#everyone else is there but they're the important and semi-important ones

[clanofjones]

Ghosts of Our Days - Chapter One

A TMNT 2012 Rasey fanfic by myself and @theosb0rnway

Ao3 (full work)

Additional chapters will be linked!

Note that this fanfiction contains themes such as the described murder of a major character, descent into insanity, lack of self-care, and lots of gratuitously violent scenes, resulting death. However, Oz and I are also suckers for soft Rasey on occasion in-between the angst!

Summary:

When the battle against Super Shredder goes fatally wrong and Raphael pays the price, Casey is forced to go into hiding while plotting revenge against his newest foe. Despite abandoning the turtles, April, and his old life for secrecy, he's not as alone as he thinks he is... or is that just his newfound insanity?

Chapter One: Shredded Heart

If there was one thing to be said about any of it, it was that running with two hockey sticks strapped to one's back, irregularly sized gloves on one's hands, and numerous bits and bobs strapped all over their person wasn’t easy.

And Casey Jones qualified as ‘one’.

However, it was a learned terrain, and his fit was less bulky than usual as he leapt across rooftops. Probably for the better, he thought as he stopped right behind Raph, April, Slash, and Splinter as the latter motioned for their party to come to a halt.

“The Shredder,” was all he offered by means of an explanation. “He is atop that building.” He pointed to the building in question, Wolf Hotel.

Casey noted that it would be a heck of a climb if they were on that serious of a time crunch.

“That’s where we fought for the first time,” Raph recalled with vague surprise in his tone.

“And that’s where we take him down,” Slash added. “Once, and for all!”

Taking his words as incentive enough, the group darted off, taking to the street, and manhandling an accessible window. Nobody spoke as the group ascended the stairs, adrenaline palpable, and Casey was sure it was coursing through their veins as much as it was in his as they spilled out onto the roof.

Well. Him and April much more literally.

Adrenaline didn’t do much in the way of climbing more than twenty levels of stairs for a couple of ordinary humans.

“So… Why couldn’t we… take the elevator?” Casey gasped out as he hobbled onto the roof, regretting in tenfold the sweaty gloves occupying both of his hands as he used one of his hockey sticks to continue forwards. “At least… Me and April?”

April staggered out behind him, with similar concerns. “Feels like my… legs are disconnected from my body…” However, neither of them received any sympathy, barring a cursory glance from the others.

“Quiet. Shredder is near,” Splinter said, and Casey just managed to find his bearings and pull his mask down as Raph pulled out his sais and April rolled up her sleeves.

“Oh man,” April said in a grave tone as Splinter’s gaze flicked in the opposite direction. “I sense him. He’s close!” Exactly on cue, the Super Shredder burst from the ground below, and Casey could barely make out the silhouette of his enemy against the moonlight before he had landed, declaring vengeance once again.

“Hamato Yoshi… At last. My nightmares will end, for tonight, you shall finally perish.”

“Indeed. I will end your nightmares, Saki.” Splinter extended his weapon with a swish of his arms. “Permanently!”

Super Shredder’s claws extended, breathing heavy. Then, at the exact same moment, the two ran at each other. Super Shredder jumped above Splinter as he made a jab at Super Shredder’s shoulder with his weapon, but he grabbed Splinter’s left shoulder with his right arm, and tossed him across the roof.

Splinter crawled across the roof, facing up, away from Super Shredder’s persistent punches, each of which would have ended his life.

Just as it looked that he was in the clear, Super Shredder grabbed Splinter’s rat tail, lifted him clear over his head, and swung down at the ground.

Not having relinquished his grip, he flung Splinter towards a cell tower, finally letting go. Splinter took the vague advantage to land gracefully, the weapon still extended.

Super Shredder ran at Splinter again, but Slash intercepted him, and Casey cheered internally as Slash’s mace met Super Shredder’s arm.

However, his cheer turned into a groan as Slash was flung into the hotel sign they’d all seen before.

Now’s the time, Jones, he told himself as he ran out from his lack of cover, and a smoke bomb puck exploded next to Super Shredder’s head. Another one was at the ready, Casey keeping it in front of him all the while.

“GOONGALA!” he shouted, and hit the puck with enough force that the stick would have splintered if he’d hit it against the concrete below.

The puck soared through the air, and connected with its target, exploding with the force of a small bomb. A real one, too.

The explosion, while not deterring Super Shredder by much, left an opening for Raph to jump in with a yell, spinning his sais. The sais met Super Shredder’s claws, and Raph had to take a knee due to the force.

Casey jumped in again, and swung his hockey stick at Shredder’s head. This time, it did break into a million tiny pieces as he caught his footing once more, and jumped past Super Shredder with a punch as Raph attempted to restrain their much taller enemy.

To his horror, Super Shredder pried Raph from his back, and proceeded to pummel him into the ground, Raph’s legs twitching with each blow.

Oh, hell no. Not Casey Jones’ boyfriend, you didn’t.

But before Casey could even begin to enact revenge in Raph’s name, the latter was drop-kicked carelessly to the edge of the roof as Raph groaned, rolling half the way.

Casey’s head whirled towards him – the mask didn’t provide much view except for what was directly in front of him – and was about to rush to his aid when April beat him to it, and Casey felt the vestiges of telekinetic energy push him back a bit as Raph was forced back onto solid ground.

But whatever physics were still in play must have applied to April too, and she was forced off the roof in turn. He restarted his mad dash for the roof’s edge, hoping those same physics wouldn’t let him be too late.

Casey watched as she fell from the rooftop, shooting his grappling hook as fast as he could, hoping that it would reach her in time. It hit the ground with a crack, pulling him forward towards the edge a bit.

By some miracle, April caught the rope, landing about four or five feet from the ground. She climbed down and dislodged the hook from the ground, the metal gadget going back up to Casey.

He'd been off guard for too long, knowing now he could finally look back at the battle going on around him. He would go on to wish he never did.

As he turned around, he saw Raph trying to take down Super Shredder on his own, Splinter laying on the ground several feet away from them both. With no hesitation, Shredder grabbed Raphael by the neck, holding him up for Casey to see.

"CASEY RU-" Raph was cut off by a claw spearing straight through his shell and out his plastron, letting out a small gasp.

All he could see was Casey, and all Casey could see was red. This wasn't happening, this wasn't happening, this wasn't-

Casey shook all thoughts from his mind, letting himself go as he charged at the hulking being.

"GOONGALA!!!!" Casey roared, launching himself at the villain, his mind and body on a warpath.

Shredder threw Raph to the side, losing focus for a split second, giving Casey the opportunity to get his potato masher taser straight into one of the gaps in the madman's armor. Shredder tensed and fell with a groan, and once again Casey used his time to grab Raphael and do the last thing his lover had told him to do: run.

He slung the injured turtle over his shoulder as fast as he could, used to the weight by now. He readied his hook and shot at the nearest building, silently jumping from rooftop to rooftop, not looking back until the Wolf Hotel was far out of sight.

He set his bleeding boyfriend up against the edge of some random building top, tears starting to run down his face when he got a better look at the wound. He could tell immediately that Raph didn't have long to live and that no human hospital could help him in any way.

"Raph! Raphie, goddamnit, stay with me babe, stay with me!" He tugged the bandana off his head as fast as he could, trying to stop the bleeding, but he knew it was no use. However, he wouldn't let Raph go without a fight.

"Case... it's alright, okay? It's... just a... stab, I'm... gonna be... fine..."

"Shit! SHIT! This isn't fine, Raph, this is bad, this is... this is TOO bad, fuck! I can't-"

The turtle looked him in the eyes and grimaced. They both knew time was short.

"I know. Just... lay down... with... me, will ya? The stars... they l-look... so pretty t-tonight..." A few minutes ago, Casey could lie about having a few tears in eyes, but now, he couldn't do that at all. He tossed his mask off with the same carelessness as his bandana and quickly laid down next to Raph's side, placing his head right next to his hand holding the bandana down.

Casey's makeup was a mess, leaving a mess of black and white stains on Raph's plastron. He couldn't even bother to look up at the stars, all he could do was look at Raph, hearing the ninja's breathing slow. "Take... take care... of...them for me.... alright?" Casey nodded, burying his head into Raph's neck and letting out a mumbled

"I love you, Raphie."

"L-Love you.. too, C-Casey Jones... l-love... you... too..." The warrior took his final breath, his eyes looking not to the stars above him as his final sight, but to the brightest star in his life.

That brightest star was about to become the sun, and not because of how much love he had in his heart. It was all the rage Casey had feared, all the rage he'd held back for the sake of his boyfriend breaking open like a dam, filling him and fueling him to do one thing and one thing only: Kill the Shredder.

It was time to take what had been taken from him, and Casey Jones has never been above a few broken bones.

Or murder.

.

.

.

.

A/N: HERE WE GO, FELLAS >:D

Send my bestie, @theosb0rnway, some love for the AMAZING writing on the death scene and Rasey moment! He deserves ALL the praise and ALL the good things and I will not take criticism on that!

Chapter Two ->

[churipu]

BEAUTIFUL FEATURES 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, fushiguro megumi

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. cursing on gojo :)

note. while i'm working on chapter 5 of my killswitch lullaby series, i'm gonna upload something because i just got home from a get together with my big family, and part 5 of killswitch lullaby is still halfway done :(

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

"you have freckles."

averting your eyes to gojo through the mirror in the bathroom, you nodded, "mhm, they've always been there," it's not like you've made them noticeable — so the reaction was expected, you never really liked them.

"why did i just notice them?" he asks, leaning his shoulder onto the doorway, "i mean — they look really pretty y/n."

pretty didn't sit well with you, especially not when you grow up hating that certain feature. chuckling out softly, you raised a brow, "they're not pretty, they're weird, 'toru."

the male blinks, "who said that?"

"everyone else but you—" he scoffs, throwing his face to the side with a lop-sided smirk, "what? why are you laughing?"

gojo shakes his head in denial, "fuck what they think — i think they're pretty, and they suit you. why would you hide it?" the blue eyed male watches your every move as your fingers pressed on the skin colored cushion onto your skin, sealing away the beautiful dots gracing across your cheeks.

"because i feel better without them." you nonchalantly answered, patting the cushion a few times to flatten the foundation. your freckles immediately drowned under it, disappearing from sight.

gojo was silent, his face was indescribable — and you don't know what he had in mind next. frankly, he's a little angry. not at you, anyone but you. the male then stepped towards you, throwing an arm around your waist, "can i ruin your make up just the slightest bit . . ?"

"yes, but 'm not going to talk to you for the rest of the day . . . or two."

the blue eyed male chuckled, but he wasted no time wrapping his slender fingers around your wrist, peppering gentle kisses across your cheeks, right over the semi-wet foundation — leaving traces of his lips on your face. gojo didn't even care about the sticky substance graved on his lips.

pulling back, he seemed satisfied at his work of art. your make up ruined almost completely as your foundation was smeared away, the smooth layer now barely even there at all, and all was left was trails of his kisses over your sun kissed freckles.

"you're so beautiful, i'd kiss you right now — but i wouldn't want to get foundation in your mouth," he whispers, instead of leaning into your lips, he pressed his foundation laced lips along your forehead, engraving his lips on your skin.

"you're so cheesy—"

"way to ruin the moment, y/n. really great! you're lucky i love you," he grazed his thumb over his art, wiping away your foundation, "i love you and everything about you."

smiling lightly, you nod, "i love you too."

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

nanami traced his finger on your skin behind your ear, the tip of his finger grazing over the same spot again and again. his eyebrows furrowed the slightest bit, "what happened here?"

you glanced at him, "hm? what happened where?" the male didn't answer, but his finger traced your skin — specifically, where your birth mark laid. and he blinked slowly, "oh, i forgot about that. nothing happened there, 'ts my birth mark."

the male nods his head. his eyes never leaving the darker spot behind your ear, "i never knew you had one . . ." he mumbles out, a little upset he's never noticed such a beautiful feature on you through out the time he has been with you.

"i didn't want you to," you replied back.

nanami retracted his hand back, "are there any reasons why?"

craning your neck to face him, your e/c eyes averted around the room. anywhere but right at his eyes, "um . . . i don't think that my birth mark is an important feature, you know where i'm coming from?"

nanami in fact didn't, "unfortunately, not."

"i just don't think it's nice to look at," you tell him the truth, chuckling, "but i actually forgot that i had that behind my ear for a bit."

once again, his fingers flew to trace your birth mark, admiring it silently. strands of your hair gets tangled in between his fingers at the action, but the male wasn't pulling on it, "it's beautiful. you're beautiful."

"think so?" you asked.

nanami didn't answer you, but his hand cupped your face gently, pulling you close and before you knew it, his lips were on yours. it was a short kiss, but it was full of admiration and love, "i do. i mean it," he states out, gazing into your eyes.

"i love you, ken. you know that, right?"

"i love you more, y/n. you know that, right?"

𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

you'd think that your boyfriend wouldn't notice the way you strain back your smile from engulfing your face? frankly, thinking megumi wouldn't notice was something stupid — megumi notices everything, especially things about you. his partner.

"why do you do that?" he questions, leaning back onto the wall.

raising a brow at him in confusion, you replied back, "do what?"

"straining back your smile — why don't you just . . . smile?" his voice was quiet, but there was something behind it. not anger, not disappointment; megumi was just confused, was it something that he should be concerned about?

even if it wasn't, he is already concerned.

his question left your mind a little hazed, wondering if you should tell him the truth or just lie your way out of this. but (thankfully), you ended up with the first choice, "i didn't want to deepen my smile lines, they look weird."

now it was megumi's mind swirling with different questions, "smile lines? why— what? what?" he mutters under his breath — mind a little disintegrated.

"it leaves a mark behind, i don't like it—"

"you look fine." he cuts you off, "you have a nice smile, don't hold it back."

coming from someone like megumi, you thought it might have been the greatest compliment you have ever gotten the whole entire year. the first genuine smile popped out on your face after a bit, the apple of your cheeks rounding as you beam out at the male in delight, "really? you mean that?"

megumi sighs, nodding, "really."

"that means a lot to me, gumi. thank you," the male blinked — he wasn't sure what had gotten you so happy, surely it wasn't his compliment, is it?

it is, "yeah."

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[xxsycamore]

OFFICE ACTIVITIES

╰┈➤ ❝ That's why I can't go on with my day before I do this to you. I need to see you squirt on my fingers, and I need it now. ❞

Roy Mustang x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Office Sex; Secret Workplace Relationship; Semi-Public Sex; risky sex; Desk Sex; Sexual Fantasy; Dirty Talk; a lot of dirty talk; Teasing; Kink Negotiation; Glove Kink; ROY'S GLOVES; you know where they're going; Hand & Finger Kink; Finger Sucking; mouth fucking (w fingers); Begging; Praise Kink; Pet Names; Roy is both rough and very loving; Female Ejaculation; Squirting; and i mean SQUIRTING; squirting is the main focus of this fic; Vaginal Fingering; Multiple Orgasms; Overstimulation; Masturbation; Vaginal Sex; Creampie; Kissing; Neck Kissing; Aftercare; Some Humor; Light Dom/sub; Dominant Roy; Dacryphilia • wordcount: 5,211 • masterlist

"Colonel, you wanted to see me—"

"Lock the door."

Blinking, you look at Roy's silhouette where he remains with his back to you in his chair, facing the windows of the sunlit office. You do a small bow while complying like a good subordinate, even when he won't see it, and lock the door from the inside. Still, you can't help but let out a small sigh. The pile of paperwork on his desk is bigger than what you saw this morning, when you expected to find it at least halved by now. But alas. And while everyone is away taking care of their own duties, you have the office to yourselves today, so locking the door is hardly necessary…

"With all due respect Colonel, you really, really don't have to hide the fact that I'm helping you with paperwork. I'm sure everyone knows by now."

Roy spins in his chair bossily, raising a hand to signal he doesn't want to hear more. "I'm not going to ask you to do that."

"No, seriously, it's okay, I-"

"Come here."

You do as told, ready to take the load he'll hand you from another pile, or something else to be taken care of in his stead, anything, really. He's in the habit of procrastinating often, you know your Colonel well. There is something almost endearing about it, when he doesn't realize how bad he is at masking it.

He's gesturing you to stand not in front of his desk but rather to join his side, and you do, finding yourself close enough to notice even how the irritation colors his gaze to make it fiercer. Once you're where he summoned you, Roy removes the folder he was holding in his lap and throws it on the desk.

This tricks you into thinking that the folder is the object of importance in this exchange. When your eyes shift to those of the Colonel for further cues as to what is wanted of you, your attention is inevitably stolen.

Roy's blue uniform trousers are tented with an obvious erection.

Face heating up, you quickly close your slightly agape mouth and try to look anywhere else, and disastrously you meet his gaze. Judging by the way he does nothing to hide the fact that he has a noticeable hard-on, or by the way he looks you right in the eye, you have the feeling that you'll get to live another day. Then he speaks again.

"I can't work like that."

His tone is stern, not even a whisper; something akin to one of his less-straightforward orders that would see him click his tongue when failed to comprehend by the other party.

And you don't want to disappoint.

"I understand. You can't work like that indeed, Colonel…"

And you do understand. If he went this far, then that's all you need to understand that you're allowed to lower your guard now.

It's all so natural with you when Roy beckons you into his lap, and you don't lose time maneuvering yourself because you've claimed this seat dozens of times already; your Colonel has a high sex drive. Despite being lovers after work hours, he still needs you during the day, when you're stuck playing this game of pretend. Or maybe that part is exactly what entices him?

