorry ErrorInk fans, I’m just not into it), but none of them are Hatred. In fact he’s tried to befriend Error several times in the past! Though that can’t exactly work out now… (trying to hunt down someone’s kid to delete them for being a “mistake” kinda puts a damper on your potential friendship with them :/)

Splatter’s soul is indeed a human soul. How this is possible I will explain later, but for now just know that her creation isn’t exactly natural. It’s devoid of any trait, which is why it’s white like a monster soul, and has very low DETERMINATION for a soul of its type. Still way more than a monster soul can have, but low for a human’s.

Being a “freak of nature” like that has landed her quite on Error’s list of “Things to Destroy”

This drawing also features my personal interpretation of the Doodlesphere! I sorta combined the two canon versions, the Floating Islands and Buckets. The Splattertale-verse Doodlesphere is comprised of floating islands that hold deep lakes of paint as entry points into the respective AUs. Each island is decorated with items that represent the AU it leads to!

With this in mind, try and guess which AU is which ;3

…

okay I’m gonna give the answers anyway

We’ve got Underswap (specifically Star Sanses Blue’s underswap)

Underfell right behind Ink

XTale in the top right

Outertale in the distance near where XTale is

and Dreamtale on the bottom left!

The appearance of the island also reflects the state of the AU, hence why Xtale is cracked and leaking (because of its destruction), and why Dreamtale looks so dull. With its stump of a tree and unbalanced paint-lake (it used to be a beautiful mix of yellow and purple)

So yeah, I think that’s all I have to say abt this piece for now! Don’t worry I’m gonna elaborate on these little lore bits in time! This entire story rotates in my brain like it’s in a microwave on a daily basis lmao

Hope you like it! :3 (And thank you if you read this far!)

[diagonal-queen]

HELP I'm sorry but this idea literally got in my head😭😭

What if Manipulative S/o with Chuuya,Dazai and Fyodor?

Them with a manipulative S/O

♡ pairing: Chuuya Nakahara, Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoyevsky x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How are these men with a manipulative partner?

♡ cw: Swearing, manipulation, sexual stuff (Fyodor, you're better than this)

note: Ngl I was stumped with this one for a bit, didn't write a single part of it, and then one night I just wrote the whole damn thing in like ten minutes. Writing's a weird thing sometimes eh? Anyways apologies for errors anon and I hope you enjoy x

Chuuya:

If you're another mafioso and you use your Machiavellian techniques to interrogate people, Chuuya finds that hot (he's so whipped T-T)

But if you were ever to try and be manipulative with him? He'd probably figure it out relatively quickly and he'd be pretty upset about it. It feels to him as if you think he's unintelligent or something

He also wouldn't be such a fan if you tried to manipulate other members of the Port Mafia (especially if he's close with them like Kouyou)

Chuuya would prefer if you kept it for work and work only, because he values honesty and is more comfortable knowing that you trust him and vice versa

If it's like a trauma response or something though he's more understanding and helps you work on dismantling the habit in healthy and effective ways <3

Unlike the compulsive lying he would NOT consult Mori about this, because let's be real you probably got some of it from him

Eventually Chuuya might take a more passive role and just let you do your thing as long as you leave him out of it. If you're honest with him he'll be happy

Use your manipulation against Dazai (or at least try to)? You got yourself a loyal man for life ✊✊

Dazai:

Y'know that trope when a dude will like dreamily watch their partner with hearts in his eyes as they do some badass shit? That's literally Dazai when you're fucking with people

Especially other members of the ADA oh my god you guys are such menaces (the only one who can see through your bullshit is Ranpo but do you really think he's gonna put in the effort to stop you guys? No. That's what I thought)

But if you were to try and manipulate him, his attitude would change up real quick.

He lowkey takes it as an insult to his intelligence and also takes it pretty personal regardless of who you treat the same way. How can he not? You're literally his partner

You'd learn not to ever try crossing him, in a serious way at least- you'd definitely still play games and tease each other

If you're like super manipulative, even Dazai would have to be like 'hey! stop'. I feel like it would just remind him of his past self and he wouldn't like that

Like Chuuya he also prefers that, when it comes to more serious things, you're honest with him. He wants to be able to trust you

I mean either way he'd be able to catch up with you, so I guess it's not really a practical issue. Just be nice to him, alright?

Fyodor:

I ought to immediately establish that you're literally not getting past this man at all, ever

You will never be able to trick him, lie to him, or have any sway over anything he does at all. That being said, he actually loves the way you are

Fyodor definitely has a god complex and the fact that you can't get anything past him is definitely boosting said god complex. Though he's always like 'nobody gets me I'm too smart' we know that he secretly enjoys being better than everyone else let's be real

He thinks it's cute, but he will very much still give you ~appropriate punishments~ for your bad behaviour

Definitely uses you for the DOA's benefit in some way. Though it would definitely be with your consent because he knows you're not an idiot (and also why wouldn't you be on board tbh)

Sigma is probably a little wary around you because of how similar you are to your boyfriend (and obviously Mykola loves you he's your bestie)

You two definitely play a lot of mind games with one another for entertainment, as well as skill-based games like chess and poker (is that skill based? I've never played it lmao)

In conclusion, power couple of the fucking century

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fedyushka, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl

[eldritch-spouse]

Journal entries from Shag's Obsession.

(forgive for any grammar errors or ooc. Yes, I'm the same writer for the Sleep Inn short and the demon queens documentary shorts. Enjoy!)

Day 1 ⚫

Today, I was in the forest taking photos for inspiration for my artwork. I thought I was alone until I saw a strange shadowy figure nearby. At first, I thought it was a person, so I wanted to be friendly and say hello until I realized the closer, I got, the taller and gangly-like it becomes. It looked like it was wearing some kind of robe, and a funny hat. It looked like it was covered in tar from head-to-toe. I attempted to get a closer look to see what it was up to, but it looked up in my direction and I quickly stopped moving. I prayed it didn't find me. Who knows what'll happen. I took a peek to see if was still there, but it was gone. I got home soon as possible to draw the creature I saw, but all the adrenaline was making my hands shaking.

*bottom of page is a crude drawing of Shags*

Day 2 ⚫

I decided to hunt and research the creature from the other day. This encounter inspired me to be a cryptid hunter as a side hobby. This time I'll try to remember to take a photo of that thing in the forest. I ⚫ hope I'll encounter it again. ⚫

I returned home with no luck of finding it. I noticed some black splotches of paint around my home. Upon closer look it looks and smells like ink. Probably some dumb teenagers pulling a prank.

Day 3

I saw it today! I made sure to quickly and quietly take some photos of it before it disappears again. It was carrying a bag while walking. I swear I saw it moved a little. Maybe it's some rabbit. I noticed as it walks it leaves drops of black stuff on the ground. I wanted to follow it but for now I'll grab a sample from that icky stuff its dripping.

day 4

I decided to name the cryptid "Ink Man". I couldn't hunt today. Too tired. I had trouble sleeping last night because I heard noises outside of my window. Hard to say, it sounded like breathing and claws tapping. The last thing I saw before I slept was a looming shadow by my window. ⚫

I dreamt of a tall figure shrouded in black as the void. It looked like ⚫the Ink Man. It stood over me while I laid in bed. I couldn't move. Is this my first paralysis demon experience? It was breathing so heavily and reached out it's spindly hands and brushed them over my legs. It felt so creepy it felt like spiders walking all over me. This was the most vivid dream I ever had.

Day 5

This time I went back into the forest for more research of the Ink Man. I saw it sitting on a stump, eating something. Kinda smells good like chicken. I quickly took some more photos before he or (she?) noticed me. I continued to watch the ink man's activities afterward. The Ink man mostly foraged stuff whatever is fascinated with and puts in their bag.

I later learned the Ink man is indeed a man due to his... certain needs.

Day 6

I have no luck finding the Ink Man's home whenever I follow it. It seems to disappear whenever I turn a corner. Every time I try to follow it, he disappears without trace. My theory is that it's a fairy, not a cryptid.

My home is covered in black paint again and I just washed it all off! Damn teenagers again. I noticed there are some paint marks that is starting to look abstract images. Some look like people. And... hearts? I noticed there is alot of paint smudges near my windows.

Day 7 ⚫

It's raining outside. No searching today. I just noticed there's alot of black paint smudges on my journal. Not only that, but I've also been seeing some paint smudges around my home. Did one of my pens broke? And I could have sworn some of my art pieces have been missing, did I move them?

Day 8

I went outside to start my search again. Right outside my front door is a picture on the ground. I picked it up and took a closer look and saw it was a nicely drawn sketch of... Is- is that me sleeping in my bed!? My stomach twists and I feel sick. What sicko drew this!? I turn the page over. On the other side is what looks like to be a signature from the artist. If I read correctly, it said "Shags"? With a heart next to it. Tomorrow I'm reporting this to the police.

It's nighttime. I can't sleep knowing someone is watching me. I made ⚫sure the windows are covered and locked the doors and windows. I've been staring at these photos of the Ink man for more clues. I hear noises outside. It sounds like and animal. Maybe that stalker is back again. I'm grabbing my bat for defense before I go outside.

⚫

(the black dots are supposed to be ink drops from Shags peeking)

Great stuff! Though I think answering this ask might deform the placement of the dots, which is saddening. If it does, I want people reading to know they had different sizes and were more evenly spread, which made it look really creative!

That aside, I love how our crypto zoologist apprentice here has about as many braincells as a horror movie protagonist (which are zero, and a half-eatrn tic tac). This man I saw covered in ink-like black tar from head to toe is so creepy! Man I sure wish the teenagers weren't spreading ink around my house...

I think Shags is reading this diary and seriously worrying for his inkling's cognitive abilities. He's being anything but subtle, and you're writing about him like he's some kind of animal incapable of deciding he wants to visit your own living space. Gods, he flashed you his dick on at least one occasion.

He's ripping that sketch of him on the first page, and will be mildly depressed if he finds you discarded his.

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

Pregnacy and Birth with Norm Spellman

Pairing- Norm x Na'vi!reader

Summary- Pregnancy with Norm and his Na'vi wife!!!!!!!

Request-yes

A/N- @disaster-in-waiting I remembered you said you wanted to be tagged in Norm fluff also there is probably hella spelling errors but I'm to lazy to fix it

muntxatan- husband

When the Tsahik told you that you were pregnat, Norm was so happy, almost happier than the day he met you but nothing can beat that in his opinion but there were a few things he didn't know about pregnacy.

He didn't really notice that his pants and shirts started to dwindle down until he only had a shirt that was two sizes to big. He searched everywhere and then he went to your home, ''Hey baby have you seen any of my cloth-'' cutting himself off it seemed you made a little nest, with his clothes. ''Hello muntxatan.'' You yawn you had just woken up. ''My clothes.'' he tried to contain the little laugh he had in his chest, Eywa he wasn't even mad he just fell deeper in love with you as he watched you curl into the nest of band tees, and skinny jeans.

Oh how he loved to lay on you stomach, feelng you stomach round with a baby in it! His baby, he was so happy that you chose him. And when he was in human form he was the perfect height to do what he loved. ''Norm my kalin, I must lie down real quick someone must be mad at mama today.'' you say lieing down on the larger bed in the lab. Norm looks over as you plop down rubbing your tummy talking to it, he smiles ear to ear work could wait, he wanted to see his wife. He walked over and lied between your legs and you just tilted your head to the side. ''Work?'' you whispered. He shook his head as he rubbed your stomach placing a few kisses on it whispering stuff to the baby. You could only smile at the interaction, so happy he was yours.

And then the mood swings began and no one was prepared for this. Norm held your hand and your back as he led you into the den and sitting down infront of the fire. ''Norm give me that bannafruit.'' You say grabbing the cutting board and knife. Norm looked around for a minute and then his eyes widened he was searching around frantically and then the worst hap happened. No. Bannafruit. ''Baby I think we used the last of it this morning.'' He said and you had looked like a puppy that just got kicked. ''Oh don't cry.'' He rushed over to you. ''Well if you tell me not to cry I'm gonna cry.'' You say covering your face as you cry into them. ''no no no we'll get some tomorrow, we have been using it a lot.'' And then he relized he fucked up as you crie harder. ''I'm so huge thats what your saying I'm as big as a planet I can't.'' he rubbed soothing circles on your back but that seemed to make you cry harder. ''Your not huge rember you have a whole baby in there your feeding and protecting two people I think thats bad ass.'' You sniffle at his words. ''yeah your right ooo do we habe strumbee soup.'' you smiled as you grabbed a spoon and get some soup. He was stumped by the course of emotions you body just went through.