Claiming his lips for an impatient kiss, you can't help the small grunt that escapes your throat as soon as Roy's hands begin roaming and foundling about your chest.

The worst part, you never get used to this.

With color on your cheeks, you try your hardest not to hump his leg and miss entirely the point of your being summoned here. You place another chaste kiss on his lips, boldly taking the decision of when enough is enough as you nudge things forward. Undoing the first button of his uniform, you make place for your lips to touch the heated skin underneath. To feel his hot pulse under your tongue as you place kitten licks there.

Roy's curiosity leaves him enjoying the show as you find your footing again, removing yourself from his lap and instead sinking to your knees with a thud. Your hands make their way downward on his torso and then fall on his thighs, his clothed arousal right in front of you.

"You should've told me sooner, Colonel… I could sneak under your desk, I could even stay there while you attempt to take care of those documents… With the way I'm hidden, surely the door doesn't even need to be locked."

You time your suggestion with palming the tent of his trousers, eager to feel how your words get to his head. But he only smirks.

"As much as I feel compelled, no."

It leaves you confused as you stand between Roy's legs. It's rare for him to refuse a blowjob, the balance of powers in this game of teasing is once again off in favor of his striking dominance.

"On the desk. Now."

Pulse quickening, you find your head clouded when you rise to your feet again. Roy all but backs you onto the desk with his body, your legs parting to make space for him in between.

His backlit frame only highlights the darkness of his eyes as he has you cornered; you prop yourself up on your elbows and wait for something, anything.

"You know, you're the reason I can't do my work right now. I've been thinking about you again. About fingering you."

Fuck. This close up, you're sure he can observe even the tiniest of bodily reactions he rips out of you with words alone. The slight twitching of your leg, the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you realize you're at fault for his hard-on. The expectation in your wide eyes that are pleading him to share the images birthed by his brilliant mind that led to this.

"That's why I can't go on with my day before I do this to you. I need to see you squirt on my fingers, and I need it now."

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you swear you can feel the blood pumping in your veins turn to liquid fire as you burn from the inside. Something deep in your belly awakens, steals your resolve and fills your mind with cries of hunger.

Roy wants to make you squirt; to send your body into tremors overpowering your very control of it until you're helpless and making a mess of his hand, of possibly everything - the thought is almost scary, for reasons unknown to you, and you shiver. The signals your brain unwittingly sends south make you feel a certain pressure rooted deep within your core - as if, almost by his spoken command alone, your body can obey and leak arousal through the layers of clothing that you want gone now.

And so you begin to undress, making him chuckle with your impatience. He meets your hands halfway and easily takes over with his much steadier ones, unshaken by building lust unlike you - even if his firm erection which is now pressing against your thigh says otherwise.

He mutters something about how much easier this process would be if you were wearing a miniskirt right now and not those troublesome uniform pants - and the distraction returns some blood to your head as you exaggerate a sigh followed by a tiny laughter. It makes the task of taking off your uniform jacket and unbuttoning your shirt easier.

Unlike the hushed pace of removing the article of clothing, Roy noticeably slows down while peeling the underwear off your lower half, enjoying how he renders you naked and completely on display before him. He pokes a firm index finger on your glistening folds to part them, and you can see his gaze clouding with desire as he inspects the wetness seeping from your core.

Before you can avert your eyes, he locks his with yours. The gentle caress of his warm palm on your belly right over your womb startles you.

"Do you think you can do this for me?"

The whine coming from deep in your throat surprises you, and you feel as if you can get off on this simple, chaste sensation alone. Your pussy throbs in neglect.

"Please."

Roy mocks you just a little bit with his laughter for receiving pleas in place of an answer. Even if it works just about alright with him.

Instead of feeling his fingertips returning to your folds, upon withdrawing, you hear a desk drawer opening. Willing your heart to take the chance and relax, your eyes follow Roy's ministrations as much as they can. He takes something from the drawer and - to your utter surprise, it's a new pair of white pyrotex gloves.

Your legs twitch in a manner of closing, instinctively, as you stare at Roy confused.

"Don't play coy now, I know you've always wanted this. You can't take your eyes off my hands when I'm wearing those."

You puffer your bottom lip, defeated. He's way too observant. Or you're way too horny when it comes to this, to him. Especially now that the only thing you can call the display of his fingers pushing their way inside to find their designated places, vain at the back of his hand protruding, ministrations rougher and rushed because he's not touch you right now, is simply pornographic. They look so good on him, stressing the deftness and length of his beautiful fingers, the flame alchemy transmutation circles at the back stark red to remind they're no ordinary gloves.

"But… isn't this…"

"Dangerous? You think I'd put you in danger?"

There's irony in that line when it comes out of the mouth of Roy Mustang putting on the gloves that give him the name of the Flame Alchemist, but you can will your brain into pushing through the surface to see the offering of trust here. Especially because he is so dangerous is that line so delightful, stroking the trust of your heart that would let him do everything, anything to you.

Combined with his touch returning to caress your skin, this time on the inside of your thigh, you genuinely relax - but only for a second, because you're now busy trying to commit to memory every second of feeling the texture of his gloves on your naked, sensitive skin.

"Besides… I thought you love to say that they're useless when wet."

. . . . .

"Pfft—"

"Are you laughing now?" Roy's eyebrow arches as he stares you down, one part genuine disappointment, one part overemphasis as he knows you'll only laugh harder at his reaction. And laughter is a good balm for relieving the nervousness that made your belly noticeably tense up and cave into itself.

His thoughtfulness goes mostly unnoticed as your laughter quickly morphs into another whine as Roy's glove-clad hand brushes against your arousal. The touch is feather-light, yet when looking down you can unmistakably see the glistening juices on the tip of his middle finger where he used it to swipe along the slit of your pussy.

"Have you fantasized about this before?"

Roy is awful for ending most of what he says with the curve of a question, giving tasks to your brain that are a little too hard to take on. He drives your mind to a place inside the darkest nooks and corners of your perverse imagination where you see yourself stealing his gloves to masturbate with. Or where he's letting out his frustrations on you, you being dragged in an ally just meters away from where some bastard managed to run away from him, tarnishing his plans. You love how he fights but manages to never get his hands dirty. Being dragged to these dangerous missions that give you the chance to see him in action never fails to mix pure, incontrollable desire with the adrenaline running through your veins.

"Yes…" You confess in a tiny voice, and Roy rewards you with another barely-there touch, even if it aims not to bring you pleasure but to simply coat his fingers in your juices and prepare them for penetration. Roy raises them up for you to see. You're already wetter than when you'd finish fingering yourself to the thought of him, and it makes your face red with embarrassment.

"How unfair. I remember being way more concrete when sharing what goes in my mind than you, just now. But I will allow it… you seem to have a hard time forming coherent words right now."

Your brain goes haywire with the rising expectation of feeling him either on your clit or inside you first - the seconds stretching out endlessly before he finally makes his attack, the tip of his middle finger rubbing the tense muscles of your entrance.

Roy is careful as he pushes his finger in, having a good idea about the impact of this long-awaited exploration of the material of the gloves in your most sensitive place.

You're erratic, body spasming to suck him in deeper and pelvic arching to scratch the itch you have deep inside. The fabric adds a delicious layer of thickness to his already girthy finger, but…

"Not- enough— More…!"

Roy clicks his tongue. "You're way too impatient. I'm already being so generous to you, pushing my fingers inside you to give you what you want. Perhaps you can learn from a little exercise before we continue."

Roy's finger exits your heat roughly, in vivid contrast to how he entered you, bringing forth more wetness that helplessly leaks on the office desk. You exhale heavily in defeat, pleading Roy with a wet gaze. He remains unwavering, like training a dog that refuses to obey, and raises his other, dry hand to your face with fingers stretched forward.

The little cute tilt of your head has him letting out a mocking sneaker, and he suppresses the need to scold you for needing verbal orders as well.

"Suck."

Following every little twitching of your pupils as your eyes get hazed with the desire to worship him, Roy is not sure if your mouth falls open to moan or to take him in first. Either way, his fingertips already register the softness of your lips, even through the texture of the glove.

You part your lips further with the intention to fit two of his fingers in your mouth, and Roy allows it. Your tongue explores them, tracing over the seam running down the sides, then the junction of his index and middle fingers. You suck there, barely remembering to look Roy in the eye like you wanted to instead of remaining with your eyes closed in bliss.

He looks… aroused. With how much composure he possesses, the thought of how, in turn, you might look right now scares you. But you can't do anything about it - this, too, is a major fantasy of yours. And it only gets better.

Withdrawing with a wet pop, next you hope to fit another finger in, if Roy is willing to bring them closer together, and he quickly gets the idea.

This is his left hand that he uses to do this to your mouth, and he is still so very skillful with it. He tricks you into thinking you could do whatever you want with his three fingers in your mouth, but as soon as you lower your guard, Roy shifts their position, grabbing your tongue.

Your eyes widen, pathetically trying to call out to him in the one moment your ability to speak is stolen. Roy enjoys the muffled sound that resembles his name and continues to hold out your tongue between his fingers, watching you begin to droll.

From there on it's easy for him to shift his fingers once more, placing them flat against your wet tongue before gathering them together again…and beginning to slide them on your tongue.

The place between your legs is burning, and it feels like torture when you already know what it feels like when he pleasures you. You'd much rather he didn't touch you there at all before this, inner walls contracting to chase after the faint memory of his single digit's shape where it was buried inside you.

Roy fucks your mouth with his gloved fingers, and you moan around them. It's a filthy display, with your cunt dripping on his desk, and he can't avert his gaze for a second.

"Enjoying yourself? Maybe I can keep doing this until you cum and we end things here?"

Alerted, you want to communicate your wish to go all the way with what he planned for you, and to speak you need to withdraw - but the second you lean back, Roy's hand pushes forward, following your movement without letting you escape.

Just before you can choke, Roy removes his fingers from your mouth, and you see how much they're covered in your saliva. The risk did things to you you're unwilling to admit.

"Okay, I get it. You need more."

Finally able to take mouthfuls of oxygen again, you feel silly for being so worked up and breathless from just this. But Roy likes what he sees, especially when you try to present your cunt better for him, spreading your legs further apart.

"You're absolutely leaking…"

"Colonel, Please…" You beg, attaching the honorific to your pleas because you know the effect it has on him. "Colonel Mustang, please fuck me with your fingers. Make me squirt."

He returns his right hand to the burning skin of the apex of your thighs, tracing along your outer lips with a small hum.

"Okay then. Let's make your cunt squirt for me."

You throw your head back a second too quickly, as the heavenly feeling of Roy entering you again domineers over the bits of decency left in you. His finger bottoms out in you, swirls around until his palm is facing downwards, and is taken out again - just for you to instead feel the tips of middle and ring fingers prodding your hole next, in the same position.

"Nghh—" You groan, remembering to breathe as Roy explores your tight insides. You begin to relax, and the movement of his fingers gradually becomes smoother. The wet sounds of his entry come to your ears every time he pushes out the way out and pushes in again, and they embarrass you a little.

After a good few strokes like this, Roy turns his hand around.

He keeps his fingers buried deep inside, unmoving save for his fingertips that begin to search around, prodding into your front wall, looking for that spongy part inside you that will make you see stars.

More heat rushes to your lower body and you let a particularly loud gasp when Roy finds it. He mutters a word of self-satisfaction and repeats the motion, hitting your G-spot.

The pleasure begins to build with a dangerous speed, and you barely contain your moans. There's still something missing, but if you receive it right now, it will be too much.

Roy knows your body and its limits well. He doesn't force the pleasure on you, and keeps a steady but slow pace. Monitoring your sweet sounds, he is careful as to when to move on to the next step.

"I'm going to touch you here next."

Narrating his ministrations, he manages to make you focus. You fix your position on the desk again, making sure to watch what he's doing.

Roy puts the thumb of his left hand flat on your clit. At first, the mere presence of it is enough to send sparks of stimulation deep inside you, creating a loop of pleasure with where his fingers are buried, but you get used to it quickly. Then, he begins to rub your aroused nub, and you go erratic once again.

"Ahh— Too much-"

"Shh, I got you." He gives you a break, simply resting his thumb there without caressing, while he focuses on thrusting his fingers in and out.

Your heavy breaths are entangling with needy moans as the pleasure builds, this damned feeling of not enough threatening to eat you up from the inside. Roy knows your body well in combination with masterfully reading your reactions, and generously gives you more when you ask for it. The balls of your feet press harder into the surface of the desk near the very edge of it, your torso lifting just a little bit, to chase after Roy's movements inside you. He lets you rock back into his fingers, more wetness coming out and lubricating his entry.

"I'm going to speed up now. Tell me if you need to stop."

You breathe heavily through your nose, nodding your head more times than he needs for confirmation, and it makes him chuckle. The corners of his lips don't stay curled for longer than a second because of his growing concentration.

The rubbing on your clit returns, and Roy's fingers don't slow down. Standing there with nowhere to escape but to receive his rough, filthy yet loving pleasuring, you grip the edge of the desk behind your back preparing yourself, as it builds up.

"Roy- it feels a bit strange—"

"In a good way? Like you wanna go?"

Your answer comes a bit late because your mouth is stuck falling open in the face of those unfamiliar sensations. You hurry to blurt it out before stops, god forbid.

"In a very good way…! Just please, don’t stop!"

Not needing to be told twice, Roy keeps the pace, firmly hitting that same spot inside you with his fingers while rubbing on your clit. He watches your body spasm as you let out a scream, and then it happens.

Liquid begins to stream out of you, coating Roy's fingers - a small flow at first, before you all but hear the sound of a squirt escaping you.

"Mmm…" Roy grunts at the sight and the feeling of you closing up from the inside on him, fingering you through it until your body begins twitching too much. Careful not to overstimulate you, he withdraws your fingers, causing a smaller squirt to flow out.

Breathing heavily with your mouth open, you close your legs a little bit now that Roy's hands aren't between them, and you look at the puddle next to them. When you return your gaze to Roy, he's looking straight at you, leaning in for a kiss.

He's definitely not kissing you enough during all of this, but you don't feel too cocky right now to complain about that. Not when his kiss feels so rewarding.

"My good girl. I knew you could do it. Did that feel good?"

Roy drinks down your small noises of lingering satisfaction, and you whisper a breathless 'yes' before kissing him yet again. It makes you a bit too distracted, and you almost jump at the feeling of his hands parting your legs again.

"Think you could do it again?"

You look at him in disbelief, but it might be directed at yourself and the ridiculously deepening arousal you feel more than anything, your core pulsing in anticipation, aching to feel Roy's fingers again.

He knows that look. Pecking your lips with his once again, he slips his fingers in.

"Put your hands around my neck."

Your heart leaps at the command and you shift your body, grabbing into him for purchase. Your ass is on the edge of the desk now, and you're holding Roy for dear life, his broad shoulders being your anchor.

"Will it be easier for you this time, hmm? You're nice and open for me."

"Roy… don't say things like that…"

"But it's true. I love knowing that I can make your body soft and pliant, letting me do such a naughty thing with it."

You groan and shove your head in the junction of his neck and shoulder, warming the skin with your breath.

"Don't hide. Come on, kiss me."

It's easier said than done, when the sensation of what is happening between your legs rules over every coherent part of your mind. Roy knows your kiss would be lacking and sloppy, and maybe that's exactly why he wants it.

His tongue shoves between your agape lips, dominating yet another part of you as he continues to finger you while avoiding the place that is swollen and needy for his touch, as if testing if you can start leaking juices again even without the stimulation.

The strange feeling builds again, and this time you're not afraid of it. You break the kiss to plead.

"Roy…Roy! Touch me more! Now!"

Hearing the low rumble laced with dark wanton deep in his throat, you roll your eyes to the back of your head as he begins stroking your clit again.

Your moans of his name grow from encouraging to warning, as you feel the water balloon deep in your core close to popping once again. And then it happens.

Large portions of liquid fall noisily to the floor, mixing up with the sound of water squirting out of your body. Tears form in the corners of your eyes as a purely physiological reaction, the pleasure playing a big part in it.

Roy's large palm is so warm as it moves up and down whole, unlike how he'd only move his fingers earlier, and you feel played like an instrument; like you're close to witnessing the true strength in him that you lustfully admire finally inflicted on your body - in the most perverse, but loving and safe kind of ways.

"Gods— I can't tear my eyes off of you. Look at you."

Planting his forehead against yours, your eyes trail from his beautiful lashes up close to the place he's admiring, and you have to fight a surge of embarrassment. This is what he made out of you, you're so very his in this moment.

"Roy…—Ahh-"

He speeds up again, not having left your core for a moment, and you feel yourself starting to do it all over again, even if it's more of a current flowing out of you instead of the earlier powerful jets. What builds up inside you is different this time, a feeling you know all too well, something that you were lingering along the surface of for the past few minutes but that was always pushed to the back of your nerves in the face of the new, unfamiliar sensations.

"Come for me. Come on my fingers."

Roy fingers you silly, your walls clamping down on him as he does it just the way you love, no tricks this time to conquer your body, he just gives it to you. And you take it oh so willingly and greedily.

It takes no time for you to reach the heavens, and you moan out his name once again, feeling the electricity of an orgasm surge through every nook and corner of your being, toes curling in pleasure.