And Neytiri was pregnat with her second son and you helped each other. With chores, with hunts even though both of your husbands suggest otherwise, and you gossip. ''Did you see Ninat's sons hair they need to get that under control.'' You giggle at her words as you weeve a leaf through the bottom of a half-way made basket. ''I agree maybe we can talk about doing hair and we can just slip in ''I'd be glad to do anyones hair.'' '' Neytiri shakes her head. ''What! It would be nice.'' While you two gossip your husbands watch across the way. ''Do you think they are gonna gang up on us.'' Jake asked. ''Anyday now.'' He says squinting as you tilted your head back.

And then it happened.

It was just another day your reached down and grabbed a basket of yovo fruit putting it on your hip and then you fell the rush of something coming out of you and down you leg. You drop the basket and waddle over to Norm. ''Norm the ball dropped.'' Once the words left Norm was running to Tsahik leaving you in the dust, and then he ran back to you now guiding you to the Tsahik. ''Rember breath.'' He said doing those stupid breathing excersises he read about.

And now here you are on the birthing cot Norms hand in yours gripping it to death. ''It's okay your doing great.'' Norm encouraged as you groaned. ''Get it out of me!'' you screeched. ''Okay Y/N push, push.'' You did you pushed as hard as you could. ''I see it head.'' Mo'at yelled as you pushed once more as their head popped out you were tired, so tired. ''Just two more pushs. you took a deep breath adn pushed one hard time and then again this being your hardest push and then you hear crying you open your eyes and smile. Mo'at hands you the baby, ''A girl.'' You smile down at your babygirl and press your head to hers. You look up at Norm as the baby touches your face. Norms eyes filled with tears, but he wasn't sad far from it he was happy, with his family.

[sentient-rift]

⚡️for Spider

(Random Thought Meme)

"Yeah, don't know what to think when I have no idea who you are behind that mask. Sorry, pal. You could be a friend, you could be a foe. There's no way to tell."

[yuhi-san]

I sat my ass down and put some meta thoughts into word that have been swirling in my head for ages for @tristampparty day 9 Brad and luida

Because i wont be finishing the planned story on time, soo

Brad, Luida and ship three went in completely blind when it came to how to handle vash being an independent pant. They had nothing to go off on and as far as they knew, independents were a theoretical possibility but vash was the first one they encountered (not even luida had the clearance to see anything that could contain mentions of tesla). Vash isn’t really human but he isn’t like a dependent plant either.

I made a post about how that regarding how vash initially seemed to go through a human lifecycle a lot faster, until they realized he just stopped aging at a certain point.

The other thing I wonder is, do brad, luida and at least some of the others know about tesla?

The answer is, im sure it will never come up in canon. And I guess people are inclined to say, no way would vash ever open up to anyone about it.

But I think brad and luida know. Not much. Maybe just that there was an independent before them and she had died from the experiments done on her. Just these two things is all vash ever said.

Because see, in stampede vash came to ship three when he was still very small. It became his home, he actually bonded with all these people, they are like family. And he was still very young when the traumatic loss of his arm happened.

It changes the dynamic between him and these people a lot compared to trimax and 98.

Vash doesn’t have a regular prosthesis but a cybernetic one (or three if you like me follow the hc that his legs are prosthesis as well). also there is metal and hardware (?) on his chest and stuff. But even

My point is, those aren’t things he got from patching himself up or went through shabby surgery in a back alley or something of no man’s land.

 Initial surgery when luida brought him back aside, that must have been ‘experimented’ with vash to some degree because they knew nothing. Can he get sick? How does he response to medicine, to painkillers? To anesthetics? Vash bleeds but does he have bloodtypes like a human? What are they supposed to do when he lost his arm? Give him a bloodtransfusion like they would with a human and hope his body wont reject it? Throw him in a plant tank and hope that the plants can do for him what he does for them?

And even if they were kind and patient and understanding and reassuring about it, there must have been so many moments where it was literally just trial and error because they simply had nothing to go on. It must have been so scary for vash.

But especially with his arm (and possibly his legs). It’s an cybernetic arm. There are cables and shit directly connected to his body. It’s not a regular stump he has, it’s a port, its hardware embedded in his flesh.

And surgeries are scary, especially for kids. Its normal to be afraid of them. But vash must have been beyond terrified by the mention of it. Far, far more so than could be reasonably explained as a normal reaction. So I think vash told them because he was too terrified, too afraid, didn’t know what else to do or say. A hysteric outburst more likely than calm communication.

(“There was an independent before us. They experimented on her. She’s dead.”)

It was terribly for everyone involved.

But, like even if vash didn’t tell them.

At some point, he made the conscious and active decision to trust this people so unconditionally. Despite his rocky start with them and what had transpired with the blackbox, they could reassure vash that he was save and no one would do him any harm.

Vsh trusted them enough to let them put him under, take a scalpel to him, change his body irrecoverably but he would come out of it alright, wouldn’t endure any unnecessary pain by their hand.

Like, if you think about it like that, after the horror of what happened to tesla that shaped him and nai so much, vash found it in himself to trust these people with what then and possibly still might be his biggest trauma. And like rem had promised, he didn’t end like his sister

[orbital-inclination]

Do Rem and Molt celebrate Gyftmas? What presents do they get everyone and each other?

What a fun question! They do in fact! My answer got long, so I put it all under the cut~

Rem gravitates towards to giving everyone practical gifts. What he gives depends on their needs or what he thinks they’ll appreciate that year!

Things like a new knife sharpener, scabbard, or even a storage case for his growing knife collection for Killer.

New Kitchen stuff, cook books, or other such things for Horror.

Cross's gyftmas gift is one on one sword training from Rem himself, just the two of them, no interruptions. Other gifts might be: scrapbooks kits, a polaroid camera, film etc.