Roy holds you through it, making sure you ride your high all the way. Towards the end of it, your leaking hole begins helplessly pushing out more liquid.

"Roy— Too much—Roy-"

"Fuck." He curses as he slowly withdraws his fingers, noticing how thickly they're covered in your warm juices all the way down his palm. He enters you with one finger to tease just a little, meeting no resistance. "Fuck." He repeats as he reaches down to palm his bulge. He moves to his belt and begins undoing it in a hurry.

Pulse beginning to drum in your ears, you continue holding onto his tall frame as your eyes widen. Just how worked up did that make him? You figure he must be painfully hard by now, watching you perform the one thing that would get him erect relying on fantasies alone.

Wrapping the hand dripping with your juices around his cock, he uses the slick to lubricate his pumps as he pleasures himself at the sight of you. It lights a new fire inside you and you can't help but watch; the reddened head of his cock, the vein running down his side protruding with the rush of blood, and his culmination dragging closer.

He lies you back down on the desk and you place your hands below your hips, opening up more for him, so Roy can get a nice view of your still swollen lips and pulsing hole. He moves in closer, bringing his strokes so close to your pussy that it makes you clench down so hard when he accidentally brushes the tip against your inner thigh.

"You're perfect. So perfect for me- Haah—"

You rarely hear him let out more than a grunt, a man in control of himself even in the face of consuming wanton. It's rewarding, knowing that it's you who turned him into that. There's nothing more that you want right now than to watch him spill all over your spent cunt, coating it with his warm cum.

Roy keeps stroking, and you wonder if he's fallen prey to the heightened stimulation of the gloves too, seeing that he didn’t bother to take them off even after making use of the juices coating them. It could be this that works him to orgasm so soon, or it could be everything else combined with it, but you soon hear the familiar sounds of him losing control.

In the next moment he erupts, hot-white pleasure reaching to his very gaze as you see him taking in the sight of you hungrily. Warm ropes of cum land on you one after another as Roy pumps his cock, the swollen tip kissing your sensitive folds.

He loses the inner fight and presses forwards, pushing the bulbous head of his cock inside you, moaning as another gush of semen leaves him and fills you with scorching warmth.

You mewl at the unexpected contact, shudders of pleasure rippling through your body as you continue to feel his cum even after he removes his cock from inside you. You feel it drip out thickly, mixing with the rest of the mess left by your passionate session.

"Kiss me, Roy!"

"So demanding…" Hurrying to comply with your weak, adorable command, Roy seals your lips with his before you can scold or bite him. With how good he seemed to be making you feel, he's not too worried about facing those protests, though.

You and Roy remain like that for awhile, catching your breaths but losing them right anew in passionate kisses, not breaking off the contact even as he tucks himself back in his trousers and readjusts his messed-up clothes, removing his gloves as well. He tells you to wait for him as he goes to take something to clean you off with, but you just cling harder to his frame.

"Stay a little longer…"

He exaggerates a sigh but still smiles stupidly against your nape.

The late morning sun has nothing on the warmth that comes from Roy's embrace, and you bask in it.

"You know…" He begins, playing idly with your hand with his now bare one, as if he had started missing the direct touch so soon. You hum in question, and he continues.

"I want to take care of those documents even less now."

"…ROY!"

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[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue part 3 - reckoning

Theseus Scamander x Reader

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible. "I can't," he groans.

summary: a second mission with newt and the group reintroduces theseus's former fiancée, leta lestrange, into the mix. old wounds and insecurities flare as you both reckon with your pasts and make decisions that determine your future.

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: romance with plot. some smut. slight angst!! non-canon compliant.

warnings: 18+ smut, semi-public inappropriate touching, dirty talk, hand kink

part one / part two / part three

author's note: it's funny how the title of this fic doesn't really fit anymore HAHA, goes to show that i did not plan this story at all. this part is going to be LONGER & more focused on plot & their character development! hope you enjoy, as always let me know if you'd like me to continue :)

The surreal, electric buzz from the gala dissipates as soon as you enter the elevator at the Hotel de Rome with Theseus.

Theseus's jacket is so large you're practically drowning in it, the sleeves hang well past your hands. You feel like a little girl in a nightgown. The elevator pulleys burr mechanically as it slowly rises, the electric bulb light casting your face in a sickly, ghastly light. The backs of your high heels have begun to dig painfully into your skin, that stinging pain the only thing grounding you to reality, that and Theseus's warm body beside you. You're positive your feet are bleeding.

Your weariness is mirrored in everyone else's faces when you walk into the hotel room at last. It's obvious that they're all overextended. There's no semblance of victoriousness, even after your successful heist.

Newt stands, alert, at the sight of his brother.

"Theseus! Finally, I was beginning to worry-"

"I'm fine, brother," Theseus waves him off. His hair is slightly damp from the snowfall, and his dress shirt as well. "We got caught up, but we're fine."

When Newt turns to speak to you, his lips part but no words come out. He's staring at your mouth. He looks pale and horrified.

"What?" You turn to the others and to Theseus in uncertainty. Tina and Jacob are also looking at you with newfound distress, but Theseus seems as clueless as you, frowning warily at Newt.

Newt makes as if to bring a hand to your face but pulls back at the last moment.

"Oh dear," Newt says. "Y-Your lipstick is smeared... I'm so terribly sorry, Y/N. And your hair—I didn’t think Dietrich would actually-"

Theseus half-raises an arm, cutting his brother short, looking admonished. 

“Actually, Newt, that would be my doing...”

Your face warms considerably. Newt chokes on his words.

“Oh…” He turns to the rest of the group, his face nearly flushed as yours. Jacob lets out a strangled noise and Tina does a discreet double-take between you and Theseus.

“Well,” says Newt, mercifully changing the subject. “We all made off fantastically. Good work.”

You want to share in his congratulations, but it feels premature with Grindelwald still at large. It doesn't feel as though you have much to celebrate in this tiny hotel room, the five of you still standing awkwardly in your evening wear.

"What now?" Asks Tina.

Newt sits on one of the two twin-sized beds and hunches over, forearms on his legs. He is your designated leader, but you have to admit he looks so small and frail without his coat. Thin and unsure of himself.

"I have it on good authority that Credence will be at a mausoleum in the French Alps. He could be heading there now, we have no way of knowing, but he is planning on going there soon. Tomorrow, maybe."

"Why?" Tina's face is full of emotion. You don't know who Credence is, or why he is important to the resistance, but you don't feel that now is the time to ask. It stuns you, the subtlety of her expression, how someone can look so crushed and full of love at once.

"He's, erm, searching for his ancestral records I believe," Newt answers. "The Lestrange artifacts and family tree were moved there from the cemetery in Paris, possibly by Grindelwald. This is likely all a trap set for Credence, but this could very well be our last chance to intercept him. To save him."

Tina is speechless, Jacob nods solemnly.

"Y/N," says Newt. It startles you to hear him say your name in all of this deliberation. "I know you probably don't understand half of what we're saying, and we understand if you don't want to come. But we'll likely run into Grindelwald and his followers. They're after Credence. We could use you."

You don't even have to think.

"Of course, Newt. I go where Theseus goes." You wonder if you sound too intense, too devoted, so you add: "And besides, I want to be of any help that I can."

Theseus reaches out and clasps your hand in his. It thrills you, for him to do this in front of his brother, in front of the others. Your heart races, happily so.

Newt smiles at the sight.

"Sleep," he turns to everyone. "We leave first thing in the morning."

----

The next day, by the time you make it to the French Alps in spats of apparition and stretches of traveling by train, it is nearly dusk again.

You and Theseus had slept like the dead in the too-small hotel room bed, with Tina in the other bed and Jacob and Newt, in a turn of events beyond your understanding, in some hidden compartment within Newt's brown leather suitcase. Strange, but you didn't question it. Your bodies ached when you woke, but it felt like heaven to you, being held by him, you wouldn't have traded it for the world.

"I'm too big for this bed," he lamented, stretching his limbs, when the two of you woke in the morning.

"Hmm, yeah. Too big... " When you smiled coyly and narrowed your eyes at him he threw a pillow at your face. You caught it with a laugh.

"Naughty," he chided.

"The resistance," as Theseus had once jokingly called it, turned out to be not so glamorous after all. The resistance was perpetually tired and forever embarking on some haphazard plans only half-understood.

But when you set foot at the base of the mountains in the Alps, you feel bizarrely energized. This is what you imagined the work of an Auror would be like, chasing leads, pursuing justice through crowded cities and rugged terrain. It feels good to be so proactive after a year of being more or less cooped up in an office at the Ministry. And, best of all, Theseus is here with you. And he wants you, if not your heart then your body, at last, at least...

"This can't be it, Newt," you hear Jacob say, his breath pluming in front of him in small huffs. He struggles through the thick snowbed to catch up to Newt, who is a bit ahead of the group. You're in what looks like a forest clearing, the mountains rise in the distance, gargantuan and feeling a bit holy in their emptiness, their silence.

"He's right. There's nothing out here," calls Tina.

It's a winter forest. A killing wood. In truth, you’ve never been so cold in your entire life. The whole world has turned white as death: white blizzard blotting the air, thick blankets of fresh snow carpet the ground, and everywhere outside the clearing are great white pines standing like sentries, their edges blurred and softened by the snow fog.

You can see what’s in front of you, but you can’t see what’s coming.

Newt walks clumsily back through the budding blizzard to rejoin the group.

"The mausoleum should be a bit uphill from here!" He assures. "It's concealed by magic. Credence doesn't know, but we need someone with the blood of a Lestrange to enter."

The blood of a Lestrange.

Before you can even make the connection, Theseus stiffens beside you and drops your hand.

"Newt, you didn't." His voice is grave.

"I'm so sorry."

You wonder in a shrugging, aloof way why Newt looks to you after saying this to Theseus. It still doesn't mean anything to you.

A branch cracks, a high, ear-splitting sound like a broken bone. When you see the figure emerge from the tree line, your hand is already on your wand.

Grindelwald, you think.

But then Theseus's arm snaps out to yours, stilling your hand, almost just as quick.

"Don't." He says.

She approaches you slowly and you make out who it is almost immediately, just by the shape of her silhouette. Theseus and Newt's reactions make sense now, it all clicks into place with resounding dread. You feel the word "oh" in the pit of your stomach like a dropped stone.

Floating from the forest like that, in her wine-colored silk dress and black coat, Leta Lestrange really does look something like a ghost, or an angel...

When she approaches she walks straight to Theseus.

"Newt wrote to me," she says loud enough for everyone to hear, but she is only looking at Theseus. Looking at him like she's searching for some lifeline there. "Credence thinks he's my brother... We both know this cannot be true. I can help you get inside the mausoleum. I want to help you."

You dare to look at Theseus, bracing yourself. He looks genuinely stricken, lips parted, palms open and hanging limp beside him. So little affects him, he's so confident and secure in himself. But there in the clearing, the look on his face...

Before anyone can speak Newt steps forward again.

"I'm so sorry, but we need to get to Credence before Grindelwald. We have to go. Credence is... sensitive. He's afraid. It's best Tina and I go ahead. Leta, Theseus," he turns to the two, who are having some silent conversation with their eyes. It's so private and familiar you have to look away, you want to scream. "You two follow closely behind."

"What about me?" Jacob chimes in with a nervous laugh.

Newt tilts his head and gives Jacob a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, my friend. I won't leave you to the wolves. Y/N is a brilliant duelist and a master of all sorts of charms. You two will stay at the very back and wait outside the mausoleum. We can't afford to frighten Credence, and you need to alert us if you see any of Grindelwald's followers coming our way."

You nod numbly. Some roaring white noise fills your ears, anesthetizing the scene in front of you.

"Theseus," you hear Leta say softly. She places a gloved hand on his forearm. "Can I speak with you on the way there?"

"Of course," he responds, graciously, easily. She leads him up ahead.

You keep hoping Theseus will turn to you, even just to look back at you, to reassure, to reconnect now that Leta has been thrust back into the mix between you.

He does not turn back. You stare blankly at the back of his head as it disappears in the blurring snow. He follows Leta into the woods like a man being swept away by magic, following some siren song you can't hear.

'I can't compete with her,' you realize achingly. The truth rings dully in the pit of your stomach, metallically. 'They were engaged. They've been connected since childhood... I'm nothing.'

You try not to wring your hands or shuffle your feet, try not to look like someone left behind, wounded. You blink at the delicate crystals of snow that land on your lashes, hoping that the others don't mistake them for tears.

Newt comes over to you cautiously. He's not one for knowing what to say, but he's perceptive, and kind. Sinking, sinking, you can feel your heart being pulled to your feet and swallowed by the ground.

"Y/N," he begins. "I'm sure... When they were together—but when they separated…" He swallows and starts again. "I’m quite sure my brother’s mind is made up. I know he cares for you too, though I don’t know if he made you any promises-"

“He did not,” your voice sounds acrid, bitter to your ears, petulant, and you hate it. “It’s fine, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s okay. He doesn’t owe me anything.” 

'And I don't owe him anything,' you finish in your mind. When really you love him like breathing, need him like water. You're just trying not to let it show.

You want to be nonchalant and unaffected, want to give only what he’ll take. You don’t want to ask for too much. 

You don’t know why loving always takes the form of limitation with you. You withheld your feelings for him for nearly a year. You only ever do what he asks. You turned down jobs and tried your best not to burden him with your feelings, with your past.

Why this mode of loving, why starvation and restraint, when love itself, for you, felt like every door in you burst open at the sight of his face? It was a wild and unwieldy joy, a freeing sort of affection that you felt for him. Now and always. 

You swallow thickly, embarrassed at the speed at which he abandoned you for her. Embarrassed by the way Tina and Newt and Jacob, even, are looking at you.

"Let's go," you say, trying to sound encouraging. Newt and Tina run ahead. You and Jacob walk in silence uphill, trudging through the snow.

----

In the end you don't see any action at all. The mausoleum appeared at Leta's beckoning, a wave of her wand and the stunning glass building, hexagonal, glittered into solidity in front of you. You and Jacob waited outside, as instructed, but through the thick, crystalline glass you could make out that the bodies and artifacts were housed in beautiful stone tombs, scattered in the glass room like giant chess pieces, and you could see what unfolded within.

Leta, Newt, and Tina were talking to Credence. They met him down where he was crouched on the floor, explaining something to him in hushed tones. He was sobbing so softly. And then he was gone, and so was Tina, who left with him.

You feel so utterly mute, so adrift, you're glad that Jacob doesn't speak to you.

Newt is the one who jogs out to you and Jacob. Theseus is still inside talking to Leta, who seems sad in a soft, unperturbed way. He's gazing at her so gently as she speaks. It's the way he looks at small animals, and children, and the people he loves.

Looking at them feels like looking at a photograph, or like looking through the windows at Primrose Hill when you were a child, before you'd outgrown the title of "orphan." You would escape the orphanage to peek into the townhouses, the family homes overlooking Regent's Park. Dining tables and grand pianos, all the lights on. Nothing to hide...

"Y/N," Newt says breathlessly. "We better get going. We beat Grindelwald here, but I don't know by how much."

You cross your arms to help with the cold.

"Okay. Where are we going-"

"Oh, it's probably best if you go back to London. Back to the Ministry. Lay low until you hear from me, or Dumbledore."

You don't know why his goodbye is so cutting. You know that he's not abandoning you too, but it's almost too much.

He purses his lips sympathetically.

"Stay safe, Y/N. Grindelwald is planning something big. But if we act any earlier Grindelwald and the Ministry will be onto us and our efforts will have been in vain."

"I know," you say. "I understand."

You apparate away without another word. You try not to think about the two of them, in the forest clearing, in the glass mausoleum, together in all the years before that, but you allow yourself to wonder when Theseus will notice that you're gone.

----

On Monday you call in sick. You've never called in sick once in your entire time at the Ministry, so your request for a sick day is accepted easily and without complaint.

You sleep the whole day and do not answer the door when you hear the knocks. Knowing who they belong to is agonizing enough. He'd never been to your place before, but you can't imagine that it was difficult for him to procure the address.

You wake from your day of fitful, restless sleeping around 2am. Moonlight streams cold and bright through your chiffon curtains, filling your apartment with blue and silver shadows that you find comforting, beautiful maybe.

When you pad out into your living room, barefoot, you see a letter on the hardwood floor. A creamy envelope that had been slipped under the doorframe, waiting there for you like magic.

You bend down to pick it up and open it. There's nothing on the envelope itself, but you'd know him by handwriting alone, by his breathing, his scent.

Dear Y/N,

I know you're not sick. Because you're never sick. You have the most formidable immune system I've ever come across and I think muggle doctors should study you in a lab for it. But, I confess, that's beside the point...

I know you're cross with me. Please, if I have upset you or, worse, if I've broken your heart, I can assure you it was never my intention. Meaning: if I hurt you it is because I am a fool, and not because you are deserving of any hurt.

Forgive me for my behavior yesterday. I needed to resolve some things, and Leta's arrival was a true shock for me. I behaved poorly to you, but even more unforgivably to Leta, who I left mere weeks before our wedding, confessing my love for another woman. The pain I've caused her haunts me, and I was happy to be absolved of it yesterday evening. Happy to answer her questions and to be forgiven. But I should not have left you there alone. I should not have let go of your hand. I damn myself, because as much as I love you, it seems I've never been able to do it well.

I hope this pitiful explanation and guileless apology will suffice. Come, pretty girl. Come to work tomorrow, I beg you. My whole life is on the floor without you, nothing works, my head's a mess.

Yours,

T

You heart clenches painfully. Your lungs constrict and your hand tightens around the letter. You love him. You want to let it go, what happened between him and Leta, and you and him, in the clearing.

But you can't.

----

Apparently, it's going to be a week of first-times. Because, also for the first time in your career at the Ministry, you are running late.

"Fuck," you hiss to yourself. You hate traveling by Floo Flame, are used to the muggle comforts of walking and the London Underground, but you don't have time.

You dust off the fireplace ash from your shoulders as you walk through the British Ministry.

"Y/N!" you hear. The voice slices through the bustle and noise of the suit-clad workers not with its volume but with its familiarity.

It's him.

'Oh, god. Already?' You'd been hoping to avoid Theseus today. An impossible task, considering he was your boss, but you'd taken on more impossible tasks before. Bigger monsters.

"Y/N, hold on!" Theseus shouts again.

You have to speed up your walking to a near-comical pace to escape his long-legged strides. Hard to do in heels.

You turn your body sideways and push forward through a thicket of office workers with an "Excuse me! So sorry!" to shoulder your way into an empty elevator.

You slump against the back wall, exhaling deeply in relief. No Theseus-encounter after all. You really managed to-

"Aha!" Theseus exclaims, interjecting his overstretched hand just as the elevator doors begin to close. "Perfect. I was just looking for you, Y/N."

You don't respond, but huff in indignation and move aside, making room for him in the small elevator. He presses your floor number, level two, looking far too self-satisfied for someone who just ran across the marble floors of the Ministry of Magic, unrepentantly.

Your heart pounds as the elevator begins to move, you don't know why you can't look at him. Maybe it's because you know, if you did, all would be forgiven. You jolt when he leans forward and pulls the emergency break. The elevator comes to a jerking, screeching halt.

When he looks at you, sidelong, your stomach flips.

"C'mere," he mumbles, and moves to trap your body against the wall.

Your body responds differently than your mouth, arching against the wall, pushing closer to him.

"Ugh, no," you say, mournfully. You want it bad, want him. But you're still angry. It's oddly possessing, the notion that just a kiss from him could save you.

Your words do give him pause, however. He's standing so close to you he basically has you up against the wall, there's no escaping him. His chest heaves, you can feel his breath against your face. You want to press his open mouth to yours, to taste it, open yours to his tongue.

"No?" He echoes dubiously. "Did... did you not get my letter?"

"I got your letter," you retort, feeling flustered. "I found it... insufficient."

He starts forward again, a hand cups your ass. You slap it away.

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible.

"I can't," he groans.

"Try harder."

"I am rational and measured about all things in life, except for this, for you."

"Try harder," you say again, more forcefully, ignoring him.

"Hmm," he hums, considering. You don't move this time when his hand traces your thigh through the material of your skirt, you just stare, mesmerized. Your skin breaks out in chills. His fingertips move in lazy, dancing circles.

His hands, his fucking hands. They're so big. Long, elegant fingers with large knuckles. The veins there, the fact that you know what his fingers feel like inside of you...

Theseus follows your gaze with his eyes and scoffs, but not unkindly.

"You want my fingers inside of you, baby?"

He doesn't wait, and when you don't protest he doesn't stop. His hands slide under your skirt, one of his thumbs is pressing firmly against your clit through the lacy material of your underwear. He applies such a steady, unmoving pressure, staring into your eyes relentlessly and leaning his thumb harder and harder into that one spot until you squirm back against the wall with a ragged moan, breaking his burning gaze, not sure if you're more desperate to escape the sensation or to keep feeling it, over and over again.

"Theseus," his name sounds filthy out of your mouth, heady as a moan, though you're actually trying to tell him something. "Really, I just-"

The elevator lurches forward again, shuddering in place for a few moments before resuming its path with a piercing screech. You tumble into Theseus, losing your balance, and he catches you with both his arms.

"What did-"

"I don't know," he says, helping you right yourself, looking over his shoulder at the doors.

The elevator stops at level six, the Department of Magical Transportation. Your face is still flushed red and tingling with heat when the ornamental brass doors slide open and the two of you are greeted by a curious, gawking group of wizards that includes the department head, Mr. Silas Elodius.

"Oh, heavens! Mr. Scamander, it's you," Silas Elodius is a unfailingly happy, plump man. "We were wondering what must've happened! It seemed the two of you got stuck. Well, all sorted now!" He laughs heartily. "Trust our department to get you moving again."

Theseus returns the laugh, a little less enthusiastically. The both of you move against the back wall of the elevator to allow the large group to shuffle in.

"Excuse us, we're headed to level three," Silas smiles wildly, toothily. He tends to talk through his smiling, which makes his next admission all the more horrific. "Terrible accident involving a misplaced potion bottle on the Knight Bus! Boom! Limbs lost. Really nasty business."

"Erm," Theseus seems shaken, at a loss of how to respond, which is uncommon for him. "We'll be level two."

"Right, of course!" Mr. Elodius motions impatiently for one of his several colleagues to press the button. With the combined weight of everyone there, the elevator moves slowly, dragging sluggishly upwards through space. Thankfully, the group does not turn back to you or Theseus, preoccupied with their own small conversations.

Your heart is still thumping pitifully, your pussy still throbbing and aching around nothing, craving his fingers, stuffed inside. You're wet, and there is no relief in sight. But you still want, need, to be mad at him.

"Y/N," Theseus is leaning in, speaking so low that only you can hear him. The sound of your name in his mouth, it's a purr, a plea.

You shudder. "Theseus, please don't."

"If this were my office," he whispers. His hand returns to the front of your skirt, slips beneath the hemline and nudges your underwear aside, slides up, embarrassingly easily, between your slick folds. You lean back against the wall in silent prayer, for him. You're frozen, incapable of moving, incapable of telling him to stop.

"If this were my office," he continues, voice thick and ragged. His finger moves leisurely, pumping in and out, driving you crazy. "I'd have you on my desk with your legs up. And I'd lick you until you cried. I bet you're such a pretty crier. I wanna make you come on my mouth, my tongue."

It takes everything in you to remain quiet, to remain still. Just as you begin to lose yourself in the feeling, your head going pleasantly fuzzy, the elevator dings and he retracts his hand, smoothly, unfussily.

He looks so unaffected, leaning back against the wall. It's you who has to bow your head to avoid Mr. Elodius's eyeline. Your knees tremble.

"Well, this is us! Best of luck, Scamander." Mr. Elodius waits for his people to file out of the elevator before departing.

Theseus salutes him with two fingers, in a charmingly youthful way.

When the doors close again you've recovered more of yourself, your wits.

"Where were we?" He corners you again, kissing the side of your neck.

"I'm mad at you, Theseus." You don't stop him from kissing your neck, but you grip his wrist, haltingly hard, when it starts to reach under your skirt again.

"Mm," he hums against your throat, noting the way you expose more of it, craning it for his access. "No, you're not."

With a nip of his teeth, he extracts a whine and a tremor down your legs. You imagine his hands, his beautiful big hands, coming around your throat, squeezing, applying pressure there until you go light-headed. You want to be choked by him. You want to get down on your knees in this elevator and unbuckle his belt and take him into your mouth until he's the one who is needy and whining, wanting it bad, moaning and praising you, calling you a good girl.

The elevator dings for the final time and you have to physically push him off of you. He falls back without a fight.

"Our floor," you say, trying to make your expression into something like a glare. You're not very good at resenting him.

For a moment you're not sure what he's going to do to you. It's scandalizing and rousing, the idea that he might grab you, touch you anyway. The look in his eyes is black and beyond hungry, sapped of all restraint. He gulps and clenches his jaw. Blinks at last.

Ever the gentleman.

"Of course, after you," Theseus says. He motions for you to walk ahead of him.

You stomp off to your shared office, trying pathetically to fix your skirt and your hair and any other part of you that looks disheveled.

When he comes into his office behind you and closes the door, latching the lock, he looks equally undone. Vulnerable almost. It's not only that he needs you, which he does, but that he wants to make it okay and doesn't know how.

"Y/N," he makes a vague, defenseless gesture, throwing up his arms weakly, and sighs. "I don't.... How can I make it right? How can I make it up to you?"

It's a cheerless, pitiful noise, your responding laugh.

"Don't worry, Theseus. I got your letter. And besides, I manage my hopes quite well on my own."

"I wish you wouldn't. Don't."

You scoff.

"No, it's my fault for hoping for more from you. You're asking me to, what, put my faith in the world?" You know your tone is sharper than intended, and your expression is that of a burned woman, hardened and jaded.

But he doesn't hold it against you. You try not to flinch away when he steps forward and brings a hand up to your face, to your cheek.

"No, I'm asking you to put your faith in me."

You could cry at this tenderness he's affording you.

"I just," you gently place your hand over his and lower it from your face. "I just can't believe that you don't feel anything for her. I can't shake the way I felt watching you leave me, without a second glance."

Your voice breaks on the last word. You're admitting more than you bargained for. Admitting that this is the way you've felt your entire life. The orphanage, your parents, every adult who promised to help you, to save you, and didn't. It was too familiar of a pain for it to hurt as badly as it did, being left behind.

"Leta, she... I don't know what you mean," he says, shaking his head.

“Theseus, I'm not stupid! I saw the way you went after her! The way you left me behind, it was like I ceased to exist. You obviously still have feelings for her—"

“I have feelings for you!" He raises his voice in frustration, and it startles you. "She’s the one I left behind, for you.” 

You feel so worked up, so overheated. You don't want to be fighting with him, not now, not ever.

"I-I don't believe you-"

"Y/N, you are essentially calling me a liar right now. I don't know what else I can say to make you believe it, you act as if I took off with her and kissed her-"

"You didn't have to! You already have been for the last two years, Theseus!" Your hands are wavering, your bottom lip too. "I don't believe you because, if it's true what you told me, about you leaving her for me, why didn't you act in the months after?! You proposed to Leta mere months after dating, but for the months you were single you didn't try to-"

"I was your boss, Y/N! I was trying to be a good man, a good friend!" He rakes a hand through his hair roughly.

"So I'm just supposed to believe that you left your fiancée to live a life as my friend? To continue working with me like-"

“I apologize if that’s too difficult for you to believe, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.” His tone is brusque, almost business-like.

It's like a shot to the heart. His lack of understanding, lack of seeing.

“Too difficult for me to believe? Me?!” You’ve never raised your voice at him like this, every word is straining out of you, painfully. Any semblance of control you had is unspooling, rapidly. “Theseus, my second month here I was offered a position as an Auror, my dream job, what I’d worked so hard for at school, and I turned it down to keep being your assistant! I turned it down to keep living a life in your shadow. I thought that if I could make myself smaller for you I could-"

You can’t continue, the tears rise up in a saltwater tide in your lungs. You turn your head away, quick, so he doesn’t see your face break.

"Y/N," he says, gentle, broken. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"Maybe you didn't want to know. I... I know you desire me, Theseus. I'm sorry, at one point I thought I could just sleep with you, and I wouldn't need anything more, but.... Oh, god, I'm sorry."

You rub at your eyes aggressively, even as the tears continue to fall, in a self-conscious and fruitless display.

He looks so lost, looks like he very badly wants to comfort you, to hug you, but no longer knows if he's allowed to.

"Y/N, I can recommend you for promotion, I can-"

"It's fine, Theseus. I made my decision and I've lived with it. There are no open positions right now anyway, the post was filled."

It's silent for long enough that the quiet no longer hangs there like an awful, third body between you. You regain your composure, the tears pass and give way to a hollow feeling.

"Y/N," Theseus speaks at last. He's standing across his office still, but the look in his eyes is so full of longing and yearning, he could've been across a train platform, a crowded room, a continent. "I have not been doing this right. I should've asked you to be my girlfriend a long time ago, I know. For that I am ashamed. But..."

He licks his lips and inhales sharply, trying to find the words.

"Y/N, please don't accuse me of lusting after you. What I feel for you is nothing so shallow as lust. Yes, I want to be inside you all the time, but that's because being close to you, this," he steps forward and places a cold hand against your chest demonstratively, below your neck, skin to skin, "This isn't close enough."

You look up into his seaglass eyes, your heart in tatters. Him, it's always been him.

"I miss you when I'm with you," he says. "I love you, I've told you before and I'll tell you again and again, but it's up to you to believe it, sweetheart."

When you still don't say anything, can't find the words, he looks crestfallen, closes his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asks you, opening them.

And you can't answer. To love him freely? To feel held and chosen by him? To live your dreams and relinquish your past without shame or grief or hesitation? Before you begin to say anything at all, the words building and budding at the back of your throat like a flower about to bloom, a knock sounds at the door.

Theseus closes his eyes and sighs, pained.

"Theseus-"

"I have to go," he says tersely. "I've been gone with my brother for too long. The department heads have called me in for questioning. I don't know when I'll be out."

You nod, swallowing.

He looks at your face, a look of determination settling on his.

"I promise to make it right."

----

It's past closing time and Theseus still has not returned from the depths of whatever secret, dim-lit corner of the Ministry they took him to for questioning. All day you've spent heartlessly filling out paperwork, finishing up your research assignments, stewing in anxiety.

Please, keep him safe. You think to no one in particular. Please.

You reluctantly leave the office, hoping to find him in the Atrium. You sit there glumly at the edge of the fountain, shooting periodic glances towards the elevators and the staircases, hoping to see him emerging from the Department of Mysteries, maybe, or the Courtrooms. Even the paper missives, usually magicked into airplane and bird shapes, have stopped flying overhead in the Atrium. The Ministry is emptying out, there's hardly any foot traffic at all.

You feel as though you handled everything, your insecurities and emotions, so artlessly, so recklessly in your last conversation. You are aching to make it better.

Eventually, you walk back to level two in a daze, pushing through the heavy oak door to the Aurors Offices with all the attention of a sleepwalker, your mind elsewhere.

You nearly trip on the house elf in front of the door when you stumble into Theseus's office. The elf grumbles in discontent.

House elves? Your shared office is hardly recognizable. Half-cleaned out, three Ministry house elves are busy at work, boxing and taping and scrubbing the furniture and shelves clean. Your stomach lurches.

Theseus. Where are all his things? Was he found out? Arrested?

Your voice sounds like a stranger's to your ears, so transformed by sheer panic.

"Hello, excuse me!" You say to one of the house elves. He looks over in open disdain, though you can't blame him, seeing as you almost crushed him just now. "Hi, yes, what is going on? What are you doing with Mr. Scamander's things? I'm his assistant."

"Mr. Scamander," the elf drawls, setting aside his mop bucket with a melodramatic thunk and splash. "No longer works here."

The elf tries to turn back to his work when you lunge forward and grasp him by the shoulder. He looks at your hand on him in abject shock.

"Please!" You beg, falling to your knees to better convince the house elf. "I need to know what's happened to him, it's important."

"Nothing has happened to him, miss. He turned in his letter of resignation an hour or so ago!" The elf shakes you off of him, none too gently.

He gestures rudely to the two, untouched pieces of paper laid out on the desk. Everything else has been cleared.

You snatch up the nearest page with a shaking hand, eyes racing over the words.

It's from the heads of your department, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and it confirms what the elf told you. Theseus gave up his position and designated you as the one he desired to fill the post. The Aurorship is yours.

The letter requested that you complete a trial period of one month, as it was unheard of for a witch with no Auror experience to take up the Head Auror post. But they were amenable if the trial period went well. These were dark days, recruits were scarce and few other Aurors were jumping to fill the position. Your confirmation meeting with the department heads was to be after work, at 7pm.

It's nearly that time now.

You blink at the words on the page, astounded and a bit shell-shocked.

You're hardly thinking at all when you pick up the second letter, hands moving with an automaton, detached fluidity.

Dearest Y/N,

The questioning did not go well. I had to act quickly, darling. I was thinking only of you.

Take the Head Auror position and be safe and happy forever. Blamelessly, and knowing you are loved.

Or, meet me at King's Cross Station tonight, at 7:15pm. If you'll have me, if you love me. I'm joining the fight against Grindelwald, for good. I'm meeting my brother and the others at Hogsmeade.

I am horrified that you ever put me over your dreams, and that I gave you so little in return for it. If I could turn back time, I would've done it all differently. I would've made you mine.

My love, you couldn't answer me when I asked you what you wanted today, so I wanted to give you this choice now.

It did not make much sense for me to stay at the Ministry. They were suspicious of me from the start, war hero or not, because of my relation to Newt. You could do wonderful things, have so much more influence than I could. There were no other open Auror positions for you to take but mine, but I can give you this one part of my life, easily. God knows I'd give you the rest if you asked.

I cannot promise your safety, or your happiness, but I can promise to love you, as I do now, as I always have, no matter what you decide. My heart is yours alone. All you have to do is reach out and take it.

Yours,

Theseus

Reading the words on the page, feeling your own breath suck in and whoosh out of your lungs, hearing it, it's all so surreal.

Your heart flutters meekly, wounded at either prospect. But you want to choose yourself. Who has ever chosen you? You need to be on your own side this time.

You glance at the clock and curse. You shouldn't have spent so much time waiting in the Atrium, floating about the Ministry.

"I can't go, I won't go," you decide. "It's too late anyway."

Who knew if you'd even be able to have a real relationship with him? Even if you believed his love for you, and that he was over Leta, and somehow overcame the horrors and traumas of your life that you hadn't begun to confront... who knew if it would work? That would be its own, new, excruciating pain, having loved and it still not being enough...