For Dust its new equipment for his chemistry experiments, notebooks for note keeping (and organizing his thoughts,) the secret password to a safe belonging to some poor Alphys' so Dust can help himself to whatever dangerous substance he's missing.

Molt's gifts are almost always sentimental. He will go off of gyftmas lists if stumped, but otherwise, he usually aims for something meaningful and surprising. Something he knows will make the other person happy, even if it's very, very silly or they didn't realize how happy asking for that particular thing would've made them. He's very good at this.

He will get funny hats for the stray cats Killer picks up. (one year, Molt gave Killer an actual kitten.) He's the one giving Error and Cross their favorite brand of chocolate. Oh, it might be a simple box one year. but the next he's found a chocolate shop that will make elaborate custom chocolate sculptures. It's a joke book for Horror. a recording of a tv show that will make Dust laugh but only mentioned he wanted the dvd/vhs for once. Molt is drawn to happiness. and Gyftmas is one of the few occasions he lets down his guard and indulges in the instinct he has for it.

As for what the brothers get each other...

Since Molt experiences the world mostly through sound, touch, and feelings, most of his gifts from Rem lean into that. audio books, books written in braille, music to listen to (vinyl or cassette), a new pillow or blanket for Molt's growing hoard, an elaborate fidget box enchanted to present a new puzzle every day

For Rem; its the next book in the serial he's reading, (limited edition, which Molt enlists Killer's help in getting) a new chess set, a telescope, a journal for cataloguing new stars, and so on.

And lastly, a mutual gift: a truce. Whatever fight or argument they might have had, it's put aside for the day.

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Freak and The Princess (II)

Summary: Eddie lets you walk by during his rant in the cafeteria, stumped by your quietness and manners toward the town freak. He then decides to be the perfect gentlemen. [Part 2/5] 1.7k+ Words

Warnings: blood and stitches, flirty best friend Steve Harrington?, but other than that none that I know of!

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love y'all showed Part 1! I feel like I should call this Part 1.5 because Eddie isn't in much of it but it is setup for an eventful Part 3. (Apologies for any inconsistencies in the formatting, I’m uploading from the mobile app and I'm planning to review it later.) I edited this and proofread it, but please point out any errors or things that you like! And please send requests; all the characters I write for are under my tag #characters! Hope you enjoy! :) Part I

The Freak and The Princess

Part Two: More of a Prince

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Eddie said, opening the door of his van for me.

“Eddie, you really don’t have to drive me to school every day. It’s a 10-minute walk, I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’d prefer knowing you’re safe,” he said, more serious than I’d heard before.

“Thanks. For chauffeuring me everywhere and for the milkshakes.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

He waited until I was safe inside to pull out, waving as he drove away. I put my things away and collapsed on my bed, groaning as my phone rang.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hey, babe. We have a slight problem. Are you busy?” Steve asked, slightly out of breath.

“Russian soldiers slight or Dustin fell off his bike slight?” I questioned, sitting up.

“The second one. There was an accident and there is a lot of blood, and I don’t really know what to do.”

“Where are you?”

“Hawkins High. Back parking lot. Thank you,” he said before hanging up.

“What did you get into, Steve Harrington?” I whispered as I grabbed my purse and started running toward the school. I turned the corner into the back lot, seeing Dustin and Lucas lying on the blacktop, laughing weakly.

“Steve?” I called as I approached.

“Oh, thank you,” he mumbled, jogging toward me. “They were playing some game and got spooked by something, I think? They won’t really tell me what happened, and they won’t let me take them to the hospital.”

I nodded, handing him my bag and kneeling by them. I noticed that most of Dustin's blood was from a gash below his hairline.

“Steve, I need something to stop the bleeding. Is there any cloth in my purse?” I heard him open it before handing me a white shirt. “Sorry, Eddie,” I thought before pushing it against Dustin’s head. “Hold this here, keep firm pressure,” I instructed Dustin before turning to Lucas. “Where are you hurt?”

He held up his arm, a deep cut spanning his forearm.

“Steve?” I asked, looking up at him. “He needs stitches.”

“No hospitals!” Dustin and Lucas yelled.

“Fine, fine,” I said, thinking. “Can you get us into the school, Steve?”

“Let me go check the doors. If they’re locked, I can’t, not without breaking in anyway,” he said before running toward the building.

“What happened?” I asked Dustin.

“You can’t tell Steve,” he said. I nodded, and he started talking again, “We were playing a new game that Eddie showed us, I don't remember the name of it. Neither one of us realized Jason and his goons were here until they came out and started hitting us.”

“Jason Carver did this?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Lucas said slowly, watching me from the corner of his eye.

I clenched my jaw, looking back to the building to see Steve running back, shaking his head.

“I have the stuff to do it at my place, can you drive them?” I asked.

Steve nodded, helping Dustin up and into the car as I did the same with Lucas. I had one side of my shirt pressed against his arm to stop the bleeding.

“Dustin gets shotgun,” I said, climbing into the back with Lucas to keep pressure on his cut. His blinks were getting heavy. “Stay awake, Lucas, talk to me about your D&D Campaign, basketball, anything.”

He launched into a speech about the current campaign, not stopping until we got to my house and climbed out of the car. We got them into the house and sat them down at the dining table.

“Steve, get towels and the first aid kit. Both are in the closet in the hallway,” I instructed.

He returned quickly with the first aid kit and a handful of towels. He pressed one of the towels against Dustin’s head, tossing the Hellfire shirt into the kitchen sink. I laid a towel under Lucas’s arm, pulling the alcohol and stitching supplies from the first aid kit.

“This is going to hurt, Lucas,” I said gently, kneeling beside him, “if you feel like you’re going to pass out, don’t fight it, ok?”

He nodded, and I poured the alcohol on his arm, grimacing as he yelled in pain. I started the stitches, noticing that he lost consciousness after the fourth one.

“Dustin, stay awake, man,” Steve said to Dustin. “What does he need? The bleeding stopped.”

“I don’t think he has a concussion, but we need to be careful. Just put a bandage on his head and we’ll keep an eye on him. If he falls asleep, just make sure to check on him and wake him every hour or so.”