"I'm staying," you think to yourself. "I am. He doesn't know what he's asking of me, he doesn't really know me at all. I'm staying. I'm taking the position."

At first you thought the words to convince yourself, reaffirm and reinforce. But they don't sound as improbable as you thought. This happiness doesn't sound too good to be true, it sounds as if it could belong to you after all.

You sigh, trembling, and begin to go through the empty drawers of Theseus's old desk, imagining your life, or trying to.

You reach for the bottommost drawer, pulling it open.

The sight of the worn little clothbound book snags your vision like a thorn. You pull it out in a trancelike state and read the title: Garden Parting by P. M. Kipling. The memory rises without you even having to reach for it, like a face in water.

-----

One Year Ago

It was only your fourth week at the office. This bloody idiot named Henry Ludgate somehow came to the insane conclusion that if he talked to you enough, or talked at you, more fittingly, you would like him back. So every one of your lunch breaks, without fail, he'd come searching for you in the Atrium to talk your ear off about nothing at all.

At the present moment, he was trying to strike up a conversation about women's shoewear, a hard topic for even far better conversationalists.

"I actually do like flat shoes, or 'flats,' are they? But I only like the ones with a bit of heel, all the other types of flats are terribly unattractive I think."

You were dimly aware of your boss, Theseus Scamander, watching this all unfold with a lackadaisical amusement. He was leaning against a newsstand of The Daily Prophet pretending to read it, but really you knew his sly smile at the front page was for you.

"So, not flats?"

"Sorry?" Henry always jumped at the excuse of poor hearing to lean uncomfortably close to you.

You rolled your eyes, not caring if Henry saw or not.

"If the flats you say you like have heels, doesn't that make them not 'flat shoes'?" You asked curtly.

Henry stared at you dumbly. "Oh, right. So it's 'heels' I like then."

You flicked your gaze up to his, irritably.

"So how many pairs do you own, then?"

You thought you saw a rustle of paper in the corner of your vision--undoubtedly Theseus was choking back some fit of laughter.

Henry attempted to clear his throat but only seemed to choke, rubbing a half-fist on his chest touchily.

"What?! Pardon me, not for myself!" He was veritably red in the face, not pink or any subtle, healthy flush, but bright red. "I-I meant I like heels on women, on you."

You could barely tamp down your frustration. This was supposed to be a restful lunch break, a good hour of no-work, and yet you seemed to enjoy your actual work more than this (for many reasons, the first reason beginning with the letter T and the last reason being the way the first reason smiled at you whenever you said something bright, or funny, or kind. He had a smile like light cracking open the sky at dawn, it so completely transformed the rest of his face, always reaching his eyes).

"Henry," you sighed, indulgently, maybe a bit patronizingly. "As much as I am grateful for your... fashion tips, and your riveting conversation, I really do prefer to read on my lunch breaks. I'll have to excuse myself."

You turned on your heel before he could protest, finding another secluded corner of the Atrium by the fountain. You pulled out the book, Garden Parting, as more of a prop, or a shield, or a comfort object, like a teddy bear. You had no intention of reading it right now. Not when...

Just as you suspected. You saw the shadow come over your shoulder, the shape of his figure, his hands in his pockets. Even that, his outline or shadow, stirred up some feeling you couldn't name in your chest, in the cavity there, next to your heart.

"Mr. Scamander," you sighed. "I really don't understand what sort of sadistic pleasure you gain from watching Ludgate torture me with mind-numbingly boring conversation."

You said this without turning, already smiling. Theseus sat down beside you, gingerly, beaming.

"It's entertaining," he said. The deep rumble of his voice was pleasant. "The way you eviscerate him. It's my favorite part."

There was something so attractive about the tilt of his eyes, hooded, and the curl of his hair, a strand falling loose over his forehead. He brought his bottom lip under his teeth, bit down and squinted at you.

"Do you really prefer to read on your breaks, Y/N?"

You scoffed, mock-offended.

"Yes! Do you really read The Daily Prophet on yours?"

"No, not at all," he admitted, shamelessly and with a boyish smile. "What are you reading?"

You suddenly felt self-conscious. You almost didn't want to show him. Your book was soft and worn, the cloth corners frayed, the text on the front half chipped off.

Against your instinct and your nature, you found yourself reluctantly handing him the book. Your mortification increased tenfold when he didn't take it from your extended hand, he only stared at it unreadably.

"What-" you began.

"Wait," Theseus turned to his suitcase, set it down on the tiled floor beside the fountain and clicked open the latches. "Garden Parting by P.M. Kipling, right?"

He was speaking so excitedly, shuffling around in his suitcase.

'No way,' you thought, and then, because you couldn't help it:

"Oh, you're kidding," you gasped. "No, Theseus! You're kidding. I swore I was the only person in London with a copy."

Theseus pulled it out at last, victorious. A sleek hardcover, newer than yours, but creased from frequent reading.

"Oh, Theseus!" You brought your hands up to your mouth. You were always worried your emotions, especially excitement, would make it harder to be taken seriously at work. You endeavored to dampen and mute them, but you could not hide your girlish elation at this inexplicable commonality between the two of you.

He smiled at your reaction, a slow, warm smile.

"Who knew you had a secret affinity for muggle literature?" You tried to make your tone teasing and demeaning but couldn't commit to it, you were too surprised by the force of your own joy.

"My roommate at Hogwarts was muggleborn. He gave it to me."

"You carry it with you too?" You asked, still in disbelief.

"Everywhere!" It was a breathy admission, half a laugh, earnest. "I like to reread certain parts. It doesn't get old." He was smiling so big it was almost heart-wrenching, you did not think he had ever looked at you like that, eyes blazing with naked enthusiasm. Looking at you like you were holding some key, to what you didn't know.

"No one seems to know about it," he continued with a shrug. "I've been waiting for someone to talk with about this book since I was sixteen."

"Oh," you kept saying. You wondered if he thought you sounded stupid for it, or if he thought it was endearing. "There's this one part I think about almost every day. In the purple glass house, with the broken arm used to-"

"-To praise God and 'be done with it'?" He finished for you.

Then miraculously, he flipped his copy open, paper fluttering, to a sole, underlined paragraph. The very same.

"It's like we're speaking the same language," He whispered with an incredulous laugh, but his eyes were reverent.

You flashed him a smile, one that was glowing and real. You were holding his copy of the book between you now, like children with a shared toy, or like lovers reading a roadmap.

"What language? English?" You asked sarcastically, making a funny face.

But you had known what Theseus meant. What wavelength of sense that you two, alone, could access. How the world spoke to you both in the same ways, through the same channels of meaning.

Garden Parting was the only object you had from your deceased parents, the only thing that survived your childhood. It was a children's chapter book that your father used to read to you, quite a grim piece of magical realism about a lot of things, but mostly about a girl condemned to go back to her burning house and stay there, inside, until the flames went out. There's no question that it will be swallowed whole, that she will burn to death in the place she was born.

When Theseus spoke again his eyes were shining, perceptively.

"Is that you then?" His voice was subdued, made gentle, intentionally. His eyes looked strangely dark inside the black stone interior of the Ministry, blue like river slate, dim like rain. "The main character, that's you?"

It was the most you'd ever revealed. It was a single, quiet word.

"Yes," you said.

Theseus placed a hand on your forearm. You didn't dare move, react, for fear he would stop touching you. A bird on your windowsill.

"I'll be the great owl then," he said. "The one that takes her away at the end.... Or Reggie, the one that's her friend. Whatever you want."

You laughed, bleakly. You felt pressured to speak, nonsense, anything to cover up how much his words meant to you.

"Really," you said. "It's my favorite book, but sometimes I can hardly get through it, there's so much pain in her life. I get so anxious..."

"Here," Theseus plucked a ribbon from his suitcase and flipped open your copy of the book. He placed the ribbon strategically towards the back, surgically almost, his long fingers lining it up with the interior spine, right in the scene where the owl takes the girl away and there's happiness set aside for her in life, after all.

"I'll mark it with this," he said. Neither of you were looking at each other anymore, the moment was too intimate to bear. But you were both thinking of each other, talking to each other. "So you can remember how it ends."

-----

The memory of that day by the fountain is so unexpected that it is the first time you're remembering it at all.

'Maybe he does know me after all, does see me.'

The thought is a shattering one.

'Oh, god.'

You check the time. It's 6:50pm. You pull on your coat and snatch your purse off the desk. If you leave now, right now, you can intercept him.

Theseus has to know you're coming. Even if you don't make it onto the train, he has to see your face on the platform, through the window, even. He has to know that you're choosing him.

You apparate as far as you're able and begin to run towards the station the rest of the way.

You're coming for him, each pounding step you're coming, heart soaring, this is that freeing love that grows and grows and stretches out into space like air. And you're going to tell him everything, every wish and every nightmare, you're going to--

A hand shoots out and pulls you backward by the neck. The grip is so hard that you taste blood, everywhere, in your mouth.

You yelp but the sound is lost as you are torn through the air, choking through space. Being forcibly apparated always feels like choking, like being pushed down a flight of stairs repeatedly. You can't catch your breath or your footing, you don't know where you're being taken.

Dark material whooshes and cuts around you. You hardly feel a thing.

Could someone at the Ministry have seen the letters left on your desk? Read them? Were you and Theseus positively identified at the gala in Berlin, or maybe outside the mausoleum? Before you've even arrived at your captor's destination, your mind whirls helplessly, to Grindelwald, to the situation at hand, and then, finally, to Theseus, who is waiting at Platform 9 3/4 for a girl who will never arrive, for a girl he will assume is telling him "no."

It happened so fast you didn't even have the time to turn around, to touch your wand. You were apparated away, stolen into thin air, before you could even set foot inside the station.

---

part four here

authors note: yeah i did watch the last letter from you lover on netflix and YEAH it did inspire this fic and rewire my brain at the same time. SORRY this fic ended on a cliffhanger and was so long!! we just had a LOT of ground to cover, but the subsequent parts should be back to the normal length!!

i like writing a mix of smut and romance plot but let me know if you prefer one to the other (also garden parting isn't a real book if that wasn't obvious) OK BYYEEE love you thanks so much for all the replies and feedback :))

also i have yet to read through this for typos so maybe! come back in a day or so for the final version?

taglist: @karashaw99 @gracieroxzy @mystic-mara

[woso-dreamzzz]

ohh this was something I did not expect but I’m very here for it https://www.tumblr.com/woso-dreamzzz/749582816256327680/i-dont-know-if-you-read-fics-on-here-but-in-the

Headcanons for if this was a thing in the melting pot au???

Okay. I have permission so here we go:

(@wileys-russo @girlgenius1111 , feel free to add your own ideas if you want!)

Sol doesn't have the best relationship with her parents so she's probably instrumental in getting Nena moved in with Ingrid because she doesn't want poor little Nena treated the same way she was. I think Sol would be a great big sister to Nena.

She's also a great auntie to Mapi and Ingrid's girls. She probably lets Bebita and Cub climb all over her and just lather her with kisses and cuddles.

She can spend a while sitting at the kitchen table with Teeny helping her with colouring or helping refill the film in Sunshine's camera. Skatt sometimes just wanders in and hands Sol a millipede and she just kind of has to hold it while Skatt does something else.

She's the go-to babysitter for her nieces/Nena and sometimes she'll be there at pickup with Scout and everyone just cheers her name because they never get told in advance because Sol likes it to be a surprise.

With the things Sol enjoys, she's probably a frequent visitor to the nature reserve Frida works at and Scout brings home sticks and tracks in dirt that has Mapi frothing at the mouth.

Also thinking about Mapi and Ingrid going out on date night and leaving Sol in charge only to find all the kids curled up in Sol's bed with chocolate and cake around their mouths because Sol is incapable of saying no to them.

Now, you just know that Fresa was not happy with what happened with Bambi. She just adores her nieces (and Jaume and her semi-niece Osita) and if you think Tia Alba in Injured was pissed then she's nothing compared to Fresa.

Alexia was really lucky that Eli was there to hold Fresa back because she was ready to start swinging over Bambi being pushed to the side.

Fresa is always going to Bambi's recitals and I like to think Fresa braids ribbons in Bambi's hair whenever they see each other.

Thinking about how Fresa is always hanging around Alexia's restaurants because she gets free food but also because she gets to just sit with Bambi and Pequeñita and vibe with them. She hears how Pequeñita talks about Teeny and is just like 'oh, it's so sweet that Pequeñita has a crush' and Alexia's like 'what do you mean Pequeñita has a crush???'.

Osita was obviously born after Alexia and Jenni broke up but she's just as much Fresa's niece as the others. In Melting Pot, she's the one that got Osita her fox ear headband and she's always spoiling her with fox toys or books.

Fresa still lives with Eli but she has been known to just be at Alexia and Olga's, take the twins and disappear for a bit because auntie-niece bonding time is important and the twins get absolutely spoilt by her all the time and Alexia's always like 'we're running out of space, please stop' and Fresa's like 'er...no, don't tell me how to spoil my nieces'.

In Melting Pot, I like to think Sol and Fresa meet on accident when they're babysitting the kids out at the park and they're both a little awkward with each other because they only know of each other and this is the first time they meet in person.

[greentrickster]

You know, for the Great God Airplane AU, I was originally picturing the Heavenly Officials as basically office workers/writing/manga assistants whose sole job was to help Airplane keep the world running smoothly. I didn't expect them to evolve in my head into a big, messy sort of family that's both terrifyingly efficient and powerful and also semi-disasters who are extremely loving of each other and their creator, but here we are.

It also makes it all the more interesting that, instead of waking to a bunch of well-intentioned but slightly strange new co-workers when he became the newest Heavenly Official, Shen Jiu woke to a group of highly efficient screwballs who were all practically vibrating with excitement to meet their new didi. They've never had a specified didi before, Airplane made them one at a time but they all came into consciousness at almost the same instant, and all tend to use cousin/older sibling/younger sibling/coworker relationships and terms pretty interchangeably depending on the situation. Like, maybe Memory of Grass and Water tends to be kinda the group mom more often than anyone else, but she's also the goddess of good self care, it's kinda part of the job description, and Eternal Candle Flame has some powerful DILF vibes, but that's just the mood Airplane was in when he made him. Practically speaking, they've all always just been a big bundle of interchangeable family/coworker relationships with each other.

But now? Now Shen Jiu's here, and they didn't know it would be him, but they knew that whoever it was would be worth loving, simply for being the sort of person willing to give up their everything to someone else so that everyone else would have a chance. And now they do know it's him, and he's here, and he's definitely the youngest so he's definitely didi, their precious, prickly, half-feral new didi, should they spoil him? They should spoil him. They're gonna spoil didi and visit him in his temple and drag him to family/office events and love him so freaking much. Precious precious didi.

Shen Jiu, for his part, has no idea how to react to all this. He's being faced by most of the most important, powerful beings in his world, and they know everything about him, and they're offering him their unconditional love and acceptance on the grounds that they think he's pretty great. Nothing in his life has prepared him for this, and you can bet that it takes him some time to get used to it, to accept that their love is real and for him. It's a case of, "If anyone could have done what I did, then you would have loved anyone" versus "Yes, but it was not 'anyone' who did this, it was you; so you are the one we love."

It all gets even wilder once he recognizes the pinyin notes and gets the whiplash of "What do you mean Shang shidi created the universe?"

[normalaboutfugo]

"I can't find an ask box so I'mma just drop this here! I would love something with mafia boss GIORNO finding out his mom had another kid and pretty much goes feral to adopt them !! tyy"

𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀 — 𝐄𝐍𝐕𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌.

⋆₊☆ ⊂⊃ platonic yandere don!giorno || m.list

[ warning :: PLATONIC/NOT ROMANTIC, kinda kidnapping, platonic yandere ]

[ notes :: first post!! thank you @foundfamyanderes for requesting!! <3 i can't remember what happened to gio's mom but just pretend she left giorno and had reader and left them too lol ]

[ important :: see this post on another blog? likely a repost to my rebranded multi-fandom blog! don't be afraid to check, but if they're not linked w me, let me know! <33 ]

— when giogio first learns his mother went on to have another kid, he wanted to have a genuine connection, and he did everything in his power to find them. what if you weren't doing so well on your own, assuming that your mother didn't care about you, like she didn't with him? there's no way he'd let his own blood live like this, especially when he was doing so well.

— giorno did everything he could to look for you, searched the internet under the last name shiobana to find a lead, he looked for his mom's profile online, and when he found it, he saw various pictures of drinks, club floors, everything you'd expect from someone like her.

— it took a long time, quite a bit of searching through what seemed like a million pictures of your mom partying — giorno scrolled for hours and hours, ignoring the way his eyes burnt when he looked at the screen for too long.

— finally, after he thought he was starting to fall asleep from staring at the bright computer screen for forever, he found multiple pictures of selfies from his mom with the head of a child in the background; cropped out the best if could be, but still quite obvious you existed.

— it took a long time to find you, but honestly, it confused giorno. why was he so hooked on meeting you? he only found out you existed a few days ago, and you didn't even know you had a half brother.

— when giorno finally found you, he had immediately introduced himself to you — not as the don, but as your brother. he wanted to have a genuine connection with you, because he never had a sibling, and while everyone in bucciarati's gang were like family, but blood ran thicker than water.