Steve placed a bandage on Dustin’s head, tossing two bloody towels into the sink. He helped Dustin to the couch before filling the sink with cold water and hydrogen peroxide. I put the last stitch in Lucas’s arm, the twelfth one. I replaced the towel under his arm with a clean one before wiping off the excess blood and wrapping it. Steve carried him to the couch before coming back to the dining room.

“Thank you,” he said, picking up the loose first aid kit supplies and placing them back in the box.

“Of course. Glad they’re ok.”

“Mind if we crash here tonight? I’ll take them home first thing in the morning.”

“That’s fine. You can take the guest room if you want.”

Steve nodded, thanking me again. The doorbell rang, and I looked at Steve, who shrugged and followed me to the door. I looked through the peephole, relaxing before pulling the door open.

“Whoa! What happened?” Eddie asked as he saw me, stepping across the threshold and gently grabbing my face.

“Dustin and Lucas got hurt,” I whispered, tilting my head toward the couch. He looked over, saw the bandages littering their bodies, then saw Steve standing behind me.

“You ok, man?” Eddie asked him, pulling away from me and closing the door.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Wish I’d been there when they got hurt. They won’t tell me what happened. I’m gonna head to bed though, we’ll be out of here first thing.” He walked down the hall, and Eddie turned his attention to me again.

“Let’s get you cleaned up?” He phrased it as a question, giving me an out.

I nodded as I grabbed his hand and led him to my bedroom and attached bathroom.

“Swanky digs,” he said as I grabbed some clothes and set them on the vanity top. He grabbed a washcloth and a bar of soap from my shower, setting them by the sink. “You change, and wash any blood off your skin, then let me know when you’re done.”

I stepped into the bathroom, pulling the bloody clothes off and washing with the washcloth as I went. I opened the door, carrying my bloody clothes to the kitchen and adding them to the sink. Returning to my room, Eddie was sitting on my bed, his boots and jacket discarded by my window.

“C’mere,” he said, holding his arms out. I climbed onto the bed and fell into his arms. “You alright, princess?”

“Not really,” I whispered. “It could’ve been so much worse.”

“But it wasn’t, because you and Steve were there,” he said, hugging me and rubbing my back.

“Why’d you come back?” I asked, voice muffled by Eddie’s shirt where I had my face buried in his chest.

“You left your history binder in my van. I’m assuming you’re not going to do your homework though?”

I laughed, shaking my head and cuddling closer to Eddie.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he asked. I nodded against him, and he moved to lie down, pulling me to lie beside him, tucked into his side.

“Are you ok? You seem- I don’t know,” I shrugged at the end, failing to find the right word.

“Post-terrified? ‘Cause that’s exactly how I feel. When you opened that door covered in blood, I swear my heart stopped.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, princess. I didn’t know what was happening and I was scared, that’s not your fault.”

We lay in silence for a few minutes until Eddie asked, “Wanna skip school tomorrow? Get a long weekend?” I shook my head, already planning what I was going to do to Carver tomorrow. “It’s really late, I don’t think you should go. We all could use a day,” he said, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear. I finally nodded, wrapping my arms around him and trusting he was right. “Get some sleep, princess,” he said, kissing my temple before I drifted off.

I woke up to someone knocking on my door. I wiggled out of Eddie’s arms, opened the door, and saw Dustin standing there.

“Thanks for your help. We’ll see you at Hellfire, right?”

I nodded as Steve came up behind him.

“Go get in the car, Dustin. Thanks again for last night. I called Keith and got us both the night off,” Steve said as he pushed Dustin towards the door.

I smiled my thanks and hugged him before he walked out at the sound of his horn honking. “I’m coming, you little buttheads!”

I turned around to return to bed and saw Eddie smiling at me.

“Have I ever told you you’re a really pretty princess?” he asked, morning voice in full effect.

I fought a losing battle against my ever-growing smile and shook my head as I sat back down.

“Well, you are. Pretty, gorgeous, breathtaking, the list continues.” I turned and hid my face in his shoulder. I felt his shoulder move as he laughed, his hand rubbing circles on my back. I spoke quietly into his shoulder, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me.

“What was that, princess?” he asked, gently lifting my chin with his ring-clad fingers.

“I said, you’re more of a prince than you realize,” I repeated quietly.

A huge grin broke out across Eddie’s face. He pulled me into a hug, collapsing on top of me. “You are something special, princess.”

We spent the day together reading, watching movies, listening to music, and eating most of the snacks I had in the top cabinet, hidden from Dustin. When he went home at the end of the day, my focus shifted entirely to Jason Carver and how I would make him pay.

Taglist: @loonalockley @paleidiot @kimmi-kat

[iron-touch]

"But the world’s an ugly place. Buttering up the truth with ideas of fate, like we’re all pulled in by gravity to some predetermined result no matter what we do, doesn’t make it any better."

Read Iron Touch, a JoJo fanpart starring Polnareff’s daughter, Michelle, after Passione’s Stand arrow is stolen.

Official synopsis and the start of Chapter 1 below the cut:

Official synopsis:

May 19th, 2009: the unthinkable has happened—Passione's prized Stand arrow has been stolen. The perpetrators appear to be a group of unidentified Stand users hiding their faces behind masquerade masks. Giorno suspects who one of the thieves may be, and it's the last person Polnareff wanted to get involved.

Or, in which Polnareff’s daughter goes on her own wacky quest and learns some self-love along the way. Hol Horse is there too, though he'd really rather not be.

Chapter 1: Revelations

Giorno had always considered himself to be a fairly competent man.

To most people, competent was an understatement; a blatant example of unwarranted modesty. From the members of Passione who had witnessed his growth as a leader firsthand to the rival gangs across the globe he had crushed underfoot to the kind old ladies he always offered help to, competent didn’t even come close to expressing Giorno’s natural ability to adapt to and overcome any obstacle that stood in his way. Even before having been blessed by the power of Requiem and thrust into the position of mafia boss at the ripe old age of 15, everyone had considered him to be wise beyond his years, complimented by street smarts and a silver tongue. Yes, competent was usually a perfectly acceptable way to describe Giorno Giovanna.

So it only made moments like this, where Giorno felt so completely incompetent, all the more embarrassing.