— and upon finding out you were broke and living on pickpocketing because your mother left you? giorno spoiled the fuck out of you. when he met you, he treated you to a meal at one of the nicest places in italy because he wanted to make a good impression, but when he finds out you're not used to such good dining and being treated well?

— most definitely takes you shopping for whatever you want, turning you down when you say you'll pay him back for it.

"Here, whatever you want."

"That's...! Giorno, no, I'll pay you back as soon as I ca-"

"With money you took? Don't worry about it, there's more than enough for you to have what you wanted."

— reader goes quiet real quick

— not long after meeting him, giorno offers you a place to live. the streets got cold at night, and he would know. gratefully, you accepted it; what else could you do?

— it doesn't take long for giorno to get overbearing. he'll start putting extra locks on the doors, and when questioned, express that he just wants you to feel safer in your new home.

"..Giorno, what's with the locks on the door?"

"The locks? Oh, I wanted to make sure you felt safe, is all. Is there a problem?"

"Well.. no, I just.. don't you think it's a bit much?"

"Mm.. no, I don't think so. You can never be too sure."

— he might even give you a curfew at first

— he'll give you the reasoning that the streets of italy aren't safe at later times, which is semi-true. it really wasn't safe to be roaming around at night, especially after you start living with the boss himself; word spreads like wildfire in passione, and a bounty would be placed on your head by traitors before you know it.

— eventually, a curfew turns into him spending every second with you during your outings, and that turns into you just not being allowed to leave the house at all.

— even if he needs to pull a few strings to find a reason to keep you home, he'll do what he needs.

"The strap on your bag, it's broken."

"Oh, yes.. I noticed a bit ago, but it's no big deal."

"That's fine, we can get you a new one today. There's got to be something identical somewhere."

"Should I get ready to go out, then?"

"No, you don't need to. We can find something online, or I can go find it at the store we bought it from."

"..Oh. Why?"

"I don't want you going out."

— when you bring up your concerns to him about not being allowed to leave, he takes it really well, as if he'd just up and abandoned his previous reasons for you being kept inside. and after that, you go to bed that night with relief, sleeping easily knowing that it's going to change.

— except for in the morning, when you're leaving the room, you turn the doorknob only to realize you were locked in from the outside. on the nearest table is a notepad, next to a plate of food and a cup of water. written in red ink,

"[READER],

It's wrong to lock you up, but I can't bring myself to put you in danger and allow you to leave. But I can also promise it's only temporary, I want you to be happy here. I had some business with the famiglia, so I left home quite early this morning. I will return, but while I'm not there, I left food and a glass of water next to this note. I'll be seeing you soon.

— Giorno

[gutsby]

Guts you are a fucking insane writer and I'm so grateful we have you, like your works are absolutely incredible they are hot but also like lyrical.. so beautifully written.. you know? Thank you for sharing with us. do you have any advice for someone who has wanted to give writing fics as an outlet a try but feels like they're not creative or talented enough? Tips/tricks sorta thing? Love u madly deeply

FIRST, I LOVE YOU.

SECOND, thank you so much!!! I’m so so glad you enjoy my brainrot stories and I hope to keep them coming for y’all!! 🥹🩷🩷

THIRD, THAT’S SO EXCITING!!!! Fic writing (or any kind of creative writing, really) is the fucking best, and I’d be happy to share some tips!! Pick and choose whichever ones speak to you, but I hope these can be of some use 😩

No matter what you or anyone else says/thinks, YOU ARE CREATIVE AND TALENTED ENOUGH. Wherever your writing goes, whatever you choose to do with it, is enough. I know writing (and sharing your ideas) can seem daunting, but please don’t ever count yourself out of an opportunity just because you’re worried your work won’t be up to snuff!!

READREADREADREADREADREAD! READ!!! Not only fanfic, but flash fiction, short stories, novellas, novels, ANYTHING. I cannot overstate the importance of being an avid, active reader when it comes to improving your own writing. I sometimes struggle to find the time to read and write and work and live life, so I try to set reasonable goals. If nothing else, I read at least 5 pages per day of the book I’m reading, or I pick a short story and go with that. Lately I’ve been trying to expand the kinds of short stories I read, so I have a handful of websites to find what I like: (I’m on mobile so apologies if the formatting below is fucked 😭)

Project Gutenberg (good for finding classics and other popular stories)

The New Yorker (free 30-day trial and I think you get a few stories for free every month after ??)

Lightspeed (I’m not big on sci-fi/fantasy but trying to branch out!)

This loooooong list of literary magazines - not all are free, but many of them are

Write on the Tumblr app (or Notes). I may be one of the only freaks that does this, but I write every single one of my stories on mobile. I just prefer it to typing on a computer. It also may help with making the writing process seem less scary - at least for me, something I’m typing up on my phone doesn’t feel as “important” or intimidating as sitting down to stare at a blank computer screen or paper!

Find a beta reader/share with friends. I haven’t done this myself because I’m a PUSSY and still kinda scared to share my stories with people I know, but getting feedback from a semi-neutral third party can help improve your writing a ton! And also may be less scary than dropping your first fic to a whole online audience if you haven’t done it before !!

Follow whatever the fuck you feel inside at the moment and run. And run. And run. Seriously. I’ve heard this referred to as ‘pantsing’ (?), and it may not work for everyone, but I think some of my best stories came from a single dumbass idea (or even a line) that I let flow and grow and be whatever my brain wanted it to be. No planning or outlining. With ‘Cowboy Killers’ I just really, really, really wanted to use the line, “I’m gonna lay this motherfucker out” and have Reader throw a drink in Joel’s face, and that was it. No thoughts, just profanity and dumb, drunk antics. Don’t be afraid to start somewhere strange or random or really simple and build your story from there.

Speak your dialogue. Something that can be particularly tricky starting out is getting your dialogue to sound like real people are speaking it. You can have characters pontificating and waxing poetic all day long, but the truth is that most of us don’t talk in super long, flowery monologues. We use slang and sentence fragments and sometimes totally nonsensical sayings, and we struggle to find our words. Feature those things in your dialogue, and it should sound more natural, especially when you’re saying it out loud to yourself while you write.

I think this tip is from Stephen King (whose book on writing, cleverly titled On Writing, has some fantastic insight if you want more tips), but when it comes to picking an ending for your story, don’t go with the first one you think of. Odds are your reader is going to be thinking the same thing as you, and it’s nice to give them a little surprise if you can ;-)

There are SO many more pieces of advice you’ll glean over the years—just be patient with this process and with yourself and try to have fun with it!!! Alright shutting the fuck up now I hope this was helpful! Best of luck with your writing!!! 🫶🏼🩷🩷

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Isle landmarks

Port - divided in between three crews, heavily regarded as a very unpleasant area by, well. Almost everyone else. (Important to note: this goes for every single area of the Isle.) Lives at night a lot.

Jolly Roger of Captain James Hook

Scattered Hope of Captain Harriet Hook. Comparatively safer to be around, you might find some goods "accidentally left out" if the Captain's feeling it.

Lost Revenge of Captain Uma Triskelion. Safest of the pirate ships unless you are allied to Mal or insult Uma. (...You know what, I take that back.) Also, it's a cult.

Chipp Shoppe. Firmly under the rule of Lost Revenge.

Hook's inlet. That's a fancy name for a building that port adults go to pass out in by the morning at that brings substantial money to Captain Hook. (His kids are not allowed to work there. They kept stealing from the counter more than they sold.)

Serpents prep, aka the school Captain Hook was forced to fund after dr F refused to deal with two if his children at once. They've got sea ponies and surprisingly good curriculum.

The centre. Counts as, well, semi-neutral territory?

Tremaine salon. The only actual neutral territory on the Isle. You see, if you fight by the Tremaines, you won't get your hair done. (this works because the Villains and their kids are vain as fuck and value their style over their lives. Literally.) Also, Tremaines treat most of their customers as particularly annoying cats.

Mad Maddy's Apothecary. This could count as neutral territory but Mim's are playing favourites. One rule: Do NOT make out in the Apothecary.

Rose Garden of the Queen of Hearts. Yeah no. Do not go near if you like your life.

Dragon Hall, AKA the school Dr Facilier funded for very innocent and inconspicuous reasons that have nothing to do with the other Villains owing him for babysitting their brats and molding the young minds to his picture, how dare you even suggest that.

The Arcade. Funded by Dr F too and operated mostly by his daughters. Also no ulterior motives on this one. (If little kids don't come to school, they're at Arcade. It's always good to know where the kids you're paid to keep alive are.)

Storm Hall. A mostly abandoned building slightly off-the-centre that Isle kids use for official gang meetings.

Frollo's church. Later, it's ruins. The building has suffered from entirely natural structural instability ever since the first Isle kids learned what matches are. While Frollo's alive, it's unsafe to be around if you're a girl, person of colour, or of magical heritage.

Yes, there is a problem of Frollo's being entirely too close to Dragon Hall. Dr F had it under control! Really!

The Market. Yeah. Market. With very reasonable prices that are not theft at all.

Maleficent's Bargain Castle overlooks the market and her goblins provide security for shopkeepers who are willing to pay a steep price. No one's sure why Maleficent tolerates the market so close, she hates people.

Jafar's Junk Shop. If you lost something, there's like seventy percent chance it'll end up there. I've got nothing else to add.

Gaston's Duels Without Rules, slightly off the main market. And yes. It is without rules. Do not ask about the blood under the dumpsters please.

Hell Hall. Few streets down but still close enough, you'll know by the screaming. Close enough for Cruella and her minions to get the finest fabrics whenever she wishes.

Witches Academy. Yes, it is entirely too close to the market for how flammable the stands are. However, the Mims are doing what they do best and being bitches on main.

Landmarks

The End Of The World. Steep cliff on the off-side of Auradon, favourite hang-out spot for Isle kids. Who says they hadn't spent hours there looking into the waves and contemplating life, they're lying.

The Skull Rock. On the Isle for Reasons. Y'know, a generation of kids robbed off their childhood? Magic banned off? (The Isle of the Lost is Neverland and it's your problem now.)

The Jungle. No. Do NOT. You do realise that's where all the tigers and snakes and lions and wolves dwell. Also called the Zoo by kids who like dark humour and/or have a deathwish.

The Caves. There's an entrance to Hades' cave somewhere. Do not try to find it (unless you are Celia Facilier), he's on vacation and doesn't wish to be disturbed.

Other

Castle Across the Way. Is not close to the centre or the market to be counted as such. That's because the Evil Queen refused to interact with the commoners and looked substantially scarrier than Lady Tremaine while communicating that.

The Hun camp. Do NOT attempt to find it.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Isn’t Baldurs Gate a multicultural city?

I physically cannot simply answer a question, I blame my teachers for teaching me to write essays.

In the sense that it has multiple minority cultures living in it, yes, but it's a human dominated city just like the remaining 99% of Toril (slight hyperbole, but still). Faerûn's population ratio is such that 9 in every 10 people on the continent are human, with the remaining 1 in that ten being any of several other races - most of whom live in their own countries (Elves in Evereska, the High Forest and Evermeet (plus a few smaller out of the way settlements). Dwarves in the Great Rift and the mountains. Halflings mostly in Luiren, etc) "...the question has been asked by some that when this race finally gets all the quirks out of its system and gets moving, will there be any room left for the other races of the Realms?" - Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting (Revised)

Humans kind of just push you out, take over and build their stuff all over everything. Elves specifically refer to them as "the many handed curse", because there's just so many of them, disunited, all with so many conflicting aims and actions that they fight and bring destruction everywhere they go. The other non-humans, also kind of annoyed by humans, have adopted this name for them too.

Hell, even the words for non-humans, "humanoid" and "demihuman", are human-centric. Like-a-human, human-ish, almost human.

Baldurs gate is a city founded by humans, with a dominant human population, whose customs and laws are from human culture. Humans are/were the norm and the default.

Astarion was born in the time frame where elves and demihumans were not that common. Silverymoon is considered unusual as the most metropolitan cities in existence, and its population was still 41% human with the remaining percentage being everyone else. Waterdeep, massive cosmopolitan city and one of the most important trading cities? 64% human. In the original games you'll notice that in cities like Baldur's Gate and Athkatla non-human citizens are rare enough that they stand out when you spot them (although the latter has a significant halfling and gnome minority).

Slightly off topic to babble about the stupid elf (affectionate) some more:

By the time Astarion was born, the elves were prepared to leave on the Retreat - a summons for elves to totally abandon the world for what remained of the elven homelands (and Evermeet) which from the elven understanding of time was basically happening next week. As a people, elves are not keen to mingle with human society, which they view as dangerous, so while it is possible for his family to have integrated with human nobility I do find it odd, and would say that he was nouveau-riche at best. He makes an offhand reference to Evereska at one point, and I would assume his family is from there.

(I did say I was sceptical, not that it's impossible - Rule of thumb for high elves: moon elves putting down roots like that would be unusual because they're sort of semi-nomadic outside of elven lands, even though they could be sticking around for a human generation, they'd be new money mingling with old money; sun elves would sooner die then subject themselves to human society; star elves weren't currently on Toril due to not wanting to be invaded by human armies, and left long before Astarion was born and wouldn't be back until a while after his death).

The Szarrs I can handwave, considering there's some strongly implied human ancestry what with the Kara-turan signet ring. Cazador just has more elven genetics than human.

[sawyer-is-eepy]

MaDD and plurality

okay so we're MaDD, right?? and we're also plural??

NOBODY talks about how freaking hard that makes communicating omg.

constantly i'll be trying to talk to someone and then i drift off and suddenly they are completely drowned out OR they're ALSO daydreaming!! it's so frustrating, because it means that to even semi-effectively communicate, i have to talk out loud. if i have to communicate something important and we're in a public place i just have to focus REALLY hard on internal communication and it sometimes STILL doesnt work.

on top of that, we have ADHD so it's even harder, and talking out loud still doesn't work that well because without another person physically here to snap me back to reality whenever i'm daydreaming, if i start daydreaming, i'm just stuck until i realize, which can be anywhere from within a minute to literally 20+ minutes. usually they're able to get my attention by that time, but it's hard because our communication is not easy for anyone but the host(me, who is ALWAYS fronting) to initiate, so unless i actively open myself to communicate with them, it's hard for them to get my attention. sometimes my daydreams even last hours, but that usually doesn't happen when i'm not actively deciding to daydream. so yeah, it's really difficult because i've already got issues focusing, and adding basically irresistable urges to daydream at random that get triggered way too easily on top of that, inner communication is SO HARD.

anyways, this makes making a tulpa really fucking difficult because forcing is really hard.

but here are my tips, for other MaDD, especially anyone making a headmate/alter/tulpa/parogen/whatever themself -

incorporate your daydreaming into the communicating/forcing. like daydream you and that alter hanging out and then communicate via that. this does not ensure that you won't start daydreaming about anything else, but it lessens the chances. if you try to force yourself to not daydream at ALL the urges are gonna be much harder to ignore, at least for me. if you're ALREADY daydreaming, and it gets interesting enough, minor distractions are gonna catch your attention less and less because you WANNA focus on this one daydream. it becomes much more enjoyable.

this kind of like the last one, but this is more specific to tulpa/parogen forcing. don't really view it as a chore, which i've accidentally been doing more and more. not a chore i dislike, but i've been viewing it like something i have to do every single day for x amount of time other wise it wont work and it'll fail horribly and everything will be ruined, when it shouldn't need to be that. it shouldn't be on a to-do list, unless that really works for you(which if that's the case that's freaking awesome and you should probably ignore this tip). idk about everyone else, but it's much easier for me to daydream if i'm treating something like something i need to do because it's so much more tempting to just go live somewhere else for a minute while i do things i need to do. i often daydream doing chores because it's not interesting enough to keep me grounded. so, to make sure it gets done, i drift off while i'm doing it, so i am doing it in the real world but to me i'm in another world or in one of my stories. but for forcing, to be able to do it, you HAVE to be constantly aware and present. if you view it like you're just having a fun little conversation with them, it becomes like whenever you're bored or lonely just like you would reach out to a friend, but instead you're getting some talking to your head friend in. even if it's not traditional forcing, it works and develops them more, even if it's just a bit here and there. idk about everyone else, but i think partially because of my ADHD and partially because of my MaDD, whenever i have a chore i need to do i kind of put it off if i'm already doing something. i don't really *want* to put it off, but i just can't get my body to move. especially when I'm daydreaming. because, why would i get up and do the boring thing when i can watch my story in my head ? it's so much easier to sit and do nothing. but as we all know, that ADHD paralysis is so so SO stress inducing, the best option is to always get up and try to force yourself to. idk if non-ADHD MaDD will relate at all though, because that paralysis is mostly exclusive to those with ADHD afaik, but for me, my MaDD makes it much worse. anyways, that probably didn't make much sense sorry

write down what everyone is saying. this makes it much easier to keep track of what they are saying and stay present, but it also documents the conversation as well. so even if you weren't that present during the conversation, or you're worried you'll forget something important, you'll have a record to read back on later if you need! and also with created alters/headmates, keeping track of their progress is always incredibly important!!

don't listen to music! this one might be a bit of a given but unless it's like instrumental music that you genuinely won't pay that much attention to but still helps you focus, DON'T listen to it. songs are an easy gateway into a daydream. ESPECIALLY songs with lyrics, even ones that you can't understand because they're in another language, which by the way for literally any other thing you need to focus on, that's a great tip, listening to music in other languages, because you can still focus with interesting music in the background but the lyrics arent grabbing you at all. anyways back to plural-related MaDD tips, yeah, don't listen to music. even if that song usually doesn't catch your attention. for me, if i'm talking, internally or externally, and there's music with lyrics playing, i reallyyy cannot focus on what i'm(or others, again, internally or externally) are saying. idk, might just be some sort of auditory processing issue related to my ADHD but i cannot focus on it, and because it's hard, i just need to pick one, and sometimes my brain picks the song and i just. stop talking. and start daydreaming.

idk what to do if you're not fronting and trying to communicate with whoever is fronting, because i've not switched(like i mentioned before, the host, who is me, has never not been the one fronting), but if anyone has any other tips either related to that or the ones i already have here, please feel free to let me know because i'd love to hear them and i'm sure others do too!! anyways, i hope i helped, idk this might be too specific to me.

[slasher-dasher]

Could I possibly request some of the slashers with a fem autistic s/o (bubba, Thomas rz Michea,stu you can others if you want I just love those 4) only if you feel comfortable writing

P. S asking because I have austim and I don't see much hc or writing about it

(Anon you asked for almost all of the slashers I hc as autistic :D)

Slashers With An Autistic S/O (Fem)

︶꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Bubba Sawyer:

Bubba likes watching you stim, especially when you're happy/excited. Sometimes he joins you!

Does his best to pick out good clothes for you, especially if he thinks you'll like the fabric or pattern

He keeps headphones nearby for you. His chainsaw revving is soothing to him, but he knows it's not soothing for everyone else

Help him with his makeup! It will make him very happy, but you very messy-

He tries his best to give you access to safe-foods, much to his brothers' distaste since you and Drayton are likely the only ones who can go into town to prep for them

Thomas Hewitt:

He'll listen to you talk about your hyperfixations for hours at a time, often taking notes or stopping what he's doing to let you know he's interested

Velociraptor hands? Velociraptor hands. He does this a lot, especially if you do it too

Also likes watching you stim, but rarely joins you. He's much more of a watcher than anything

Asks Luda Mae to get you perfumes that he knows you'll like, and makes sure they're all from the same brand for consistency

You have safe foods in the house. There is no debate, Tommy will make sure of it.

RZ!Michael Myers:

Very mindful of any sensory issues you may have. If you don't like it, it doesn't stay in the house

You two have a system to communicate if you're nonverbal. He doesn't mind whether you're verbal, semi-verbal, or nonverbal though since he doesn't talk at all, as long as he knows you're okay he's content

He makes intense eye contact because Dr. Loomis told him it was important. He might try and have you make eye contact too, so be prepared for sudden chin grabs from him if he wants you to know he's listening

You never have to worry about reading his face because it's always the same expression (both mask off and on), he's much more of a body language person than a facial expressions person

Sometimes he'll bring home nice dresses, skirts, and blouses for you to try on, any you don't like end up at someone else's doorstep. Don't ask where or how he gets them-

Stu Macher:

Stu is so ADHD coded, you two bounce off of each other well

A common date setting for you two is laying on the couch while a movie plays and talking through the entire thing. Usually he points out the little details and you predict the entire plot of the movie (and are right)

He has a TON of stim toys in several bins around the house, so you have plenty of freedom to pick and choose what you need, when you need it

He's an open-book, so you don't have to look for any arbitrary social cues from him. Just ask him to clarify if you're confused about anything

You need somewhere to calm down? His room is the best place to go. It's got blankets (weighted and comfy), headphones, snacks, stress toys, extra clothes, anything you can think of he has stocked for you

Billy Lenz:

If you have any verbal stims be prepared for his echolalia to repeat them, it's a vicious cycle in the sorority

Come to the attic! It's nice and quiet, and no one but you two can get in. He makes sure of it.

"Pretty... pretty... pretty" is a common phrase when he sees you, especially if you're all dressed up

Billy is very touchy, like no boundaries touchy, usually when he's understimulated is when this is at its peak though

He also has a biting stim, often grabbing your hand like he's just going to hold it and then chomping down wherever he can reach, so you have to cover some bite marks

[theamityelf]

At this point can I suggest Kamakurizing everybody? Just a full room of weird creatures trying to live a semi-normal life with varying degrees of participation.

Lol, here are my bullet points for the rest of the 78th class as Kamukuras:

Sayaka: She's similar to Kokichi, in that she's a puppetmaster, but she has the more straightforward goal of satisfying everyone. It's like she's trying to live out a perfect Pacifist Run of real life. And she's the main character. That's the main issue, is that she has reached the conclusion that she uniquely knows the correct way to make everyone happy, and any solace or enjoyment they find for themselves or through relationships she didn't steer them into is illegitimate because they're talentless and don't know how to take care of themselves. If she were asked her goal, she would say that she wants to optimize the world for everyone's enjoyment. But a truer answer is that she wants to justify what happened to her in the labs by becoming the goddess who everyone relies on. That's what makes the most sense; she used to be the Ultimate Pop Sensation, and now she's this! If and when they all escape the labs and her social circle includes original Izuru, she will have to deal with the fact that she sees herself as the pinnacle of Kamukuras and at least some of the others will view Izuru as the one to look to for guidance. She isn't hostile toward him, though; the way to triumph over him is to be to him what she is to everyone else. So she looks for dissatisfaction in him, so she can solve it.

Junko: She no longer feels things as acutely anymore. She can't feel despair the same way, for herself or via others. She still tries, though, because out of her boredom, that's just the direction she leans. (This is maybe kind of gross, but I'm thinking, as a last ditch effort to see if it's worth trying to feel despair for herself, she causes herself some kind of permanent injury. Just one; once she doesn't feel all that much about it, she stops doing it. But she might cut off one of her fingers. Something like that. Just a single very calculated act of extreme despair that she doesn't feel strongly enough about to justify continuing.) She is Sayaka's antagonist. In the labs, she and Sayaka are at opposite sides of a chessboard, where Sayaka is trying to keep everyone happy and Junko is trying to make everyone miserable. Neither of them have an emotional stake in others' feelings; it's just what feels right to them.

Leon: Maybe the closest in personality to original Izuru, in that he is unmotivated and finds no interest in any of his own talents. Izuru broke out of that by finding meaning in being the predecessor to all his successors, but Leon is just one of many. He's much less cooperative with the scientists than original Izuru; he can't be convinced to do much of anything. He will very occasionally do things on his own initiative, based on no discernible reason. But most of the time, he just sits in the corner watching.

Chihiro: Okay, I think Chihiro can go one of two ways: either extremely avoidant of pain or extremely fascinated with pain. Their pain and other's pain; they don't perceive a difference, so the ranking of importance is more based on who would be hurt the most by a given thing. Think the mosquito anecdote from THH; they let the mosquito bite them because the mosquito would suffer more if it didn't than they would if it did. That's pretty much their rationale for everything. They will do anything to prevent their own suffering, unless their own suffering will prevent greater suffering in another. They will do anything to prevent others' suffering, unless other's suffering will prevent greater suffering in themself. I think Chihiro's behavior would be a lot like Byakuya's; a lot of hiding. But they would also be easily provoked to intervene if something bad was happening. And since everyone in this post is in the lab at the same time, I'm thinking this usually takes the form of calling Sayaka or otherwise making sure Sayaka knows about what's going on. If no one else is available to solve the problem, though, Chihiro will step in. They're a lethal fighter.

Mondo: My first thought is, he might try to be the referee of whatever's going on between Junko and Sayaka. Just kind of resisting major status quo changes on either side. I'm basing this on the idea that, without the emotional aspects of his temper, he's left with a more levelheaded, lucid gravitation toward control that results in him trying to take the reins even in situations where that isn't needed. Idk, I might come back to this one, because I'm not satisfied with it. I know he wouldn't be a passive one. Honestly, he might escape on his own.

Taka: You know, I think Taka Kamukura could be genuinely very dangerous. I think his disillusionment with talent would remain, in some form. Namely, he would consider the Kamukura Project a deeply, deeply obscene thing to do. He's not angry about it, because his emotions are dulled, so all he's left with is a profound disgust for what he and the other Kamukuras are. He's fixated on the idea of all of them dying in a fire, along with all record of this abomination, to keep the world untouched by it. But rationally, he knows that isn't a viable option. There are people off these premises who would still know, after all. It could still be reproduced. Leaking things to the press is an option, but Hope's Peak has so much power, they could squash the story if he isn't careful. And telling more people might lead to copycats who aren't even affiliated with Hope's Peak trying their own similar projects. I think he would ally with the original Kamukuras, as far as finding every offshoot of the project and destroying it until nothing remains, but once that's done, he believes something needs to be done about the Kamukuras themselves. They should not exist, in his eyes. All of this would be made more complicated if he makes friends among the other Kamukuras, but ultimately I think his belief would remain no matter what, and his view of it would be "We are friends, and I care for you guys, but we should never have been created, and I have to fix that."

Hifumi: I think he's no longer able to enjoy fiction because he can see its flaws so easily, but he still has that appetite for epic stories, resulting in him using the drama of real life to fill the void. He especially likes the battle of wills between Sayaka and Junko. He doesn't directly involve himself (at least not of his own accord), but if someone tells him what to do, he'll generally do it. (It depends on how strong-willed or interesting he considers the person.) His greatest desire is to spectate. He still creates art, but now he creates it ahead of time to chronicle different ways the scenarios he's watching could go. Basically drawing predictions.

Celeste: Her goal is to escape the labs. She will say or do anything to escape the labs, which, in the immediate, probably means she is the nicest to the scientists, cooperates with them very well, even befriends them. She could probably get some of them to worship her, if Sayaka weren't in the way. As for once she does leave the labs, her objective regarding the mansion and the vampire butlers is no longer a thing. Now, she's looking to immerse herself in an extreme environment. The peak of a mountain, the depths of a forest, outer space. Someplace secluded and different, that will keep her mind active. She would live in an active volcano if she could.

Sakura: Very competitive, in the absence of the passion and care that used to drive her. Not competitive in the social sense; she's not challenging the others outwardly. It's just her goal to be the best. Meaning she's just blankly/compulsively checking the rankings of all the Kamukuras, in every area in which they're compared (lifting strength, running speed, swimming speed, climbing speed, dexterity, proficiency in math, proficiency in language, etc.) and striving to reach the top in all of them. The opinions of the scientists don't matter to her; all that matters are these objective determiners of her worth. The purpose of a Kamukura is to be great, and so she is called to be the greatest. If and when they escape the labs and she's made to look outside of this framework, she will not know what to do with herself for a while, so she might turn to Sayaka or Izuru, or she might just isolate herself until she figures out what she's supposed to be doing.

Hina: I'm thinking very energetic and curious. She doesn't want to hurt anyone, but she also doesn't consider whether the things she does hurts people. She's not able to feel strongly about anything around her, but she channels her boredom into a belief that she can or will feel strongly about something else; she just needs to find it. So maybe she doesn't care about sitting idle in this room, but maybe it'll be interesting if she tries to break the two-way mirror. Nope, that was boring. Then maybe it'll be interesting if she holds her breath as long as she can. Well, she passed out, and that was still boring. Is this scientist interesting? No. Then maybe he'll be interesting if she breaks his arm! Nope. She could be useful to Junko or Sayaka and probably is useful to both. The fact that canon Hina is a shorts-in-the-winter person and just generally is able to ignore all kinds of physical discomfort tells me that her Kamukura self just wouldn't treat her own or anyone's pain as a thing that matters. It simply wouldn't occur to her.

Yasuhiro: Similar vibe to Leon, in that he doesn't actually do much, but much less stubborn, and with a more neutral-to-positive slant to his boredom. Leon resents his boredom, but Hiro is comfortable with it. Honestly, I'm pretty interested in the thought of him as a Kamukura, but I can't get too into it now. On a basic level, he and Leon are the figurative "Pirates Who Don't Do Anything" of the Kamukuras. Hiro watches life play out the way a normal person would watch a rerun of a familiar show.

Toko: I think that the trauma of the procedure would cause her to develop new alters, but I also would need to do research to approach that concept well. She absorbs languages fastest out of all the Kamukuras.

[blametheeditor]

Day 11 | Opulence

Gt July Prompt List

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When stranded on an uncharted underwater planet, alone and surrounded by hostile lifeforms, there are only two possible outcomes: adapt and survive, or die trying.

Spoilers: For the game Subnautica

Content Warnings: Mentions of death and violence. Mentions of threats and the intent to kill. Mentions of drowning and suffocation. Near death experience. Referring to someone as 'it'. Mentions of dehumanization, experimenting on people, being held against someone's will. Peril.

________________________

The thing about ghost leviathans is the fact they're naturally independent and territorial of their space. 

The thing about Vincent is how loyal and protective he is above all else. 

Can you see where there might be a contradiction somewhere?

Now don’t get him wrong, he genuinely enjoys having his own space. There’s a reason why he’s the only ghost and leviathan who has claimed the blood kelp island as their territory. The biome that’s purposefully the farthest away from a certain leviathan he couldn’t handle getting a visit from almost every single day. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t genuinely enjoy the presence of others. He makes semi-frequent trips around the crater to see how the guppy’s he’s watched grow up are doing. Gives surprise visits to remind everyone who the strongest is and make sure no one’s stupid enough to challenge someone to the death, and that happens more often than you’d think, much to his disappointment. 

It’s quite a balancing act, however. Because on one hand, Vincent is content to swim deeper than the sunlight can reach without worrying about someone bugging him. On the other, he slowly starts loosing his mind not knowing if he’s missing something important. Creatures from the sky start a mass extinction once and it’s all he worries about for the rest of his life. 

However, it has been a while since he’s made his rounds. Left the opulence of his little corner. Patrolled to see if any of the glowing green buildings activated. Annoyed a few leviathans that are always entertaining. 

Found a burning ship symbolizing it was going to start all over again. 

Vincent stops breathing when he realizes what exactly he’s looking at. That he wasn’t mistaken the water is murkier than the last time he visited. The dunes always tend to be sparse, but not so much there’s not a single coral in sight. And metal isn’t supposed to be the first thing he sees. 

Panic erupts as he darts forward to try and find a reaper. Wanting to headbutt each and every one of them not telling him while also hoping they’re all okay. Especially when it becomes apparent just how massive the entire thing is. There’s no telling who it could’ve killed purely on accident, and what it has in store for those who are purposefully hunted down. 

After taking a survey of when this happened to what’s been encountered, and rams into a few reapers in the attempt to knock some sense into them after they claim it’s ‘not a big deal’, Vincent’s terror turns into relief. Because nothing out of the ordinary has been seen except for the parts scattered along the seafloor. And after careful examination, it looks like the ship crashed rather then landed, leaving a majority of the weapons unusable. 

That is, until he does a headcount. Out of the 10 reapers that have claimed these destroyed dunes, only 9 are accounted for. 

His entire body down to the tip of his tail tenses at the realization someone’s missing. It’s been 30 days, the ship nothing but a pile of metal, and someone has already been taken. And there’s no telling what their fate might be. It could’ve been a merciful death where they didn’t know what was happening. They could be trapped in a cell much too small and much too warm. 

They could be getting tortured, needles piercing their skin as their body is permanently altered, experiencing the most excruciating pain they could’ve ever imagined. 

“Who?” Vincent pleads before anger starts to take over as he visibly begins to tremble. ”Who is missing?” 

David.

With a roar that sends everyone scattering, he whips around toward the self-centered reaper’s territory with one thought, and one thought only. That being to find whatever did this and rip it to shreds. 

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he doesn’t need to. The one thing he can always rely on is finding something that doesn’t belong and start from there. Where there’s something artificial, the creator won’t be far away. 

It’s a long process of meticulously combing every inch of the trench, he swims closer to the surface to continue searching the shallows, hatred spurring him on even as his limbs grow tired and his energy wanes. He won’t eat or rest until he’s guaranteed everyone’s safety. If he stops at any point, that’s more time to let those monsters take another leviathan. 

His diligence pays off. After slowly but steadily getting closer to the surface as the seafloor gradually slopped upwards, he spots a shadow cast by the afternoon sun that clearly doesn’t belong. Looks up to see something floating on the water. And beneath it sits a fully functional ship, albeit smaller than the one that destroyed the dunes, but size doesn’t mean it isn’t capable of killing or sedating its target. 

He found it. 

Vincent carefully approaches the two metal objects, not daring to touch them in case they activate. Instead he looks around to see if there’s any structures built into the ground, or a vent leading to something underground. When he doesn’t see anything, not even the remains of a reaper, he carefully swims deeper into the shallows. 

Come out, come out wherever you are.

It’s almost eerily silent as he glides through the water. Not even the peepers squeak when he gets too close to one. As if they know he’s here to take care of a disease. 

And then he sees something as bright as blood kelp moving among the rocks. Slowly turns as he keeps the extensions on his back from bumping into coral. Watches the color disappear before reappearing as it swims out into the open. 

It’s a human. Which means it is happening again, and David was the first victim. 

He was too late. 

Vincent roars as he coils up. Sees the expression of pure terror as he lunges himself toward it. 

He misses a fatal bite. But with it being so close to the rock, he rams directly into it, sending debris showering down. If it didn’t get squashed by him, it might’ve gotten crushed by its own shelter. 

A high-pitched shriek tells him otherwise. Vincent pushes himself away in order to circle around and ram into the rock again with a roar. Watches as coral falls to the seabed, fish scatter in all directions, dust bellowing as everything begins to crumble. 

“Wait, please!” 