He still had a hard time believing that such a thing had happened right under his nose. A childish part of him prayed that none of this was real, that it was a nightmare or some kind of twisted joke set up by Mista as vengeance for putting him in a team of four on his last mission. The embarrassment of being so incompetent was already bad enough, but the potential ramifications for this one error were far more daunting.

Someone had stolen the arrow.

An uncomfortable, almost itchy feeling coursed through Giorno's body at the thought, like a snake slithering up his back and threatening to bite his neck. He fluffed the pillow behind him, swatting at it. This was wrong. It was all wrong. The room inside Coco Jumbo was supposed to be a place of cozy isolation, a place where he could relax and decompress between missions, not a place for him to have a borderline panic attack in. He hadn't felt this way since he was a child, hiding under his bead from his stepfather's screeching threats and leather belt. Although, no amount of privacy could spare him from the shame he felt. Nor should it, the arrow was Giorno's responsibility after all. It was his duty to get it back.

Besides, he wasn't completely alone.

Whilst Giorno sat on the couch fluffing pillows, Polnareff paced around the room's exterior. The cheap prosthetic legs that adorned his stumps never failed to catch Giorno's eye. It just looked strange for him to be walking around on them, like they ought to give out under the weight of the rest of his body. In lieu of the usual cheeky "my eyes are up here" response Giorno usually got for staring, he only got the faint sound of his footsteps clanging against the floor. Slight as it may be, the metallic sound of each step made Giorno's stomach turn. If only I got there sooner, he thought, if only I had gotten to the colosseum before Diavolo that night, I might've been able to restore your legs. If only I had got there sooner, you might still be alive and not chained to this room.

Even through his unkempt hair, wrinkled suit, and heavy bags that weighed his eyelids down, Giorno admitted that Polnareff undoubtedly looked worse than he did. All of his frustration was laid bare on his face; his brows arched upwards, eyes unfocused yet brimming with inner conflict as he surveyed the room, the occasional vexed sigh escaping his lips. Considering everything that Polnareff did in order to keep the arrow away from those who would misuse it, his reaction was justified. Additionally, when considering other recent revelations, Giorno figured that he would be just as distressed as Polnareff were he in his prosthetics. Tired of pacing around the same four corners, the Frenchman flumped into one of the armchairs and laid his head in his hands.

"Would you like to go over everything again?" Giorno asked mostly because the useless silence between them tired him. "Now that we've had the chance to sleep on it, we may discover something we had overlooked before."

After taking a deep breath to steel himself, Polnareff lowered his arms but did not look up to meet Giorno's gaze. "That sounds like a good idea," he responded.

Nodding in approval, Giorno began to sort through the mess of documents laying on the coffee table. The regretful, lingering stare Polnareff kept on two of the papers that had been brushed to the side did not go unnoticed as Giorno attempted to line up all of the relevant files in front of them.

“So,” Giorno began, “Tuesday, May 19th, 2009.” He shook away the self-reproach clawing through his thoughts. It had already been three days. “At 3:47 AM, a suspicious man was seen loitering outside of our base of operation. Tall, pale skin, mint green hair. Armed with a Desert Eagle.” In one of the images taken from the security footage, the man sneered at the camera, cigarette clenched between his pearly whites. Giorno couldn’t help but scowl his cheekiness. “He stayed outside the building, standing at the corner of the sidewalk by himself for eight minutes. At 3:55, two other individuals joined him, both wearing dark blue masquerade masks and hooded robes. Both are shorter than the other man, but given how tall he is, that doesn’t narrow anything down.”

He slumped back into the sofa. “It bothers me that only two of them made an attempt to disguise themselves,” he commented, “The fact that he got there first seems to suggest that he’s either their leader or a decoy. Given what ended up happening, I’d say it’s the latter, but,” Giorno glared at the knowing look that the man had flashed at the camera, “I have my doubts.”

He looked up at Polnareff, waiting for his consigliere to give his thoughts. About six seconds of silence passed before Giorno cleared his throat to summon Polnareff’s attention away from the stray documents. It took another moment or so after that for him to register that Giorno expected his input, after which he sat up a bit straighter and finally let his eyes scan over the other papers.

“He could’ve just been full of himself,” Polnareff added, his stare wandering back to those same two papers, “not every man is as committed to keeping themselves hidden as Diavolo was.”

“But you would think that he would at least be someone we knew if that were the case,” Giorno rebutted, “like someone from a rival gang or someone with the government. If he was someone new who wanted to make himself known, he did a laughably poor job.” Giorno grabbed an autopsy report from the table. “We have this man’s corpse but not so much as his name.”

Polnareff sighed. “That is also true,” he said, his voice tired.

“Either way, I had Sheila E use her Stand on the street corner the three of them waited at, as well as the rest of the area to see if they talked about anything. Unfortunately, it seems that they were prepared for that.” Giorno rested his thumb and pointer finger on his chin, deep in thought. “That alone is enough to raise suspicion. And, along with the fact that they knew exactly where the arrow was hidden, then as much as I hate to say it, at least one of the perpetrators could be someone from within Passione.” The very thought of a traitor within their ranks brought about a suffocating tension to the room. Giorno could practically hear Diavolo’s mad laughter ringing in his ears; how ironic that both of them would be undone by one of their underlings.

“We shouldn't forget that we've taken precautions in order to make sure that’s not the case.” At this point, Giorno was all but talking to himself. “It could just be that whoever we’re dealing with is very cautious. Even within Passione, most of our members don’t know the Stands of those outside their own teams. Sheila and her teammates are my bodyguards, if I can trust anyone, it’s them.” He hoped so at least, especially given that Giorno had left Mista in charge of affairs in his absence. “Their alibis are also—”

A sudden bump in the road caused the room to jolt. The papers on the table scattered on impact, turning the organized mess into a more standard one. Shaken from his trance, Polnareff nearly jumped out of his own ethereal skin from the unexpected force. Giorno sighed and began to reorganize the papers. After taking a moment to gather his bearings, Polnareff assisted him.

"Giorno," he said, putting some papers back in their folder for known suspects, "I understand we're traveling incognito, but we really should consider taking more comfortable means of transport in the future."

Giorno laid the timeline out once again and grabbed the basket of fruit that sat on the end table. "This was the best I could get for us under such short notice." He began to lay out the fruit on top of the papers, giving them extra weight to pin them in place. "I don't need to tell you that traveling via plane in these types of situations is a bad idea."

Polnareff observed Giorno take the two papers that called for his gaze and place them in his coat pocket.

Before he could interject, Giorno continued speaking. "Now then," he said, brushing some stray curls behind his ear, "at 4 AM sharp, our building lost power. Our security cameras, smoke detectors, laser grids…all of it shut down. We were the only building in the area to experience a power outage. Sometime soon after, the thieves blew a hole through the side of the building, about two meters tall and two meters wide, and broke in. Shards of glass were found near the scene even though all of our windows remained intact through the ordeal."

Giorno returned his attention back to the timeline. "From this point on the details are a little fuzzy, but we do know a few things for certain." He removed the apple weighing down the stack of autopsy reports, simultaneously taking the papers and a bite from the apple. "Eleven of the twelve guards on duty were killed via electrocution. The only guard who survived, his name was Mente Vettore, shot the green haired man four times in the head, just outside the hidden room where we keep the arrow. He died on the spot and never even removed his gun from his holster."

He took another bite of the apple. "Vettore fired two more shots, hitting the wall and a chair, but he didn't seem to hit the other two assailants. He would've had four more shots left, but there’s no evidence to suggest he fired any more bullets. Around the same time, another hole was blown in the wall, revealing our hidden vault. Just like with the other hole, shards of broken glass were found by the impact. The vault we kept the arrow stored in was also destroyed. At 4:15, the power came back on, and the two masked assailants were already long gone. Vettore has also gone missing. We arrived at the scene ten minutes later."

Giorno picked up the profiles of the two masked assailants they had drafted up. "From what I can tell, the power outage must've been caused by a Stand. That same Stand is probably what electrocuted the guards. My guess is that it's a Stand with the ability to steal electricity, store it, then channel it somehow. I don't think it's what blew holes in the walls though. I think a different Stand did that, and it's likely linked to the broken glass in some way." He placed the profiles down and retrieved an autopsy report. "Interestingly enough, the man with green hair doesn't seem to be a Stand user. We couldn't gleam anything else of note from his autopsy. His fingerprints have been sanded off, his blood and face don't match up with any on record, we couldn't even discern where his clothes are from."

Trading the autopsy report for a mission log, he choked down yet another bite of the apple. “I had Murolo send All Along Watchtower out for reconnaissance. He spotted the arrow yesterday just outside of Orléans, carried by another masked individual. We don't know if they're one of the thieves or someone else. They were headed north towards Paris, which is where we’re on our way to now.”

Taking a final bite of his apple, Giorno looked up to his consigliere. "So," he said, "do you have anything to add, Polnareff?"

He took a moment to examine the mess of papers, reorienting himself so he faced them head on as he ran a hand through his column of silver hair. Polnareff still seemed unfocused, perhaps even more so than before, though Giorno noticed that he made an obvious effort to hide it.

"We should've kept the arrow in the turtle," Polnareff quipped.

Giorno shook his head. "It would've been a bad idea to keep it here. It was starting to affect the turtle. We wouldn't have felt those tremors earlier if we had never put the arrow in here. This would've been the perfect hiding place for the arrow, but it's not worth risking sacrificing you over."

Staring at the ceiling, Polnareff groaned with uncertainty. "I guess," he muttered.

For a while, the two of them just stayed like that, with Polnareff's sights fixated upwards and Giorno looking back at him with concern. Only the faint sound of the engine and the occasional cluck of a chicken bleeding into the room from outside accompanied them. Though he normally strived for this quiet, almost contemplative atmosphere, Giorno figured it wouldn’t do to leave off the conversation like this. It was time to address the elephant in the room.

"There's also the subject of your family…"

Polnareff instantly locked eyes with Giorno, ready and alert. Chuckling at his immediate shift in attitude, Giorno pulled the two papers from his coat pocket, reading the names at the top.

MARYLOU POLNAREFF, NÉE DELON (DECEASED)

MICHELLE POLNAREFF (AGE 17, STATUS UNKNOWN)

"I can't believe you hid the fact that you have a wife and daughter for eight years," Giorno commented, shaking his head in disbelief.

(Alright, that’s enough from me. Now go read the rest on AO3)

[yaz113]

I’ve Never Done This Before But…

This is a little something I wrote up over the course of one night.. I don’t think it’s good enough for ao3, nor can I think of a title or summary to post it there but I also don’t want to scrap it so here it is🥰

I’d been talking to a friend about the overall thematic questions of different works of fiction, and here’s what it resulted it.

The overall question here is: can someone change while keeping the fundamental themness of themselves.

The answer, by Izzy Hands.

Relationships: Stede Bonnet/Israel Hands

Rating: Teens and Up

*~*~*~*~*

"Alright everyone!" Stede smiles as he looks over the loot they've acquired from their most recent raid. "Let's get this all packed up before sunset." There are a few grumbles but after a stern look from Izzy, the crew begins working. Stede pauses to give him a grateful look and he rolls his eyes but nods, a small smile pulling at his lips.

He begins to make his way across the deck, wincing at the pain in his stump before realizing his error. Stede's grateful look has morphed into one of concern and Izzy feels an instinctual rush of embarrassment at having let his guard down in front of him.

"Izzy, my quarters, if you please." The smile Stede gives him is so tender it could almost kill him. He huffs, following behind the captain, the crew's eyes on them. He's used to it, now. It's been nearly a month since the Revenge left the Republic of Pirates, left Edward manning Jeff’s Inn by the Sea with a small team of equally bored and restless ex-pirates, and the crew had to come to terms with the fact that Izzy wasn't going anywhere.

At first they had been suspicious, sure that Izzy would do something to betray Stede again, to turn him in for his bounty. It hadn't taken long, though, for Izzy to prove his loyalty and the crew, while wary, accepted him. It helped that his relationship with Stede had changed.

"So, what is this about?" Izzy asks, his tone impatient, though he already knows. He had seen Stede eyeing his stump earlier during the raid and again on deck and the concern on his face had been clear.