Rage rises up like a tide at a plea its victim would’ve screamed as well. One he knows wasn’t listened to, and he won’t either. Vincent roars again as he dives down at an angle, the extensions on his back digging into the rock as he passes. 

The sound of a mechanical hum tells him it escaped the collapsing spire of rock. And when he turns, he sees it completely out in the open, swimming as quickly as it can as close to the seafloor as possible. 

Unhinging his jaw, Vincent dives after it. 

“David!” 

Vincent reacts like he’s been electrocuted, stopping himself short despite having a clear shot to kill it. Unable to do anything except stare in disbelief as it darts into another opening in a rock that will be much harder to destroy. 

It doesn’t matter it’s escaped. What matters is that there is no possible way the human just spoke leviathan. And not just any leviathan, the name of the one who’s missing. The one it killed. 

“David?” Vincent demands. 

As if on que, the roar of a reaper is heard in the distance. He might not be able to spot them, but he knows they can see him. And when they finally get close enough for him to get a good look, all he can do is stare as David races toward him. 

“Don’t eat him!” 

“Him!” Vincent snaps, pissed at that being the first thing said. “What are you doing with a human!” 

“None of your business!” 

The ghost leviathan roars as he launches himself at David, unable to appreciate the genuine fear in the reaper’s eyes, just glad a side-effect were the mandibles snapping back so he has the perfect opportunity to headbutt barely gentle enough to not be fatal. 

“It is my business when I thought you were dead!” Vincent shouts as the other leviathan gasps in pain, hands massaging his forehead. “What the fuck were you thinking!” 

David hisses through his teeth in a plea to be given a moment. And as Vincent’s own adrenalin begins to fade, he gives the reaper some space. Glares to state he will be given answers but he’ll be patient. 

“Did you really need to headbutt me?” 

“I did. Considering you thought it’d be a great idea to befriend a human.” 

“I’m watching him,” David grumbles. With one last ginger touch on his head, the reaper gives a glare of his own. “And I’ll have you know I tried to kill him several times. But he survived every one, so now I keep an eye on him to make sure he’s not going to start killing leviathans.” 

Vincent stares. “Do I mean nothing to you?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” David smirks. “Besides, he’s too stupid for his own good. He’s basically harmless.” 

The ghost leviathan is unable to fully process what is being said. Because the word human and harmless can’t exist in the same sentence. And there’s the sheer audacity of someone saying something like that to his face. Someone who’s entire body is a deep purple, even the parts of his tail meant to be translucent have the distinct hue due to experiencing firsthand the cruelty humans possess. 

He should’ve let David get eaten by a stalker when he was a guppy. 

The reaper suddenly gestures toward something behind him. It’s the look of amusement that has Vincent slowly turning rather than attempting to dodge an attack. 

The human stares up at them with a distinct expression of concern. But the thing that has all 12 of his eyes widen is the fact it swam closer, even though it left them completely vulnerable. A coral tube that can easily be smashed being used for cover. 

“Are you okay?” it squeaks, and Vincent sends a look when he hears the human speak not only its own language, but leviathan as well. 

David waves him off. “I’m fine, ‘Fritz’.” 

As upset as he is about the fact David is acting so flippant about the countless lives at stake, never did he think someone like the reaper would ever speak human. Forgetting the fact there wouldn’t be a reason to, he thought pride would be the biggest hurdle. The second would be the fact it’s painful to mimic. 

Vincent would know. He thought pleas for mercy using words they understand would’ve worked far better than incomprehensible wails. 

He had been wrong. 

“You’re not killing him.” 

David stares at him intently. And with it being a statement rather than a question, it’s a guarantee the reaper will fight him in order to protect the miniscule creature. 

A smile stretches across Vincent’s face at the realization David’s attached. “I’m assuming ‘Fritz’ is his name.” 

The reaper sputters. “How did you get it on the first try!” 

“It’s almost like I’ve met one before,” the ghost deadpans. He ignores the growl to look back down at the human seeming to be absolutely ecstatic. Becomes excited when it’s realized Vincent’s watching. 

Proceeds to gesture toward himself, David, and then Vincent. “Fritz, David...” 

Now he’s starting to see why the reaper adopted him. “Vincent.” 

Fritz’s eyes grow wide. Starts to quietly murmur. “In...Inen...Vin...Vinen?” 

Alright, he can stay for now. The ghost will be watching for a bit, though. Make sure David isn’t being an idiot and missing the fact a weapon or cell is secretly getting built. 

Slowly as to not spook David, he coils himself up as he sinks down to the seabed, sneering when the reaper is unable to lie close to him. Not with the wings on his back posing a risk of hitting a vulnerable head with a well placed turn. 

“Vin-cent,” he repeats slowly. 

“Vincent!” 

“Great, he got your name,” David growls. “Time for you to go.” 

The ghost hums. “No, I think I’ll stay.” 

“You are not-” 

The protest is cut off by Fritz disappearing into the coral, swimming back into view with a peeper, boomerang, and a piece of quartz in hand. The human looks hopeful as he tosses the rock toward David, followed by the peeper. The second fish is offered to Vincent. 

It takes a moment to understand what he’s seeing. When he does, the ghost leviathan laughs. “Have you been living in luxury this entire time?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Oh I am definitely staying. Need to make sure he’s not bribing you with peepers and rocks,” Vincent grins, surprised with himself for not automatically assuming the worse. He’s simply enjoying the fact he has numerous things to hold over David’s head whenever to use for whatever he wants. 

He doesn’t fully trust the human. But he will take advantage of this rare opportunity until it’s proven this is all a rouse. 

“I don't keep the rocks!” 

[midsummer-semantics]

Playing with Fire

BINGO!! It's here! Thank you for coming on this fun kinky journey 😏🤍 as usual, this one is cross-posted on ao3!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Professor Steve Harrington, Professor Eddie Munson, Age Difference, Time Jump, Established Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Stockings, Lingerie, Cock Warming, Roleplay, Condoms, only to avoid a messy cleanup, they're so in love, Aftercare

Summary:

Steve Harrington lives to torture him, apparently.

First, it was the little notes. Then it was simply not touching him even though they both wanted it so fucking badly.

Now, Eddie’s sure Steve has a little bit of a sadist streak.

Or: A little roleplay between the boys, just to keep the spark alive, not that they need to 😏😏

[Divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics]

Keep reading below for the fic! ⤵️⤵️

Steve Harrington lives to torture him, apparently. 

First, it was the little notes. Then it was simply not touching him even though they both wanted it so fucking badly.

Now, Eddie’s sure Steve has a little bit of a sadist streak.

“Sit still, pretty one,” Steve admonishes, slapping Eddie’s exposed thigh.

Eddie whimpers, cautious of the volume as he readjusts slightly to try and keep some kind of blood flow in his legs. They’re only slightly numb, spread wide and a little too high off the ground as he sits in Steve’s lap.

Really, he set himself up for failure here. He thought it would be hot, showing up to Steve’s office to surprise him, wearing red satin panties and matching stockings under his black slacks, a little secret just for the two of them. He figured Steve could afford a small break from grading midterms — work he doesn’t like bringing home because he likes to keep work and personal separate — and unwind a bit before he has to attend to the rest of his responsibilities.

But no, nothing is ever that simple with them.

Instead, Steve stripped Eddie’s pants off his legs to get the full view of him, pushing the panties to the side before he worked Eddie open with practiced efficiency, and then shuffled him around the impale him on Steve’s cock just to… just to fucking sit there while Steve continued to grade papers!

“Steve,” Eddie whines, wiggling in his daddy’s iron grip, wanting more stimulation, more attention, more something instead of the older man just ignoring him, one strong arm wrapped around Eddie’s hips to play with the lacy waistband of his panties as he continues to mark midterm essays one-handed. “Professor—”

“Hush, darling,” Steve placates. “If you want a good grade, you’ll let me finish everyone else’s first.”

Eddie can’t bite back the petulant grumble as he pulls his knees up one by one, trying to ring loose the numbness gathering from his toes and upward. He knows he also has things to focus on, eyes scanning over pages that might as well be blank, but he started this game, and the feeling of Steve’s cock nestled inside him, hitting all the spots but providing no stimulus, is driving him insane.

“Daddy—” he tries, but Steve only smacks his thigh again, harder this time. “Professor,” he corrects, “please move.”

Steve sighs like he’s being asked to perform a math equation instead of fucking Eddie into oblivion. Eddie only just withholds a shiver at the feeling of being secondary to his own pleasure.

“You know as well as I do how important this is, baby boy. And yet you came in here dressed like a slut,” Steve chastises, gripping Eddie’s thigh over the smack he laid, the burn from the strike singing initially until it fades into a dull pain where Steve massages the warm skin. 

“Professor, please,” Eddie tries again. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Steve tuts and presses his lips to Eddie’s ear, dragging the lobe between his teeth before kissing down his throat. “I know, baby. I know you have. And I’ve waited ages for you. Sitting in my lap, perfect, tight ass wrapped around my cock.” 

The older man’s hand grips his thigh once more before his fingers begin to tease under the tight elastic of the stocking, pulling it out to let it snap back and massaging the area again. Steve lets his hips jump, shoving himself deeper into his student, causing Eddie to cry out when Steve’s cock rubs against his prostate.

“You’re killing me here,” Eddie breathes, trying to stay focused even though it’s a losing battle.

“Now you know how it feels,” Steve shoots back. He humps up a few more times, letting Eddie really feel how deep the older man is before settling once more. “Only a few more papers and then I’ll give you what you want.”

Eddie whines even as he nods, settling back and breathing deeply through the full feeling he’s had for what feels like ages. Steve seems unbothered, a little pink around the neck and jaw, but otherwise the picture of cool, calm and collection. Grading papers like he isn’t buried balls-deep inside his student, pretending like everything is where it should be.

Meanwhile, if anyone were to talk into Steve’s office right now, they’d definitely be concerned about Eddie in his lap, but they’d also only need to take one look at Eddie’s flushed face and panting breaths to know what’s happening.

“Last one,” Steve mutters, like that helps distract Eddie from the roll of Steve’s hips.

As soon as the professor’s pen hits the desk, released from his grip, Eddie is throwing his own writing utensil down and gripping the arm rests of the desk chair, readjusting so he can start bouncing the way he’s needed to for ages.

“Fuck, baby,” Steve breathes, hands automatically clinging to Eddie’s hips so he can help lift the younger man like a rag doll, bracing his own feet to fuck up into Eddie on every downward thrust. “You like taking me? My perfect baby boy, taking your professor’s cock so fucking well.”

Eddie bites his lip to the point of drawing blood to avoid crying out too loud, the idea of getting caught better than the reality of it, and nods furiously instead of answering verbally.

“Yeah you do,” Steve continues, slipping in his chair to get a better angle. “You love taking me. Love how perfectly I fill you. Love how my cock feels in your tight, wet hole.”

“Professor,” Edie mewls, trying to keep his voice down while he prays no one hears him — that everyone heard him.

“That’s it, my love. God, you’re so fucking hot. Dressing up for me. These tight stockings and slutty little panties all for me,”  Steve emphasizes, snapping the band on one of the tight stockings again as he mouths open, wet kisses to Eddie’s neck. “My pretty boy. My angel. My everything.”

It doesn’t take much for Eddie to come after that. He knows Steve loves him, but the filthy words combined with the praise and admiration are always too much.

“Stevie,” he whines as he reaches down to hold the base of the condom he has on steady, unloads, unloading inside of it instead of across the stack of midterm papers on Steve’s desk. While that would be hot in theory, it’s not worth getting fired over.

“Shit, baby, shit!” Steve hisses, coming only a handful of thrusts behind him. Eddie mewls at the feeling of Steve’s cock kicking inside him, and the very small working part of his brain cries for the fact Steve’s also wearing a condom.

“Can’t send you off to class with my come dripping down your thighs, can I?”

Eddie had wanted to argue that he absolutely could do that, but he knew Steve was right. They were already playing with fire, doing this in the middle of the day, an hour before both Steve and Eddie had lectures to teach. As it was, Eddie was going to have to stand in front of his own Intro to Literature students with lube still in his ass and the red panties and stockings under his dress slacks. That was the deal Steve made him: he’d fuck him in his office like his slutty little student wants if he keeps the stockings on until they get home and he can remove them himself.

Eddie had been surprised when Steve suggested he apply to teach at the same university, had figured first and foremost that the only way he was going to be a professor was with a PhD, but apparently he could adjunct a few classes while working on that. He’d also figured it would be weird to be colleagues with his boyfriend, but honestly, it wasn’t any weirder than being his student, and now they don’t have to hide their relationship as much. Sure, they still haven’t explicitly told the higher ups — Eddie only graduated a year ago, after all — but it’s not against university policy for faculty to date, so they figure if people find out then it’s fine.

It’s kind of surprising that nobody has brought it up yet considering they arrive and leave together every day. Eddie’s not sure why no one seems to care, but he’s not going to question it either. Plus, working in the same department lets them do things like this much easier.

“You okay, my love?” Steve asks, drawing Eddie’s attention back to the fact he’s still stuffed full of Steve’s softening cock, his hole more than a little sore. That’ll probably be the most uncomfortable thing about having to go teach after this.

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums, eyes closing and melting a little as Steve runs his hands up and down his half-exposed thighs. “Five more minutes.”

Steve snickers and squeezes his legs. “Only five.”

Eddie grumbles when the allotted five minutes are up, knowing he needs to go, but Steve just shushes him and kisses his face as the older man cleans him up, makes him presentable again. 

Before he gets the door open to leave, Steve pins him against it, kissing him deeply once more. “Thanks for the gift, baby,” Steve murmurs against his lips, hands resting on the curve of his ass where the panties lay.

“Mmm, happy anniversary,” Eddie replies, pressing one last kiss to Steve’s lips.

Steve pulls back with a fond smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Professor,” Eddie breathes with a wink.

[bunnihearted]

☁️🐇💭

i dont know it all makes me feel so not human, like im missing out on a big human experience. everyone around me has a partner or have had one/multiple. even my old friend a, who i recently messaged a bit with.. even he has a bf. an all of my old friends have currently a partner, and my old classmates have partners and i dont know i just really wonder whats so wrong with my and why im not allowed to be a part of humanity. i know im extremely ugly and have an unappeaking body and on top of that an atrocious personality but like....... so do other ppl. a few of my old friends are bullies and theyre ugly as i am but they're still married and live with their boyfriends... what is so incredibly different with me, why dont i get go partake in humanity???? im like 35 fkn yrs old and never. never. i lack smth so major about being a humanbeing. recently i read a romance book abt two ppl in their 30s who were virgins and fell in love, but like even they had experienced kissing. which i havent. not even a peck. ive never been flirted with never been asked on a date never ever. and i also feel like im quickly getting older and it gets more and more embarrassing bc society ARE judgemental. am i gonna date someone for the first time when im 33yrs old and be like yeah sorry im 33 but ive never even kissed bro im terrible and useless with all of that. no fucking adult is gonna wanna "teach" or have patience with a 33yr old partner who dont know anything about any of that like be for real. i cant hide it either bc they will tell when i dont even know how to kiss. this is if i even ever get to be in a romantic/sexual situation lol.

and like no it isnt normal. most ppl, like the fucking majority, like at least 8/10 ppl have had SOME sexual experience, even if its just kissing. i have zero. like i dont even have experience in flirting. "its ok its normal" no it isnt, its fucking sad and pathetic and humiliating and sets me apart from the rest of humanity, the rest of the world. im 25 and it means im undesirable and unwanted. "u dont have to be in a relationship to be whole" but i WANT to. i used to just want friends, i was fine for somany years with being alone and just wishing to meet friends. but not anymore, it doesnt do anything for me anymore. if anything it only emphasizes my loneliness, bc my so called friends will spend a couple of hours hanging out with me, then they will go home to their partner, they person they have chosen and been chosen by, and i will go home to an empty apartment and be all alone. i dont really care for friendships anymore, i used to see it as a soothing balm to the wound, maybe not the proper treatment for it, but at least it could work as a bandaid. but now it just reminds me of how fucking unwanted i am. sure they might want to have some sort of semi closeness with me, but a mere friendship doesnt allow the closeness and intimacy i need and want. i will never be number 1, the first priority, the one and only, the one they'd do anything for, the one they wanna know better than everyone else, the one they want to spend alltheir time with, the one they're crazy about, to just a friend. it only reminds me that im never good enough or special or important enough to be chosen.

so i just dont care for friendships, they make me hollow and empty and make me feel lonely. because i wanna be so so close to someone. where we almost blend together. you dont do that with friends. u dont have sex and let eo see eachother completely naked - metaphorically - and vulnerable. u dont stay completely loyal and prioritize your friends. i want one person to pour everything into, share everything with. im tired and i dont care about spreading some shards, some splinters of me around widespread. and with how my brain works, how fucking disordered it is, i dont even have the energy to entertain and maintain several different friendships, none of them as deep and profound as i crave. i dont have that in me. i need one person to give it all to. i dont have the energy for more than that, it just doesnt work for me. i dont know. i used to think i wanted friends, and maybe i will get to a place again where i will be able to. maybe. idk anything. but really i cant see how i'd be able to have the energy to give a little bit of me to multiple people. that only makes me feel empty and lonely. i want smth with one person withno barriers between us. idc for anything else anymore i just dont. and thats why i feel so fucking lonely because im dying of thirst and everything that isnt what i want feels like nothing but drops of acid making me slowly fkn die lol