"Israel," Stede begins, and he shivers at the sound of his own name. It's something that's been so deeply and utterly his for the majority of his life, and yet, hearing Stede say it now makes his heart race. "When was the last time you tended to your leg?"

"This morning." Izzy lies. He hates when Stede worries about him like this. Hates the guilt that floods his expression, hates the way his eyes seem to plead with him, the way he seems to think he can fix him.

"You're lying."

"It doesn't matter." Izzy insists. He turns to leave, not wanting to deal with the rest of this conversation.

"You've got to stop punishing yourself for this, Israel." Stede says, and Izzy stills. "It's been long enough, don't you think?"

"So?" He doesn't turn to face Stede. He keeps his gaze planted firmly on the wall, the floor, hoping his dignity will remain intact.

"So," Stede steps closer to him, and he can feel the warmth radiating off his body. It's so comforting, the feeling of him being close. It makes his heart ache, sometimes. "So, you deserve better."

"I don't." Izzy's voice is small, and he hates how weak he sounds. He turns to face Stede, who is wearing the same soft expression as always. His eyes are filled with sadness, his lips slightly parted, and he already wants to lean into the touch that he knows will come.

"You do." Stede reaches out, stroking his cheek with the back of his fingers. Izzy's skin burns from the touch, and his heart aches. He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't. His eyes flutter shut, unable to bear the intensity of Stede's gaze, and his hand moves, wrapping around the back of his neck and pulling him in closer. "You're so much more than what you let yourself believe, Israel." His thumb strokes his jaw, and the tears begin to fall. Stede wipes them away, and pulls him in for a kiss. Izzy melts into it, into the comfort of it, the safety he feels with Stede. After so many years of fear, it's overwhelming, and yet, it's exactly what he needs.

When they pull apart, Stede presses their foreheads together. They breathe each other in for a moment before Stede pulls away.

"Sit on the couch, if you please." Stede says simply. It's not an order. Izzy has gotten used to these half-commands, the ways that Stede gives him space, that he doesn't try to take away his agency, his sense of self. It had been a lot for him, at first. The way that Stede treated him, the way that he wanted to take care of him. It was all too foreign. And yet, Izzy had found himself wanting to be cared for, and he had let Stede. He had let him tend to his wounds, to his stump, his heart, his soul.

"Okay." He whispers, and Stede smiles. He sits, and Stede joins him a few minutes later, carrying a bowl of warm water, a clean cloth, and a new bandage. He sits on the floor in front of him, taking his peg off and setting it aside.

The wound healed a long time ago, but Izzy can't stand the sight of it, can't stand the phantom pain that courses through him, the guilt and self-hatred that floods him. He tries to hide it, but the way that his breath catches in his throat, the way he clenches his jaw, the way his hands ball into fists at his side, the way he stares at the floor, Stede notices. He's noticed all of it, and Izzy hates it, but he loves it, too.

He hates that he's so vulnerable, so weak, but he loves the care, the compassion, the affection, the softness, the kindness. He doesn't know how he's ever lived without it, and the thought of living without it now is enough to drive him mad.

"You don't have to do this." Izzy reminds him as he always does, his voice hoarse. "I can do it myself."

"I want to, though." Stede says, and Izzy doesn't protest further. He watches as Stede begins cleaning the area, his touch feather light, his eyes full of focus and determination. He tries not to cry, tries not to let the tears fall. He's not used to being cared for, and while part of him feels like he doesn't deserve it, another part of him craves it.

Stede is patient, and meticulous. He takes his time, ensuring that every last bit of the stump is cleaned. The water has long gone cold, but neither of them pay it any mind. They are lost in each other, lost in the tenderness, the vulnerability, the love. When Stede finishes, he dries it and wraps it in the clean bandage with gentle hands. Once he finishes, he looks up at Izzy.

"Thank you." Izzy says, his voice thick with emotion. Stede smiles softly and leans in, kissing him. It's a soft kiss, full of love and tenderness, and Izzy melts into it.

"You're welcome." Stede says. He puts Izzy's peg back on, and stands, extending a hand out to him. "Now, how about we go check on the crew? See how the packing is going?"

"Yeah." Izzy nods. "We should."

"Great." Stede smiles, and Izzy takes his hand. He lets Stede pull him up and lead him out of the room. As they make their way across the deck, their hands linked, their shoulders brushing, their hearts full, the crew's eyes on them—working just a little harder now that Izzy is out amongst them, Izzy can't help but smile.

A lifetime ago, he had been seated in a dimly lit tavern in Saint Vincent, drinking with Anne, Mary, Jack, and Sam. They'd been celebrating Sam's thirtieth birthday and Mary and Anne’s retirement all in one.

"D'you think people can change?" Mary had asked, words slurring, eyes heavy with alcohol. She casted her gaze towards Anne who was chasing a glass of whiskey with rum, and her face softened. "D'you think we can change and have the things we like about ourselves stay the same? Like, d'you think a person can have both?"

Izzy hadn't known how to answer then. His tongue had been heavy, his thoughts weighed down by liquor, and he had merely shrugged, his heart sinking.

He knows the answer now. He can feel it in the way that his heart has grown lighter, the way his shoulders no longer carry the burden of his past, the way his skin no longer prickles at the slightest provocation, the way his smile comes easier. He can feel it in the way the sun seems brighter, the way the world seems a little kinder, the way the days go by just a bit easier.

Yes, Izzy thinks, slaying British Navy men while offering encouraging smiles to the crew he is beginning to love.

Yes, he thinks, growling halfhearted complaints as he slides into a seat he is beginning to consider his home, next to Frenchie and Jim.

Yes, he thinks, forgiving Edward for all his wrongdoings while simultaneously refusing to let his captain skip over all his boundaries. He stays ashore when he wants to, comes to visit when he wants to, is slowly but surely teaching Edward that no is a complete sentence.

Yes, he thinks, looking around the deck of the ship he now calls home, the crew he now calls family, the space that had become his refuge, his place of solace, his sanctuary.

Yes, he thinks, he has changed. But underneath, he’s still him. He’s a more loved him, a softer him, a him that’s quicker to smile, but still undeniably, him.

~*~*~*~*~

I don’t even know if people post things that are this long on this app but if you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed !!